The Steps to the Empty Throne

They were too soon in debating the issue. A court official came

hurrying back through the throng to the Bruces.

“My lord, His Majesty requires your attendance. At once. Follow me,” he said briefly.

Exchanging glances, they moved after him, though without haste.

The King was talking to Gloucester just outside in the vestibule, the Queen looking very pale and near to tears. He broke off.

“My lord,” he said, as the Bruces came up, unsmiling now, “I had intended to speak you further. On another matter of grave import. But Her Majesty is fatigued. The matter must keep. But not for long. You will attend on me, at my privy quarters in this house, tomorrow. At noon. You understand?”

“At noon. Yes, Sire. As you command.”

“Aye, as I command. And see you, my friend—come well versed in explanation! As to your … ambitions! You may have a queen for sister, Robert—but that is as near the royal estate as you’ will ever win I Noon, tomorrow. Come, my dear.”

Monarchy moved off.

Eyeing the Plantagenet’s massive back, Bruce murmured, set faced.

“So now we come to it! Tomorrow noon I will hear the real reason for my summons to London!”

Back at their lodging they were still discussing the King’s intentions, fearing that he might have heard some rumour of the bond with Comyn, when knocking sounded at the street door. Elizabeth’s alarm was immediate, and out of character; but Bruce pointed out that the knocking was discreet rather than peremptory.

He had lived long enough on the edge of danger to sense the difference.

One of his servants brought in a cloaked figure wearing no insignia, colours or livery. This man waited silent until the servit or had gone. Then, assuring himself that nobody listened outside the door, he brought out from beneath his cloak a pair of spurs. In the other hand he held out a silver shilling.

“From my lord of Gloucester,” he said quietly, cryptically.

Bruce looked from the man to Elizabeth.

“Aye,” he said heavily.

He took both the spurs and the coin.

The visitor reached out, wordless, and turned over the shilling, so that the likeness of King Edward’s head was uppermost.

Bruce nodded.

“I perceive the message,” he said.

“You will thank your lord. Here—take this.” He handed him back the silver coin.

“I thank you, my lord.” The man bowed briefly to the wide-eyed Elizabeth, and turned away.

“My friend,” Bruce said to his back, “I do not wish further to endanger you. But, as a citizen of this London, can you tell me if all the city gates are kept locked of a night?”

“All,” the other nodded.

“But I have heard it said that the watch will open any, if commanded in the King’s name.”

“I see. For this also I thank you.”

Without another word the visitor departed.

Two hours later the small Bruce party, of no more than a dozen men-at-arms and servitors, with Elizabeth muffled and cloaked to look like a youthful page, rode quietly through the narrow sleeping streets of the February night, to Eastgate. At the walls and gatehouse there Bruce reluctantly, and with a deal more confidence of voice than he felt, shouted authoritatively.

“Watch I Watch, I say I Waken, fools I Dolts-awake! Open, in the King’s name.”

There was some small delay, nerve-racking but inevitable. No argument, however, or enquiry. Bruce’s imperious second demand, with some realistic cursing, was followed by the rattle of chains and the creaking of the great double doors, as they swung wide.

The Scots clattered through the cobbled pend, and took the dark Essex road beyond, and heard the gates clang to behind.

A mile or so on, they turned due north, something under four hundred miles of hard riding before them. It was nearly 3 a.m.

They could probably reckon on a start of anything from five to nine hours. As well that Elizabeth was strong and an excellent horsewoman. It was a desperately tired and bedraggled company—though three short, two servants and a man-at-arms having fallen out-which, four days and three nights later avoiding Carlisle, crossed the Border near Kirkandrews. Whether they had been pursued they did not know. After fording the Esk, they came within a mile or so to the lesser Glenzier Water, which they must also cross before turning westwards through the low green hills for Annandale.

It was as they were approaching this second ford that they perceived two horsemen already splashing across, but from the other Section.

There was little for comment in this, perhaps—save that anyone taking

this route could only be making to cross the Border, and by the inconspicuous road that avoided the English garrison-town of Carlisle. But Bruce, however weary, may have been hypersensitive to certain colours. He reined up, pointing.

“Do my eyes deceive me, or are those men wearing the Comyn colours or blue and gold?” he demanded.

Elizabeth narrowed heavy, red-rimmed eyes.

“Yes,” she nodded.

“Blue and gold. Is it of any matter?”

“They are a long way from home, for Comyns. And heading south.”

“John Comyn has lands in Dumfrlesshire, has he not? And Galloway?”

“Yes. But these are riding away from them. For England. And avoiding Carlisle. As we have done. Why?” With a toss of his shoulders, he seemed to shake off his fatigue.

“Come.”

He reined his all-but foundered horse around—the fourth he had ridden since leaving London—and led his silently protesting party back the way they had come for a little distance, to a thicket of scrub oak and thorn in a marshy hollow, which they had passed through a minute or two before. Into this he turned his people, right and left, to hide amongst the trees.

The two horsemen appeared presently, trotting unconcernedly.

One was young, well-dressed, an esquire presumably; the other a bearded man-at-arms riding slightly behind. Bruce allowed them to come nearly up to his hiding-place, then spurred forward into their path.

“Wait you, friend,” he called.

“One moment. How come you to ride this road to England, this day?”

The young man had drawn up, startled, hand dropping to sword-hilt. Behind, the soldier was quicker, his whinger whipped out with a scrape of metal. Looking round, the former was in time to see four of Bruce’s own men-at-arms emerging from the thickets at the other side of the road.

“What is this, sirrah?” he demanded hotly.

“How dare you!”

“I but asked your business, sir. The Border is but a mile away, and no place between. It concerns me who crosses that Border.”

“Why should it? I am on lord’s business. A great lord, Comyn, Lord or Badenoch’s business. Do you dare, sir, to question?”

“I do,” Bruce answered, mildly enough.

“And with cause. For I am Sheriff of Dumfries. And was Scots Warden of this March when Scots wardens meant anything.”

“Sheriff …!” the other repeated falteringly. He looked round again, and saw that he and his man were now quite surrounded.

“Who are you, sir?”

“The name is Bruce. You may have heard of it? You are a long way from Comyn country, friend.”

“Bruce? The … the earl!”

“The same. You do not look, friend, as though you had ridden from Badenoch and the Spey?”

“No, my lord. Only from Dalswinton. From my lord’s house near to Dumfries …”

“Comyn is there? At Dalswinton?”

“Yes. The Justiciary Court meets this week at Dumfries. My lord attends.”

“And you? Your business, sir?”

“My lord’s business. Not mine. Nor yours, my lord!”

“Mine, yes. If you are for crossing this Border. And on this road you can be going nowhere other. But… see you, your lord and I are in bond to each other. You have naught to fear.”