Nigel Tranter - The Steps to the Empty Throne

“You only. For the folk are with you.”

“We shall see, my friend. So you, my lords, go north …”

Chapter Nine

Strangely enough, that spring and early summer of 1298 was one of the

happiest periods of Robert Bruce’s life—for which he had to thank

William Wallace. He was, in fact, essentially a fairly cheerful and

light-hearted character—had he not a reputation for extravagance and

display?-and the last two years of stress and deep involvement in

national tumults had superimposed a gravity and tenseness on his nature

which was not normal. Now there was an intermission, a period of

enforced detachment—or so he was able to convince himself. His

prolonged periods of sham negotiation at Irvine and hard unremitting

restoration work in Annandale, had prepared him to embrace the

satisfactions of Kildrummy as it were with open arms.

He had not made his way there in unseemly servile haste, of course. He had his dignity to consider. He informed Wallace that he would take over the duties of governor of the SouthWest, with headquarters at Ayr—and Wallace had acceded with good grace, since it would have been impracticable to appoint anyone else in opposition to him. He had returned from Selkirk to Annan, set affairs there in order, specifically commanding that there was to be no general muster of the Annandale men, save for the lordship’s own defence, whatever instructions might come from the Guardian.

Then, taking Edward and Nigel with him, he had ridden north to Ayr, where he installed Edward as deputy, to raise the area in arms, including his earldom of Carrick, refortify the castle and keep an eye on Lochmaben—which, being to all intents impregnable, was still in English hands, like Stirling; possibly the insufferable Master Benstead was still there. Then he and Nigel, his favourite brother, had set out on the two hundred mile journey to Aberdeenshire.

Kildrummy Castle, principal seat of the age-old Mar earldom, was a handsome establishment set amongst the uplands of the Don, and guarding the mountain passes to the north-east. A remote secure place, centred in a world of its own, with the most magnificent hunting country for hundreds of square miles around, it was little wonder that its lord seldom chose to leave its fair attractions. Bruce found it much to his taste.

There was more than the place itself to hold him. Here his little daughter Marjory had been brought, when her mother, Mar’s sister, died. She was now a laughing, chubby brown-eyed girl of three, and Bruce, who had accepted fatherhood as he had accepted marriage merely as one more normal development in a man’s progress, now discovered delight, wonder, pride. This roguish, impulsive, affectionate child was his, all his, in a way that nothing else was his—and he had not realised or appreciated it before. On Isabella’s death, at seventeen, soon after the baby was born, he had been anxious only to deposit the unfortunate infant with his sister Christian, take himself off, and forget the whole sorry business, a loveless marriage arranged by his father, an ailing, delicate young woman who cared nothing for the world outside Kildrummy, and then left him at nineteen with a pulling, bawling girl-child. But now, here was Marjory Bruce, a poppet.

Christian Bruce, Countess of Mar, was herself good company, the gayest of the family, all vigour, energy and laughter, and twice as much a man as her gentle, slightly melancholy husband.

Though womanly enough in all conscience, so that young men were ever round her like a honey-pot; Gartnait of Mar was probably wise enough not to leave home too frequently. She welcomed her brothers with enthusiasm, and proceeded to ensure that time did not hang heavily for them. Nigel himself was a happy natured, carefree soul, and an excellent companion to take the mind off affairs of state.

Not that all was hunting and jollity, of course. The business of mustering a host went on, with wapinschaws, archery contests, trials of strength, games and races, to keep the men engaged and in training. No doubt the Comyns were doing the same, not so relatively far away—but in this land of vast distances, high mountain ranges, and little sense of involvement with the rest of Scotland, no ominous signs of it disturbed them. Bruce did pay one or two visits to the Bruce lordship of the Garioch, consisting of fifteen parishes, to the east, the rents of which had been Christian’s marriage portion. Here he arranged for eight hundred men to assemble at the somewhat tumbledown old castle of Inverurie, and to train for service—Nigel would command these, in due course.

April passed into May, with the snow gone from all but the north-facing

corries of the surrounding mountains, whins blazing and cuckoos calling

endlessly in all the endless green valleys around Kildrummy. Word

percolated through from the outside world occasionally, but seemed to

lack urgency up here. Edward had returned from France, and had

apparently made a great show of coming to terms with the nobles. He

consented to ratify and confirm the terms of Magna Carta and the

Charter of Forests, and agreed that the new taxes and tallage should

only be levied with the acceptance of the nobility, prelates and

knights, and withdrew the edict about compulsory foreign service. But,

having done this, he had set up his headquarters at York, even moving

the exchequer and law-courts there, as a sign of his displeasure with

the south and as convenient for his campaign against Scotland. There

was also news that Lamberton had gone to Rome, and that Philip of

France had accepted a treaty of mutual aid with Scotland. Wallace had

been disciplining his army, hanging not a few who had been pillaging

and running would. The burghs were all raising armed bands, the

various crafts vying with each other. Roxburgh and Stirling castles

still held out. A Comyn host, said to number six thousand, was assembled in the Laigh of Moray This last did cast some small shadow at Kildrummy, and Bruce rode north by devious hill passes, further north than he had ever been, to Petty, on the coast east of Inverness, headquarters of the great de Moravia family, of whom Sir Andrew Moray had been the heir—the lord thereof still being Edward’s prisoner.

Here he found Andrew’s two brothers, Alan of Culbin and William of Drumsagard, had already raised fifteen hundred men, while their uncle, Master David, a priest, had gone still further north to raise Avoch and the Black Isle of Cromarty. He also learned that Andrew’s widow had given birth to a posthumous son, another Andrew to carry on the line. Giving Wallace’s authority, he took the fifteen hundred, with young Alan of Culbin to command them, and rode back to Mar with them, doing a little harmless spoliation and fodder-gathering in outlying Comyn lands en route, as per instructions.

Back at Kildrummy, in early June, the news was more grave.

Edward had assembled a mighty army at York, and was moving north. He was said to have no fewer than four hundred knights and gentlemen of chivalry, under the Earl Marshal, the Great Constable of England and the Earls of Gloucester, Lincoln, Arundel, Surrey and Warwick, besides the Scottish Earls of Angus and Dunbar. There was also the ominous Bishop Beck, 2,000 heavy cavalry, 2,000 light cavalry and no fewer than 100,000 foot and archers. These figures were almost certainly exaggerated, but clearly Edward was in deadly and determined mood.

There was another piece of news which indicated however busy Wallace must be in preparing to resist invasion, he was not failing to use his wits in other directions. King Philip of France’s signature of the treaty of aid was all very well, but he had not sought to use Edward’s return home to implement the bargain by any renewed attack on the English, either on the Flanders borders or by massing for invasion of southern England.