The Renegade: A Tale of Robert the Bruce (71 page)

“The Earl of Surrey, John of Warrenne, is named Lieutenant of Scotland and will act as Edward’s military viceroy in charge of the royal castles. A man called Hugh Cressingham is named Treasurer of Scotland, charged with the fiscal welfare of the realm. Another, William Ormesby, has been made justiciar, the Chief Justice of Scotland. His main task for the next few months will be to track down and arrest those who are still in revolt against Edward. So that should keep the Comyns busy and out of our hair.”

That earned a laugh, and he allowed it to die away naturally before concluding. “That is as much as I can tell you for now. There are changes ahead for all of us, but they should not be threatening. Life will go on as it always does, and though this is but a short visit to show my face here again, I will be returning soon for good, bringing my new wife and child to live in Turnberry thereafter.

“In the meantime, though, I have been too long away and now I need to hear what
you
have to tell
me
, about how life has been here in Carrick these past few years. So let everyone now take their ease and talk. I have ordered food and drink from the inns and those will be brought here as soon as they are ready. I will join you throughout, and you may tell me anything you think I ought to know … And here comes the food now.”

He rose to his feet as the people closest to the gate began to move aside, making way for a group of newcomers who entered in pairs, carefully carrying vast amounts of food laid out on portable breadboards slung between each pair. Others stepped forward to help roll
two barrels of ale to where they could be set up and broached, and for a time everything appeared festive as the assembly turned its collective attention to satisfying hunger and thirst.

As Bruce moved among them afterwards, his people spoke to him as he had asked them to, telling him the things they thought he ought to know, and though he was gratified by this sign of their trust in him, he nevertheless heard much that caused him more concern than he had anticipated. He heard stories of outright abuse by English soldiery that surpassed anything he had expected to hear; stories of ordinary folk being mistreated and humiliated for no reason other than the malicious and vindictive pleasure of Edward’s men-at-arms. He heard reports of robbery and battery, assaults and thefts, evictions and lootings, and of the hanging of an entire family who had lived together on a smallholding less than two miles from Maybole itself. They had been an unlovable crew, he was told, fifteen in number including several half-grown children, and they were well known as thieves, subsisting on the very edges of the law, but they had done nothing that anyone in Maybole knew of to justify their being taken out and hanged.

At first he believed these reports to be exaggerated and told himself that they were born of simple discontent and self-interest, but as the afternoon wore on and these tales were repeated and multiplied, he was forced to acknowledge that what he was hearing must be true. Too many honest folk were involved in the telling to permit any kind of collusion or conspiracy. And besides, he had to ask himself, to what end would they lie to him? They spoke of deeds done, some of them long since, knowing he could do nothing to redress any of their wrongs.

Not everything he heard during that afternoon was unwelcome or depressing, but the overwhelming impression that he was left with by the end of the meeting was one of serious
wrongness
within his earldom.

Later that same day he discussed all of what he had heard with Nicol MacDuncan, whom he had been delighted to find in residence at
Turnberry, surrounded by a number of familiar, well-remembered retainers, many of whom had been in service here during the time of his mother. The two men dined together alone that night and they had much to talk about, reviewing the status of the Turnberry estate as well as the earldom in general.

Nicol reassured Bruce that the Comyn tenancy had been a relatively lenient one, under the supervision of a cousin of the Earl of Buchan, and the affairs of the earldom had suffered little, save that the rents and revenues for the upkeep of Carrick had gone north to Buchan. Some of the household staff had inevitably been displaced to make room for Comyn counterparts, but Nicol had restored those as soon as the Comyns moved out and he himself had moved back in. Faced with the need since then to replenish the workforce in the absence of the fighting men who had been marched away by the Comyns to the war, he said, he had brought in people from the Isles, men and women of his own and Bruce’s mother’s clan; hard-working, hard-dirt farmers and fisherfolk who cared little for the wars of distant kings and to whom the mainland’s bounty seemed like Eden. These new men were all fighting men, of course, he pointed out, well able to protect and hold their own, and since their fathers had all stood behind their countess while she lived, so, too, would their sons be loyal to her son. Carrick was in good hands.

They talked late into that first night, and once they had dealt with everything pertaining to the earldom, they moved on to discuss the war itself and the effect it had had, and was still having, on Scots life in general, with particular regard to what Bruce had heard said earlier in Maybole.

“I didn’t like what I was hearing, Nicol, and I could hardly believe my ears at times, but it was plain that no one was lying. How bad is it, in truth?”

“It’s bad,” his uncle replied, “but no worse here than elsewhere, from what I’m told. It’s the same everywhere. The English victory stunned the whole of Scotland, and the destruction of the supposedly unbeatable feudal host left the folk everywhere doubting themselves and all they had been told since they were born. Those they
had looked to as leaders were all imprisoned and there was no one to replace them, so the folk left here were easy prey for the English soldiery.”

“Prey?”

Nicol looked at him askance. “Is it difficult to understand? The folk didn’t have a chance against the English attitude. They had been conquered, Rob, invaded and defeated by people who plainly think they are superior to any Scot, and who behave accordingly.”

“But Edward’s word is clear on that. No mistreatment of the Scots folk—no raping, no pillage, no abuse.”

Nicol sniffed. “That may be so officially, but the English soldiery take their standards of behaviour from their knights and officers, not from the King in Westminster. And believe me when I say that these same knights and officers are more than merely slightly contemptuous of all things Scots.”

Bruce instantly remembered what his grandfather had so often said about the power of men’s perceptions: men believed what they thought they saw to be true. If the English leadership, the earls and barons, cared nothing for the welfare of the Scots people, too intent on their own selfish ambitions, then their folk would behave accordingly, and all the written orders of the English administrators were no more than a waste of ink and parchment. The English soldiery would behave as lawlessly and brutally as their leaders permitted them to behave. That was the way of soldiers everywhere—to take ruthless advantage of everything they could, for their own benefit and without being caught doing it. And if their leaders didn’t care what they did, why should they?

He decided there and then that the King of England needed to be told about this directly, although he was not at all sure how Edward would react to hearing it. Perhaps he might do something about it—take drastic steps to enforce his stated will—but he found himself forced to admit that the odds were equally good that he might not.

He spent the next eight days with Nicol, visiting every bit of the earldom and taking careful note of changes and repairs to be made.
He spent much of that time speaking with his tenants, long-familiar cottagers and fisherfolk for the main part, who were genuinely pleased to welcome him back home even though the men were gone and many of the women did not know whether their sons and husbands were alive or dead.

He left the earldom in Nicol’s care and returned to Lochmaben, where, as he had promised, he summoned his father’s knights to meet with him. He spent an entire day with them, listening carefully to all they had to say and making sure the elderly cleric who had served his grandfather took careful notes on matters that Bruce judged his father would deem important. Other than that, there was not much to be done in Lochmaben, since the knights were masters of their own lands and required no outside help with their activities.

The following day, he sought an audience with Sir Miles Humphreys, the temporary custodian of the fortress, and relieved him of his responsibilities. The knight sat blinking in astonishment.

“I don’t think I can do that, my lord of Carrick. My orders are to hold this place until further notice, and I doubt if my superiors would recognize your authority to relieve me of my duties here. We are still legally in a condition of war, you know.”

Bruce smiled and shook his head. “No, Sir Miles, the war has been over for months. The royal Scottish castles are held by English garrisons, and that is according to the King’s wishes at the close of the hostilities. But Lochmaben is not a royal castle. It is an ancient fortress owned by my father, whose loyalty to King Edward is beyond doubt. Look you here.” He reached into his doublet and pulled out the letter he had dictated the previous night.

“This is a formal letter of instruction, signed by me as an earl of Scotland and my father’s deputy, relieving you of any further responsibility as custodian and freeing you and your men for duty elsewhere, where you can be put to good use. I have given permission for Sir James Jardine to occupy the castle in my father’s stead for the time being, and if you know Sir James at all, you know the place could not be in better custody. I will be leaving to return to Berwick the day after tomorrow, and I suggest you and your men
ride with me. There I shall speak personally with King Edward and absolve you of all responsibility in this matter”—he smiled— “because I am an earl and I left you no choice but to obey. I am here, after all, because His Majesty sent me directly, to reclaim my father’s property. Should the King disagree with what I have done in good faith, though, I’ll bear the brunt of it and no discredit will reflect upon you. And if he
strongly
disagrees, why then you may return and resume your post with nothing lost except a few days of travelling time. Does that convince you?”

The Englishman eyed the letter in a way that suggested to Bruce he might be illiterate, but then he sucked in a great breath and nodded. “So be it, my lord of Carrick. I’ll take you at your word. We will be ready to accompany you when you leave for Berwick.”

Edward was still in Berwick when they arrived, and he professed himself well pleased with Bruce’s report on the status of Carrick and Annandale, assigning Humphreys and his score of men to other duties in Berwick. On the matter of Bruce’s concerns over the behaviour of his troops in Scotland, however, the monarch was disconcertingly noncommittal. He listened to what Bruce had to say, frowning with what Bruce assumed to be displeasure at what he was hearing, and then mumbled something about looking into it. But where Bruce had looked for outrage he saw nothing but annoyance, and he could not tell whether it was directed at him or at the miscreants he had denounced. Edward then gave him permission to return to his home and his wife.

Two days later, Bruce was back in England, pushing his little following hard in his eagerness to win home.

CHAPTER TWENTY - FOUR

DEATH AND RESURRECTION

T
he time went quickly after that, the weeks flitting by until the day when Izzy jerked upright at the dinner table and clutched at the great mound of her belly, her huge green eyes going wider than he had ever seen them.

“Robert—?” she said, the word wrenched out of her, and Bruce’s world disintegrated into a blur of being ignored and waiting, waiting, waiting, pacing the floor and praying, muttering to himself. It was fifteen harrowing hours before Allie approached him, beaming with smiles.

“You hae a dochter, my lord,” she said, “and her ladyship is fine. Exhausted, poor lamb, but that’s to be expected. The bairn’s a bonnie wee thing, an’ gin ye’d like to see the two o’ them I’ll tak ye up. Come on wi’ me now.”

Even newborn, the child was beautiful, a tiny, lovely thing with long, dark hair that Allie said would soon fall out. Bruce hoped it would not, but said nothing, content, after having kissed and cosseted his wife until she fell asleep, to gaze in fascination at the tiny being in his arms, wrapped in her new swaddling clothes. Izzy had long since agreed that, should their firstborn be a girl, her name would be Marjorie, after Bruce’s mother, and now, looking down at the perfect, pink-faced mite, he felt that the name suited her well. Marjorie Bruce, future Countess of Carrick, would have a life of ease and beauty combined with duty and would be a credit to the grandmother for whom she was named.

She was a fractious child, though, screaming all night long every night so that neither of her parents could sleep properly. Allie grew more and more concerned as each day passed and finally, at the end of the first week, she drew Bruce aside.

“I think the wee mite’s hungry, sir.”

“How can she be hungry? She’s forever at the tit.”

“Aye, I know, but I’m startin’ to doubt she’s drawin’ any strength frae it. That happens sometimes. Gin you agree, sir, I’d like to bring in a local lass who’s nursin’ one o’ her ain. She has plenty o’ milk to spare, and if that’s what’s wrong we’ll notice it gey quick.”

“Do it,” he said. “But say nothing to Izzy until we know if you’re right.”

The baby stopped crying within minutes of feeding from the wet nurse, and within a week of that Isabella’s own milk dried up. There was no reason for it that anyone could see; she simply stopped producing suck. Allie brought in the wet nurse permanently. Izzy was inconsolable.

A week after that, Bruce sprang up from the table as his wife entered the room. It was mid-morning, and the light pouring in from the open window revealed the shocking chalk-white pastiness of her face. He cursed aloud and leapt to her side, putting one arm around her shoulders and cupping her chin in his other hand, tilting her face towards the window and peering anxiously into her eyes. “Izzy, what’s wrong? You look sick … Pale as wax and big, dark rings under your eyes. Are you tired? Are you in pain?”