Nigel Tranter - The Steps to the Empty Throne

The Constable was now adding his support to his brother’s nomination. It may have cost him dear to do so, for there was said to be little love lost between the two John Comyns, Buchan and Badenoch; but though an older man, more experienced, and outranking his distant cousin, he could not but concede that the other was chief of the name. Their mutual Norman great-great grandfather had married as his second wife the heiress of the ancient Celtic mormaership and earldom of Buchan;

Badenoch was the heir of the first family, himself of the second. And in public, the Comyns always put up a united front.

Earl Malise of Strathearn spoke next. He proposed, as somebody must, in decency, that James, High Steward of Scotland, be appointed Guardian. He was formal, brief.

Men stirred uncomfortably. The Steward was well enough respected as an honest man and a patriot. But as mouthpiece of the nation … I From his presiding seat in the choir, James Stewart raised a thin open hand and waved it back and forth.

“I decline. I decline such nomination,” he said thickly.

“I am old. Of insufficient strength. A younger man is required. I decline.” At least, that is probably what he said, though his difficult tongue and slobbers muffled it. But the gesture of his hand was sufficiently clear.

The Abbot of Dunfermline suggested that a bishop of Holy Church might well prove the wise choice, uniting all classes and divisions or the people. He would have proposed their beloved Robert Wishart, Bishop of Glasgow, who had once acted Guardian previously, he said—but unhappily he was a prisoner of the English. The Primate, Bishop Fraser of St. Andrews, had just died, exiled in France. Bishop Crambeth of Dunkeld was also in France, ambassador to the French king. He therefore named Thomas of Dundee, Bishop of Ross.

There was now some applause amongst the commoner folk, for Bishop Thomas was one of Wallace’s supporters. But there was no like enthusiasm visible amongst the ranks of the nobility; nor indeed amongst much of the clergy, where Ross was considered to be too junior a see to be thus exalted.

A new voice broke in, musical, with lilting Highland intonation.

“My lords and friends,” a slight, delicate-seeming but winsomely good-looking youngish man said, “hear me, Gartnait of Mar. I say that if there is one man who should be Guardian of Scotland, it is Robert Bruce of Annandale, who should rightfully be our King. But since he is not within the realm at this present, I say to you that his son should be appointed—the Lord Robert, Earl of Carrick. He is not here, but is expected…”

Bruce cursed beneath his breath. His brother-in-law, the Earl of Mar, meant well, no doubt; but this was not the time to advance his name. Gartnait, although amiable, had always lacked practicality.

He was much troubled by his neighbours, the Comyns, of course, and no doubt was as much concerned to counter their ambitions as to aid Bruce’s.

“Bruce is here, my lords!” he cried aloud, interrupting Mar, and pushing strongly forward now, through the press, to break out into the open nagged space which had once been the abbey’s nave.

“I come late—but not too late, I say!”

There was a great stir and exclamation now, on all sides—by no means

all of it enthusiastically welcoming, as he strode up to where the

Earl of Mar stood, clapped his sister’s husband and first wife’s brother on the shoulder, and bowed to the Steward.

“You give me leave to speak, my lord?” he said strongly.

James Stewart nodded.

“I have heard what is proposed, my friends,” he said.. “Not only as regards myself, but others. And I too say that a Guardian of the realm should be appointed. Now. But not myself, who have fought no battles, earned no plaudits, am but untried amongst you. My father, were he here, would himself be no candidate for Guardian—that I swear. If he were to present himself to you, I say, it would be as your rightful King, not Guardian…!”

A wave of reaction, cheers and dissent mixed, comment and question, greeted that, a new vigour and excitement manifested itself throughout the great gathering.

Bruce held up his hand.

“But my father is not here. I have heard the names suggested as Guardian, and I say that, good and sound men as these are, they do not, cannot, meet the case, my friends.

Only one man can fill Scotland’s need today. Only one man will the people follow. Only one man, at this juncture, can speak with the voice that not only the folk but England, Edward Plantagenet, will hear and heed. That man is William Wallace of Elderslie. I name you Wallace as Guardian!”

It was as though a dam had burst, and the emotions of men surged free in clamour. The very surrounding hills seemed to shake to the shout that arose and maintained. Not all of the vociferation was favourable, of course, but the vast mass of it was wildly so. Almost to a man the common folk, the men-at-arms, the lesser lairds and small landholders, even the bulk of the clergy, roared their approval, hands high or beating each other’s shoulders, feet stamping. It was amongst the nobles, needless to say, that the opposition was expressed, but compared with the mighty explosion of applause, it was a small thing that faded where the other went on and on.

It was some time before Bruce could make himself heard again.

“I commend … I say, I commend your judgement!” he shouted.

“This man has done what no other could do. He has rid us of the English …”

Again the uproar.

“Hear me—hear me, my friends. He has rid us of the English, I said. Aye—once! But they will be back. Nothing on God’s earth is more sure! They will be back. And so he must needs do it again. I know Edward. Aye, some blame me, they say, that I know him over well! But this I say, that when Edward himself comes chapping at our door again, then we shall need a united realm to withstand him. And more than that, a leader whom all the people will obey and follow. Therefore, I say, William Wallace it must be. None other …”

He was interrupted.

“And I say this is folly!” It was Sir John Comyn, the Red, himself.

“Here is confusion. It is a Guardian of the realm we seek to appoint—not the commander of a host.

Wallace has shown that he can do battle, yes. But he is no man for the council-table, no meet representative …”

His words were drowned in outcry and protest, angry this time, with an ominous underlying growl. Fists were shaken, even swords were drawn and waved. Everywhere the nobles looked apprehensively around them, at the gesticulating crowds.

The Steward was trying to speak, but Bruce prevailed. He had young and excellent lungs, and no impediments to speech.

“There are sufficient and more for the council-table!” he declared.

“Many to advise Wallace. All too many I But the Guardian must carry the people, not just the Council. If Scotland is to withstand Edward of England in his might and wrath. Here is the heart of it. Only the nation in arms will save us, then. And only one man, I declare, can raise this nation in arms, lacking its King…”

When the noise again slackened, it was not the Lord of Badenoch but another Comyn, who took up the issue, Master William the churchman.

“What my lord of Carrick says is not in dispute,” he claimed, with the careful moderation and reasoned appeal of the practised orator.

“None question William Wallace’s notable deeds, or his ability to rouse the people. That he must do. But more than this is required of the Guardian. There are decisions of state and policy to make. He must unite more than the common folk—he must unite the lords of this realm. Will Wallace do that? You say, my lord, that he must withstand King Edward. But he must speak with him also, treat, negotiate. Will the proud Plantagenet speak with such as William Wallace ..” ?”