Insurrection (16 page)

It was Donald who now turned to his son-in-law, his voice rising over the others. ‘Be wary, John, of making such bold accusations without proof. Lord Alexander was troubled, naturally so, by the death of his last son. Even after he made the men of the realm swear fealty to Margaret he was absorbed by the prospect of finding a more suitable heir, hence his search for a bride. We cannot know what he may have promised, or to whom in his time of uncertainty.’

Robert felt Edward lean in close and whisper in his ear.

‘It seems the kings of Scotland promise many things.’

Robert guessed his brother was referring to the pledge made by Alexander’s father, when he named their grandfather heir presumptive. His eyes moved to the old lord, who looked deep in thought. Robert took a drink of beer from the cup he had been given by one of Sir Patrick’s servants. They had been ushered into the earl’s hall with the rest of the men on their return from Birgham. There hadn’t been enough room on the benches around the table, so the brothers had seated themselves on the dais. Robert had been waiting for his father to order them to leave, but the earl and the others seemed too occupied to notice their presence and so they had sat in silence, listening, as the men argued through the humid afternoon.

‘Whatever Lord Alexander promised, it doesn’t excuse the fact that Edward consulted the pope on the matter of this marriage behind our backs.’ John of Atholl’s voice was forceful. ‘It is yet another example of the King of England’s will to expand his borders. Do not forget what he did in Wales. The war there ended only seven years ago with the enslavement of its people and the death of Prince Llywelyn. Perhaps he means to do the same here, only with bonds of marriage rather than iron.’

‘You speak of things you know little about,’ the Earl of Carrick cut across him roughly.

Robert looked over at his father, who had served in Edward’s army during the king’s conquest of Wales. Robert had been eight when the earl had left with his men, only two of whom had come home. He recalled the change in his father on his return to Carrick: his sleeplessness, the way he drank more, his rough temper. The earl had been involved in some of the heaviest fighting of the campaign, one of many in the struggle that had been waged on and off for decades between the princes of Wales and the kings of England.

‘With respect, Sir Robert,’ continued John of Atholl, ‘I believe your loyal service to King Edward colours your opinion in this matter.’

The Earl of Carrick’s eyes narrowed. ‘I would hope my service to any man to whom I had paid homage would be loyal.’

‘Faithfulness as a vassal is one thing,’ responded John, raising his voice over James Stewart, who tried to enter the debate, ‘but your intimacy with the King of England is well known. You even named your second son after him.’ He gestured at Edward, sitting beside Robert on the dais. ‘It was only your third who was given the name Alexander.’

Robert glanced at his brother, who had sat up at the attention.

‘I didn’t realise there was a rule on naming one’s children,’ growled the earl.

‘This is getting us nowhere,’ said James Stewart, his voice taut. ‘John de Warenne and Bishop Bek are expecting our answer in two days. We need to make a decision.’

‘You do not speak for all the guardians, Lord Steward,’ cautioned Earl Donald of Mar. ‘Whatever decision we make here, it will need to be agreed upon by Comyn and the others.’

‘Let Bishop Wishart and I worry about that, Donald,’ replied James. ‘For now, let us cease our arguments in favour of a conclusion.’ He turned to the Lord of Annandale, who was bowed and silent. ‘You have been quiet, my friend. I would know your thoughts.’

Some of the others nodded.

Silence descended. John of Atholl shifted on his seat as the hush dragged on. Robert didn’t think his grandfather was going to answer.

Finally, the old lord raised his leonine head. ‘To my mind there are two questions that must be answered before a conclusion can be reached. The first is what do we stand to gain by accepting the proposal? The second is what might we lose by rejecting it? The second question can be fairly surmised in terms of what most of us have been granted by King Edward. There are few among us here who do not own lands in England. My family has benefited greatly from the patronage of its kings over the years. I think it likely these gifts would be withdrawn if we reject the marriage. I have always been on good terms with King Edward, but I know well he can be swift to punish.’

Robert’s father was nodding in unusual agreement with the lord. His hard face was bullish as he scanned the others, defying any of them to argue. No one did.

‘But there is something that worries me even more than the loss of my own fortune,’ continued the lord, after a pause. ‘And that is the cost to our realm. Margaret is young. She has lived her short years in a foreign court and she will be the first woman ever to be seated upon the Stone of Destiny. She will require a regent or council to rule in her name for many years. I remember well when Alexander took the throne at the age of eight. I was witness to the power-mongering of the Comyns and their aggressive attempts to control him, even seizing him against his will and holding him captive. Alexander spent his youth as a pawn, used and fought over. It was only when he became a man that he was able to assert his will over those who sought to dominate him. Margaret will never be able to do this. It will only be through marriage that her position will be secured. One day, God willing, she will bear a son and through him our strength will return.’

‘Then let her marry a Scot,’ said John of Atholl. ‘If Margaret marries Edward’s son he will become king by right of her and our kingdom will lose its liberties. When Edward of Caernarfon takes the throne from his father Scotland will become just another limb on the swelling body of England, with him as its head. Sir James,’ petitioned John, turning to the steward, ‘do you want your great office taken over by an Englishman? And you, your grace’ – he motioned to Wishart, who was frowning – ‘do you want the Scottish Church to be subject to the sees of  York and Canterbury? And what of the rest of you? Do you want to be taxed to the point of starvation like the Welsh?’

‘I understand your fear, John,’ said the Lord of Annandale, catching the younger man’s impassioned gaze with his forceful stare. ‘But this isn’t comparable with what happened in Wales. The English are here to negotiate, not to make war. We can decide what terms the marriage will be subject to.’ The old Bruce sat forward. Planting his large hands on the table, he surveyed the rest of them. ‘We can determine our future.’

John Comyn rode into the camp as the sun was setting behind a towering bank of purple clouds. A westerly wind had picked up through the afternoon and the tents in the clearing were flapping wildly against their pegs and ropes. The great trees of Selkirk Forest swayed all around, their ancient branches creaking. A storm was coming.

Leaving his squires to tend to his horse, the Lord of Badenoch strode through the windswept dusk towards the largest tent, sprays of pine cones crunching under his boots. Sweeping aside the flaps, he entered.

John Balliol rose quickly from the low, fur-draped couch he’d been perched on the edge of. As he studied Comyn, his expression shifted. ‘Leave me,’ he told his pages. Before the servants had exited the tent, Balliol was crossing to Comyn. ‘They did it, didn’t they? I can see it in your face.’ Even as he said it, hope rose in his tone, as if he might have read his brother-in-law wrong.

Comyn dashed it with a nod. ‘I was outvoted.’

Balliol slumped on the couch.

Comyn spoke on. ‘The others met with the English this afternoon to give their consent to the marriage.’

Balliol looked up numbly. ‘I cannot believe the Lord of Annandale would agree to this.’

‘Why not? This way he gets what he has petitioned for all along – the Maid of Norway will take the throne, as was Alexander’s intention.’

‘But by this marriage the Bruce and the others have signed away our sovereignty!’

‘The guardians have agreed the marriage only if strict terms are met.’ Comyn intoned the terms flatly. ‘The liberties and customs of Scotland are to be maintained. Royal offices are to be held only by Scotsmen. Taxes shall be levied for the requirements of our kingdom alone. No Scot shall find himself subject to law beyond our borders and no other parliament shall deal with our affairs. Our kingdoms, although joined in marriage, will remain independent, ruled separately by queen and by king.’ When Comyn finished, silence descended, broken only by the wind beating against the tent’s sides.

‘I have been sitting here for many hours fearing the worst,’ Balliol said finally. ‘But one glimmer of hope has shone upon me in that time.’ He rose. ‘Let us go to my father-in-law. Let us petition Sir John de Warenne to speak to King Edward, have the earl try to turn the king from this proposal.’

‘Did you not see the papal Bull Bishop Bek produced? It was dated four years ago. Edward has been planning this since he learned of Alexander’s death. Nothing will turn him from this course.’

Anger flared in Balliol. ‘That is it?’ he demanded, meeting his brother-in-law’s dark eyes. ‘You will not even try?’

‘There is no use. These things are set in motion.’

Balliol took a step towards him, his hands reaching out as if to clutch around Comyn’s throat. ‘I gave up everything for this chance! A chance you persuaded me to take! In doing so I left myself open to attack by my enemies and marred my good name among the nobles of this kingdom. My mother went to her grave after the attack on Buittle. I am certain she would have lived longer had it not transpired. Now you expect me to retire to a life of – of –’ Balliol wheeled away, groping for the words, then turned and spat them at Comyn. ‘Of
obscurity
! Neither a king nor a respected lord at court.’ His pockmarked cheeks were stained a feverish red. ‘Well, you can be sure,
brother
, that whatever terms the guardians have agreed upon with the English, your family’s long tenure behind the throne is at an end.’ His face clenched in on itself, filling with rancour. ‘I might be ruined, but I shall not be alone in the darkness, for I share my downfall with the mighty Comyns!’

Comyn maintained his cool in the face of Balliol’s fury. ‘I do not believe either of our families has to be ruined.’

‘What could you possibly do to ensure that?’ seethed Balliol. ‘What? Will you seize the young queen as your family once did Alexander? Ransom her until your terms are met?’ He shook his head. ‘That abduction did not go well for the Red Comyns in the end. The Bruce saw to that. I doubt you will get the chance to take such action now.’

‘If a fight for the throne began tomorrow our position would be different than it was four years ago. Our strongholds have been returned to us and greatly strengthened. I have not been idle in the interregnum and neither have the Black Comyns nor the Comyns of Kilbride. All of us have been making alliances, fortifying our positions and our territories.’

Balliol let out a frustrated sound. ‘Why are you still speaking of fighting? The maid sets sail for Scotland to be betrothed to the heir of England. It is over, I tell you!’

Comyn glanced round as the tent flaps snapped and billowed. He could hear the sounds of the camp outside. Turning back, he met Balliol’s gaze. ‘Not if the girl never reaches our shore.’

Balliol went to speak, to blast Comyn with more of his wrath. He stopped, his face changing as what had just been said unfurled with sharp clarity in mind. ‘I hope,’ he murmured, ‘that you do not mean what I think.’

‘It is the only way this kingdom will survive, no matter what the guardians say, no matter what terms they impose on this marriage. Edward of Caernarfon is six years old, by God! He will have nothing to do with the rule of this realm for years to come and by the time he does his father will have tied us in legal knots so tight we will never cut ourselves free. Make no mistake, King Edward plans to take control of Scotland through his son.’ Comyn’s expression was grim. ‘It is what I would do.’

Balliol went to him. ‘You are speaking of infanticide, no –
regicide
! I will have no part in such evil.’

‘Is it evil to safeguard our kingdom and its liberties? For that is what I am doing here. The girl will be a casualty of war. A necessary sacrifice. One life for the future of our realm. It is a small price to pay.’

‘Small price? Is that what it costs to enter hell?’

‘The guardians have arranged for an escort of Scottish knights to sail to Norway and travel back with the child. I can make sure one of our men goes in that escort.’

‘Listen to your madness!’ Balliol pushed past Comyn, heading for the tent flaps.

‘No, you listen, John,’ said Comyn, his voice turning to iron at Balliol’s back. ‘If that child sets foot on Scotland’s shore, you will never sit on the Stone of Destiny. Tell me, are you willing to give up your only chance of becoming king?’

Balliol gripped the tent flaps, his head bowed between his outstretched arms, silhouetted in the ruddy glow of the campfires.

14

The longship carved a course through the deep, its dragon-head rearing over the waves, forty oars rising and falling along its sides like wings. The late afternoon sun picked out the gilt in the beast’s painted scales, the gold reflected in the surface of the water in a rippling mirror image that flew beneath them as they ploughed westward through the North Sea.