The Renegade: A Tale of Robert the Bruce (59 page)

His point made, and plainly uncaring of what his audience thought of its validity, Edward moved on to question the three new arrivals, quizzing them minutely on their observations of the life around them in the aftermath of the Pope’s decree and ending with the very question Annandale had anticipated, the matter of the stiffening of resolve among the Scottish people to withstand what they perceived to be English interference in the realm’s affairs. He did not phrase his question quite that baldly, but it was not an easy one to disguise. His guests expressed the common view with which each was familiar in his own region, the northeast, the southwest, and the border lands respectively, that the populace would gladly stand united behind their King were that King seen to be willing and able to assert himself sufficiently to justify their faith. Bruce observed
that none of the three committed himself to any local judgment that might conceivably affect his own people or their lands, and he was convinced that Edward, too, had been aware of it.

From there, Edward switched to an unexpected topic.

“I’m told on good authority that there’s a move afoot to constitute some kind of council of Guardians to keep a close eye on King John’s behaviour—those same Guardians, incidentally, who now find themselves papally relieved of the responsibility to adhere to the oaths they formerly swore to me. Can any of you enlighten me on that?”

He eyed each man in turn, observing their discomfiture. Bruce’s own surprise was short lived, for his grandfather had always been fond of quoting the old adage that a secret shared is a secret no longer. Two, at least, of the three visiting Scots had spoken about the proposed council. Besides, the arrangements would all have been handled by clerics, and Edward’s priests and bishops were forever moving in and out of Scotland, servicing the spiritual needs of the English soldiers garrisoning the Scottish royal castles, making it inconceivable that news of such potential magnitude should have failed to reach the King’s ears.

Edward’s eyes had finally settled on Earl Domhnall, and the old man shifted in his chair. “I’ve heard some talk of it,” he admitted. “But nothing I could swear to with authority … Though I can say that nothing has come of it, as far as I’m aware.”

“Nothing yet. But there has been talk of it,” Edward prompted. “Among your peers, at least?”

“Aye, sir, there has. But there are peers and peers. I am known as being a follower of Bruce’s interests, and this matter of the council, should it ever come to pass, has been a Comyn notion. That fact alone would keep me uninformed, officially, if only to be sure I could make no report of it to my lord of Annandale. The little I know has come from others like myself, outsiders known to be Bruce adherents.”

“A Comyn matter, you say … What about the Church? The information brought to me described the idea as a Church-inspired notion.”

Domhnall shrugged. “The two are not exclusive, my lord King. Bishop Fraser of St. Andrews is a Comyn, as are several other Scots bishops.”

“Hmm. Where is Bishop Fraser, by the way? No one has seen or heard of him in many months.”

The question seemed to vibrate in the air as Domhnall of Mar blinked. “Where
is
he? Sir, I have no idea. I pay but scant attention to the affairs of bishops at the best of times, and St. Andrews seat is far removed from my lands.”

Bruce was aware that Sir James Jardine was studying his fingernails as though they held some great significance to him, but his preoccupation appeared to go unnoticed by the King as Edward looked at the elder Bruce. “And you, my lord of Annandale, were you aware of this matter of a new council?”

Lord Bruce shook his head gently, lying effortlessly. “No, my liege, I was not.” His voice tailed upward on the last word.

“You have a reservation in your voice. What else are you thinking?”

Lord Bruce inhaled deeply. “It came to me, my liege, that even were such a council being formed, it could only be for the good of the Scots realm—as the magnates perceive that good, of course.”

Edward’s eyes narrowed and he plucked at the hairs on his upper lip. “I think you should enlarge upon that thought, Lord Bruce,” he growled. “Are you bidding me look to my own affairs?”

“God forbid, my liege. I would not presume that far. I was but thinking of the skeins of conflicting loyalties that can torment the Scots folk.”

“Go on.” Edward hitched himself sideways in his chair to rest an elbow on the arm and cover the lower part of his face with an open hand. Bruce sat holding his breath, acutely aware that his father was treading dangerous ground.

Lord Annandale tilted his head slightly to one side. “I believe, my liege, that the issue of the two realms is obscured by the ordinary man’s misunderstanding of your status as lord paramount.”

“What is there to misunderstand? The name explains itself.”

Bruce could not tell whether Edward had been angered by his father’s observation, but Lord Bruce merely shrugged. “It does to men like us, my liege, but the common man has no regard for subtleties of the kind with which we must contend. If I may be so bold, sire, they see them but in terms of black and white.”

Bruce did not fail to note the King’s flicker of an eye at hearing his father’s use of the word
sire
. The monarch then flicked his fingers impatiently.

“Go on, man, I’m listening. What are you saying? What of this black and whiteness to this common man? I’m supposing that you speak of the Scots?”

“Yes, my liege, of course, although the Scots are not alone in believing no man may serve two masters. Not that I am saying that need bother them,” he added hastily, “since it is patently untrue in the present case. John Balliol is King of Scotland, duly demonstrated by your own court to be the true heir. His is the realm. But I am speaking of
appearances
and of confusion caused by lack of understanding that these
are
merely appearances. Your overlordship is well understood by every man in Scotland who holds lands in your own realm under your goodwill. They openly acknowledge that your rights therein, pertaining to those privileges, are sacrosanct. And upon those terms you have their loyalty as feudal overlord, from the King’s grace himself down to the meanest landholder with small estates among your English possessions. All are beholden to you for the privilege entailed.” He paused, collecting his thoughts.

“Not all men see it thus, though, and that is what I wished to bring to your attention. Few Scots below the rank of baron, earl, or bishop hold any English possessions, and while that might go without being said, I speak of it because it bears upon what I said about a man serving two masters. Those other, lesser men, lacking a place in England, also lack, perforce, any understanding of what
such holdings entail. They cannot see why their leaders are beholden to you as overlord. Their own loyalty, if not their personal devotion, is committed to their King and his realm which is their home, and so they fail to see why their highest leaders should appear subservient to you and, in effect as they see it, to England. And human nature being what it is, the magnates have been … reluctant to explain the reasons to them, believing such things to be their personal affairs and no business of anyone else. And so their followers are confused and frightened, perceiving a threat to their own future where no such threat exists.”

Edward still sat with his hand obscuring part of his face, but the scowl that Bruce had seen forming there had faded, replaced by a pensive frown.

“You know, my lord Bruce, no man has ever pointed that out to us before, and I confess that despite your damned impertinence in thinking to teach me my lessons, you make much sense.” There was no venom in his words, and Edward was nodding his head, gazing towards the ceiling. “Fear and misunderstanding
do
breed resentment and unrest, as any man above a fool may know. But how would we redress this matter, to make it plain that we intend no threat to Scotland’s realm?”

“I know not, my liege,” Lord Bruce said. “But the mere recognition of it would seem to me to indicate that it can be solved, with thought and careful planning.”

Edward looked down the table to where the two secretaries sat scribbling furiously. “You have all that, Brother Aylward?”

One of the two monks glanced at his companion for verification and then inclined his head towards the King. “We do, sire.”

“Good, then go at once and make me a fair copy. The last part, containing my lord of Annandale’s thoughts, will suffice. Bring it to me as soon as it is done.” He waved them away, and the two Cistercians gathered up their implements and scrolls and left immediately. Edward watched them as far as the door, then swung back to his guests.

“How much time has elapsed?”

“I would say less than an hour, my liege,” Bruce said. “And more than half.”

“Hmm. Those damn Frenchmen will be howling for my ear any moment now, but they can wait until I’ve done here.” He looked then at each man individually. “The Greens,” he said. “What can you tell me about those people? Anyone.”

“Who or what are they, my lord King?” asked Domhnall of Mar. “The name is unknown to me.”

Edward squinted at him, then jerked his head in acceptance. “Aye,” he growled, “it would be, you being from north of Forth. Sir Nicol?”

Nicol smiled and spread his hands. “I am no knight, lord King,” he said. “I once owned a lordship, though, albeit one of the ancient Gaelic ones, but I gave up my succession to enable my good-nephew here to inherit the title. But the Greens?” He shrugged expressively. “I have heard of them, but only through rumour and exaggeration. They are outlaws, bandits and broken men, supposedly based in Selkirk Forest, though that’s like saying north of Forth—a small name for a huge place. Yet the reports I have heard speak of discipline and much coordination. Strange words, applied to broken men.”

“Selkirk Forest. That is by Annandale, is it not, Sir James?”

“Close enough, Your Grace.” Jardine, conscientious in his use of the English language so foreign to his tongue, was unaware of having used the Scots form of royal address, and no one sought to correct him. “It’s a full day’s ride on a good horse frae Annandale to the Forest fringes. But aye, it’s close enough for word of the Greens to hae reached us.” He cleared his throat portentously. “There is great argument on who leads them, for Nicol is right, they appear to be disciplined, against all you might expect, and if rumour is to be believed, they are well led. Nobody can say for sure how strong they are, how many of them, and the same goes for their leader. He’d have to be a warlock to be in as many places as he’s said to be all in one day, so folk are saying that it’s no’—not—one single man. Two,
mayhap three of them, all dressed alike, to make folk think they’re all one and the same.”

“And their name. They all dress in green?”

“A lot o’ them do, aye, but no, they got their name for a different reason. We’re told they keep a careful eye on the common folk o’ the Forest, protecting them, and it seems that’s true. They’re quick to kill any man they think is guilty of abusing them. And on every corpse they leave behind a scrap of green cloth, pinned to the dead man’s chest wi’ a knife blade. It doesna happen much these days, but that’s how they began and that’s what gave them their name.” He cleared his throat again. “But that’s all I know, Your Grace.”

Edward thanked him brusquely, then turned to stare through slitted eyes at Lord Bruce. Then he straightened suddenly and rose to his feet, speaking more loudly than he had to that point.

“In this instance, Sir James, we know more than you do. These Greens kill more than so-called miscreants. They have been killing Englishmen for months, attacking our loyal troops about the execution of their duties. They have even laid rough hands upon our bishops, despoiling them when they were passing through the Forest in pursuit of God’s holy work. We have had enough of it, and the days of the Greens are numbered. Within the past three days I have dispatched a strong force northward in the command of our new Sheriff of Lanark, Sir William de Hazelrig, who is charged with rooting out and destroying the outlaw vermin of Selkirk Forest precisely as our forces commanded by the Earl of Pembroke did with their nameless counterparts last month in Essex. They, too, were outlaws, broken men who by their own misconduct had forfeited all claims to being English. These Greens, too, will be taught the folly of defying England’s strength.” He stopped abruptly, remembering perhaps that these were Scots to whom he was speaking so vengefully about deploying English soldiers in their lands.

“You have my thanks and gratitude, my friends, and I will detain you no longer. And now farewell.” He nodded with finality and deliberately turned his back on them, relieving them of the need to
walk backward from the royal presence. As they clustered at the door in leaving, however, the King’s voice halted them.

“My Lord of Annandale! One more thing, if you will. And you, my lord of Carrick.”

The two Bruces turned back, leaving the others to depart, and as they neared him Edward sat down again.

“Tell me, my lord Bruce, have I your loyalty?”

Bruce, from the corner of his eye, saw his father draw himself erect, and Edward raised a hand. “Be at peace, Lord Bruce. I had no wish to insult you, but the question was necessary.”

Bruce saw the tightening of his father’s lips as the older man nodded. “Yes, my liege,” he said stiffly, “you have my total loyalty, given freely and under oath.”

“Good. I have a task in mind for you, and Robert here will witness my request, for I will not order you to do it. Will you renew that oath, publicly?”

“Of course I will, my liege.”

“It will do you little good among the Scots, I warn you.”

“I can do little good among the Scots as things stand now, sire.”

“Excellent. Then here is what I have in mind.” He surged up out of his chair and turned to stand behind it, leaning against it and looking keenly from one to the other of his two listeners. “I need a man whom I can trust absolutely in a certain place in time to come. Not today and not for several months, in fact. But the need is there and urgent.” He paused, eyeing the elder Bruce. “I would like you to accept an appointment as my royal Governor of Carlisle Castle. It is the only gateway to this realm’s northwest, and as it sits today it is vulnerable.” He raised a hand, holding up two fingers to forestall anything Lord Bruce might think to say. “I mislike this notion of a new council in Scotland, and Christ Himself knows the magnates have caused me grief enough up there already. And therefore there are things—the safety of the realm in that whole region—that I dare not trust to mere blind chance.