Nigel Tranter - The Path of the Hero King

of the garrison, and see them sent on their way to the Border Let

there be no mistake, see yon.” He paused, to run his eye sombrely over the critical ranks of his friends.

“You all blame me, I see. You all name me fool, or worse. Think that I forget the blood of my brothers and my friends. Do not deny it-I see it on every face. Thank you God, then, that you are none of you the King! That you can afford to judge scoundrels on their merits where I must judge causes, results, policies, the realm’s best weal. How easy your judgement! How difficult mine.”

“You will win few to your cause by sparing MacDouall,” Angus Og declared.

“You will not win his allegiance. He will continue to fight against you, hating you no less for your gentleness.”

“Gentleness, man!” Bruce’s bark of laughter had no mirth in it.

“Think you there was any gentleness in that decision? Or in my heart? You know me little, it seems, still. I spared MacDouall because it was the price to pay for Dumfries. With Dumfries ours we can starve this Caerlaverock. It will soon fall. But by no other means. And Buittle thereafter. The last English stronghold in Galloway. This is of greater worth than my vengeance on MacDouall.

And I have not the men, nor the time now, to spare in further prolonged siegery. You have heard what has happened at Hexham and the Tyne. Let that remain unpunished, and all that we have done in the North of England will fall. All others will follow the Prior of Hexham’s lead. For two years we have milked Cumberland and Northumberland, to our great gain. And kept the English from winning any great army from their North. We have won silver we direly needed. And time, precious time. All that will be sacrificed if I do not immediately deal with Hexham and Tynedale and the rest. My brother saw it, dimly, and went raiding yonder, in anger. I cross the Border otherwise, not in angry raiding but of set policy. Although my anger may have some play also, I think! And I need these men who have wasted their time, and mine, at Dumfries and Caerlaverock.”

There was question on every face, now.

“You change your course then, Sire?”

“You do not sail for Man?” That was Angus Og, almost hopefully.

“I do not. I have other work to do.” Bruce straightened up.

“Now-leave me, my friends. For I have much thinking to do, first. We

shall have a council later. Gibbie -off with you to Dumfries”

That evening Hay rode back, with Boyd and most of the besieging host, to announce that all had proceeded smoothly at Dumfries. MacDouall and his garrison had marched out just after midday, and were now well on their way over the Border, under escort. Sir Robert Fleming was acting as governor of the town.

Bruce sent a trumpeter and herald to announce these facts, across the sunset-stained waters, to Caerlaverock Castle-whose present captain, it transpired, was no other than David de Strathbogie, the offended Earl of Atholl.

The council called for that night was more than usually formal, and deliberately so. It was not so much a council as an audience.

The King was not seeking advice, but giving decisions. But he commenced proceedings, in Randolph’s tented pavilion, with some ceremony.

“It is my royal will and good pleasure,” he announced, “to honour in especial at this time two lords in whom I repose much trust and confidence. Step forward Angus MacDonald of the Isles, Lord High Admiral of my realm; and Sir Thomas Randolph, Lord of Nithsdale, my sister’s son.”

Surprised, and eyeing each other a little askance, the pair came forward.

“My lord Angus-your service and leal devotion is of the greatest importance to my cause. There has been dispute in the past between you and your brother, Alexander of Islay, now in Ireland, who has not supported me and has given aid and comfort to my enemies, in especial the MacDougalls. Your desire to reunite within your Lordship that part of your ancestor Somerled’s heritage now dispersed to other descendants, is known to me. Therefore it is my will that hereafter Islay and Tiree be forfeited by your brother Alexander, and bestowed upon yourself. Also that the former MacDougall lands of Duror and Glencoe, and the Isle of Mull, likewise be so bestowed. And that the former Comyn territory of Lochaber be included in your Lordship. Thus it becomes the greatest in territory in all my realm. In return, apart from your continued loyal friendship and aid, I but require that you provide and build for me a royal castle at Tarbert, between Knapdale and Kintyre, for my use and garrison.”

There was a pregnant silence in that tent, as everyone, not only Angus Og, weighed the King’s words, and probed their significance. That this was a highly important pronouncement went without saying, infinitely more vital than any mere appointment such as the High Admiralship, which could be revoked at the royal will. Once the Lord of the Isles occupied and possessed these extra vast territories, dispossession would be well nigh impossible.

Yet Tarbert, that tiny isthmus of land between Loch Fyne and the

Western Sea, was in fact the essential key to any attempt to bring

control to bear on the Sudreys -that is, the isles and mainland coasts

south of the Ardnamurchan peninsula, to which the territories mentioned belonged-clear evidence that the King intended to retain at least some hold on the area. And, as it happened, the Isle of Man was always reckoned to be a detached but important part of the Sudreys. And the Isle of Man had not been mentioned.

Angus Og took the careful part, and inclined his head, without committing his thanks, or his doubts, to words.

Bruce went on.

“Sir Thomas Randolph-after previous error, mistaken but honourable, you have proved yourself most loyal, reliable and able. Your judgement I have found valuable. As my near kin, it is right and fitting that you should be ranked other than as a simple knight. It is therefore my royal pleasure that you shall be raised to the station of an earl of this realm.”

The other did not hide his surprise, as he bowed low.

“One earldom stands vacant, with the forfeiture and death, without male heir, of the late Buchan. I cannot conceive that you would wish to bear that dishonoured title. But there is another ancient earldom, of the Celtic polity to which you belong, vacant since the death of Earl Angus over a century ago-that of Moray.

Ancient, honourable and great. The lands of that earldom have in the main been acquired by the House of Comyn, and are now at my disposal by forfeiture. Lands from the Spey to the Ness, including much of Buchan; and west to the borders of Lochaber, including the great Lordship of Badenoch. I believe that you are the man to control those wide and important lands well and ably, recognising their consequence to my kingdom and rule.” He paused, unbuckling his own golden earl’s belt.

“I do now, therefore, name and appoint, invest and belt you, Earl of Moray.” And stooping, the King clasped the golden girdle about his nephew’ sand erstwhile enemy’s -waist.

The acclaim from the company was polite rather man enthusiastic-for the stiffish Randolph was scarcely popular, though Gibbie Hay and Hugh Ross had become his close friends. Also few there failed to notice that the new earl’s lands marched with Angus Og’s new Lochaber on the west, and the Earl of Ross’s territories on the north. In other words, the King was inserting both a buffer between these traditional enemies, and his own watchdog into the Highland provinces.

Randolph was obviously overwhelmed by this totally unexpected honour and promotion. He shook his head helplessly.

But Bruce was not yet finished. He stepped back, and dropping the ceremonial tone, spoke more briskly.

“Furthermore, my lord of Moray, you may make shift to add to your possessions! I go to Tynedale, not the Isle of Man. You shall go there in my stead, with my Lord of the Isles. Commanding my land forces, as he commands the sea. And if you can win Man back from the enemy, it is yours.”