The Steps to the Empty Throne

Few there contemplated the festivities to follow with any delight.

Chapter Seventeen

Heavily, even tripping a little with weariness on the worn stone steps, Robert Bruce climbed the narrow turnpike stair of the Sea Tower of St. Andrews Castle—well named, with the spray from the surging waves below actually coming in at him through the arrow slit windows as he mounted, and the chill March wind of the North Sea flapping his long mud-stained travelling-cloak. The angle smoking pitch-pine torch-flame, flickering and waving wildly in the draughts, did little to light his footsteps. He cursed as he stumbled for the third time, sword clanking, spurs scraping—but his cursing was spiritless, automatic, and not only with physical weariness. It seemed a long time since he had even cursed with spirit and enthusiasm.

The door on the third-floor landing was thrown open before even he reached it, and Elizabeth held out welcoming hands to him.

“My dear,” she said, “I prayed that it might be you. Thank God that you are back!”

He took her in his arms, and she clung to him, wet as he was.

“Bless you, lass! You are the first sight to gladden my eyes in three weeks.” He kissed her hungrily, and then held her away at arm’s-length.

“Dear God—you are bonny! Fairer, more beautiful, than ever, I swear!

You are the saving of me, and that is plain truth.”

“Has it been so bad, Robert?”

“Bad? Worse than bad. I have been mocked and trodden under by these English like any condemned felon. Day in, day out. To send me to hunt Wallace was ill enough. But to place me under Clifford, who has ever hated me, and who lords it over my Annandale! And Segrave, a man soured with disgrace. And that bastard Botetourt. This was beyond all bearing. Yet, God forgive me, I had to bear it I A round score of days and nights of it.

Of Clifford’s and Segrave’s spleen. Safe to bait me as they would.

By Edward’s permission!”

“One day you will repay them, my heart. But … Wallace?

Did you catch him?”

“No. For that, thank all the saints I A fine dance he led us. All over the Forest, in foulest weather. But never once were we within reach of him. Fraser we almost caught, twice. At Peebles and at Tweedsmuir. But Wallace, never. He was always an hour gone from every hiding-place we flushed—though we quartered Ettrick Forest for him. More than once, mind, I was able to lead those devils the wrong road—for none of them knew the Forest as I did …”

“Oh, I am glad I Glad.” Elizabeth was aiding him off with his soaking and mud-stained outer wear, before the blazing fire in the little tower chamber which was all that even Lamberton could provide for the Bruces in his overcrowded Castle of St. Andrews, where Edward was holding his parliament.

”Aye. Had we indeed captured Wallace, I scarce know how I would have

done. That Edward should send me on such errand, and in such company … I But he will be beside himself now.

Beyond all in fury. For if he hates me, tramples me, it is as nothing to his hatred of Wallace.”

“He has, I think, more to dwell on tonight than your failure to bring him Wallace,” the young woman interrupted.

“The King is ill, Robert.”

“ill? Edward ill? Sick?”

“Yes. It was at today’s parliament. He was speaking. Very angry that Stirling Castle still holds out against him. When he was seized. A great choking and gasping, that felled him. I was with the Queen, watching. His face was blue, like to burst with blood I Always he has had too much blood. We feared him dead …”

“Feared! By the Rude—why fear?” Bruce cried, eyes alight as they had not been for long.

“Edward dead might mean life for many. For us. For this Scotland.

But… he is not dead? Only ill, you say.”

“Ill, yes. And making recovery, they say. I am not long back from the Queen’s chamber. She is much upset. They are bleeding him. The fever abates. But it is a warning. To be heeded …”

“Heeded, yes. Pray God he does not heed it!”

She shook her fair head.

“Do not say it, Robert. He can be hard, cruel. But he can be kind, too. I have known much kindness from him. He is my father’s friend. He is a king, and kings are not to be judged as other men.”

“They need not become monsters I As he has done. I esteemed Edward once. But he has forfeited all esteem.”

“And yet, he still has esteem for you. In some measure. Today, before the parliament broke up, he appointed you, with Wishart, Bishop of Glasgow, and Sir John de Moubray, to take rule in Scotland. Until his nephew, the Lord John of Brittany, can come to be Governor …”

“A trap, I vow! Another trick. An empty title, with his underlings firm in control. Have you forgot that he made me Sheriff of Ayr and Lanark? Aye, then Moray. With no more power than a babe at the breast I Wishart is an old done man. And Moubray is a creature of the Comyn’s. So much for Edward’s esteem I He would but use me again.”

“It may be so. But at least he seems to honour you. And more.

You three are empowered to work out a new policy for Scotland.

The new Scotland as he names it. What he called a constitution.

To be presented before a great parliament at Westminster in the autumn of the year …”

“What is this? A constitution? A new constitution for a new Scotland! For a beaten, humbled vassal Scotland, in thrall to the Plantagenet. A province of England, ruled from Westminster.

This he would have me to make up—Robert Bruce!”

“It might give you opportunity to serve Scotland well,” she pointed out.

“Better that you make up such a constitution than some others, is it not?”

“I faith, no I Think you Edward will accept anything that does not give him all he wants? And then can use my name, and Wishart’s to take the blame for it, when the bite hurts. Bruce, the traitor, contrived this I Do you not know Edward yet, my dear?”

“You cannot concede him any good, Robert? Anything?”

“The only good thing I will concede to Edward Longshanks is that he desired me to marry you, my dearest I For that, and that only, I am his debtor.”

She smiled.

“You still believe yourself favoured in that? Still find me to your taste?”

“To my taste? Save us, girl—I’ll show you how much to my taste you are! Here is simple proving. As I have been desiring to prove since I entered this room I Why waste we time talking!”

And he advanced on her, weariness apparently quite forgotten.

“No, no!” Laughing, she backed away.

“That is not what I asked. You rise too fast, my lord I I but questioned whether you still find me a good and dutiful wife … ?”

“And that is what you yourself will prove, young woman. Here and now!” he declared. It was not a large apartment, and her backing away soon was halted.

“Foolish fool! Here’s no time. Besides … you will be hungry.

I have food and drink …”

“Hungry, yes! Well you may say it. But they have not starved me of food, set you!” He had her now, urgent, knowledgeable hands pressing, moulding, caressing. Her protests were vocal only, and easily stopped with kisses; and her person made no resistance—indeed her hands were soon aiding his with her gown.

In glorious disorder he picked her up bodily in his arms and, no “8 weight as she was, strode with her to the couch.

Elizabeth de Burgh was all woman, and no passive partner in love-making. In mutual fervour and uninhibited passion they took and received each other, mounting swiftly, joyfully, to tremendous cataclysmic fulfilment.

As well they were so swift. Scarcely were they lying back, in

murmurous relaxation, than they heard footsteps on the stairway, and voices. They waited, for there were two more storeys above;

but when a knocking sounded at their door, Bruce sat up, cursing again—although this time the spirit and vigour had returned.