Jack Whyte - Order in Chaos

“It must seem strange to you, I’ll grant you, coming from France where all is civilized. But the truth is simple. Every man in Scotland knows the Bruce by name and by repute. But when they think of him they see the former Earl of Carrick in their minds, and the Earl was much the … what’s the word? the prodigal, in his youth. Aye, that’s it. He was known for it, his prodigality—the newest, brightest fashions in clothes and armor, the finest horses, the loveliest ladies, and of course, the smiling, sparkling wit. He spent money lavishly. Although his father, the Lord of Annandale, never gave him much to spend, he was Edward Plantagenet’s favorite when the Earl was yet a youngster. Most thought him a wastrel and a waste of time, seeing nothing in him beyond his youth, his wantonness and seeming irresponsibility. Mind you, that was before my time, for I was but a child when the Earl of Carrick was at his brilliant best, or worst … But that was the portrait he presented, before King Edward taught him to hate the leash.”

“Hate the leash?”

“Aye, the ties that bound him to the Plantagenet’s will. When Edward’s plans to annex Scotland to his realm failed to work out to his satisfaction, he sought to make the Earl of Carrick his whipping boy.”

“How so?”

“By requiring him to perform acts and deeds that seemed to mark him as Edward’s lackey—and therefore England’s. He made life barely tolerable for the Earl.”

“What manner of acts and deeds? Though you were a boy at the time, you must have heard examples of such things.”

“Heard of such things? I witnessed one of them: the Earl of Carrick’s first rebellion. My father, as I told you, was a rebel, one of the more contentious souls with whom Edward had to contend. He was involved in an uprising and outlawed by Edward, ten years ago. I was twelve at the time. Edward sent English troops to burn our castle and take my mother and me captive, but my mother barred the gates against them and refused to surrender. The Earl of Carrick was there, as part of the English force, but purely for the sake of appearances. He held the highest rank there but had no authority and was accorded no respect—a mere figurehead, a Scottish lordling dispatched to give the English raiding force a semblance of legitimacy. The English commander, whose name has long escaped me, brought up some children, one of them a friend of mine, and threatened to hang them then and there, in front of my mother’s eyes, believing her to be too weak to withstand such horror.”

Will had to prompt him. “And was she?”

Douglas chuckled. “We never did find out. The Earl of Carrick defied the English commander and drove him and his men away. Then he released the three children and begged my mother’s pardon. And thereafter he led us to my father in the north and joined in the rebellion, declaring himself a Scot and vowing to stand or fall with his own people. That was the first solid step along the course that led the Bruce to Scone and the Scots Crown.” He smiled. “It also marked the first step of my pursuit of knighthood, for the man that I saw that day became my ideal of honor and of chivalry. I wanted to be like Robert Bruce, the Earl of Carrick.”

He paused, and then held up his hands. “Which brings me around, full-circle. That is the man—the armored knight, the fighting King—whose portrait people still envision when they think of Robert Bruce. The man you see sitting over there among them now, unrecognized, is the man he has become—a Highland cateran, hardened to living like an Erse clansman on the open heath in all kinds of weather, sleeping in caves wrapped in a wet and dirty plaid and often afraid to make a fire lest the smoke betray him, snaring hares or guddling fish to eat, begging bread from cottagers and paying for it when he can, and sleeping with a dirk in his hand each night. No armor, no spurs, no sword, no knightly robes. And there’s another thing that comes between him and being recognized … the beard. King Robert Bruce goes everywhere clean shaven. Everyone knows that. But for the past year, he has not had the time or opportunity to shave. Thus, when he decided to come back down here to Arran, he trimmed his beard but kept it. The King of Scots now lives among his Scots as no other ever has, and when he speaks with them, they do not know him.”

“Hmm.” Will Sinclair shook his head. “Strange how events occur … Edward of England had no plans to annex Scotland when I was a lad. What happened?”

“Who knows? Things changed. Some people think it was the success of his campaign in Wales that did it. He defeated Llewellyn, subjugated the Welsh, and even made his son Prince of Wales to mark his conquest. Ten years it took him to defeat the Welsh, but he increased his kingdom hugely. Thereafter, some men think, he turned his mind to Scotland, seeking to unite the entire island of Britain under his Crown … but he underestimated the temper of the Scots.”

De Berenger spoke for the first time since the discussion had begun. “But all the Scots nobles are Norman French, are they not? They all owed him fealty and, from what Sir William has told me, they tendered it. Was that not enough? What need had he of conquering them?”

“No, not so, Admiral. Not all Scots nobles are Norman French. The great earldoms of Scotland descend from the Celtic kingdoms, the Erse-speaking clans who lived here ere the Normans came. And besides, how long must a family live in a land before they can belong to it? The Bruce family has been here since the days of William the Conqueror. Sir William’s own family were once St. Clair, but they have been Sinclairs for many a year now. I would suggest that when your great-grandsires and dames were born and bred in Scotland, then you yourself might think yourself a Scot.”

There was disturbance in the body of the hall, and Will looked over to see tables being drawn aside. Then two men stepped out from the ruck, eyeing each other inimically and stripping off their clothing, preparing to fight. Bets were being laid and sides taken, and amid all the pushing and shoving, Robert Bruce was grinning, his teeth gleaming through the short beard that masked his face.

“Look at the King,” de Berenger murmured. “He is loving every moment of this.”

“Aye, of course he is. His tastes have changed this past year.”

“You told me the King was campaigning in the northeast.”

“And I did not lie. His presence here will be brief, but necessary.”

“Why is he here?” Will asked.

“To discuss strategy.” Douglas grinned. “On what, you will have to wait to find out. But I have the feeling that you are going to become involved in it … to some extent. I heard King Robert mention quid pro quo , but it is not for me to guess at what he meant by it. You will just have to wait until he raises the matter.”

De Berenger stood up. “Talking of raising matters, I ought to go and check that my men are behaving themselves. I gave word that there was to be no drink served to them beyond one cup of wine with their meal. Now I should see to it that all is well and make sure they are ready to go back aboard, if we are to sail with the night tide. Pardon me.”

Will held up a hand. “Before you go, Edward—something else has just occurred to me. When you bring back the fleet, you will take them into Lamlash Bay.” De Berenger nodded. “I will still be here, there is no road between here and Lamlash. So when you reach Lamlash, I want you to leave the fleet at anchor there, with strict instructions that no one is to go ashore without my personal order. You will then come directly here to pick me up. I will be waiting for you. Is that clear?”

“Completely, Sir William. It shall be as you say. Pardon me again, gentlemen.” He bowed from the waist to Douglas, including Will in the salute with a wave of one hand.