Nigel Tranter - The Price of the King's Peace

“Finn terms, you say. From King Robert. What terms have you in mind?”

“Fair and honourable terms. Which King Edward, were he honourable,

could accept. More important, which an English parliament could

accept. Each realm to maintain its own king, laws and customs, un

threatened by the other. Each to promote and advance the common

advantage of the other. All English claims on Scotland to be

withdrawn, and all Scots claims on England. Arbiters to be appointed,

of equal number and rank on both sides, to settle all differences

between the realms, and subjects of the realms.”

“These are fair conditions, sir,” Bruce acknowledged.

“But scarce inducements! There is nothing here to induce King Edward to agree.”

“I do not believe that anything will so induce him!” the other

returned.

“Whatever terms you send, he will reject, I think. But these would commend themselves to a parliament. And give the lords and barons of England good cause to unite against the King, when he refused. Which is important.”

“Yet inducement there should be, surely,” Moray said.

“To make it possible for King Edward to accept.”

Harcla shrugged.

“Anything such must come from you, the Scots.”

“Long I have sought for, fought for this treaty,” Bruce said slowly.

“Therefore I would give much to see it concluded. For my people’s sake, who need peace. I have thought much on it. I would agree that one of my daughters should wed King Edward’s heir, now some ten years of age. And I would make some payment in gold in reparation. For injury done to the realm of England these last years, some generous payment. If such would aid in the acceptance of these terms.”

Douglas stared.

“Pay the English…!” he exclaimed.

“King Edward is said to be short of moneys. All his treasure gone on his favourites.-He might listen to the chink of gold, where other persuasion fails.”

“Very well, Sire. Such generous offers I will make to the King.

But still I fear he will not heed, and we shall require to take to

arms.”

“It may be so. But, see you, I will not now commence a war against the might of England. It is peace I seek, not large war.

Revolt by Edward’s lords is one matter. Invasion by my Scots host is another.”

“Not war for you, Sire. Only support, we seek. No greater force than you have sent raiding into England times unnumbered. With captains such as these to lead that support!” Harcla nodded towards Moray and Douglas.

“For I do not deny that England is short of able captains. However many great lords she has!” And the new Earl sniffed his contempt of all such.

“That is true, at least. But-these lords? How many would rise

against the King?”

“Many. Most, indeed. Those whose stomachs King Edward had not turned, the Despensers have …!”

“Names, man-names!”

“The King’s own brother, for one-the Earl of Kent. The Earl of Norfolk. The Lord Berkeley. The bishops of Ely, Lincoln and Hereford. The Earl of Leicester, who is my lord of Lancaster’s heir …”

“Kent would turn against his own brother?”

“He is hot against the King. The Despensers slight him. And not only he. The Queen herself, I think, would not be sorry to see her husband deposed and her son king. Her lover, young Mortimer, is one of those strongest for revolt-and he does nothing that displeases Her Majesty.”

“So-o-o! England is in sorry state, I see!” Bruce looked at the

stocky man shrewdly.

“And you, my lord? What will be your place in the new kingdom?”

Harcla was nothing if not frank.

“In the said revolt, I command.

For none of these others is fit to lead an army. And when we win, I expect to be one of the regents of the young King.”

“You do! You fly a high hawk, my lord-for one who but a year or so past was but a Cumberland squire!”

“My hawk has strong wings, Sire.”

They eyed each other like wary dogs. Then Bruce inclined his head.

“Very well, my lord. We shall have a compact. I have a clerk out there, who shall write us the terms you are to put before King Edward. For the rest, if he refuses, it is between ourselves. On the day that you rise, with major force, a Scots cavalry host of 5,000 will join you, under my lord of Douglas. To remain under his command. You understand? I will have no Englishman commanding my Scots subjects. And, before then, I want proofs of your support, in more than in the North.”

“That Your Majesty shall have. In abundance. I thank you.

Give me but six months, and you shall have your peace treaty …”

Two of those months were passed before the King heard more of Andrew Harcla. And, when he heard, Bruce was in little state to pay fullest heed, in a turmoil of emotion, agitation, joy, concern, inextricably mixed. For the very night before, or in fact the same dawn, Elizabeth had given birth, at Dunfermline, to a son-a living and perfect son.

But the birth was a dreadful one, lasting over twelve hours and almost

killing a woman too old for normal childbearing. That the Queen

survived the desperate night was indeed something of a miracle-just

as the production of a hale male child at last, after twenty-one years of marriage, was a miracle.

So now all Scotland rejoiced in that an undoubted heir to the throne was born, and the bells that had celebrated Bannockburn now pealed and clanged and jangled as endlessly. But Bruce himself sat, a prey to anxiety, fears, self-blame- indeed could have wished the child unborn that his Elizabeth should have been spared this. For she was more than exhausted. She was direly weak, her features woefully waxen and drawn, her eyes dark-circled. She had lost great quantities of blood. She had lain, only part conscious, all that March day, whilst Dunfermline throbbed to the joyful clangour of the bells, and the King watched her every shallow breath. So he had sat hour after hour-and fiercely repelled any who sought to intervene, console, consult or otherwise distract.

It was a brave man, therefore, who entered that bedchamber above the Pittendreich Glen that late afternoon, unbidden-but then, this was a notably brave man, as all Christendom acknowledged whatever else it might say of him. James Douglas, come from the Borders, stood with his back to the door and looked at his friends.

Hollow-eyed, hunched, the King stared at him dully for long moments after he had recognised who was therefor he had not slept in forty hours, and was all but dazed. He did not offer a single word of greeting.

“I … I have heard all, Sire,” Douglas said, low-voiced.

“An heir. And Her Grace in sore state. But-God is good. He will aid Her Grace.”

“Is He? Will He? What makes you so sure, James Douglas?”

That was said thickly, in a monotone.

“Because He gave the Queen a notable spirit, Sire. That is why.

It is that spirit will save her.”

It was not the King who answered. Just audible, from the bed came the whispered word, “Jamie!”

Douglas came forward, men, and Bruce sat up. It was the first word Elizabeth had spoken, for hours.

She did not say more. But before her heavy-lidded eyes closed again, she mustered a tiny smile for them both. It lifted the King’s heart.

“Oh, lassie! Lassie!” he said brokenly.

She raised the long white fingers of her left hand in brief acknowledgement, and his own rough and calloused hand reached out to grip and grasp.

So these three remained, silent.

At length, when it was clear that the Queen slept, Bruce spoke

softly.

“An heir for Scotland was not worth this, Jamie.”

The other made no comment.

“But it was not this that brought you from Roxburgh Castle, I think,” the King went on.

“Word of it could not have reached you in time.”