The Guardian (71 page)

I had heard what my employer said very clearly, for I remember the words, but I had not expected to hear it because, somewhere deep inside me, I had not really believed that Andrew Murray would be taken from us. I have no recollection of what was said or done for some time after that, because I was overwhelmed by the reality of what I had been told. The next thing I remember is taking a small horn cup from Canon Lamberton, who was standing over me, a thick leather bottle in his right hand.

“Drink it,” he said. “Throw it back. All of it.”

I did, and almost choked as the fiery liquor burned its way down my gullet. When it was safely down, he spoke again. “Is it going to
stay down?” I nodded, shuddering. “Good,” he said, and took the cup from my hand to fill it again and hand it back to me. “One more, then, and you’re done.”

A short time after that he sat down in front of me, where he placed one hand on my knee and leaned forward, peering intently into my eyes. “Listen to me now, Father James, because this is of great import, much as it grieves me to say it. There is no time now— we
have
no time now—to deal with the grief of Andrew’s passing, for the needs of the realm are such that our personal feelings will have to be set aside until the realm is safe. We need to turn all our attention to this matter of your cousin and what he will do next, for where William Wallace goes, this realm will surely follow. Do you hear what I am saying to you? Do you understand?”

I heard him. His word were annoying, like an insect buzzing around the edges of my vision when I was trying to concentrate, but they did penetrate my awareness and reminded me that I liked this man and that I knew he would not trifle with me. And so I emptied my mind of everything, including the numbness of the shapeless weight in the centre of it.

“I hear you,” I said. “I understand and I’m listening.”

“Good,” he said. He stood up and moved away. “Then come and sit by the fire with us. It’s cold and it’s late and we still have much to discuss.”

Still moving as though dazed, and not yet fully
compos mentis
, I sat down on the left of the fire, facing the bishop, while Canon Lamberton took the chair between us.

“What must we do, Your Grace?” I asked my employer.

He glanced at Lamberton. “I’ll let William answer ye,” he said, “for he’s thought the matter through, more thoroughly than I hae, and he’s the one best equipped to deal wi’ it. William?”

“Wallace is right,” Lamberton began. “And at the same time, he is as wrong as could be. Every single thing he told you, every point he made, every inference he drew from what he has heard and from what has happened, is essentially correct. But, to varying degrees, all of what he said is incorrect as well.

“But before we go any further, we need to understand, and to agree upon, what we are talking about—what’s right and what’s wrong and, most important of all, what we can and cannot do to change any or all of that. Because underlying everything we have to deal with here is the truth that we three here, whether we like it or not, will need to make decisions that will influence the welfare, and perhaps even the continuing existence, of this realm as we have known it.”

He leaned towards me and held my gaze so that I saw the shadows of the leaping flames against his right cheek. “Do you understand that, Father? Really understand it? Believe me, it is of crucial import that you do, that you understand precisely what your report of your cousin’s dilemma has provoked. You may think yourself a simple priest, with dreams of one day running a parish, but here and now, this night, circumstance has thrust you into a position of grave responsibility—the kind of responsibility that few men are ever sufficiently privileged or cursed to be called upon to exercise. This night, acting upon the information we alone possess, and predicated upon the possibilities of all that we know, guess at, and fear, you will determine, along with Bishop Wishart and myself and the guidance and assistance of God Himself, the future course of this realm of Scotland, in the hope of enabling it to survive the tribulations threatening it today.”

He leaned back into his chair. “Of course, you can refuse to be involved, but I believe you are here tonight because God sent you here with these tidings, for His own purposes. If you decide you have no wish to be involved, His Grace and I will go ahead and decide what must be done without you. It will be done, though. Failure to decide tonight could mean anarchy and civil war, at best. At worst, it will mean invasion, conquest, and the loss of everything that makes our land the sovereign realm it is, unlike any other in Christendom.”

“I understand all that,” I said, for his earnestness had made me pay close attention to every word he had said. “I accept the responsibility. Tell me what I need to know, and what I need to do.”

Lamberton glanced at the bishop, who wiggled his fingers, bidding him to proceed.

“The rights and wrongs,” the canon began, “of Wallace’s stance—”

“Stance?” I interrupted. “There is nothing wrong with his
stance
, Canon. His stance is heroic, the victor of Stirling Bridge. Will’s concern is for his future
status
. We are concerned with his opinions here, not his attitudes.”

“Forgive me,” he said quietly, nodding his head. “I misspoke and you are correct. So let us say, the rights and wrongs of his opinions about his future prospects. He has the love and the support of the commons. Wheresoever he leads them, they will follow. He fears to lead them to their deaths, though, and that I can understand. But they will stand solidly behind him when he asks them to. So let us accept that and move on.

“The Church. As you so aptly pointed out earlier, the assistance of the Church does not rank high among Wallace’s priorities. I understand that, because as a warrior and the commander of the armies of Scotland, his first concern must be for the replenishment of his ranks—replacing the men he lost at Stirling and raising levies of new fighters. Priests and monks, and even canons and bishops, will offer him little hope of sustenance in that endeavour. Eventually, though, once he finds his feet again and can see beyond the pressing needs of the moment, he will come to realize that Holy Mother Church is his strongest and most vigilant supporter. It always has been in the past, and I am quite sure Will has never doubted the truth of that—he has merely lost sight of it among all the other problems facing him. With the active support of the Church, though, he can spread the word of his need for fighting men throughout all Scotland, from the smallest kirks in the land to the great cathedrals, abbeys, and priories. He’s not the kind of man to neglect the power of the pulpit for any length of time.”

He stood up abruptly and went to the work table, where he bent to look at the documents lying there, passing his open palm over them as though expecting one of them to leap up into his grasp. He
quickly found what he was searching for. He came back to the fire and handed me a rolled scroll. It was a letter of some kind, unimpressive and lacking any elaborate seals.

“You wish me to read it?” I asked.

He smiled gently. “No, I can tell you what it says. It is from Robert Bruce, the Earl of Carrick.”

I glanced over at the bishop, but his lordship’s eyes were closed, the leaping flames now reflecting on his hawk-nosed face, though I doubted he was asleep. I looked back to Lamberton. “And why would you show me a letter from Lord Carrick? Is he still in Annandale?”

“No, he is back in Carrick, having dealt effectively, I understand, with Clifford’s raiders. I brought the letter to your attention because he will be here tomorrow. He is coming to consult with me on something that has nothing to do with any of what we are discussing.”

I felt a frown tugging at my brow. “And so? Forgive me, Canon, but how is this relevant?”

“It’s relevant because it bears directly upon the thing we must talk about next—Wallace’s greatest fear, that he will be scorned and shunned by the nobility. There is some truth in that perception. He is a commoner, after all, and the nobility are unaccustomed to regarding commoners as people with minds and opinions, let alone
gravitas
.” He hesitated. “As a vessel for holding a fluid idea, though, his opinion on that matter is as full of holes as a brazier basket. The magnates may not
like
having to deal with him, but they cannot simply shun him or shut him out, because he has the trust and support of the common folk, the source of the fighting men they all need. In addition to that, given that the Church itself will demand that everyone in the realm support Wallace actively, in his capacity as commander of the armies of Scotland, it will take an arrogant, defiant nobleman indeed to risk the Church’s displeasure. Besides, there are many among the nobility who will have no difficulty at all, despite Will’s fears, in working with a champion of his stature. You may start with Lord James, the High Steward, and throw in several of the earls and chiefs.” He shrugged. “I can’t name too many names
with absolute certainty at this point, but there are many magnates, including Gaelic mormaers, who will work with him, even if some of them do so reluctantly. The benefits they stand to gain are too large and too impressive to permit them to stand off on principle.”

“And what does any of that have to do with the Earl of Carrick in particular?”

“Nothing at all, on the face of things, though Bruce is one of the men I had in mind when I said there are some who will not hesitate to work with Will. But I’ve been thinking about Carrick—the earldom, I mean—from another direction altogether. Politically, rather than militarily.”

The bishop’s eyes were still closed.

“Politically,” I said slowly, thinking about the word and what it meant in this context. “Can you explain?”

“Of course.” He shrugged. “The earl is in a difficult position, I believe.”

“With regard to Will, you mean?”

“No, with regard to himself, to who he is and what he represents.” He hesitated, cocking his head. “Forgive me, Father, but I have to ask this and I have no wish to offend you. You do know what I mean by what I just said, do you not?”

“Of course I do—is there a man in Scotland who might not? If there is, he must be a newcomer, for the Great Cause left its mark on everyone who was here while it was being debated.” I stopped abruptly, on the point of adding something more, something that might have been considered treasonous in some circles, and Canon Lamberton eyed me strangely.

“Isn’t it fortunate,” he said, “that His Grace should have fallen so deeply asleep? He has had a long day and is obviously overtired.” I glanced towards my employer, utterly convinced in my own mind that he was as wide awake as I was.

“Aye, it is,” I said with a nod. “It will do him no harm to sleep a little, providing he is comfortable, which he appears to be.”

“I agree,” the canon said. “Forgive me, though, for interrupting you. You were about to say something further on the matter of the
Great Cause, I believe … something about the mark the debate made on everyone who was in Scotland at the time. It would please me greatly to hear more of what you really think of that, in the light of all that has occurred since then.”

There it was, an invitation to transgress. I caught my breath, yet barely hesitated before answering him honestly, in tribute to his openness and proven friendship.

“In the light of all that has occurred since then, Canon, I believe a man could present a valid argument in favour of the idea that the King of England acted in bad faith when he decided to uphold the Balliol claim over that of Bruce. What’s done is done, of course, and throughout all of Christendom the ruling of Edward’s court of auditors in settling the matter of the Scottish succession has now enshrined the precedence of primogeniture over the ancient Celtic laws of tanistry and royal descent through the female side. But I find myself wondering, nonetheless, how the personalities of the two claimants affected Edward Plantagenet’s perceptions of what lay at stake in his decision. He was the kingmaker—oh, I know his was an arm’s-length involvement and it was the auditors themselves who brought down their verdict.

“But truly, Canon, in the light, as you yourself said, of all that has occurred since then, is it not unlikely that this King, as strong willed and domineering as he always is, could remain aloof and
not
make some attempt to influence the minds and opinions of the auditors who looked to him constantly for favour and for guidance? And is it far-fetched to consider, knowing what we know now, that he might even then have had plans in mind to undermine and traduce the Scottish monarchy and subsume the realm of Scotland as he had previously done with the Principality of Wales? And if we nod our heads in agreement to even one of those thoughts, must it not then follow that the choice between the claims of Bruce and Balliol must have been, to Edward, one between black and white?

“In the black choice, he had Robert Bruce of Annandale to deal with, a man of seventy years of immaculate probity and iron will, who had never bowed the knee in servility to anyone throughout a
lifetime rich in valour, integrity, and flawless honour. The white alternative on the other hand, John Balliol of Galloway, was, and remains, essentially a weakling, a man desperate to please and to be liked, incapable of making a decision without consulting whoever might be around him at that moment, irrespective of their qualifications to advise him in such matters and regardless of what those matters might involve.”

I was well aware by then that I had said far more than I intended to say when I set out, but it was the truth, and hearing myself speak the words was exhilarating and liberating, no matter that I might be held to account later for saying them. But even as I was thinking that, I recognized a flaw in my own argument.

“Of course there are folk, even here in Scotland, who will tell you half the auditors were Scots, and that as Scots they could not, and would not, have been influenced to such a great extent by England’s King. And I agree, Edward had far less influence upon the Scots auditors than he had over their English counterparts. They might have been open minded and disposed to be friendly towards him, but they were all Scots and loyal to this realm, and he simply could not have bent them all collectively to his will. But he didn’t need to browbeat them, because he had help from
us
. The Church itself was working on Edward’s behalf, albeit unwittingly and in all innocence. That may horrify us today, years later, but it is a consideration in light of what we have since learned. At that time it had not yet occurred to anyone other than a few folk to doubt Edward’s goodwill, and few would ever have suspected that he might harbour designs upon the sovereignty of our realm. Bad faith on his part was simply unimaginable then. And we, the servants of our Holy Mother Church, had axes of our own to grind.” I paused, looking at him, and he quirked one eyebrow, waiting for me to continue.