The Renegade: A Tale of Robert the Bruce (54 page)

“Sweet Jesus! Are you addled, boy? This is Edward Plantagenet. His sole concern is kingship. He cares for nothing more than his own realm—its welfare and condition—and nothing,
nothing
, be it man or ideal or fear of God Himself, will come between him and what he has determined will be that realm’s destiny.”

A timid knock sounded at the door and one of the household servants pushed it open and leaned in, opening his mouth to speak, but Nicol rounded on him. “Out!” he roared in English. “Leave us.”

The hapless servant withdrew quickly, closing the door securely, and Nicol turned back to his nephew, speaking again in Gaelic. “This is the man your grandsire warned us of when Queen Eleanor sickened and died, years ago—the man who had been held in check for decades only by her good counsel and his love for her. With her gone, he lost all restraint, and no one dared gainsay him. And now it is plain he wants Scotland and seeks to rule it by browbeating and abusing Scotland’s King, driving the poor, weak man mad and riding roughshod over everything with no regard at all for the demands of decency or courtesy. Do you truly think he will be swayed by your tender feelings if he thinks he has a need of your support, or that you’ll be the only man alive whom he will not manipulate and put to use? Spare me!”

Bruce turned away and began to walk, very slowly and deliberately, towards his bed. It took three steps, and by the third one he was swaying dangerously, reaching out with both hands. He made it, though, and half turned, allowing himself to drop onto the bed’s edge. He sat there, blinking his eyes against the dizziness he felt.

“I do believe that,” he told Nicol then. “I believe it deeply. Edward Plantagenet is the very soul of honour. He would never make such a demand of me.”

His uncle expelled breath loudly. “Well, then, if that’s what you believe, I’ll pray you’re right, but I’ll not be surprised if you’re proved wrong. D’you want to hear Wishart’s message?”

“Aye, I do.” Both of their voices were subdued now.

“He is aware, he said, of your duties to your family and loved ones, and he knows you will fulfill them ably. He is appreciative, too, of how your family’s fortunes have been undermined by the politics of our land, the enmity of the Comyns and the ill will—or ill judgment—of our King, John Balliol. But he fears the pressures that your chosen King will bring to bear upon you to assist him in his handling, his
mis
handling, of the affairs of Scotland’s realm. Should you be persuaded to set foot in Scotland, bearing arms for England, the bishop says, it would be taken ill, not merely by himself but by all loyal Scotsmen everywhere. Knowing, then, that a time will come when Edward seeks to use you, he bids you bear in mind two things: that Edward of England is growing old and will not live forever, and that there might—and he says only might— come a day when Scotland itself has need of the House of Bruce. He bids you hold yourself in readiness for such a time and be prepared to return into your own.”

“Is that all?” The scorn in Bruce’s voice was palpable. “No more than that? That I should hold myself in readiness to play the poltroon and betray my sworn liege despite all his kindness and consideration, returning to a land that has belittled and dispossessed me and mine, casting us into exile for the sin of being who we are? You must be sure to inform the bishop, when you next meet with him, how honoured and pleased I was to receive his message, with its suggestion that my honour and my loyalty can be traduced and bought and sold with empty promises of someday and perhaps.”

“I can’t do that,” Nicol said firmly. “The message is not mine to deliver. It’s Mar’s. I told you of it solely to save time, never thinking you might disagree.”

“Damnation, then I’ll tell Mar the same as I tell you. I won’t be bought. My name is Bruce, and Bruce does not bite the hand that feeds him.”

“Ach, sweet Christ! God weeps at the pride of rash young men. No one is asking you to betray Edward, Robert.”

“No? Are they not?”

“No, damn it. You’re but being asked to hold yourself in

readiness.”

“Aye, in readiness to betray Edward and perhaps, someday, to sneak back home to Scotland with my tail between my legs. Tell my lord bishop to find someone else to suborn. I will not betray Edward’s trust and turn renegade simply because someone in Scotland expects it of me. Not for any man, and not for any scheming bishop.”

“Renegade? You? In Christ’s name, Nephew, think about what you are saying! It is not …
You
are not the one at fault in any of this, and no one is suggesting you should renege on anything. Edward of England is the renegade, if anyone is. He has reneged on every promise and commitment he has made to Scotland since this sorry mess began. He is the one who is blameworthy here, not you.”

The younger man shook his head, his expression flinty. “I cannot see that, Nicol. I can see where it might seem so, to certain men whose ambition might prefer things otherwise, but I myself have seen no signs of any perfidy on Edward’s part.”

“Of course you haven’t! That goes without saying, Rob. You’ve never looked for any, never thought of it. You refuse even to conceive of it. And yet the evidence is there, plain to be seen by any eyes but yours.”

“Any eyes that choose to see it or want to see it or need to see it, you mean. Aye, that part of it I can understand, and I’m not fool enough to think there’s any lack of such eyes in Scotland. But I’m not going to be swayed by such one-sided thinking—no matter how
obvious
it might appear to be to the thinker, be he bishop or magnate—and I’m damned if I’ll bow my head meekly and submit to anyone’s will who hasn’t spared a thought for me or mine in the past eight years.”

Bruce’s voice had risen steadily as he spoke, the anger in it squeezing caution and discretion aside until he was almost shouting,
and now Nicol, to whom Rob Bruce had never raised his voice before, waved him down, frowning. “Hush now,” he said, his voice low and intense. “There could be ears pricked up, even here. And even speaking in the Gaelic, what you’re saying might be overheard and used against you.”

The younger man glowered fiercely, though he still breathed hard.

“Fine,” Nicol said quietly. “In great part I agree with you. I can’t argue against your logic, save on one front.” He paused, frowning again, then rose and pressed a finger to his lips. He crossed quickly and silently to the door, where he grasped the handle and pulled it open, stepping outside to peer up and down the passageway to make sure no one was hovering out there. Reassured, he came back inside and pulled the door shut at his back before returning to his seat.

“But what you’ve been saying is one thing, Nephew, and what I’m trying to say is another altogether, so listen to me now.” His voice was heavy with urgency. “I’m not talking about what some faceless bishop or magnate thinks. I can’t govern what they think or how they behave any more than you can, and I can see how they might seek to use you for their own reasons, but that is neither here nor there. My thinking on this matter is far more concerned with our own welfare—yours and mine and our families’, Bruce and MacDuncan—and there’s more to it than your simple code of loyalty to Edward Plantagenet. The voice I’m hearing in my head, speaking of this very thing, is your grandfather’s, and I’ve been hearing it for weeks. He has been dead for years, God rest his soul, but his opinions on Edward were clear and well expressed, and free of any of the bias that is rife in Scotland today—that selfsame bias that led you to say what you have just said.”

Bruce’s glower had faded to a mere frown now. “So what are you saying? I’m not following you.”

“Think about what Lord Robert thought of Edward of England. Can you recall that?”

“Aye, but—”

“No buts, Rob. He warned us, did he not, to have a care to keeping Edward honest by making sure the world beyond our shores knew what he did, as opposed to what he
said
he would do. D’you remember that?”

“Aye, I do. But you were not there when he said that.”

“I know. He told me of it himself, later. He and I grew close before he left for England. I think he came to trust me because of your trust in me. He told me of how he warned you and your father to beware of Edward’s ambition. He said, and he believed, that Edward’s
kingcraft
overwhelmed all else. And that his obsession with that same kingcraft, allied with his growing sense of destiny, his own and that of his realm, would make nonsense of friendships and personal loyalties wherever and whenever Edward the King perceived them to be in the way of his grand designs.”

Bruce was nodding. “That’s true and I remember it.”

“Aye. And then he said we would have but one weapon left to us with which to control the man … the man Lord Robert recognized very clearly as not being the man with whom he had ridden out to war long years before. A changed man, dark and bitter since the death of his Queen, and oppressed by what he sees increasingly as the disobedience and obstruction of his wishes by his unbiddable barons. Here, he said, was a man who set great store on his need to be seen as a just and temperate monarch, acting in enlightenment in the eyes of God and man and inscribing his every law, commandment, and decree for scrutiny by anyone who cared to examine them. You recall that, too? Lord Robert bade us keep a wary eye on what Edward said he would do, and upon
what he did in fact
, and he warned us to be prepared to seek assistance from the other kings of Christendom and from the very Pope himself should the need arise.”

Bruce nodded again. “I remember. And so?”

“And so that need is here. We find ourselves where we are today, where Edward’s promises to Scotland are but empty noises. He has deposed our King.”

“No, the magnates forced his hand.”

“Horseshit. He deposed the King of Scotland where he had no earthly right to do so, God-given or otherwise. And he has invaded Scotland to such ill effect that our abused and harried people cry out to Heaven itself for succour against the depredations of England’s armies. Damnation, Rob, it’s hardly an exaggeration that there are more Englishmen than Scotsmen in Scotland today.”

“All of them are there legally.” “Legally? By whose law?”

“By Edward’s and by Scotland’s both. He is lord paramount of Scotland, by legal statute and the agreement of the Scots magnates, speaking for the people. And as lord paramount he has the right to make demands of those who owe him allegiance. There is no denying that—it is the law. And I can see no evidence of any legal wrongdoing on King Edward’s part, much as I may mislike what is going on.”

“In Christ’s name, Nephew! He has betrayed every promise ever made to us! He has reneged on every pledge, every assurance, every commitment into which he ever entered. That’s why I named him renegade!”

“God damn your arguments, Nicol! They are false.” Bruce was on his feet, a hand on the bed. “You are ignoring the obvious. He is the
legal overlord
of Scotland. Argument over that is futile.”

“I’m not arguing the legality of the thing, Rob! I am decrying its
morality
. Here is a man gone far beyond restraint, turning his people loose in another realm without regard—” He stopped himself, reining in his anger with visible difficulty and raising his hands, his fingers spread. “You’ll pardon me, I hope,” he said. “I have no right to rail at you and I have no wish to fight with you. Clearly you have your mind made up. And yet I have to ask this one thing of you. This alone. Look at the man more closely from now on, Rob. Mark what he says and does in the matter of Scotland and then take note of what he really does, or causes to be done. I’m not asking you to condemn him out of hand or to challenge him openly on my word alone. I am only asking you to make a more determined effort from now on to see both sides of what is there to be seen. Open your eyes wider and
take note of what is going on here in England, and how it affects what goes on in Scotland. Who wields the power in Scotland, for a fact, and does it suit Edward’s designs to have those people there, out from beneath his feet in Westminster? I do not ask this of you lightly. You have not been in Scotland recently, but I have, and I swear to you it is beyond belief. Believe as you wish to believe, from the evidence of your own eyes and senses, but in Christ’s name do not delude yourself by being blind to the other side of what is happening. Will you do that for me, in recognition of what we have always been to each other?”

Bruce nodded gravely. “I will, Nicol, I promise you. And yet I have seen nothing, heard nothing, that would indicate to me that Edward is guilty of the things that you ascribe to him. And until I do, until Edward demonstrates such behaviour personally in ways I cannot misconstrue, he will have my loyalty and my trust. Tell Bishop Wishart that.”

Nicol MacDuncan stood, his face an expressionless mask. “I will, if you truly wish me to. But keep your head up as you proceed from here, Nephew. You will be pursuing a new course by even looking for the kind of things you will seek now. And only a fool heads into the unknown burning all the bridges at his back.”

“Then you may have a fool for a nephew, Uncle.” He paused, frowning. “Nicol, I have known you all my life, and of all my family, you have been closest to me. You have said what you came to say today and I have listened to you, and I respect your viewpoint. I have raised my voice against you, too, as I never did before, but that sprang from my anger that Robert Wishart would propose such a course of action to me and use you to present it to me where he knew no other could or would. But that said, I see no need for you and me to quarrel between ourselves … I would hate that.”

“So would I, Rob, so would I.” The older man stepped forward and extended his hand, and as they shook, he grinned ruefully. “No quarrel, then, between us two and I thank God for it. The world will make its own demands and we will all respond to them in our own
ways, and only God can tell who will do what when any given day arrives. Be at peace, Nephew.”

“And you, Uncle. May God watch over you. Will you ride with us to Westminster?”

“No, by Jesus! All those Englishmen and Frenchmen, and ne’er a Gaelic speaker among them? The heavens spare me that! No, I will head homeward tomorrow, if the weather holds. And when I see the bishop, which should be within the week, I will be frank with him. I might not bid him go to Hell, but neither will I underplay your response to what he had to say.” He pointed at Bruce’s ribs. “Your ribs seem sounder. I have not heard you gasp in pain today.” He grinned. “In outrage, aye, but not in pain. And you walked.”