Nigel Tranter - The Steps to the Empty Throne

“It would be more grievous, friend. Assuredly. And you did not, indeed, catch Wallace. I did not think you would!”

“It was grievous enough. If Wallace had been taken, and I had had hand in it…!”

“That would have been bad. For more than Wallace. But I believe he will never be taken. Unless he is betrayed. But he has the love of the people. Could any man sell Wallace?”

“I do not know. I do not know. Even Comyn would not do that. But some lost, damned soul, eaten with gall, there might be.”

“Pray that. you are wrong. And pray that none betray him and bring him before you, as one of Edward’s three governors. You have heard of this? That with Moubray and my lord of Glasgow, you are appointed to the rule. Until John of Brittany comes.”

“I shall refuse to rule Edward’s Scotland.”

“Are you sure, Robert? Think you. It is your Scotland—not Edward’s. You might do much to soften the worst of an English harshness. And, one day, when you are King, your people will know that you are also their friend.”

“When I am King.” The younger man shook his head, looking away and away.

Elizabeth came to slip her arm in his.

Chapter Eighteen

The stink of fire and stale burning still clung to the Great Hall of Stirling Castle—really the parliament-hall of the kingdom, and the most splendid apartment in Scotland—emanating from the charred timbers of the fine lofty hammer beam roofing, set alight by Edward’s own ballistas and siege-engines, with their flaming missiles, a year before. The place was draughty too, that early November afternoon, from the gaps in the masonry made by the English mangonels, trebuchets and battering rams in the long siege, and as yet inadequately patched. It was not, in fact, a suitable venue for such a meeting, and the group of a dozen or so who sat at one end of the vast table built to seat hundreds, looked somewhat lost and uncomfortable in all this decayed and battered magnificence. But John of Brittany, Earl of Richmond, King’s Lieutenant of Scotland, was a stiffly formal, dignified man, an holder of ceremonial and etiquette, markedly unlike his puissant uncle, and he insisted on holding his council-meeting herein.

The assembled councillors were uncomfortable in more than their surroundings. Added to their normal resentment at having thus to obey the summons of an alien governor, and their mutual suspicions and hostilities, but little healed by general adversity, they were more sorely divided today than usual. Wallace had been captured three weeks before; and this, the successor of the Privy Council of Scotland, was split into three over the business—those who were sadly depressed thereby, those who were not, and those who cared little for the fact of it but reserved the right to cast disapproving glances at the man whose lot it had been to deliver up the national hero to English Edward.

Sir John Stewart of Menteith was only too well aware of his unhappy position, and showed it. He sat a little way apart from all others, a young man, dark, almost swarthy, with tight secretive features and a slight, tense body. Younger son of Walter, the late Earl of Menteith, and uncle of the present young Earl, although he had fought well against the English, he had recently caught the eye of Edward and been appointed Sheriff of Dumbarton and Keeper of its great castle. It was as holder of that position that he was present at this council.

There was a diversion as an English herald threw open a door and announced the entry of the three advisers of His Majesty’s Lieutenant and Governor. These were old Bishop Wishart, Sir John de Moubray and Robert Bruce-now that John of Brittany was here in person, demoted from ruling triumvirate to special advisers. Those already assembled greeted them variously, nodding or scowling according to taste.

As the newcomers moved to take their seats near the head of the vast table, John Comyn of Badenoch spoke.

“Come, come, Menteith,” he called loudly.

“Give place. The Earl of Carrick, friend of Wallace, will not wish to sit beside the man who gave Wallace over to the English I Even though he is such good friend to King Edward also!”

Men drew quick breaths. Comyn was the more embittered since the

general surrender, and none expected his attitude to Bruce to mellow;

but this casting down of the gauntlet immediately on his enemy’s appearance was hardly anticipated. This was the first meeting of the newly-constituted Lieutenant’s Council.

As Bruce paused on his way to his chair, Menteith jumped to his feet, flushing hotly.

“My lord of Badenoch is again Sheriff of Moray,” he declared.

“Had the man Wallace been found and captured in his sheriff dom would he have done other than I did? As I had to do?”

“The question scarce arises, sir. Being a modest man, I would have seen to it that whoever gained the glory of taking this notable outlaw, it would not have been me! I would have conceived my duty to lie … elsewhere! At the time. Besides, my lord of Carrick would not wish to sit beside me, in any case. Nor I him!”

“My lords! My lords I” Robert Wishart’s frail voice quavered.

“Peace, I pray you.”

But Menteith, who had been simmering in frustrated silence for too long, was determined to exculpate himself, caring nothing for the quarrel between Bruce and Comyn.

“I did neither more nor less than my duty,” he cried.

“Ralph de Haliburton came to me at Dumbarton. Said that he believed Wallace to be hiding at Robroyston. He demanded that I apprehend him. Declared that he had been sent by King Edward, from England, for this very purpose. In the train of this Sir John dc Moubray.” And Menteith pointed a finger at Bruce’s and Wishart’s companion.

Moubray, a kinsman of Comyn’s, shrugged.

“Haliburton came north with my company, yes. From Westminster. I knew naught of the business. He had been a prisoner. Had fought bravely. One of the defenders of this castle of Stirling. When it fell, he was carried captive to England. He had gained his release—how I knew not-and joined my train, to return home. That is all I knew of him.”

“We know now, then, how he bought his release!” Crawford growled.

“The dastard!”

“But how did he know?” That was James the Steward, looking now but a shadow of his former self.

“Know where Wallace was? How to come to him. For years others have sought Wallace, and failed to find him. How did this man do it?”

“He had a brother in Wallace’s band. He is brother to Sir Henry de Haliburton,” Menteith told them.

“He must have made shift to find his brother. And so found Wallace. They would not suspect him, for those one hundred and twenty, at Stirling, had held all Edward’s might at bay for many months. Heroes. None Would doubt one of that company.

And you? You played this felon’s game, sir? And yielded up Wallace!”

Bruce said.

“What else could I do, my lord? You went seeking Wallace yourself one time, did you not? In duty, since you could do no other. Haliburton asked servants from me. To seek him. Then brought him to me, bound. As sheriff. How he laid hands on the man, I know not. But having him, I could not let him go. I had no choice but to hand him over to the King’s Lieutenant.”

“Some might have used their wits to find another course, man.”

“Is this Edward’s friend that speaks? Or Wallace’s?” Comyn asked, grinning wickedly.

“The Lieutenant’s adviser!”

Bruce sought to ignore him. He sat down, even though it was beside Menteith. Lamberton came to sit at his other side. But Comyn was not to be silenced thus.

“My lord says that some might better have used their wits, to get round Edward’s commands,” he went on.

“As, it may be, did Bruce himself when Edward asked for his siege-engines to aid batter down this Stirling!”