Nigel Tranter - The Steps to the Empty Throne

So Wallace had sent a new delegation to Paris, to urge military action upon him—and this was headed by John de Strathbogie, Earl of Atholl, and none other than Sir John Comyn, the Red. To have got Comyn out of the way at this juncture was a shrewd move, and might well make the Comyn forces mustered in Moray less dangerous—for the Earl of Buchan was less of a firebrand than his young kinsman.

These tidings were not rumour or hearsay, at any rate, for they had been brought to Kildrummy by the daughters of the Earl of Atholl himself. Strathbogie was the adjoining lordship to Mar on the north-west, and Atholl had married Mar’s other sister. Christian Bruce, always a romantic, and a born matchmaker, had invited the Ladies Isabel and Mary de Strathbogie to Kildrummy, clearly for the delectation of her brothers. They were pleasant, amiable, uninhibited girls, not beauties but comely enough and high spirited. Nigel was appreciative at least, and was getting on excellently with Isabel. Bruce, however, found some disinclination to live up to his reputation, with Mary-although he was by no means offended by her company, of which his sister saw to it that he had plenty.

A week or so after his return from Petty, riding back from heron-hawking up the Don, Bruce, momentarily alone, was joined by Christian.

“You look thoughtful, Rob,” she said, eyeing him keenly.

“Indeed, you are much in thought these days. Not as I mind of you.

I wonder why?”

“We live in thought-making days, Tina,” he returned easily.

“We always did. You are but twenty-four—early to become a greybeard!

You used to be other wise, brother—uncommonly so!

Something of a rakehell, even. And a notable wencher! Does that sport no longer rouse you, Rob?”

He shrugged.

“Say I have other matters on my mind, lass.”

“ I think you have!” She looked at him quickly, and away.

“But it is possible to … to allow some small distraction, on occasion, is it not? I would not have you turn into another Gartnait!”

It was his turn to look.

“Gartnait … he does not satisfy you, Tina?”

“No,” she admitted, simply.

“I am sorry. He is an honest, kindly man—if scarce a hero!

Generous—and not disapproving, I think?”

“True. All true. But it is of you we speak, brother—not me!

What do you think of Mary Strathbogie?”

He smiled.

“She is well enough. Good company. And sits a horse well.”

“She might sit a man well, too, Rob!”

“No doubt. Who is eager? She—or you?”

“Not you, it seems!”

”Should I be so?”

“You are still Robert Bruce, are you not? And Mary would make warm try sting Or better, a good wife. Your Marjory needs a mother. And Mary dotes on the child.”

“Insufficient recommendation for a wife, Tina!”

“She has more than that to commend her. She is kind, strong—not like Isabella Mar, a weakling. And she is taken with you, I can see. And mind, Rob—there are not so many women the Earl of Carrick might wed. You could not wed less than an earl’s daughter—and there is no routh of such to choose from.”

“Even so, I shall wait awhile, lass. My wife, see. you, should I marry again, might need even greater qualities than you give Mary Strathbogie.”

“You mean … you mean…? Nigel thinks that you might one day try for the throne. Is that so, Rob?”

“Has any greater right? After our father?”

“Right, no. But is that what matters, Rob? What good would the uneasy crown of Scotland do you? Even if Edward of England let you, or any, have it. You would have to fight long and hard to gain it. And fight as hard to keep it. Does that tempt you? A lifetime of fighting. For what? The empty, barren name of King!”

“Need it be so empty? Barren? Does not this realm require a king?

Grievously.”

“Need that unfortunate be Robert Bruce?”

He shrugged.

“So… you look for a queen, as well as a wife?”

“Did I say I looked for any woman?”

“No. But you are sure that Mary will not serve, it seems. So you have thought of it.” Christian leaned forward to scratch her mare between the ears.

“Nigel thinks that you are … concerned with another. An Irishwoman.

The Lady Elizabeth de Burgh. Is it so, Rob?”

“It seems that Nigel thinks too much. Talks too much!”

“So it is true? There is something in this?”

“Nothing,” he said shortly.

“Yet you have seen much of this Ulsterwoman? Found her to your taste?”

“Edward once thought to have me wed her. To bind me closer to him, no doubt. But she liked the notion as little as did I!”

“Yet you still see her?”

“Not by our own seeking. She lodged with Percy, while her father was with Edward, in France. Percy sought to use her, to work on me. Not knowing.”

“Not knowing what?”

“That we battle together as soon as we see each other. That there is only strife between us.”

She considered him thoughtfully.

“Strife? Battle? It is thus between you? Then, Nigel has cause for his fears, perhaps!”

“Damn Nigel! He has no more cause to fear than he has to talk. What has he got to fear?”

“An entanglement with one so close to Edward She approves of rebellion—that is how close to Edward she is! But what of it? I am not like to see her again.”

“I wonder I Since you both esteem each other so ill, I think that you will!” Christian smiled a little.

“This Elizabeth de Burgh-what is the style of her?”

“She is proud. And lovely. And believes me two-faced,” he jerked.

“That is all. Enough of this, of a mercy I Where is Nigel?”

“Where do you think? He makes excuse to fall behind. With Isabel. She nothing loth. But you leave Mary with Gartnait! You could be more the man than that!”

“Very well. I will co to her. But … let her not hope for too much.”

Bruce was spared any prolonged skirmishing with the friendly Lady Mary.

Two days later the messenger arrived from Wallace.

He requested that the Earl of Carrick hasten south, with all the force at his command and at all speed. Edward was moving fast, was in great strength, had already taken Berwick, burned the abbeys of Kelso, Dryburgh and Melrose, and was marching on Edinburgh up Lauderdale. Wallace would require all the help he could muster, to halt him, preferably at Stirling. Once the English were beyond Forth, there would be no holding them, in their present numbers. This message was not to go on to the Comyn host, in Moray. They would hear, no doubt—but, it was hoped, not in time to affect the issue.

The intermission was at an end.

Bruce, Nigel and young Alan de Moray of Culbin—Mar stayed at home—led their combined host of about 3,500 southwards as fast as they could.

But Mar and Moray were not Annandale, a great horse-breeding area, and

the vast mass of their men were not mounted. They had 170 miles and

more, to reach Stirling, and though the men were in the main tough, wiry hill men their very numbers, and the need to forage for food, precluded any phenomenal rate of travel. Twelve miles a day, over mainly mountain country, was quite as much as they could manage.

Two more of Wallace’s messengers reached them during the journey southwards, urging haste. Edward had surprised all by circling Edinburgh, not waiting to take it as expected, contenting himself with taking its port of Leith, as a haven for his anxiously awaited supply ships. Wallace had been falling back before him, deliberately devastating the land in the English path, a land already all but famine-stricken, ordering the folk away with their remaining cattle and destroying all grain, hay and fodder that might remain. Edward’s invaders were said to be starving, and his ships delayed, so that there were troubles, the Welsh archers mutinying and eighty had been slain, it was said. Wallace’s tactics were to lure the enemy back and back, over devastated land, right to Stirling and the Forth crossing, the most strategic point in all Scotland to hold a great army; but, perceiving it, Edward was pressing after the Scots at whatever the cost, before Wallace could properly clear the land in front. It had become a race for the narrows of the Forth.