Nigel Tranter - The Steps to the Empty Throne

He had promises of contingents from his supporters, of course, lords like the Steward, Crawford, Mar and Atholl, when invasion actually was imminent. But meantime he could only watch-northwards more sharply, even, than southwards.

Even de Soulis, honest man, worried Bruce in one respect. He did all in the name of King John. The Guardians, hitherto, had issued their edicts and processes of government in their own names, although they claimed nominally to be acting on behalf of the throne. De Soulis seemed to see the position differently. He did all merely as Baliol’s deputy, always using a style that gave King John himself the authority, all being signed by the Guardian only in his absence.

“These letters patent be valid at our will, this ninth year of our reign, by John de Soulis, knight, Guardian of our kingdom.” The new Great Seal was struck, bearing the name and title of King John on the obverse, de Soulis only on the reverse. And Wallace, it was reported from Rome, had succeeded in winning the Pope’s full support for a reinstatement of Baliol as ruling monarch.

The Bruce star was far from in the ascendant.

The truce with England expired on the 1st of May—and it was known that all winter Edward had been preparing the new campaign, despite his prolonged correspondence and assurances to the Pope. He marched promptly the day afterwards, and this time brought his son north with him, Edward, Prince of Wales.

The English army split into two, in Northumberland, the King heading the main drive to Berwick and the east, while his son and Surrey made for Carlisle and the west. This time the Scots were to fight on two fronts.

Bruce swiftly found himself in trouble, for Edward, after a feint northwards from Berwick, which sent a Scots force hastening to the Lammermuir passes to harry him therein, quickly turned north-westwards up Tweed. Never before had any major Evasion taken this mid-country route through the Forest and the hills of the central uplands, where small numbers could so easily hold up large. But nothing could long hold up Edward’s scores of thousands, and though Bruce’s people contested almost every pass, river-crossing and ambush-site, they were only dealing with the English advance-guard. Edward took his time, pressing inexorably onward. Kelso, Dryburgh and Melrose Abbeys went up in flames, Selkirk fell, and then Peebles. Bruce was driven back and back into the high barren wildernesses of Tweedsmuir, where Clyde and Annan were born as well as Tweed. Then Edward paused and circled skilfully to seal off all the valley-mouths and passes out of that lofty area, turning it from a citadel into something like a vast prison. Individuals could get in and out of it, by lonely hillsides and secret burn-channels; but not large bodies of men.

It was clear that Edward, well served with spies, had set his main strategy, at this stage, against Bruce. And now Bruce, as a fighting force, was largely immobilised.

Meanwhile, the Prince of Wales and Surrey turned into Galloway, with Comyn retiring before them, risking no more pitched battles. De Soulis himself, after deciding the real lines of the English thrusts, positioned himself, with the Church army and Wallace’s guerillas, between Lanark and the sea, to deny if he could the Clydesdale access to the north.

Edward seemed to be in no hurry, this time. He consolidated as he went, and once out of the Tweedsmuir hills, struck westwards, to reach the sea at Ayr and Irvine, where his fleet was standing off, with supplies. He had successfully isolated the three Scots forces, Bruce to the east, Comyn to the south and de Soulis to the north. Moreover, this time he had food and forage, arms and siege-equipment readily available from shipping.

He turned north, to besiege Bothwell Castle, the strongest hold in Clydesdale, de Soulis falling back before him. This was a new kind of campaigning for Edward. But as to its effectiveness there could be no question.

That there was something else new about it began to dawn on the Scots

as the summer passed into autumn. Despite all the Plantagenet’s fierce

vows or vengeance earlier, there was little of mass savagery, burnings

and sackings. It seemed as though he was seeking, this year, to

separate the Scots leadership from the people, trying to antagonise

the countryside as little as possible. Moreover, his snips were still unloading supplies in late September, when Bothwell fell, with no signs or a retiral to England. It looked very much as though Edward intended to winter in Scotland.

A new variety of apprehension settled on the land.

Bruce, in his Border hills fretted like a caged eagle. He was not idle, picking away at the English flanks, sallying here and there.

But he was held and confined, almost insultingly, and kept out of touch with what went on elsewhere.

When specific news did reach the remote Blackhouse Tower, a Douglas hunting-place deep in Yarrow, which Bruce had made his headquarters, it could hardly have come with more authority-since it came, unexpectedly, by the mouth of the Primate himself.

William Lamberton arrived, with only two companions, at dusk of an evening of early October, tired and raggedly-clad as a wandering friar, yet nevertheless looking a good deal less worn and haggard than when last Bruce had seen him. Apparently he found war less of a strain than dealing with John Comyn.

Though his information was none the less dire, for that.

“Edward has gone to winter at Linlithgow,” he told the younger man.

“Aye—he bides in Scotland, to our sorrow. But he is cunning. There have been no burnings, pillagings. He is indeed Paying for the meat, the grain and the hay he requires I So the land has not risen against him, as before. The folk are weary, helpless, hopeless, to De sure. So, with his armies holding all in check—you here, de Soulis in lower Clydesdale, Umfraville in Galloway, and Lothian and the Merse his own, he sits secure enough in Linlithgow, his ships serving him in the Forth. And in this state he now offers us truce I Of nine months, no less! Edward, magnanimous, offers Scotland truce!”

“By all the saints—truce I He invades, occupies the land, sits down, his feet on our necks—and offers truce?”

“Aye—the Plantagenet tries new tactics. It may be, with more hope of success. The truce is aimed at the Pope, and our doubtful ally the King of France, I swear. It is a gesture. But he loses nothing by it. He is well placed indeed—and this will allow him to remain so, without trouble, through the winter and spring.”

“But will de Soulis accept it?”

“What else can he do? He does not know of it yet. It is noteworthy that Edward sent the proposal to me. At St. Andrews. As Primate. It is beneath his dignity to treat with a mere knight. He would drive wedges between us, with more than his armies! This year of our Lord, 1301, the Englishman is being clever I I brought the word straight to you, my friend. To talk of it. Before I tell de Soulis.”

“What can I do?” Penned here…”

“You can advise me. For, God knows, I do greatly need advice.”

The Bishop sighed.

“De Soulis, I think, will do as I say.”

“Perhaps. But Comyn? What will Comyn do? What does Comyn? You have not so much as named him.”

“Aye—Comyn. There is the rub. Comyn, as ever, plays his own game.”

Lamberton glanced sidelong at his companion.

“Have you heard? What he does?”

“I hear nothing here. Or little that I may trust. He is in Galloway, is he not? Fencing with Edward’s son.”

“He was. But is no longer. He has left Umfraville to command in Galloway, and with Buchan has slipped north, by unfrequented ways and little-known passes. He is now safe in Stirling Castle, and massing new forces north of Forth.”

“Then he is doing more good than I am!”