Nigel Tranter - The Steps to the Empty Throne

Edward was up at the dais end of the Hall again, selecting sweetmeats for Elizabeth de Burgh from dishes lying on the lump of red sandstone, which had not been moved since the afternoon.

He turned, as Bruce came up and paused some distance off, bowing’ Ha Robert my friend!” he cried, in most genial welcome, holding out his hand.

“Come, lad. Here is a lady to turn all hearts and heads! Even yours, I vow! The Lady Elizabeth of Ulster has made thrall of me quite. Let us see what she can do with you.

Since someone must needs do so, it seems, on my behalf and service!”

Bruce inclined his head, but came only a little nearer that outstretched hand.

“The Lady Elizabeth and I have met, Sire. This afternoon. Before … before what was done here,” he said stiffly.

“And her undoubted charms are not necessary. To win my loyal devotion to your service.”

“No? Is he being ungallant, my dear? Or just plain Scots? For they are a stubborn and stiff-necked crew, God knows I What think you?”

She looked at the young man levelly, gravely.

“I think that perhaps he conceives Your Majesty to have mistreated him.

And sees not what any woman has to do with it!”

”Mistreated? I, Edward, mistreated him? No, no—the boot is on the

other leg, I swear. Have I mistreated you, Robert?”

Bruce swallowed, but raised his head a degree higher.

“I say so, Sire.”

“Damme—you do?” The King looked incredulous, sorrowful and amused in one.

“You, that I have nurtured I Lavished gifts upon. Paid your duns and creditors. By the Mass—here’s ingratitude!”

“No, Sire. Not so. For what you have done for me, in the past, I am grateful. But, if I needed aid, debts paid, was it not because I had lost all in Your Majesty’s service? My lands of Carrick, Cunninghame and Kyle, taken from me by Baliol for supporting your cause. I became a pauper, Sire …”

“Ha! A pauper, you say—for Edward! Behold the pauper!”

The King gestured mockingly at Bruce’s rich velvets, jewellery, gold earl’s belt.

“Would you say, my dear, that my lord of Carrick starves on Edward’s bounty?”

The girl shook her head, wordless, obviously reluctant to be involved in this clash. Indeed, she was sketching an incipient curtsy, preparatory to moving away, when Edward reached out and held her arm.

“I humbly suggest that Your Majesty has had good value for the moneys you have disbursed on my behalf,” the younger man declared carefully, picking his words.

“You have had the use of a thousand Bruce swords and lances. Of our great castle of Lochmaben.

We have kept Galloway in your peace…”

“All of which it was your simple duty to render, I’d mind you, Robert,” the monarch interrupted. But he said it conversationally, almost sadly.

“Else what for was your oath of fealty?”

“That I wondered, Sire. This afternoon! When you forced me to a second and shameful oath-taking. Abasing me before all, as though I were some defeated rebel!”

“Forced, boy? Needs must I force you to show your lealty to me?”

Edward shook his leonine head, and turned to Elizabeth.

“You see the stubborn pride of this young man? What am I to do with him? The signing of today’s Roll, this Ragman’s Roll, was too much for him. All others who hold land in Scotland must do new homage for it—as is only right and proper, since there is no longer any King of Scots. But not our Robert! I wonder why-on my soul I do? Could it be …? Could it be he has high tastes, the lad? In more than clothes and horses and the like—as my purse knows full well! Could it be that he sees himself, perhaps, as one day sitting in John Baliol’s throne?” That was still directed at the young woman—indeed the King still held her arm. But the mock-sorrowful voice had suddenly gone steely.

“His father, see you, had such notions. And his grandsire before him.

How think you, my dear?”

“I do not know, Your Majesty. These are matters quite beyond my ken.”

“But not beyond mine, Sire!” Bruce said, “And I say that you misjudge if you so think. No such notion is in my mind. My grandfather claimed the throne, yes. And Your Majesty chose Baliol rather than he. To the hurt of all, as it has transpired. But that is an old story. If my father still hankers after an empty crown, I do not.”

“As well, lad—as well!” Sibilant, soft, there was nevertheless something almost terrifying in the older man’s voice, despite the smile.

“For that folly is done with. You hear? Done with. As Almighty God is my witness, there shall be no King of Scots again. No realm of Scotland. Mark it, Robert Bruce. Mark it, I say.” He jerked his head.

“Why, think you, that Stone lies there?

On its way to Westminster. Why?”

“That I wondered,” the girl said.

“So strange and rude a thing.

So, so lacking in any grace …”

“Graceless, aye! Like the people who cherished it. Rude and hard—but none so hard to break! I take it to London because, from time beyond mind, the ancients have declared that where that Stone lies, from there will Scotland be governed. Every petty king of this unhappy land has been crowned thereon. But none shall sit on it again. The Kings of England hereafter shall use it as their footstool! In token that the realm of Scotland is dissolved.

Gone. For all time to come. I say mark it well, Robert.”

“I mark it, Sire. I mark also that it is not as described by those who have seen the Stone of Scone! It is different. Not carven.

Bare a foot high. Soft sandstone, rough-hewn. It is said that the true Coronation Stone is otherwise …”

“Dolt! Numskull! Insolent puppy!” Suddenly Edward Plantagenet was blazing-eyed, in quivering rage.

“How dare you raise your ignorant voice in my presence! That is the Stone of Destiny.

I, Edward, say it. I took it from Scone. I burned its abbey. I cast

down its custodians. That it should be so ill-seeming a thing is out

to be expected of this barbarous, damnable country! That is Scotland’s

uncouth talisman!” He leaned forward abruptly, snatched up a flagon,

and smashed it down in fierce violence on the top of the sandstone

block, with a crash. Wine and fragments splashed over all three of them.

“And that is its worth and honour, by the Mass!”

At the noise the lutist faltered to a halt, and everywhere men and women fell silent gazing alarmed up towards the trio at the dais.

Edward raised a jabbing hand, to point at the musician.

“Sing, fool! Did I command you to desist?” He glared round at all the company.

“What ails you? What ails you, I say?”

Hastily all turned away, began urgently to talk with each other, to resume their eating and drinking.

Bruce wiped with his velvet sleeve some of the wine which had splashed up in his face.

“Have I your permission to retire, Sire?” he asked.

“No, you have not!” The King swung on him, fierce eyes narrowed.

“That Stone. Do you still, in your impertinence, say that it is not the Stone of Destiny?”

“No, Sire.”

“As well!” He took a pace or two away, and then back.

“Why in God’s good name are you such a fool, Robert?” he demanded, but in a different voice.

“Fools I cannot abide.” He turned on the young woman—whose fine gown was now sadly stained with wine.

“What think you? Is his folly beyond redemption? Could you redeem it, girl?”

She shook her head.

“I myself am but a foolish woman, Your Majesty. If my lord of Carrick is indeed so foolish, then other than I must deal with him.”

“Hal Is that the way of it? You see—she does not want you, man! And I cannot say that I blame her.”

The young man looked quickly from one to the other. “7 cannot say that I understand you, Sire. In … in anything.”