Nigel Tranter - The Steps to the Empty Throne

The Lady of Douglas was younger than Bruce had expected;

in her early thirties probably, slightly built but most evidently pregnant, not handsome but not ill favoured, with a proud and confident look. The boy was no more than twelve years old, well built, sturdy, dark, almost swarthy indeed. He held the woman’s hand, and held his head high as they paced out on the echoing timbers.

They came to the lip of the bridge, and so stood, looking down at Bruce.

“Well, my lord-what have you to say?” Lady Douglas asked. And, as an afterthought, “This is James Douglas, my husband’s heir.”

“My sorrow, lady, that we should meet in such case.” Bruce was frowning blackly, not at her or the boy but in concentration—however it might seem to them.

“Do you know where Sir William Douglas is?”

“If I did, think you I would tell you, sir?”

“I think he may be none so far away. If I agreed to take you to him, would you come with me, madam?”

“Take me …? To him?” She stared down at him.

“Do you think to mock me now, young man …?”

“Not so. Why should I mock you? I do not know for sure, but I think that Sir William may be with the other rebels. Who were in Galloway. His former good-brother, James the Steward, and the Bishop of Galloway.”

“Rebels, sir? These are no rebels. How may they be rebels, who rise, in their own land and in the name or their own king, against a foreign tyrant?”

“Aye—it may be so. At any rate, these, I have just learned, are now near to Ayr. Thirty miles, no more. Will you come with me to Ayr, lady?”

“With you? You? To Ayr? But… but…”

“My lord,” the boy said tensely but strongly, “if you jest with us now, you are no true knight! This, this lady is in no state for that. For any true knight to make fool of. Did King Edward of England send you to her for that?”

It was bravely said. This boy could not be the Lady Eleanor’s son. He must be the child of the first marriage. He was, therefore, nephew of James the Steward-named after him, no doubt.

Bruce inclined his head.

“King Edward sent me here to take this lady, and you, to his officers,” he told the boy carefully.

“But now, I find, I am his chief est officer in these parts I And I have come to think that it might be best to take you to Ayr.”

“Why?” the woman demanded.

“Or do you seek to trick us?

Use us as hostages? Before my husband …!”

“No. Give you into your husband’s keeping, rather.”

“I do not understand. You are Edward’s man. My husband is Edward’s enemy. What mean you …?”

I am my own man, lady-not Edward’s. Bruce supported Edward against the usurper Baliol, yes. But Baliol is no longer here. Nor indeed is Edward! Both across the sea. And Bruce is no Puppet to be jerked this way and that…”

”You mean, my lord, that you change sides?”

He frowned.

“Say that I must choose, in this pass, to do what is best. Wisest. For all. The SouthWest is aflame, it seems. And Ross and Argyll too, they say. How much else, God knows.

Hazelrig is dead, at Lanark. All is changed. From when I was sent to take you …”

“Then why not go away, sir? Leave us in peace?” the young James Douglas broke in.

“You would not long thank me for that! Segrave and more English will be back, you may be sure. Douglas Castle would have but a brief respite. And then you would be in more unhappy state. You saw the style of Segrave!”

“So you would go to my husband, and these others, at Ayr?

Taking us as, as … as sureties? Not hostages but tokens?

Tokens, my lord. That they may accept you as honest!” Eleanor Douglas was considering him shrewdly.

“I think that I perceive it. They are more like to trust you, if you do not come empty handed I Bruce, who was Edward’s man!”

“You are less than gracious, madam.” That was stiff.

“Perhaps.” There was a few seconds’ pause. She shook her head, in a welter of indecision.

“Can I trust you, then?”

“Would you rather that I handed you to the English? Or left you to withstand their fury here?”

She sighed.

“No. Since I cannot long hold this house against a host. I will come with you. Your reasons for taking me to my husband may be ignoble, sir—but it may best serve my need meantime. I will come with you.”

Bruce had flushed a little and knew it, but hoped that it might not be apparent in the half-light.

“I do not acclaim your niceness of feeling, madam,” he said shortly.

“But at least your choice is wise. Will you go, then, and make ready?

To ride. Send your folk away, to their own places. Disperse them. That there be no bloodshed when the English come. They may ill-use your house somewhat—but that is small price to pay for lives and freedom.

Do not delay, for we ride as soon as we may.”

“Ride? Tonight? It is near dark …!”

“Yes, tonight. I wish to have you away from here, out of Douglasdale and into my own country of Carrick, by daylight.

To delay here now would be folly. And in your state we may not ride over fast He glanced at her swollen belly.

“So, haste you, lady.”

She shrugged.

“Very well. If so it must be. Come, Jamie …”

Bruce turned, blank-faced, and strode back in the gloaming light to his waiting men. Curtly, there, he issued orders that all his host was to be brought back forthwith, abandoning the positions around the castle. All were to assemble.

When his six hundred were gathered before him in the gloom, Bruce had a horn blown for silence, and addressed them.

“My friends,” he said, “hear me. This realm is in sore straits, as you all know well. Men know not which way to turn. There has been revolt against the English who lord it here. Lanark is fallen. The High Steward, and a host, is at Ayr. I … I have decided to join them.”

In the pause there was an absolute silence save for the wary calling of curlews bewailing the night.

“It is that, or marching against Lanark, to seek to recapture it.

For the English. Which do you prefer?”

There was a muttering, quickly stilled.

“I think King Edward’s cause may no longer be Bruce’s cause!

And I would not do battle against those who revolt. So I go to Ayr.

Who comes with me?”

Again the murmuring arose, this time to continue, to grow loud and prolonged, as men discussed and argued.

After a while, Bruce had the horn blown again.

“I could command that you come with me,” he said.

“But you are my father’s vassals. Not my own. He is Lord of Annandale, not I. And my father is King Edward’s Governor of Carlisle. If you join me in this, who knows, you may suffer for it. Your homes, your wives and hairns. So I give you choice. It is my decision. You make yours.”

There was more talk, some of it heated. One voice rose above others, presently.

“Lord-do we fight for this Edward? Or against him? We do not know rightly. You had us to swear an oath. To Edward. Did you no’?”

Bruce drew a deep breath.

“An oath, yes. But a commanded oath. An oath given under duress. It is not binding, as is a true oath. So teaches Holy Church. It may be annulled. I, similarly, swore allegiance to Edward. Under duress.

But I did not swear to make war against my own people. Not to slay my

own’ folk. No man, I say, holds his own flesh and blood in hatred. I

am Earl of Carrick. My own folk of Carrick live yonder.” He pointed

to the west.

“The English would have me lead you, to fight. For them.

Against Scots, I cannot, with not, do it. I must join my own people of Carrick. And the nation into which I was born.”

He had stopped, at his own last words. He had not known that he was going to say these things. They had come out of him of their own volition, to his surprise. He stood, biting his lip.