Jack Whyte - Order in Chaos

Will, for his part, was highly conscious of Jessie’s presence by his side, and of the still not-quite-accepted reality that she was now his spouse and consort, their marriage sanctified by the rites of the Church earlier that afternoon. He cupped his free hand more firmly over hers as they made their way to the door, and people parted to let them pass, many eyeing them with open curiosity. Will knew none of them, but he knew much of their curiosity must spring from the fact that they knew nothing of him, save that he had emerged somehow from obscurity as an established friend of King Robert, highly enough regarded by the monarch to have been wed in Stirling Castle, with the King himself in attendance to witness the event and share the celebrations.

Will and Jessie paused just inside the doors, scanning the vast, crowded room. An open aisle, roped on each side, stretched from where they stood to the far end of the hall, where it ended in a shallow flight of steps leading to a broad platform. Above their heads, the high, vaulted roof of soaring, hammered beams was barely visible, shrouded in darkness and flickering, hazy shadows reflected upwards into the drifting smoke clouds by the lights below. But it was the distant platform that captured their attention, for there, above the crowd, stood Robert I, by God’s grace King of Scots, surrounded by, but distinct from, the small group of people attending him, and backed by a line of attentive heralds trumpeter.

Until that afternoon, when the King had attended his wedding, Will had not seen the man since the Bannock Burn fight, and even then, with a thousand details to attend to in the aftermath of his miraculous victory, the King had had time only for a firm handclasp, a smile of recognition, and a word or two of gratitude accompanied by a promise of meeting and talking later, at more leisure. Since then, four months and more had elapsed, and this great gathering here in Stirling, the first purely joyous event of the King’s reign, was a landmark celebration to recognize the return of his Queen, Elizabeth, recently freed from the English prison in which she had been confined for eight years. Jessie had told him that the Queen had survived those years intact and unharmed solely because of who she was: her husband might have been a traitorous and rebellious dog in the eyes of her merciless captor, Edward Plantagenet, and that alone might have condemned her as it had Bruce’s brothers, but her own father was Richard de Burgh, the Earl of Ulster, one of England’s greatest nobles and King Edward’s oldest and most loyal friend. Now Queen Elizabeth stood beside and slightly behind her husband, a tall and stately red-haired vision of regal dignity herself, dressed in a dark green gown that glittered, even from where Will stood, with gold wire and pearls.

The Primate of Scotland, Archbishop Lamberton of St. Andrews, stood on Bruce’s left, and beside him ranged another cluster of well-known faces, among them David Moray and Angus Og MacDonald. Will scanned the crowded platform for Douglas, but neither he nor Sir Thomas Randolph was there.

Will hesitated, then grasped Jessie’s fingers more tightly and began to make his way down the long aisle to the far end, but even as he started to move he saw the King look at him and raise a straight arm, fingers spread, to stop him.

Will halted in mid-step, almost off balance, and felt his own confusion matched in the sudden increased pressure of Jessie’s grip on his arm as she stopped, too, beside him. Was the sudden frown on the King’s face for them? He glanced quickly at her and found her looking back at him the same way, her brows wrinkling, and then both of them looked back towards the distant dais, where a flurry of movement had disrupted the group about the King. Two men had come forward, holding the King’s tabard between them, the massive, ritualistic, and ornately rigid vestment that was the armorial symbol of the royal rank and presence.

Will could see that few of the revelers thronging the floor had even noticed as King Robert spread his arms and shrugged into the imposing tabard, with its crimson, gold-encrusted lion rampant on a field of purest yellow, embroidered so thickly, and in so many varying shades and hues of colored wire, that it seemed made entirely of metal. But they all took note, freezing into silence, when the royal heralds lining the rear wall stepped forward, raised their trumpets in unison, and blasted out the opening notes of a strident, brazen fanfare.

By the time the final tones died away and the heralds stepped smartly back to line the wall again, the stillness in the great hall was absolute, and every eye was trained upon the phalanx on the royal platform, where King Robert, in his formal surcoat, stood holding the hand of his Queen, gazing down at the assembled crowd and backed by a wedge of the most powerful magnates of his realm. He raised his right hand, holding his Queen’s hand high.

“My friends,” he began, filling the hall with his deep, sonorous voice, “hear me, and mark my words. Tonight is a joyous occasion for our realm, the first unthreatened celebration we have ever known since the moment I took up the reins of this sad land and set myself to ousting England from our bourns. But tonight, tonight our country is no longer sad … for we are free !” The crowd roared.

Bruce raised his hand again. “And we are here this day, this night, in peace and in unity, to give our thanks to God and to each other for the strength that we have found, the strength we have used so puissantly , to cleanse our land of the filth of invasion and foreign occupation.”

Someone whistled loudly and started to applaud, but it was evident that the King had not finished and the sound died away quickly.

“That strength, the massed determination of the community of Scotland represented by all of you here, nobles, churchmen, burghers, and commonality combined, has made this gathering, this celebration, possible. Our Queen stands here tonight, gracing our festivities by God’s grace, as does my beloved daughter Marjory, imprisoned in an English convent these long years for her father’s sins. And here are our greatly revered bishops, of St. Andrews and Glasgow, tried and loyal friends so newly released from England’s prisons.”

This time he made no attempt to stem the applause and approbation, and the Queen, Archbishop Lamberton, and several whose faces were unknown to Will acknowledged the plaudits, smiling and waving into the heart of the crowd. But as soon as the sustained roar began to lessen, the monarch raised both arms high, silencing them again, then spoke in a more measured, less formal tone.

“But there is something more to celebrate this night, an occasion already begun, but yet to be completed. Some of you already know we had a wedding here today. A bridal service months in the planning but meant to be held far from here, until I asked both celebrants, as close and trusted friends—which means, you all must know, close and trusted friends of this realm of Scotland—to delay their nuptials and join us here in Stirling for the happy and long-awaited occasion of their joining.”

Will felt Jessie’s hand tighten on his arm again. Their wedding earlier that day had been small and private, officiated by Archbishop Lamberton himself, assisted by Bishop William Sinclair of Dunkeld and the colorful Bishop David Moray, dressed for once in the episcopal robes of his office. But apart from the glittering assembly of celebrants, the service had been attended only by the bridal pair’s closest kin and by the royal party, King Robert and Queen Elizabeth, and their most intimate friends and advisers, among them Sir James Douglas and Sir Thomas Randolph, the august Master Nicholas Balmyle, and Angus Og MacDonald, Lord of the Isles. He squeezed her hand back, feeling relief uncoiling in him as he began to discern the King’s reason for stopping their approach when he had. Now he could see the people ahead of him beginning to look around at their neighbors, wondering what the King was talking about and who might possibly be involved. None turned to look at the far rear of the room.