The Guardian (48 page)

“My God,” I whispered.

“Aye, it seems scarce believable that any Englishman, particularly a bishop, should require any such oath after two such public declarations. But Bruce swallowed the insult, took the oath, and rode off to perform the task Edward had set him, which was the arrest and abduction of Lady Douglas of Douglasdale.”

“But he set her free instead. I’ve heard the tale. But I have no idea what caused him to do such a thing. Given the realities of his former situation, it makes no sense at all.”

Lamberton nodded, his face grave. “I agree with you. It makes no sense at all. But you left out a very important word:
apparent
. It makes no sense at all, given the
apparent
realities of his former situation. What happened was that when Bruce arrived in Douglasdale, he discovered, very quickly, that his presence there was an elaborate pretense. He realized that instead of being in charge of the expedition to arrest Lady Douglas, he was there solely in order to be
seen
there, as a Scots lord dealing English justice to a Scots rebel. His English troops, his so-called
subordinates
from Berwick, were really there to ensure he behaved himself properly, and they held royal authority to carry out the King’s wishes should they deem Bruce to be incapable or unwilling. He knew he had been duped, used for political effect and nothing more.

“That realization completed the young man’s education on the loyalty and friendship of kings and princes. And so, mindful at last of his grandfather’s teachings, he went home to Annandale, to his family’s seat, and spoke to the men who had followed the old nobleman. He told them that his experience in Douglasdale, coupled with the insult of the Carlisle oath-taking, had forced him to examine his own beliefs in the light of his grandfather’s, and he deemed it unacceptable that he, or anyone else, should be forced to swear an oath. An oath rendered under duress is no oath at all, he said—and he is correct—and his oath, with all others like it, is thereby rendered invalid and untenable. He swore, too, on his grandfather’s memory, that he believed no man should ever be forced to turn against his own folk. He is a Scot, he declared to them, his birthright above and beyond the political disposition of others, and Scotland is his home and his patrimony.
That
is why he turned on his English watchdogs, rescued the Lady Douglas, whom he did not know, from beneath their noses, and went to join the bishop and the Steward. And Edward of England will one day come to rue his own headstrong malice in bringing that about.”

“I knew nothing of most of that,” I said. But then another thought occurred to me. “Think you he has his eyes on the Crown?”

Lamberton pondered the question, then shrugged. “I would be
greatly surprised if the idea has never entered his mind,” he said. “He is a Bruce, after all, and his family has a valid claim, as Edward himself made clear with his court of auditors.” He sipped delicately at his wine. “But then you have to consider his intellectual position. Bruce is no fool, and he is well aware of the situation as it exists today. The decision of the court of auditors demonstrated quite efficiently that the Balliol claimant had the stronger claim over Bruce of Annandale. Most people in Scotland were happy with that verdict at the time, glad to see what they perceived to be an end to doubt and indecision and a return to order and the rule of law under a duly crowned king.

“Of course, much has changed since then,” he went on, “and people look less kindly on Edward and King John than they did. But one fact is unaltered and unalterable: John Balliol remains our lawful, anointed King. And the Earl of Carrick is well aware of that. If he has designs upon the throne, as you suggest he might, I believe him clever enough, and sufficiently patient, to rest content for the time being and await an opportunity to press his claim legally at some future time. If he is to emulate his grandfather, he has sixty years and more ahead of him. He would be a very foolish young man to betray any signs of such ambition prematurely.”

“Aye, but if he has the thought in mind, it would provide a reason for his defiance of Edward and his return to Scotland.”

“It would, and it might well be that he has returned precisely to establish himself in residence here again, with an eye to the future … And come to think of it, we might not be the only folk thinking along those lines. Part of the terms imposed upon him by Percy and young Clifford after the Irvine affair was that he must hand over his infant daughter, Marjorie, as hostage for his good behaviour thenceforth. I had all but dismissed that as being unimportant—a minor nuisance imposed as part of the overall penalty— but now it appears as something utterly different, far too subtle and complex for those two young firebrands to have thought of by themselves. That stipulation must have come from Edward himself—a threat to the daughter’s safety as a curb on Carrick from now on.”

“So the English now hold the child as hostage? That is infamous. She can’t yet be two years old.”

“No, not so. I mean it would be infamous, of course, beyond dispute, but they do not yet have the child. And there, I would suggest, is the real reason for Bruce’s disappearance after Irvine. He consented to the terms, to ensure he would remain free, and then he took the child and went into hiding.”

“You mean he broke an oath.”

“Aye, presumably. Another oath.” The canon’s face remained expressionless, but his voice nonetheless conveyed his weariness. “I fear the world in which we live today takes little note of oaths and oath-taking. Instead of being what it truly is—a personal promise to God in the cause of achieving salvation—the sacred oath has been debased in recent years. Oaths are now become a tool of politics and policy makers. The King of England has much to do with that, being among the greatest offenders in what amounts, when all is said and done, to the subversion of God’s will to the earthly benefit of his own.” He shook his head. “It pains me to say that, remembering the paragon that he once was, but it is true. The man administers oaths with the abandon of a drunkard, all of them under duress and all of them invalid therefore. So who among us can condemn the men who swear the oaths because they have no choice, then disregard them afterwards? It is the way of this world today, and as such it is damnable, in the true sense of damnation.”

“But in the meantime, Edward appears to be convinced that Bruce represents a future threat to his well-being—sufficiently convinced to try to take the child away from him. No wonder Bruce is defying him yet again. Suffice that he did so once, over the Carlisle oath-taking, but this threat of losing the child must have been beyond bearing to force him into taking the stance he has taken.”

My companion looked at me, waving my words aside with extended fingers. “No, no, no, the Earl of Carrick is doing far more than you perceive, Father James. I believe you are missing a significant point in all this. Bruce’s defiance of Edward is less telling than his defiance of his own father, Annandale.”

I was shocked. “I don’t follow,” I said. “What d’you mean?”

“Think about it. Bruce’s father is still alive and hale and employed in Edward’s service in a position of great trust. Whatever the young earl’s motivation may be, he must have taken his father’s situation into consideration before deciding to change sides. He must have been aware that his defection would imperil Annandale’s position as governor of Carlisle and put him in an untenable position. And yet he went ahead and crossed over anyway. That tells me there was more than pique and injured dignity involved. There was a deliberate commitment in doing what he did, and his choice was not made without profound soul-searching and deliberation. It was a premeditated declaration, a political decision, taken with great forethought in the knowledge that he was breaking, possibly forever, with his own father. That is nothing like the behaviour of a rash young man whose pride has been hurt.”

I had listened to this with growing amazement, recognizing the truth of his words as he spoke them, and when he had finished it took me several seconds to articulate the new and disturbing perspective he had suggested.

“So,” I began, “you believe that Bruce had made up his mind to change sides long before he ever reached Castle Douglas that day.”

“Something of that nature,” Lamberton concurred. “I have come to believe that, though perhaps not conclusively. Prior to the fact, he himself might not have decided consciously to defect, but there is no doubt in my mind that he had given the matter great thought. What he realized at Castle Douglas probably served to confirm his conclusions and precipitated his decision.”

“So what has happened to his father?”

Lamberton shrugged. “Nothing, as far as I know. Nothing yet, at least. And I can say with some certainty that I would have heard by now had Edward lashed out at him in retaliation for Carrick’s actions.”

“So he still governs in Carlisle Castle?”

“Apparently so.”

“Hmm. This casts the Earl of Carrick in an entirely new light.
And I accept your opinion unreservedly on this matter of the threat to the child. If we can guess at Bruce’s motives, however dimly, so can Edward of England … which makes it easy to see why Bruce has vanished.” I shook my head. “You may think me addle-headed, Canon Lamberton, but I can’t remember how we came to talk of Bruce here.”

He grinned, amused and, I thought, relieved. “We had been talking about my cousin, Father Thomas, and how such a rabid, anti-English Scot might have found himself in England’s court working, even at arm’s length, for the Plantagenet. He is there because he caught the eye of the King himself and managed to impress him. And that is, I suppose, what he has in common with Bruce. It is important to realize, Father James—for most people do not—that Edward deals in men. I once heard you say he studies kingcraft and that may be true, but
men
are his primary interest, his stock-in-trade. Their place of birth—even their station in life—is irrelevant to his designs, and he can afford to ignore their former loyalties once they come to his attention. When Edward Plantagenet decides he wants a man, he buys him, loyalties and all, and treats him like a jewel of great worth. Once he has the man entrapped, though, he ignores him, save when he needs something from him. This seems to be how it was with Bruce, who was once his great favourite. And my cousin Lionel, Thomas to you, is most definitely a Scot. And a zealous one, emphatically, by birth and temperament.”

“So where is he now, this cousin of yours, that you have such access to his knowledge?”

That earned me an open smile. “He is here in Glasgow, conducting business with the Bishop of Durham’s clerks on behalf of his current patron.”

“The Bishop of Durham? Antony Bek, the King-breaker? Pardon my frankness and lack of charity, if you will, but I thought that sacrilegious, pontificating hypocrite long gone from these parts.”

Lamberton’s eyes crinkled at the corners. “Ah! I see you are yet another of the Prince Bishop’s admirers. He was gone for a while, but now he is back as part of Edward’s administration.”

“And he is Thomas’s employer now, his patron?”

“No, no, no, no, not at all. Thomas is merely dealing with his clerics, who cannot, in charity, be held responsible for their superior’s shortcomings. No, Father Thomas’s current patron is Sir John de Warrenne.”

I sat gaping. “Thomas is part of the Earl of Surrey’s
entourage
?”

“Household chaplain. He’s part of the earl’s household, not merely his entourage. His Grace of Surrey is a pious man, I’m told—genuinely so, I mean. I am not mocking him. He is no longer young, as you probably know, and in his later years he has found consolation for many things, including the loss of his beloved wife, in the observance of the Church’s teachings. He is generous in his donations, and in return his diocese—not coincidentally Winchester— takes great pains to ensure that his daily spiritual needs are well looked after. And to that end Bishop John of Winchester appointed Father Thomas as his chaplain and liaison with the diocesan chapter. It seems the earl had met Lionel a year or so earlier and liked him greatly, apparently because my cousin bears a strong resemblance to his favourite son, who died years ago. And when his old confessor died, he asked for Lionel by name.”

“And Thomas is now his chaplain. Dear God! Do you have any …? That is …”

Lamberton’s lips quirked into an off-centre grin. “Were you about to ask me if I know how significant that is? Because I do. I know precisely what it means to this realm of ours. Quite apart from the sacrosanctity of the confessional, which will of course remain inviolate, it means that we have free access to all information relating to half of the invading English forces, along with the very strong possibility of complete access to information about all of it, once the two armies meet up. How fluent is your French?”

“It’s not,” I said. “Why do you ask?”

“Curiosity. Here’s another question, but think carefully before you answer it. Has anyone ever identified you as a Scot from the way you speak Latin?”

“No,” I said. “Can you?”

“My opinion’s not to be trusted. I’m a Scot myself, so I might not notice a distinctive element in your voice.”

“Is that important?”

“It could be, were you to live and move among Englishmen for a while.”

“And why might I choose to live among Englishmen?” The question sounded sheepish even to my own ears.

“Because the realm requires you to, Father James.” I heard the words clearly, but my comprehension had not quite caught up to my premonition. “Thomas—my cousin Lionel—has been living a very lonely existence recently. I feel sure it would be beneficial both to his spiritual and his physical well-being had he someone with whom to share his duties, someone dependable and trustworthy whom he has known for years.”

I met his gaze squarely. “That might be true, Canon,” I said. “But where would he find such a man, so advantageously?”

“Within the tabernacle that sustains us all, Father James—within God’s will. In a more worldly sense, though, he could easily meet him here in Glasgow when he comes to visit me within the week—a fortuitous reunion with an old friend and fellow student from his days in France.”