Many travellers were climbing that long hill, and few there were whose faces were other than pale, eyes averted, lips tight.
The Bruces pushed past none now. Haste was no longer valid, even to escape the smell.
At the gatehouse to the outer bailey of the castle they must perforce join a queue, inconceivable as this would have been in any other circumstances. All men-at-arms and retinues were being detached, irrespective of whose, and ordered peremptorily off to right and left, to wait and camp as best they might in the crowded tourney-ground and archery-butts which flanked the final steep and rocky knoll which the castle crowned. Only the quality travellers themselves, bearers of the royal summons, were being admitted over the drawbridge and into the castle precincts. But of these there was no lack, this August day, for never in Scotlands history had so many been required, commanded, to forgather in one place at one time. Patiently as they might, if less than humbly, and dismounted necessarily, the Bruce brothers took their places in the long shuffling column that only slowly worked its submissive way forward.
Over the hollow-sounding timbers of the bridge that spanned the dry
ditch surrounding the towering ramparts, they reached, at length the
arched stone pend that thrust beneath the gatehouse itself. Here a
burly perspiring master-at-arms, supported by halberd-bearing minions
in dented jacks and morions, scrutinised each arrival, and roughly
separated sheep from goats, his rich Dorset voice hoarse with much
shouting. As the Bruces drew close, awaiting their turn, Robert sought
to occupy himself and his sorely-tried temper by considering the
present state of the handsome flourish of heraldry carved above the
archway. It represented the Douglas coat-of-arms, of a blue chief with
stars on a silver field; but it was now hacked and defaced, spattered
with dried thrown horse-dung, with hung over it a derisory bulls
testicles and prickle, shrivelled in the sun. The veteran Sir William
le hardi Douglas had commanded here, and had held out in this castle
throughout the Sack of Berwick, surrendering to Edward only when water
and food had run out. The surrender had been on honourable terms; but
Douglas was said to be still in chains, and walking all the way to London Tower, like a performing bear, for his pains.
When they reached the master-at-arms, the fellow hardly so much as glanced at them.
English? Or Scots? he demanded unceremoniously.
Bruce threw up his head.
I am the Earl of Carrick, he said shortly.
English or Scots, I said, man. Did you not hear? That was weary but curt.
Fool! Did you not hear? Nigel cried.
Bruce! Earl of Carrick.
We are Scots, yessince our father should be King of Scots.
But we have great English manors. In Durham, Yorkshire, Sussex and Essex. And our father is Keeper of Carlisle for King Edward …
I care not, cockerel, which dunghill your sire keeps! You are dirty Scots, curse youso to the left you go, withe rest. Off wi you. Next…
When the Bruces would have protested, their arms were seized by the supporting guards, and they were ungently pushed and hurried through the pend.
Fiercely Robert broke free.
Hands off Bruce, cur! he exclaimed, and at the sudden sheer blaze of fury in those steel-grey eyes, even the rough soldier blinked and released the arm, dropping his hand to his sword-hilt instead. Utterly ignoring him thereafter, the other stalked on, to turn left inside the outer bailey, his brother hurrying after him.
Edward shall hear of this! he gratedand then all but snapped off Nigels head as he began to deliver himself of his own opinions.
It appeared after a few moments however, that King Edward might be some little time in hearing of the offence offered to his illustrious friends and supporters. For the Bruces found themselves joining another and still longer queue that wound its sluggish way round this side of the outer bailey, through a side postern door in the next tall parapeted rampart, and into the inner bailey, there to cross the cobbled courtyard to the kitchen entrance to the castle proper. This slow-moving column was strictly hemmed in and controlled by a double rank of armed guards, shoulder to shoulderand when the Bruces perceived their lowly scullions destination and tried to break away, in righteous wrath, they were savagely restrained and manhandled.
Nor were they permitted to turn back, as they would have done.
Jabbing dirks and halberd-points left them little scope for argument or manoeuvre. Along with more amenable visitors, they were herded willy-nilly along towards the kitchens.
It took a long time to reach that lowly doorway and the dark sweating-stone, food-smelling passages beyond, where the cream of Scotlands quality edged forward, pushed and jostled by cooks, servitors and menials carrying haunches of beef, trussed fowls, fish and the like. Climbing the narrow corkscrew stairways beyond, step by slow step, in the choking reek of pitch-pine torches, and making room for the impatient flunkeys and domestics with their trays and flagons, seemed to take an eternityand even here the restricted space was much taken up with a lining of stationary scowling guards. It was the best part of an hour after reaching the outer gatehouse before the Bruce brothers stepped, by the service entrance, into the Great Hall of Berwick Castle, Robert at least seething with a cold rage such as he had never known, nor had cause to know, hitherto.
The Hall was a vast apartment, full of noise, colour and activity, heartening at first sight after all the weary trailing-although not all would confirm that impression after a second glance. Up one side of the great chamber were set long tables, groaning with good cheer, served by the busy menials, at which sat or lounged or sprawled drunk a gay and well-dressed company of laughing, talking or snoring men and women. At the head of the room was a raised dais, and on this was set a much smaller table, at one end of which sat King Edward in a throne-like chair, with Bishop Beck, the Earls of Surrey and Hereford, his commanders, and Master Hugh de Cressingham, a Justiciar of England. Nearby, and being used as an additional side-table for bottles, flagons and goblets, was a curious lump of red sandstone, flat and roughly oblong. High above, half way to the vaulted ceiling, in a little gallery, minstrels played soft music.
So much for the first glance. The second revealed a different aspect
of the scene. The long queue of Scots notables still maintained its
formation and patient shuffling progress. It was strictly confined to
the other and right-hand side of the Hall, all but pressed against the
stone walling indeed by drawn up ranks of guardsthough all others
ignored it. Right up to the steps of the dais area it went, to another
table at which clerks sat, a table on which were no viands and which
was placed directly behind the Kings back, though at the lower level.And here, as each Scots landholder reached it, his name was called out, ticked off a list, and he was required to kneel on the floor and thus take an oath of homage to Edward of England for every inch of land he held. Here was no taking of the monarchs hand between his own, as homage was normally done, the oath not administered by any prelate; the monarch indeed never so much as glanced round from his eating and talk, and the clerks it was who demanded the oath, gabbling out its terms and ordering its repetition.