Nigel Tranter - The Steps to the Empty Throne

his debts …!”

“God’s mercy—can you see no further than your nose, man?

At least I did win my siege of Lochmaben. While you sit still around Stirling!”

“My lords! Such talk is unprofitable and ill becomes you.”

Now that he was Guardian himself, Lamberton could and did speak with a greater authority. He picked up the parchment.

“My lord of Carrick is right. This is carefully worded. Edward would be wise to read it as carefully, before he throws it in his fire!” As device to cool the suddenly risen temperature, he commenced to read the preamble:

To the Lord Edward, by God’s grace king of England, by the Guardians and community of the realm of Scotland—greeting.

William by divine mercy bishop of St. Andrews, Robert Bruce earl of Carried and John Comyn the younger, Guardians of the kingdom of Scotland in the name of the famous prince the lord John, by God’s grace illustrious King of Scotland, appointed by the community of that realm, together with the community of the realm itself … “A spate of words I Vain puffing words!” Comyn scoffed.

“Sound and repetition. To bring me from Stirling, for this!”

“Words, in affairs of state, may speak as loud as a drawn sword, my lord. We declare hereafter that King Philip of France’s truce with Edward, signed at the Peace of Paris,” required that all prelates, barons, knights, towns, communities and inhabitants of Scotland should be included in the truce, and all hostages given up. We declare this clause has been broken. We therefore request King Edward to comply with these terms forthwith. To retire from Lochmaben and from Scottish soil. And to enter into a collateral truce with this realm. If he does so we are willing to desist from all aggression of England during the period stipulated.”

The Primate waved the parchment.

“We know that he has, in fact, already withdrawn from Lochmaben Castle, though leaving an English garrison. So now he will seem to have carried out this demand. He is no longer on Scottish soil, nor like to be for six months at least. He has now wed the King of France’s sister. Therefore he cannot declare the Peace of Paris void. I saw mat he may burn this letter—but in the eyes of the world he will seem to have heeded it. Is this not sufficient merit to bring a Guardian of Scotland eight miles from Stirling, my lord?”

Comyn shrugged, for once at a loss. But only for moments.

“That is as may be,” he jerked.

“We shall see how tender is Edward to empty words. But … you have your paper and my signature. Let us have it sealed and be done. For I have more important business. At Stirling.”

“What do you do at Stirling, these long months?” Bruce asked, as though interested.

“Is it not something tedious? Sitting there?”

“Sitting I Who sits? Stirling is not some defenceless, decrepit hold I It is the greatest fortress in Scotland. Or England. A-top a rock four hundred feet high. But… I have it in my grasp now. It will not be long. Now that Edward has turned back, they will not survive. No food has reached them for five months. I promise you they will yield before the year’s end. Our next meeting, I say, will be held where it ought to be. Not in this rat’s-hole but in the palace of Stirling.”

Without further leave-taking than the Lord of Badenoch stormed out of Tor Wood’s hall.

His fellow-Guardians eyed each other.

“I cannot, longer bear with this,” Bruce said slowly.

“You will have to find another Guardian for Scotland, my friend.”

“And leave Comyn in power? Over you?”

“I cannot bear with him longer. You must find a way out, my lord Bishop. And quickly. Before one of us slays the other …!”

The corporate sigh that swept over the crowded Great Kirk of Rutherglen sunny May morning of 1300 was eloquent, however disparate were the elements of which it was composed -regret, satisfaction, alarm, I-told-you-so. Men had long seen this coming, in one form or another; indeed had come to this parliament expecting no less. But the significant and ominous implications for Scotland could be lost on none.

The Earl of Carrick, standing in front of the right hand of the three Guardians’ chairs set facing the nave, at the chancel steps, raised his hand for quiet.

“Therefore, I say I can no longer, in honest and good faith, serve this kingdom as Guardian. I do hereby lay down that burden and duty, to this parliament. For the better rule and governance of the realm.” Turning, he bowed stiffly to Bishop Lamberton beside him, and stepped a little way apart.

The Red Comyn smiled thinly, and played with his jewelled dirk-hilt.

Heavily the Primate spoke, from the central chair.

“This decision is to Scotland’s loss. My lord’s mind is made up, and we must needs accept it. But… since the Earl of Carrick remains what he is, head of the greatest house south of Forth, and an aspirant to the throne when it shall become vacant, it is, I say, inconceivable that he should be esteemed of lesser rank than the Guardians. The SouthWest cannot be governed lacking Bruce’s aid and participation.

Accordingly I move that my lord retains the style and title of a Guardian, while not actively sustaining the office. This for the benefit of all.”

There was no lack of reaction to that, acclaim from the Bruce supporters and the churchmen, dissent and scowls from the opposing faction. Comyn himself did not scowl, but he did look very keenly, thoughtfully, from Lamberton to Bruce, and then flicked a hand.

“Here we are in strange case,” he said.

“Bruce, it seems, desires to retain the benefits of office, without the cares and responsibilities.”

“What benefits?” Bruce jerked.

“Not so,” Lamberton declared.” It is a matter of seemliness.

The Guardianship represents the throne. It is seemly that the Earl of Carrick should remain in name therein. To the greater authority of the office as a whole.”

“Words again I Forms I Styles! When what the realm needs are swords.

And deeds!”

“Your own party have a new nomination for such form and style, have they not, my lord?”

“Ha!” Comyn said slowly.

“You would deal and chaffer, my lord Bishop! Is that it? You offer substance for this shadow? Very well. Accept Sir Ingram de Umfraville as third Joint Guardian, in Bruce’s place. And my lord of Carrick may keep such style and title as pleases him!”

“I desire no such empty style,” Bruce ground out.

“I retire from the Guardianship. And do commend to this parliament Sir John de Soulis, Warden of the Middle March, in my place.”

“Wait! Wait, I beg of you,” Lamberton said, though his tone held authority rather than begging.

“Here is cause for closer consideration than this. We esteem Sir John and Sir Ingram. But the status of the Guardianship is here involved. The name of an earl of Scotland should grace the office still…”

“It did not when Wallace was Guardian,” somebody pointed

“Wallace was sole Guardian. And had to give it up because he lacked sufficient authority.”

“My cousin of Buchan is earl, as well as Constable. And would serve suitably,” Comyn observed lightly.

“No! Not that,” the Lord of Crawford cried.

“Two Comyns we can never accept.”

There was uproar in the church.

Comyn stood up, to quell it, “I say then,” he shouted, glaring menacingly around, “appoint Sir Ingram de Umfraville third Guardian, and allow the Earl of Carrick the style but not the power. And then, a God’s name, have done with it! There is more important matter to decide. And to do. Edward has rejected our truce, and musters again at York. Galloway has risen in civil war. And the Earl of Carrick has done little to quell it. There is man’s work to be done-not clerkly bickering over titles! Have done, I say.” He sat down.