Nigel Tranter - The Price of the King's Peace

“I* faith, Thomas-here is excellent news!” Bruce cried, his limp

weariness forgotten.

“On my soul, you make a pretty pair of brigands! That youth begins his

reign with a notable indignity, indeed Like his father! Perhaps it

will teach his advisers that the Scots would make better friends than foes! With my Irish arrangements, just completed, I swear they will have to come to the conclusion that a peace treaty is the only way in which they will win respite in their own realm!”

Moray coughed.

“Unfortunately, Sire-it may prove otherwise.

As I said, we captured prisoners close to the King. One, a Thomas Rokeby, esquire to King Edward, declared that it was common knowledge that Your Grace was dying! And that the English need not trouble-that once you were gone the rebel Scots would soon come to heel, with no need for any treaty …”

“By the Rude-they think that! So I am dying, am I?

“Fore God, I will teach them otherwise!” The King’s eyes blazed with all their old fire.

“We told Rokeby so, Sire–and let him go free, to convey the facts to his King. But-I doubt if he will be believed. Or even believed us.”

“Then we will show them, beyond a peradventure! Hear you that, Angus my friend? I am dying. The English have only to wait! So-they will learn differently, and swiftly! By two days from this I will be on English soil, by God! And we shall see who dies …”

Robert Bruce was as good as his oath-however much it cost him, in bodily fatigue, pain in his legs and at his heart, and such exhaustion that he had to be propped up in his saddle by esquires, one on either side of his horse. Nevertheless, two days later and ninety weary horseback miles south-eastwards, he led James Douglas and Moray and their host over the Coldstream ford of Tweed, and on to besiege the Bishop of Durham’s castle at Norham. Also he sent lieutenants to invest Warkworth Castle, and even the Percy stronghold of Alnwick, while others went further south still, and west, to waste Northumberland-saving always Tynedale -North Durham, Cumberland and Westmorland. Even though Bruce conducted this warfare largely from a tent under Norham’s walls, the King of Scots’ presence was made abundantly clear to all the North of England. He sent heralds to announce to the King of England, wherever he should be found, the Earl of Lancaster, the Archbishop of York and the Bishop of Durham, that he, the King of Scots, intended to annexe the county of Northumberland to the realm of Scotland forthwith.

It was in these circumstances, on a mellow autumn day of October, that

Sir Henry Percy of Alnwick, Lord of Northumberland, with Sir William de

Denham, of the English Chancery, came riding under a white flag to the

Scots camp at Norham -an unhappy and nervous delegation. This was

Bruce’s first meeting with the son of his old enemy-for the previous

Henry Percy had died the same year as Bannockburn. He was, in fact,

very much a replica of his father, tall, thin, foxy of face and

prematurely stooping, balding. Eyeing him, Bruce knew a little

disappointment. This man was not worth his vengeance. He had dressed himself in full armour to meet the envoys. It mattered not, after all; but he was glad that his swollen legs were hidden beneath the steel, uncomfortable as it was.

The Englishmen brought a request for a peace treaty, from King Edward and his regents. They wanted to know King Robert’s terms.

“Have you writing to show me, my lord?” Bruce barked at Percy.

“From your liege lord?”

The other nodded. He handed over a sealed missive, addressed to the Lord Robert, King of Scots.

The sigh that escaped from the Bruce was eloquent as it was long. He had waited and worked for thirteen years for that simple superscription.

The day following, the envoys were sent away with the Scots terms. They comprised six points-and were more favourable, generous indeed, than even Moray advised. Nothing must stop a settlement now. The points were: (1) That the King of England, and parliament, must acknowledge that King Robert and his heirs for all time coming should rule the independent kingdom of Scotland, without rendering any service or homage to any. (2) That the King of Scots’ son and heir, the Prince David, should have for betrothed bride the King of England’s young sister, Princess Joanna of the Tower. (3) That no subjects of the King of England should hold lands in Scotland; nor subjects of the King of Scots hold lands in England. (4) That King Robert and his heirs should lend military aid, if requested, against all save the French, with whom Scotland was already in alliance; likewise English aid should be available to the Scots, if required. (5) That the King of Scots would pay the sum of 20,000 within three years, as reparation for damage done to the kingdom of England. (6) That the King of England should use all powers to persuade the papal curia to repeal the sentence of excommunication against King Robert and his Council and subjects. And this forthwith.

If the King of England would confirm these terms, under the Great Seal

of England, King Robert would send his commissioners to Newcastle, to

negotiate the peace. And promptly. Bruce had himself hoisted into

the saddle again, and turned his horse’s head for home.

They had not long crossed the ford of Tweed when a small party, riding hard, came galloping across the green levels of the Merse, to meet them. The King perceived that it was his Lord High Constable, Gilbert Hay, and reined up. And at his friend’s grim, unhappy features, the royal heart missed another beat.

Pulling up before him, Hay flung himself down, knelt, looked up, opened his mouth to speak-and said no word.

“Well, Gibbie -well? You are back, from your travels. How is the Queen?”

Hay moistened his lips, and dropped his glance again. Still he

knelt.

The scene swam before the King’s eyes.

“Out with it, man! She is not sick? In trouble … ?”

“Sire… my good lord! Oh, my friend, my liege-the Queen… she is dead! Dead!” Hay’s voice broke completely. He rose, turning away, stumbling, blinded by his tears.

For long moments there was silence. After a stricken pause, Moray and Douglas urged their horses close, to support the King’s person. He waved them back.

As from a great distance he spoke, levelly, evenly, his voice steady.

“Speak on, Sir Gilbert,” he said, staring straight ahead of him.

The Constable made two or three false starts, the King waiting patiently. At length, mumbling disjointedly, he got it out. The Queen had made her pilgrimage to Tain successfully, although it had taxed her strength sorely, the weather so ill, the rivers all in a spate. But returning, at Cullen in Banffshire, near Sir Alexander Comyn’s house, whilst fording a flooded stream, her horse had slipped and thrown her. She had fallen on rocks, in the water, and grievously injured herself. Within. An issue of blood, which would not staunch. She said that it was from her womb; after the prince’s birth it had never fully recovered. They had carried her, wet and cold, to the nearest house. From thence to the Comyn’s castle of Cullen. But nothing could aid her. The bleeding from her woman parts, would not staunch. She died there, calm, composed, kind, a Queen to the end, sending warm messages of love and devotion to her lord, her children, her friends … Gilbert Hay, once started, was jerking and mumbling on. But he had lost his main audience. Robert Bruce had set his horse in motion, and was riding slowly away, head up, straight of back, jaws sternly clenched. Some yards on, without turning, he called back, and strongly.

“See kindly to Sir Gilbert,” he said.

Chapter Twenty-Three

The King was stubborn. He would not be carried in a litter.