Nigel Tranter - The Steps to the Empty Throne

If Edward had little cause for satisfaction from it all, no more had the Scots. The SouthWest was again devastated. The only real battle fought had been a bad, almost shameful, defeat, and Comyn’s military reputation had suffered seriously. If Bruce’s had not, he was nevertheless becoming known as a leader who could only burn and destroy his own territories. This situation could not go on and on. And the truce, whatever status it might give them, was only until the next campaigning season.

Morale in Scotland sank low, that winter. If only Wallace would return, men sighed. If only Comyn and Bruce would cut each other’s throats, others muttered. If only Lamberton was allowed to run the country unhindered, the churchmen prayed.

But none of these things happened.

Lamberton was now an unhappy man, indeed. He obtained no cooperation from the other two Guardians, and most of his proposals were automatically outvoted two to one. Comyn was in his vilest frame of mind, soured by his debacle on the Cree, and for once aware of his unpopularity amongst the people. Umfraville proved to be no statesman, and completely under the younger man’s influence. The government of the land sank to new low levels.

It was an open winter, fortunately. The Primate-Guardian besought the Earl of Carrick to come to his manor of Stobo, in the Forest, there to pass Yuletide with him. Bruce was concerned at the appearance of his friend, when he reached Stobo from Turnberry. He had aged grievously in these last months, and there was a strain, tension and brittleness about him unknown previously.

“This cannot continue,” he told the younger man, when they were alone before a fire in the Bishop’s private sanctum.

“To all intents the ship of state is rudderless, drifting helpless. I can do little or nothing. The Comyns would have me out of the Guardianship—and I would thank God to be free of it! But if I go, John Comyn reigns supreme. Now. As he hopes to reign from the throne, one day. I say this would be disaster for Scotland. But we can no longer make pretence to work together.”

Bruce nodded.

“And if you cannot, no man can.”

The other sighed.

“As to that, I do not know. But this I know.

I cannot longer continue. And even if I could, it would avail nothing.

The realm drifts to ruin, calamity. And Edward waits.”

“You will not relinquish the Guardianship? To Comyn!”

“I do not know. God help me—I do not know I I do not see which way to turn.”

It distressed Bruce to see this man, on whom he had relied so surely, thus broken, at a loss.

“The realm needs you. Desperately.

There is none other. Of your stature. And Comyn alone as Guardian—for Umfraville is the merest puppet—would be disaster.

No man’s life would be safe. Is there no way that he may be unseated?”

”I have thought of it, day and night. But he is too powerful.

Already he all but controls Scotland. I may seek to steer the ship of state, but Comyn captains it. Because he holds the sword. You should not have resigned, my friend. You must see it, now?”

“I reached my limit, with Comyn. As you now have done, it seems,” Bruce said sombrely.

“He wears men down as water wears a stone.”

“What to do, then? In mercy’s name, what to do? He is like a savage animal now. But cunning, too. Smarting from the wounds his pride received at the Cree. Judging men to hate him—as they do. But the more determined. For spirit he does not lack.”

“See you—this of the Cree fight. Of his guilt, for that. Of men hating him. This may we not use? A parliament may not only appoint a Guardian—it may unseat one. Could we not so sway a parliament that it would vote Comyn down?”

Lamberton did not answer, gazing deep into the fire.

“My party is sure, in its vote. The Church will vote, in the main, as you direct. The burghs will vote as Scrymgeour, Wallace’s lieutenant, says—and he hates Comyn. The Comyn faction is large, yes—but I believe, in this pass, with other men as sour as he is, it could be outvoted.”

“And think you Comyn would meekly accept dismissal? Demit office and walk away? When he controls the power of the realm. Without civil war? Which God forbid! And Edward at our doors.”

Bruce had risen, to pace the floor.

“Not a parliament’s vote then—but the threat of it! You say he is sore at his unpopularity.

He who acts the practised soldier. He would not enjoy a parliament that called for his resignation, named him bungler, at fault at the Cree. Even craven. I say he would sooner resign than face that.”

The Bishop looked up at him.

“You think it? It may be so.

Yes, it could be. But … he would ensure that Umfraville and another held the Guardianship. Another puppet. With himself behind them. He would never leave me as master. For he mis likes me now, as he mis likes you.”

“Scarcely so, my lord, I think—scarcely! But… if you offered to resign also? On condition that he did. And with the threat of a vote of parliament against him. A bargain. And Umfraville too.

All Guardians resign. Because of the defeat. A new man appointed.

One man. Might he not accept that?”

“Aye-But who? Who would be that man? Who would serve any better?”

“De Soulis. Sir John de Soulis. Of Liddesdale. Do you not see it?

He is wed to Buchan’s sister, and is therefore a kinsman of Comyn’s. But he is a true man. Honest, as all do know. He was one of my grandfather’s auditors, when he claimed the throne. Is sound in the Bruce cause. Comyn, I think, would accept de Soulis.

And I would trust him. Moreover, he is a good soldier. And coming from Liddesdale, has been fighting the English all his days.”

“You think he would do it? Accept the task? As sole Guardian.

Knowing the ill will, the back-stabbing, the thankless ness of it all?”

“He was prepared to do it, in May, at Rutherglen. If we both besought him …”

Lamberton rose.

“My friend—you have at least given me hope again. It is possible.

Pray God de Soulis will aid us…”

By early spring John de Soulis was sole active Guardian of Scotland—but with the Guardianship now in scant repute and men looking for power elsewhere. Comyn, like Bruce, and for the same reasons, retained the style and title of Guardian. Lamberton and Umfraville did not.

Comyn, no doubt, believed that he could control de Soulis, a kinsman. But he, and the realm, found the new. Guardian, an ageing, stocky, silent man, tougher than seemed probable. He refused to be bullied or frightened. Bruce gave him full support.

As did Lamberton and the Church. Wallace’s people also. But the

Comyn’s power was still the major factor in the land. They controlled

all Scotland north of the Forth, save the West Highlands and the Isles,

which no man could control; and increasingly demonstrated their

dominance in the South also—for Comyn’s last act as Guardian had been

to push through the appointments of his own nominees to most or the

southern sheriffdoms. Everywhere unattached and doubtful lords and

barons decided that it was wise to side with Comyn. The man was

behaving like commander-in-chief, almost like a king, riding the land,

holding musters of arms, sitting in at sheriffs’ assizes, declaring the

size of levies required from each baron and knight, demanding moneys

and aid from abbeys and priories. De Soulis might sit in Stirling

Castle as nominal and conscientious ruler, refusing to be controlled

by Comyn; but he on the other hand could by no means control Comyn,

nor attempted to.

Chaos mounted in the land—the land which awaited Edward.

Bruce watched it all with a sort of sullen hopelessness. He had no 8,000 men this year, to string along the Border. His lands of Annandale and Carrick had been so devastated again that his people as well as being as sullen and demoralised as he was himself, were scattered, huddling where they could, scratching a living for themselves, and with sickness rampant—in no state for military service, willing or unwilling. He had some hundreds under arms, mainly vassals’ men from undamaged areas; but these he kept in secret places in Ettrick Forest and the Borderland hills.