The Steps to the Empty Throne

When these three had seated themselves, amidst much fussing of clerks and arranging of papers, Richmond looked gravely, heavily, down the ranks of his Scots councillors, scrutinising each face and seeming almost to count them as he did so. It was a slow process, and the Breton evidently in no hurry. At last he broke the uncomfortable silence.

“Seventeen,” he said, almost querulously.

“Seventeen. I named twenty-two for my Council.”

Comyn snorted eloquently, others coughed, and Lamberton spoke.

“Yes my lord Lieutenant. All were apprised. The Earl of Dunand’ March is still with King Edward in London. The Bishop of Moray is indisposed. The young Earl of Menteith is represented his uncle, Sir John Stewart of Menteith. As to the others, I know not.

Richmond took his time to digest that. Almost he chewed on underhung jaw working—and did not look as though he liked the taste.

“Fullest attendance is required,” Master Bevercotes said, thinly for such a well-fleshed man.

“Obligatory.”

The Scots looked at each other. Bruce spoke, evenly.

“My lord, you have here seventeen of the greatest lords in Scotland, spiritual and temporal. Enough, surely, to advise you?”

The Lieutenant eyed him thoughtfully, but did not commit himself. Then he seemed to begin a recount, just to make sure.

John Comyn was not the man to accept much of this treatment.

“I have come a long and hard road to attend this Council,” he said.

“I move to business.”

De Sandale rapped out an oath.

“Insolent!” he said.

“Sir!”

“My lord Lieutenant,” Lamberton intervened hurriedly.

“We are very ready to lend such aid and counsel as you may require.

All here are men of weight and responsibility. Four indeed have been Guardians of this realm …”

“This former realm!” Richmond corrected. He could think and speak quickly enough when he so desired, apparently.

None commented on his amendment.

“Do you desire me to proceed, my lord?” the Chancellor asked.

That required consideration also. At length, Richmond answered.

“First to the matter of Wallace.”

“Yes, my lord. Exactly, my lord.” Bevercotes beamed approval.

“The man Wallace, by all means.” He shuffled his papers.

“My lord Lieutenant has word this day. From His Majesty in London.

The man Wallace is dead.”

Consternation greeted his statement.

“Taken, examined, tried, condemned and executed. For treason. On … where is it? Yes-on the 23rd day of the month of October. Ten days past this day.”

“Treason …!” Bruce got out.

“Treason against whom?”

“Treason, sir, against his liege lord. And yours I King Edward of this realm.”

”But…” A jolt to his knee beneath the table, from Lamberton, gave

Bruce pause.

“May we hear more of this trial? If your lordship pleases,” the Primate said.

Richmond nodded, and the Chancellor read from his paper.

“The prisoner Wallace, after being lodged within the house of one William dc Leyre, alderman, in Fenchurch Street, was brought by the mayor, aldermen and magistrates of the said city of London, to trial at Westminster Hall. By order of His Majesty.

Before the King’s Justice, Sir Peter Mallorie. The outlaw Wallace was thereupon impeached as traitor to the King’s royal person and authority, in that he did notoriously and shamefully slay the King’s lieges, burn his abbeys, towns and villages, storm his castles, imprudently call parliaments in that part of the King’s realm called Scotland, and set at naught the royal commands. In especial that he did slay and murder the duly appointed Sheriff of Lanark and many other officers, in particular at the King’s castle of Ayr. After burning many to the death …”

“That was war, not treason!” Bruce protested.

“The two realms were in a state of war. How could it be treason?”

“My lord of Carrick—may I remind you of my presence!”

Richmond said sternly.

“The prisoner admitted all,” the Chancellor read on.

“He but made claim that since he had not sworn fealty to the King’s name and person, he was no subject of King Edward, and so his acts were not treasonable. Justice Mallorie made observation that if only those who had sworn the oath of fealty could be guilty of treason, then most of the King’s subjects could turn traitor with impunity …”

“My lord,” Bishop Wishart broke in, frail voice cracking.

“Does King Edward distinguish nothing between his English subjects and the Scots?”

“Nothing, my lord of Glasgow. As you should know right well. Scotland is part of the realm of England, and its people subjects of His Majesty.”

“So says Edward now. But it was not so when Sir William Wallace so acted,” Bruce countered.

“He was in lawful arms against invaders.”

“He was a rebel!” de Sandale declared harshly.

“As were you all. All rebels. Worthy of death. But His Majesty was merciful.

Too merciful, it seems I He took you back into his peace. But when surrender was made, Wallace refused the King’s peace, Wilfully. With war over, he remained at war. An outlaw. He had rights, therefore. No call on mercy.”

“No call on mercy!” Lamberton repeated heavily.

“He was a brave man. If he should have received mercy, he did not plead for it—that I swear!”

“He received his deserts, my lord Bishop,” Master Bevercotes declared primly. He consulted his papers.

“Found guilty by the Court, the traitor Wallace was tied, naked and in chains, at the tails of horses, and dragged four miles through the streets of the city, to the much acclamation of the loyal populace. At Smithfield, he was part-hanged in his chains, and cut down while yet alive.

Thereupon he was disembowelled, and his entrails burned before his eyes.” The Chancellor moistened his lips, and raised his voice to over speak the snarling growl which was arising round that table.

“Thereafter the prisoner’s head was cut from his body. Then the limbs. The said head was affixed to a pole to be set on London Bridge. And the said limbs thus distributed-the right arm sent to Newcastle-upon-the-Tyne; the left arm to Berwick-upon-the Tweed; the right leg to St. John’s Town of Perth; and the left leg to Aberdeen. By order of the King’s Majesty.”

The tension in that draughty hall was tight as a bowstring, as men sat, scarcely breathing. Yet John of Brittany appeared to be completely impervious to it, or unaware of it. He was rustling amongst other papers.

“Yes,” he said, after an unbearable moment or two.

“Thank you, Master Chancellor. That is the matter of Wallace. For your information, my lords. Now we proceed to more urgent business. I think, first, this of the failure of much of the Church in this land to pay its share of the costs of the late war. My lord of St.

Andrews … ?”

The crash of Bruce’s chair falling over backwards as he thrust it from him, rising to his feet, brought Richmond to a sudden stop.

“My lord Lieutenant,” he said, thick-voiced.

“I pray to be excused from further attendance at this Council.”

Outraged, the other stared up at him.

“My lord—do I hear you aright? Excused … ? Or are you taken sick

… ?”

“Aye, sick! Well you say it. Sick at the evil that has been done.

I, for one, will have no further part in working with such monstrous rule and governance. You are Edward or England’s Lieutenant and representative. I can no longer act on your Council.”

“Robert I My lord …!” Lamberton’s warning, beseeching hand came up to grasp Bruce’s arm—and was roughly shaken off.