Nigel Tranter - The Steps to the Empty Throne

Thoughts of Elizabeth de Burgh came to him not infrequently, but she seemed to occupy a different world to his.

Occasionally word of the doings of men outside this South West reached them. William Wallace had indeed invaded the North of England, and a bitter and harsh retaliatory campaign he appeared to nave waged, giving the Northumbrians and Cumbrians precisely the same sort of treatment that had been meted out to the Scots. Tales of savagery, violence and slaughter percolated through to Annandale—and though, in his present mood, Bruce was not inclined to feel squeamish towards the English, part of his mind told him this must result in a hardening of the enemy’s determination, a uniting of fronts, and ultimate fury of attempted reprisals. There were ten times as many English as Scots, and this simple truth was something that they had to live with, to ever take into account. Their every effort, therefore, should be to divide and disunite, not to unify. This campaign, however justified, would have that effect, for certain.

Great convoys of grain and cattle and sheep were said to have been sent back to Scotland. This at least was satisfactory. But the cruel weather triumphed over cruel warfare, and the now distinctly undisciplined Scots army was forced back across the Border before Christmas. Wallace, it was said, had retired to his favourite refuge in Ettrick Forest, and his mixed host had largely dispersed to their homes all over the land.

Then came the first and inevitable counter-attack. Surrey drove north again, on the east side, and retook Berwick and Roxburgh.

But the weather was too much for the English likewise. The advance

could not penetrate the snow-blocked passes of the hills which guarded

most of Scotland’s southern counties, and ground to a halt. It was

stalemate, meantime, in the worst winter of living memory.

It was late February before the icy grip began to relax—and with it came word from the south that King Edward, from France, had commanded that there be no major invasion of Scotland until he came in person to lead it—ominous tidings. When that would be was not revealed, but rumour said in the late spring. Perhaps spurred by this grim warning, movement stirred again in Scotland. Wallace sallied forth from the Forest, to besiege Roxburgh Castle, and his emissaries were once again going through the land calling men to his standard. None came to Annandale.

But in early March a courier arrived from James the Steward, to announce a great assembly of the magnates and community of the realm to be held in Ettrick Forest, at Selkirk, in the middle of the month, and requested the Earl of Carrick’s presence thereat.

Bruce considered well. He recognised that important decisions could not be put off for much longer. If Edward was coming, then the ranks had to be closed and vehement steps taken. He himself could not hide away here in Annandale indefinitely. And he might usefully influence the steps that might be taken. The fact that the assembly was being held in the Forest, in Wallace’s own chosen haunt, not in Stirling or Edinburgh or at Scone, was surely significant. It meant in large measure an acceptance of Wallace as leader. The lords were to come to him, not he to the lords. Bruce decided that Annandale might now be left to his brothers’ care.

He would go to Selkirk.

It was hills and passes for every mile of the fifty that stretched between Annan and Selkirk, and the snows and floods. still blocked much of the way, impeding and delaying Bruce and his small escort more seriously than he had anticipated. He was hours later than intended in reaching the venue of the assembly, in that fair hub of green valleys where Ettrick, Yarrow and Tweed all joined, amongst the oak, ash and pine glades of the greatest forest south of the Highlands. The gathering was being held in the ruins of what had once been the Abbey of Selkirk, a Tyronensian foundation of David the First’s, which 170 years before, had been removed twenty miles further down the Tweed, to Kelso, for convenience.

The remains, though abandoned, were extensive and picturesque, providing a certain amount of shelter, but more of dignity, for a large-scale conclave. As Bruce rode down through the haughs of Yarrow towards it, he saw the entire wide valley floor filled with encampments and horse lines the silken pavilions of lords and knights, banners and standards everywhere, the blue smokes of a hundred cooking-fires rising over all.

It seemed that the actual conference and council was already started, being held partly in the open, in a sort of amphitheatre formed by the broken-down former choir of the abbey, backed by the square of the cloisters and opening on to the neglected sunken gardens and pleasance. Here a great crowd of folk were assembled, of all sorts and conditions, gazing up to where, in the paved approaches to the gaping chancel, the quality and landed men and churchmen stood, or sat on the flanking cloister benches.

Up in what was left of the choir stalls certain great ones were seated, in the centre of which was the Steward, who appeared to be presiding. A cleric was holding forth.

“… all kinds and conditions of men, their treasure, their toil, their very lives,” he was declaring, in a richly sonorous voice.

“This being so, it is necessary, essential, that due and proper direction be given them. With authority. The Church can do this, in the name of God and His kingdom. But who may speak, with full authority, in the name of this earthly kingdom of Scotland?

My Lord Steward—you occupy high office and bear a proud name, of excellent repute. But you cannot speak in the name of the King’s realm. My Lord Constable—nor can you. You are one of the great Seven Earls of Scotland, and have authority to raise the realm in the King’s cause. But you cannot speak in the realm’s name, so that all men must obey. I say that it is entirely necessary for the governance and saving of this kingdom that one be appointed, here and now, lacking the King’s royal presence—appointed by the magnates of the realm here assembled, who may take fullest command in all matters, and speak for this ancient people. I do declare that this assembly is entitled to name itself a parliament of the estates of Scotland, and that it should hereby appoint one to be Guardian of the realm.”

In the applause and acclaim Bruce, peering over the heads of spectators, asked of a black-robed Dominican friar who it was who spoke.

“That is a great man, Master William Comyn, brother to the Earl of Buchan, sir. They say he will soon be bishop. He is Provost of the Chapel-Royal.”

”A Comyn! Then we know what will be coming next!” Bruce began to

edge forward through the throng.

The speaker continued.

“The Guardian must be strong, else he is useless, my friends. He must dispose of great forces. He must be renowned as a warrior, a man of great repute. Also he must be strong in support of Holy Church. I say to you that such a man stands here amongst us. He is indeed the head of the family of which I am the humblest member. A family which none will deny is the strongest, the greatest, in this land. Which boasts three earls, three bishops, and no less than thirty-three knights. I say to you that none is more fit to be Guardian of Scotland than Sir John Comyn, Lord of Badenoch.”

There was considerable acclamation for this nomination, but Bruce noted that it was confined to the quality. Few of the watching throng raised voice—but there was a ground-swell of muttering.

Although they were powerful indeed in the North, in the South here the Comyns were not popular. They were too closely identified with the despised Baliol.

Bruce, in his edging forward, had reached a point where he became aware that, behind a massive broken pillar of the former transept, William Wallace stood, towering hugely over a group of his lieutenants—these no longer a ragamuffin crew but now all clad in excellent armour and broadcloth, no doubt captured. Only Wallace himself was dressed exactly as previously in rusty chain mail and leather guards—perhaps because he could find none amongst his defeated enemies of size sufficient to supply him. He stood listening to the proceedings, hidden from most in his retired position, expressionless.