Nigel Tranter - The Steps to the Empty Throne

“We shall talk of this later, my lord.” With curt dismissal, the King moved on.

Elizabeth looked unhappily at her husband, but could not refuse to obey the royal command, especially when the Queen’s hand was on her arm. Bruce was left standing alone.

And he remained alone. For now the watchful courtiers, practised in discerning favour and disfavour, perceived the difference of treatment as between man and wife, and shunned him. Even Gloucester, though he did not ignore him entirely, tended to keep his distance.

A programme of music, dancing, miming, tumbling and the like followed, during all of which the Scot remained isolated, separated from Elizabeth and avoided by almost all the company.

Too proud to approach those who looked away, Bruce fumed what seemed endless hours away in ill-suppressed rage. He could not take himself off, as he would have wished, and leave Elizabeth behind; moreover, Edward had cunningly said that they would talk more later—which was as good as a command to stay.

Once, while meats and drink were being brought in by a host of servants, Elizabeth did manage to slip away, temporarily, from the Queen’s side, for a word with her husband.

“I am sorry, my heart,” she murmured.

“This is hard to bear.

But … it is perhaps less ill than might have been. The King is teaching you one of his lessons.”

“And I must needs stand here and suffer it I Before all. Like a corrected child I I cannot come up to you, at the thrones, without being invited. I cannot leave. And all these know I am now frowned on, and frown in turn…”

“I grieve for you. But we did fear worse, Robert. After what you said and did at Stirling. At least this chastening hurts only your pride. And he cannot intend more dire punishment, or he would not act thus.

With the hour growing late…”

“With Edward, who can tell? The devil could be hatching greater evil!”

“Not at this hour. Not tonight. And the Queen grows very weary. The child is heavy in her. She will soon seek to retire.

Then we should see an end to this …”

The Queen’s weariness, however, took a long time to affect her husband’s enjoyment of the evening. And when Edward did finally rise, to escort her out, amidst genuflection from all present, he in fact led her down the opposite side of the room from Bruce’s position, and without a glance thitherward. The younger man did not know whether to be relieved or further infuriated—although Elizabeth, released and rejoining him, was in no doubts.

They were too soon in debating the issue. A court official came

hurrying back through the throng to the Bruces.

“My lord, His Majesty requires your attendance. At once. Follow me,” he said briefly.

Exchanging glances, they moved after him, though without haste.

The King was talking to Gloucester just outside in the vestibule, the Queen looking very pale and near to tears. He broke off.

“My lord,” he said, as the Bruces came up, unsmiling now, “I had intended to speak you further. On another matter of grave import. But Her Majesty is fatigued. The matter must keep. But not for long. You will attend on me, at my privy quarters in this house, tomorrow. At noon. You understand?”

“At noon. Yes, Sire. As you command.”

“Aye, as I command. And see you, my friend—come well versed in explanation! As to your … ambitions! You may have a queen for sister, Robert—but that is as near the royal estate as you’ will ever win I Noon, tomorrow. Come, my dear.”

Monarchy moved off.

Eyeing the Plantagenet’s massive back, Bruce murmured, set faced.

“So now we come to it! Tomorrow noon I will hear the real reason for my summons to London!”

Back at their lodging they were still discussing the King’s intentions, fearing that he might have heard some rumour of the bond with Comyn, when knocking sounded at the street door. Elizabeth’s alarm was immediate, and out of character; but Bruce pointed out that the knocking was discreet rather than peremptory.

He had lived long enough on the edge of danger to sense the difference.

One of his servants brought in a cloaked figure wearing no insignia, colours or livery. This man waited silent until the servit or had gone. Then, assuring himself that nobody listened outside the door, he brought out from beneath his cloak a pair of spurs. In the other hand he held out a silver shilling.

“From my lord of Gloucester,” he said quietly, cryptically.

Bruce looked from the man to Elizabeth.

“Aye,” he said heavily.

He took both the spurs and the coin.

The visitor reached out, wordless, and turned over the shilling, so that the likeness of King Edward’s head was uppermost.

Bruce nodded.

“I perceive the message,” he said.

“You will thank your lord. Here—take this.” He handed him back the silver coin.

“I thank you, my lord.” The man bowed briefly to the wide-eyed Elizabeth, and turned away.

“My friend,” Bruce said to his back, “I do not wish further to endanger you. But, as a citizen of this London, can you tell me if all the city gates are kept locked of a night?”

“All,” the other nodded.

“But I have heard it said that the watch will open any, if commanded in the King’s name.”

“I see. For this also I thank you.”

Without another word the visitor departed.

Two hours later the small Bruce party, of no more than a dozen men-at-arms and servitors, with Elizabeth muffled and cloaked to look like a youthful page, rode quietly through the narrow sleeping streets of the February night, to Eastgate. At the walls and gatehouse there Bruce reluctantly, and with a deal more confidence of voice than he felt, shouted authoritatively.

“Watch I Watch, I say I Waken, fools I Dolts-awake! Open, in the King’s name.”

There was some small delay, nerve-racking but inevitable. No argument, however, or enquiry. Bruce’s imperious second demand, with some realistic cursing, was followed by the rattle of chains and the creaking of the great double doors, as they swung wide.

The Scots clattered through the cobbled pend, and took the dark Essex road beyond, and heard the gates clang to behind.

A mile or so on, they turned due north, something under four hundred miles of hard riding before them. It was nearly 3 a.m.

They could probably reckon on a start of anything from five to nine hours. As well that Elizabeth was strong and an excellent horsewoman. It was a desperately tired and bedraggled company—though three short, two servants and a man-at-arms having fallen out-which, four days and three nights later avoiding Carlisle, crossed the Border near Kirkandrews. Whether they had been pursued they did not know. After fording the Esk, they came within a mile or so to the lesser Glenzier Water, which they must also cross before turning westwards through the low green hills for Annandale.

It was as they were approaching this second ford that they perceived two horsemen already splashing across, but from the other Section.

There was little for comment in this, perhaps—save that anyone taking

this route could only be making to cross the Border, and by the inconspicuous road that avoided the English garrison-town of Carlisle. But Bruce, however weary, may have been hypersensitive to certain colours. He reined up, pointing.

“Do my eyes deceive me, or are those men wearing the Comyn colours or blue and gold?” he demanded.

Elizabeth narrowed heavy, red-rimmed eyes.

“Yes,” she nodded.

“Blue and gold. Is it of any matter?”

“They are a long way from home, for Comyns. And heading south.”

“John Comyn has lands in Dumfrlesshire, has he not? And Galloway?”

“Yes. But these are riding away from them. For England. And avoiding Carlisle. As we have done. Why?” With a toss of his shoulders, he seemed to shake off his fatigue.