Nigel Tranter - The Price of the King's Peace

“M’mmm. Obedience and duty! Words I like not, my lord Abbot!”

“Yet in matters ecclesiastical we must use them, Your Grace,” the other declared.

“Since only in obedience to the Pontiff do we gain full authority for our offices in the Church.”

“Very well, Bernard. Whom shall we send? Yourself?”

“No, Sire-not me. I am still in His Holiness’s disfavour. As is my lord of St. Andrews. It must be one who did not defy him. In 1318.”

“But you all did, man. All the bishops and senior clergy.”

“Then it must be a younger man. Yet in high office. Send my lord’s Archdeacon, Sire. James Bene. Archdeacon of St. Andrew!

He is young, but sound, and no fool. The best of the new men. My lord’s right hand …”

“Very well. So be it Moray and Master Bene shall go. To the Pope, and then to King Charles of France. But by London. Send for a safe-conduct for them, from the new King Edward. We shall sound out this new rule in England …”

“You are not the only one to make a vow, Robert,” the Queen said, one day the following spring when the King, confined to the house of Cardross with badly swollen legs, was bewailing many things but in especial that he was never likely now to lead that Crusade which the Pope was so anxious to sponsor, and which he had vowed to make that time in the Galloway cave when the spider had inspired him to his duty.

“I also made a vow, once. And And of late I have been minded to fulfill it.”

“You? A vow? A woman, on a Crusade? That I’ll not believe!”

“Not a Crusade, no. But still a vow. And a pilgrimage. Is it so strange? Cannot a woman, in her extremity, also call upon God and His saints for especial aid? And promise to make some reparation should her call be heard, her requirement granted?”

“No doubt but you are right, lass. It is but that vows seem scarce a woman’s part. But then, Elizabeth de Burgh is no common woman! When did you make this vow? And on what terms? What pilgrimage do you speak of?”

“I made it all those years ago, at St. Duthac’s sanctuary, at Tain.

Before the altar. When William, Earl of Ross betrayed us to the

English. When all was at its blackest, after the defeats of Methven

and Strathfillan, the fall of Kildrummy, you a hunted fugitive and

Nigel captured-then I vowed that if God, hearing perhaps the

intercessions of your Celtic Saint Duthac, would one day grant me a safe return to my husband’s arms and make me the mother of his children, then I would make a pilgrimage of thankfulness to this far northern shrine. It has been on my conscience that I have never done it-and I grow neither younger nor stronger for journeying. I think the time has come to fulfill my vow, Robert-if you will give me leave?” She did not add that, since Duthac had proved effective once, she might well seek to enlist his aid a second time, for the same husband, whose physical state was now much concerning her. She had never taken his leprosy fears too much to heart; but this trouble with his leg-swellings and breathlessness worried her greatly.

Not a little touched by her revelation, Bruce put an arm around his wife’s shoulders.

“My dear-you never told me. We would have gone together.”

“When have you had time, opportunity-or latterly the strength-to

spare for such lengthy pilgrimage into the Highland North? With the

saving and governance of this kingdom on your shoulders? Moreover,

this was for myself alone. I would not, will not be taken on such

errand by you, Robert. You understand?”

“Aye, lass. As you will. And you think to go now?”

“Soon. Now that I may leave little David. And you all. The snows are melting in the passes. With May blooming, and the cuckoos calling, I shall go. A woman’s oblation.”

“Yet you must not go alone. That I will not have. You are the Queen.

If I may not go with you, another shall. Whom will you have?”

“I would choose James Douglas. But since I know this to be impossible, I would have Gilbert Hay. He has ever loved me, in his quiet way. And makes undemanding companion.”

“No-I could not spare Jamie. I but await Thomas’s return from France, to send them both south once more. On their old ploys! Deep raiding into England. You know it. This cannot wait.

But Gibbie you may have.”

Elizabeth nodded. They were back to that-Scotland and England at war. The Queen-Mother, Mortimer, and the Regency Council had at first unilaterally confirmed the thirteen-year truce, to the Scots’ surprise; but latterly it had become clear that this was merely a convenience to gain time to assemble their strength against Scotland. Spies informed that secret orders had gone out all over England for a May muster at Newcastle, where Count John of Hainault, the noted commander-to whose niece the young King had recently become betrothed-was to command with his fine force of heavy Flemish horse. Bruce intended to strike first, as of yore, with another of the Douglas-Moray swift cavalry drives, as dissuasion. But it was depressing to have to return to such tactics.

When Elizabeth went off about her own affairs, Robert Bruce smiled a little, to himself. He was not quite so moribund and immobile as she seemed to think him-even though horse riding nowadays did tend to make him breathless and his heart to beat irregularly. He was damned if he was going to be carried about in a litter, yet-but there were other methods of transport The new trading galliot he and Angus Og had been building, to be the first of a trading fleet, was all but finished. It would be a good opportunity to test its qualities out, while Elizabeth was elsewhere—for nothing was surer than that she would insist that he was not in a fit state to go sailing. He loved her dearly-but he was not going to be coddled. And he had been wanting to go to Ireland again, for some time, to Antrim, where the Irish chiefs and kinglets were once more wishing to enter into a league for the expulsion of the English.

Since his brother Edward’s death he had consistently refuted to consider any suggestion that he should assume the highly theoretical and nominal High Kingship of All Ireland; but he was not against using his undoubted influence with the Irish to bring pressure on the new English regime, parallel with the Douglas-Moray expedition.

Once Elizabeth was safely off on her pilgrimage, he would go sailing.

The Queen gone, the galliot’s trials satisfactory, the Irish agreement

usefully concluded, and Bruce tired but not displeased with his

physical state, the galliot returned up the Clyde estuary in late

August, that year of 1327, escorted by a squadron of Angus Og’s galleys. Thomas, Earl of Moray, himself was waiting for his uncle on the jetty at Cardross.

Moray had stirring tidings to relate. Douglas and he had twisted the English leopard’s tail, with a vengeance. Not content with raiding and making diversionary gestures deep into England, they had had a confrontation with the young King Edward himself; indeed they had sought to capture him, and Douglas had been within yards of succeeding, the youthful monarch’s personal chaplain being slain in the skirmish. They had defeated a forward force of the main enemy army at Cockdale, in Durham. Then slipped over the high moorland to Weardale, forcing the cumbrous English array to make a great and tiring detour in wet weather with rivers in spate, on terrain where the Hainaulters’ heavy cavalry was bogged down. At Stanhope, a hunting-park of the Bishop of Durham, they had taken up a strong position on the hillside, for all to see, and waited, leading the enemy to believe that they would do battle there-despite the enormous difference in size of the respective forces. Presuming that a full-scale confrontation must develop the next day, the English leaders had camped for the night on the low ground. This was when Douglas had tried his audacious night raid, for a capture. They had collected many prisoners, including courtiers, before the camp was roused-though the King unfortunately escaped. And thereafter, since they had never intended to do set battle with a host ten times their size, in enemy country, they slipped away northwards in the darkness, and returned to Scotland forthwith. Douglas was now back on the Border, and he, Moray, had come for further orders.