The Steps to the Empty Throne

Sir John Stewart of Menteith was only too well aware of his unhappy position, and showed it. He sat a little way apart from all others, a young man, dark, almost swarthy, with tight secretive features and a slight, tense body. Younger son of Walter, the late Earl of Menteith, and uncle of the present young Earl, although he had fought well against the English, he had recently caught the eye of Edward and been appointed Sheriff of Dumbarton and Keeper of its great castle. It was as holder of that position that he was present at this council.

There was a diversion as an English herald threw open a door and announced the entry of the three advisers of His Majesty’s Lieutenant and Governor. These were old Bishop Wishart, Sir John de Moubray and Robert Bruce-now that John of Brittany was here in person, demoted from ruling triumvirate to special advisers. Those already assembled greeted them variously, nodding or scowling according to taste.

As the newcomers moved to take their seats near the head of the vast table, John Comyn of Badenoch spoke.

“Come, come, Menteith,” he called loudly.

“Give place. The Earl of Carrick, friend of Wallace, will not wish to sit beside the man who gave Wallace over to the English I Even though he is such good friend to King Edward also!”

Men drew quick breaths. Comyn was the more embittered since the

general surrender, and none expected his attitude to Bruce to mellow;

but this casting down of the gauntlet immediately on his enemy’s appearance was hardly anticipated. This was the first meeting of the newly-constituted Lieutenant’s Council.

As Bruce paused on his way to his chair, Menteith jumped to his feet, flushing hotly.

“My lord of Badenoch is again Sheriff of Moray,” he declared.

“Had the man Wallace been found and captured in his sheriff dom would he have done other than I did? As I had to do?”

“The question scarce arises, sir. Being a modest man, I would have seen to it that whoever gained the glory of taking this notable outlaw, it would not have been me! I would have conceived my duty to lie … elsewhere! At the time. Besides, my lord of Carrick would not wish to sit beside me, in any case. Nor I him!”

“My lords! My lords I” Robert Wishart’s frail voice quavered.

“Peace, I pray you.”

But Menteith, who had been simmering in frustrated silence for too long, was determined to exculpate himself, caring nothing for the quarrel between Bruce and Comyn.

“I did neither more nor less than my duty,” he cried.

“Ralph de Haliburton came to me at Dumbarton. Said that he believed Wallace to be hiding at Robroyston. He demanded that I apprehend him. Declared that he had been sent by King Edward, from England, for this very purpose. In the train of this Sir John dc Moubray.” And Menteith pointed a finger at Bruce’s and Wishart’s companion.

Moubray, a kinsman of Comyn’s, shrugged.

“Haliburton came north with my company, yes. From Westminster. I knew naught of the business. He had been a prisoner. Had fought bravely. One of the defenders of this castle of Stirling. When it fell, he was carried captive to England. He had gained his release—how I knew not-and joined my train, to return home. That is all I knew of him.”

“We know now, then, how he bought his release!” Crawford growled.

“The dastard!”

“But how did he know?” That was James the Steward, looking now but a shadow of his former self.

“Know where Wallace was? How to come to him. For years others have sought Wallace, and failed to find him. How did this man do it?”

“He had a brother in Wallace’s band. He is brother to Sir Henry de Haliburton,” Menteith told them.

“He must have made shift to find his brother. And so found Wallace. They would not suspect him, for those one hundred and twenty, at Stirling, had held all Edward’s might at bay for many months. Heroes. None Would doubt one of that company.

And you? You played this felon’s game, sir? And yielded up Wallace!”

Bruce said.

“What else could I do, my lord? You went seeking Wallace yourself one time, did you not? In duty, since you could do no other. Haliburton asked servants from me. To seek him. Then brought him to me, bound. As sheriff. How he laid hands on the man, I know not. But having him, I could not let him go. I had no choice but to hand him over to the King’s Lieutenant.”

“Some might have used their wits to find another course, man.”

“Is this Edward’s friend that speaks? Or Wallace’s?” Comyn asked, grinning wickedly.

“The Lieutenant’s adviser!”

Bruce sought to ignore him. He sat down, even though it was beside Menteith. Lamberton came to sit at his other side. But Comyn was not to be silenced thus.

“My lord says that some might better have used their wits, to get round Edward’s commands,” he went on.

“As, it may be, did Bruce himself when Edward asked for his siege-engines to aid batter down this Stirling!”

“Not mine. His own siege-engines,” Bruce gave back.

“Left in my castles of Lochmaben and Turnberry.”

“But he thanked you for them, nevertheless. Most graciously, if I mind aright!”

“Aye. And for the same reason that you speak of the matter now! For the further dividing of this realm against itself! Let us have no doubts as to that, my lords. While blame is being laid.”

There was a murmur or agreement from not a few of those present.

Lamberton spoke up.

“My lord of Carrick has the rights of it. This endless fighting amongst ourselves but aids our English masters. We are here for Scotland’s good, not its ill. Soon this Richmond will come. A stiff and difficult man, but honest, I think. Something lacking in wits, himself, it may be—but with cunning hard minions, as we have reason to know. De Bevercotes and de Sandale are men who will guide him towards harshness, to the hurt of this realm. It must be our task to counter them, to move this nephew of Edward to gentler, better rule. It will demand all our wits. All our wisdom and patience.”

The Steward, and one or two others, applauded.

“What will they be wanting from us?” the Earl of Atholl asked.

“What will be the main business they put before us?”

”We understand it to be the carrying out of certain provision, passed

by the Westminster parliament,” Bruce answered.

“Certain have already been implemented. Others have not. These others, it seems, are difficult. Grievous it may be. It seems that the English require our assistance in carrying them forward. Whether we can give it remains to be decided. But some here may tell us more. Before the English come. As you know we were required to send ten Commissioners to the Westminster parliament. Under the new constitution. Four of them are here present. If they would inform us further …”

He was interrupted by a stamping, clanking bodyguard of English men-at-arms, and the herald announcing, in noticeably more deferential tones, the arrival of the most noble and puissant Earl of Richmond, Lieutenant of Scotland of the high and mighty King Edward of England, whom God preserve. All men to stand.

Most of the Scots made but a poor business of getting to their feet, some barely raising their posteriors from their seats.

John of Brittany paced slowly in, flanked by two richly-dressed older men, and followed by a cohort of clerks and officers. For a man only a year or two senior to Bruce himself, Richmond seemed almost elderly. Tall, thin, sombre-featured, prematurely grey, he gave a notable impression of years, gloom, disillusionment, and possibly indigestion, with little of the Plantagenet about him. With his stiff gait, balding head and downturned mouth, he seemed as unlikely a ruler of turbulent Scotland as nephew of Edward Longshanks.

His two companions redressed the balance somewhat. Both had the hard-bitten look of experienced administrators, self-made and ruthless, although one was a plump cleric and the other a square, stocky soldier. Master William de Bevercotes was Edward’s Chancellor in Scotland, and Sir John de Sandale, Chamberlain.