Nigel Tranter - The Steps to the Empty Throne

“Not mine. His own siege-engines,” Bruce gave back.

“Left in my castles of Lochmaben and Turnberry.”

“But he thanked you for them, nevertheless. Most graciously, if I mind aright!”

“Aye. And for the same reason that you speak of the matter now! For the further dividing of this realm against itself! Let us have no doubts as to that, my lords. While blame is being laid.”

There was a murmur or agreement from not a few of those present.

Lamberton spoke up.

“My lord of Carrick has the rights of it. This endless fighting amongst ourselves but aids our English masters. We are here for Scotland’s good, not its ill. Soon this Richmond will come. A stiff and difficult man, but honest, I think. Something lacking in wits, himself, it may be—but with cunning hard minions, as we have reason to know. De Bevercotes and de Sandale are men who will guide him towards harshness, to the hurt of this realm. It must be our task to counter them, to move this nephew of Edward to gentler, better rule. It will demand all our wits. All our wisdom and patience.”

The Steward, and one or two others, applauded.

“What will they be wanting from us?” the Earl of Atholl asked.

“What will be the main business they put before us?”

”We understand it to be the carrying out of certain provision, passed

by the Westminster parliament,” Bruce answered.

“Certain have already been implemented. Others have not. These others, it seems, are difficult. Grievous it may be. It seems that the English require our assistance in carrying them forward. Whether we can give it remains to be decided. But some here may tell us more. Before the English come. As you know we were required to send ten Commissioners to the Westminster parliament. Under the new constitution. Four of them are here present. If they would inform us further …”

He was interrupted by a stamping, clanking bodyguard of English men-at-arms, and the herald announcing, in noticeably more deferential tones, the arrival of the most noble and puissant Earl of Richmond, Lieutenant of Scotland of the high and mighty King Edward of England, whom God preserve. All men to stand.

Most of the Scots made but a poor business of getting to their feet, some barely raising their posteriors from their seats.

John of Brittany paced slowly in, flanked by two richly-dressed older men, and followed by a cohort of clerks and officers. For a man only a year or two senior to Bruce himself, Richmond seemed almost elderly. Tall, thin, sombre-featured, prematurely grey, he gave a notable impression of years, gloom, disillusionment, and possibly indigestion, with little of the Plantagenet about him. With his stiff gait, balding head and downturned mouth, he seemed as unlikely a ruler of turbulent Scotland as nephew of Edward Longshanks.

His two companions redressed the balance somewhat. Both had the hard-bitten look of experienced administrators, self-made and ruthless, although one was a plump cleric and the other a square, stocky soldier. Master William de Bevercotes was Edward’s Chancellor in Scotland, and Sir John de Sandale, Chamberlain.

When these three had seated themselves, amidst much fussing of clerks and arranging of papers, Richmond looked gravely, heavily, down the ranks of his Scots councillors, scrutinising each face and seeming almost to count them as he did so. It was a slow process, and the Breton evidently in no hurry. At last he broke the uncomfortable silence.

“Seventeen,” he said, almost querulously.

“Seventeen. I named twenty-two for my Council.”

Comyn snorted eloquently, others coughed, and Lamberton spoke.

“Yes my lord Lieutenant. All were apprised. The Earl of Dunand’ March is still with King Edward in London. The Bishop of Moray is indisposed. The young Earl of Menteith is represented his uncle, Sir John Stewart of Menteith. As to the others, I know not.

Richmond took his time to digest that. Almost he chewed on underhung jaw working—and did not look as though he liked the taste.

“Fullest attendance is required,” Master Bevercotes said, thinly for such a well-fleshed man.

“Obligatory.”

The Scots looked at each other. Bruce spoke, evenly.

“My lord, you have here seventeen of the greatest lords in Scotland, spiritual and temporal. Enough, surely, to advise you?”

The Lieutenant eyed him thoughtfully, but did not commit himself. Then he seemed to begin a recount, just to make sure.

John Comyn was not the man to accept much of this treatment.

“I have come a long and hard road to attend this Council,” he said.

“I move to business.”

De Sandale rapped out an oath.

“Insolent!” he said.

“Sir!”

“My lord Lieutenant,” Lamberton intervened hurriedly.

“We are very ready to lend such aid and counsel as you may require.

All here are men of weight and responsibility. Four indeed have been Guardians of this realm …”

“This former realm!” Richmond corrected. He could think and speak quickly enough when he so desired, apparently.

None commented on his amendment.

“Do you desire me to proceed, my lord?” the Chancellor asked.

That required consideration also. At length, Richmond answered.

“First to the matter of Wallace.”

“Yes, my lord. Exactly, my lord.” Bevercotes beamed approval.

“The man Wallace, by all means.” He shuffled his papers.

“My lord Lieutenant has word this day. From His Majesty in London.

The man Wallace is dead.”

Consternation greeted his statement.

“Taken, examined, tried, condemned and executed. For treason. On … where is it? Yes-on the 23rd day of the month of October. Ten days past this day.”

“Treason …!” Bruce got out.

“Treason against whom?”

“Treason, sir, against his liege lord. And yours I King Edward of this realm.”

”But…” A jolt to his knee beneath the table, from Lamberton, gave

Bruce pause.

“May we hear more of this trial? If your lordship pleases,” the Primate said.

Richmond nodded, and the Chancellor read from his paper.

“The prisoner Wallace, after being lodged within the house of one William dc Leyre, alderman, in Fenchurch Street, was brought by the mayor, aldermen and magistrates of the said city of London, to trial at Westminster Hall. By order of His Majesty.

Before the King’s Justice, Sir Peter Mallorie. The outlaw Wallace was thereupon impeached as traitor to the King’s royal person and authority, in that he did notoriously and shamefully slay the King’s lieges, burn his abbeys, towns and villages, storm his castles, imprudently call parliaments in that part of the King’s realm called Scotland, and set at naught the royal commands. In especial that he did slay and murder the duly appointed Sheriff of Lanark and many other officers, in particular at the King’s castle of Ayr. After burning many to the death …”

“That was war, not treason!” Bruce protested.

“The two realms were in a state of war. How could it be treason?”

“My lord of Carrick—may I remind you of my presence!”

Richmond said sternly.

“The prisoner admitted all,” the Chancellor read on.

“He but made claim that since he had not sworn fealty to the King’s name and person, he was no subject of King Edward, and so his acts were not treasonable. Justice Mallorie made observation that if only those who had sworn the oath of fealty could be guilty of treason, then most of the King’s subjects could turn traitor with impunity …”

“My lord,” Bishop Wishart broke in, frail voice cracking.

“Does King Edward distinguish nothing between his English subjects and the Scots?”

“Nothing, my lord of Glasgow. As you should know right well. Scotland is part of the realm of England, and its people subjects of His Majesty.”