Nigel Tranter - The Steps to the Empty Throne

Robert Bruce stared after them, biting at his lip.

Chapter Four

His men save for a few retained with him, back at their positions around Douglas Castle, Bruce paced the turf beside the empty gibbet, cudgelling his brains, and more than his brains. He was under no misapprehensions as to the seriousness of the predicament into which he had got himself. Segrave had been only too accurate when he declared that this would be looked upon as rebellion. Treason might be stretching it to far, but rebellion it would be named. By Edward’s administration in Scotland-the Englishmen, Benstead; this Hazelrig, so-called Earl of Clydesdale;

Cressingham, the Treasurer, who now was the real ruler of Scotland;

Surrey, the viceroy—these would see it as the revolt of a hated and despised Scots lord against the King’s authority. So it would be blazoned forth by Benstead and Segrave, and so it would be accepted. As rebellion, Edward himself would hear of it, eventually.

But long before Edward, in Flanders, heard, there would be violent reactions here in Scotland; nothing was more sure. The English would act swiftly; they always did, instead of arguing interminably with each other as was the Scots way. Benstead himself could not find many more men for Segrave than the rest of the Lochmaben garrison, but he would apply to Lanark for them, where the governance of this south-west corner of Scotland was centred. Lanark was no more than ten miles north of Douglas, as the crow flew—and it was strange that Hazelrig himself had not set about the reduction of its castle instead of leaving it to Bruce, from Lochmaben. Except that that had been King Edward’s specific instructions. Segrave might even go direct to Lanark from here. Although he was more likely to report to Benstead first, and pick up the rest of his garrison. In two days, or three, then, there would be an English force here at Douglasdale, a heavily-armed, veteran host against which his Annandale men, however gallant, would be like chaff in the wind.

What to do? If he could quickly reduce this castle, of course, and have it occupied and its chat elaine prisoner before such punitive force arrived, he might redeem his reputation with Edward’s men. That was possible, but by no means certain.

Segrave and Benstead would consider themselves insulted—and the insulted Englishman was not readily appeased. They would insist on humbling him, demand reparation, reprisals—and none in Scotland in the year 1297 had any doubts as to the style of English reprisals. Edward’s example at Berwick was to be a model as well as a warning. Undoubtedly an angry punitive force would do much more than hang two or three children. His gesture here, then, would be nullified, wasted, thrown away. And his reputation, in another sense, with it.

What alternative was there, then? He could bolt. Run. Gather his men and take themselves off, into the empty hills, before the English arrived. Scarcely a noble course, but perhaps wise. Or was it? He would have become a fugitive. For what? Outside Edward’s peace, and with nothing to buy himself back into it.

Moreover, would these men of his be prepared to turn fugitive with him? Abandon their homes, holdings, womenfolk, to the English ire? For nothing.

But, suppose he could take the Lady of Douglas with him?

Persuade the castle to yield, and instead of waiting for the English, take her and her family with him. Into the hills. The great Forest of Ettrick was less than a score of miles to the east. No English would follow them there. Then he would have something to bargain with. Burn the castle and capture its lady—had not these been his orders? If he had achieved them, could Edward’s men claim he was in rebellion? The Lady Douglas would make a valuable hostage for him; something to chaffer with. Again less than knightly perhaps—but could he afford knightly sentiments in this pass?

There was always a last resort, of course. He could throw in his lot with the true rebels. With the High Steward and the Bishop of Galloway and their like. Make for Galloway. Accept the man Segrave’s charge of revolt, and become a rebel indeed. There were times without number, these last grim months, when he had been brought to the contemplation of it, had toyed with the notion. As would any man of spirit deliberately and consistently humiliated. Even that Elizabeth de Burgh had all but suggested it. What was it she said? That he was loyal to Edward but should be loyal to Scotland. And he had asked her what Scotland was?

And rightly so. But … these English could go too far. Yet, outright

rebellion? It would mean war to the knife, for him. With Edward. The

King would never forgive him. And Edward, unforgiving, was a dire

thought. It would mean the life of an outlaw, hunted day and night.The forfeiture of all the great Bruce lands. Not only in Scotland but in England. And what hope had these rebels, in fact? Against the power and might of England and the fury of the Plantagenet?

So Robert Bruce paced and harried his wits and his heart and his conscience—and came to no conclusion. Save only this, that it was growing towards dusk and something must be decided before darkness fell—for it would be difficult indeed to ensure that there was no break-out from the castle under cover of night.

If his quarry were to steal away in the dark, he would be left without even a bargaining-counter, however poor.

His mind made up thus far at least, Bruce stripped off his handsome heraldic surcoat of linen, and tying it to a lance point like a banner, gave it to one of his men to carry by his side. Hoping this would serve as a flag of truce, he and an extremely doubtful companion paced slowly, on foot, towards the castle ditch once more.

It made an unpleasant walk. But no arrows came at them, no reaction of any sort was evident, no challenging shout was raised.

At the drawbridge-end, Bruce halted and lifted up his voice.

“Hear me. Hear me, I say. The Earl of Carrick would speak again with the Lady of Douglas.”

He was answered at once.

“You are a bold man, Lord of Carrick. Whatever else! Wait you. I send for my lady.”

Bruce nodded and wafted, seeking to collect his thoughts.

It was some time before the woman’s high voice sounded, from a small gatehouse window.

“I am here, my Lord Robert. What kindness would your King Edward do me now?”

The young man shrugged.

“I speak not for Edward Plantagenet now, lady. But for myself,” he said.

“I regret what was done. Before. The shooting of arrows. While we talked. It was against my commands. Segrave’s Englishry …”

“No doubt, sir. It was ill done. But what we might have looked for, from Edward’s men. As what they sought to do later. with the children.”

“You saw?”

“We saw, yes. They are gone?”

“Aye, gone.”

“Your Segrave would have slain those children? Hanged them, before our eyes!”

‘ I do not know. In the end. Perhaps he would not. Only the threat.

To cozen you. I do not know.”

“But I know. His kind have done the like before. Many times.

If I had still refused him, he would have hanged them. And you?

You would not have it?”

“No. I would not. Could not.”

“I fear you are too tenderhearted to be Edward’s man, my lord.”

“Sir Nicholas Segrave, I mind, said the same!” Bruce gave back. This shouting was difficult.

“I … I would speak with you, lady. Not thus. But decently. As becomes our quality.”

“I am content to judge your quality from here, my lord I What have you to say?”

Bruce sighed.

“Just this. Now that the English are gone, you would do well to open to me. You may trust me, Bruce. You have naught to fear from me.”

“Then, my lord, why sit you round Douglas Castle? Go back whence you came. If I have naught to fear from you, I will do very well here!”