“The magnates.” There was a flat, dismissive quality to Will’s voice, but the Bishop appeared not to notice it.
“The magnates, aye, but not alone … no longer alone. These are changing times. In recent years we have been seeing the emergence of an addition to the three main estates of the realm. A fourth is coming into being. The first three still hold sway: the bishops of the Church, the earls of the ancient Celtic kingdom, and the barons of the current realm. But a strong new voice is now making itself heard in the land—the voice of the burgesses, some of whom are beginning to call themselves the fourth estate. For the time being, though, and in the case we are discussing, the vested power is unchanged. The parliament in Stirling appointed a council of twelve governors—four bishops, four earls, and four barons—to assist King John wholeheartedly in his dealings with England, to provide visible and formidable support for the King’s grace in the face of bullying and bluster.”
Will muttered something tinged with disgust, and Wishart cocked his head sideways, eyeing him. “Have you something to add, Will?”
“Aye,” came the low response, “but nothing new. How long, think ye, before Edward yanks the chain and threatens to deprive your magnates of their lands in England? That has never failed to bring them obediently to heel before, and I see no reason why things should be different now.”
“But things are different now. These men have accepted full responsibility for their new tasks in the eyes of parliament.”
“And have they willingly agreed to forfeit their estates in England?”
That brought no answer, and the silence stretched until Will spoke again.
“That’s what I thought. And that, my lord, is why I will not fight. As long as these men rely on the wealth of their estates in England, England’s King will have them on a choke leash. Tell me this, and be truthful: why should I, why should any man of ability or worth, be expected to endanger and abandon his own family and step forward to fight for, or with, or beside these … these posturing buffoons, knowing them likely to skip sideways in the middle of the measure and end up dancing on the other side, accepting table scraps from England and leaving us to die for our folly in trusting them?”
He was glaring at the Bishop, defying him to interrupt him, and when Wishart said nothing he continued. “Magnates! Magnates, my arse. Maggots suits them better. Sir William Douglas may be a brigand and a bully and a rebel, but at least no one doubts where he stands. That kind of man I can deal with. But until these maggots can make up their mind about whether they’re Scots or English, they’ll get no support from me or any of my kind. And until then, be damned to them.” He dropped his voice dramatically and spoke his next words slowly and clearly. “I will not fight to enrich some faceless, half-bred mongrel magnate at my own expense and risk.”
He permitted that to linger in the air, then sat back in his chair. “On the other hand,” he said, “the moment the Scots noble houses wash their hands of all they held in England and commit themselves to being Scots and to caring for their folk and for this realm, I will stand prepared to change my mind. And if it comes to waging war, united one and all against Edward’s greedy grasp, I will come quickly out of Ettrick, with every outlaw I can muster, and join the fight.”
“And you are determined not to fight until then?”
Will laid his hands flat on the table, fingers spread. “I have explained my situation, my lord, as clearly as I am able, but I will do so again. I have a wife big with child. Within days we will have a son or a daughter, the first of many, I hope and pray. I will not endanger the welfare of my family needlessly. If it should come to a just war, properly led by trustworthy commanders for the common good, then I will march with everyone else. But I will risk nothing for, nor will I support in any way, anyone who has no care for me or mine and no interests in his mind but his own welfare.”
He appeared to suck at something lodged in his teeth, then shrugged. “An honest man can serve only one master—in this case, one King. Any fool knows that. And Scotland has a King, crowned with all the blessings of Church and state. The allegiance of our so-called magnates is clear—their monarch is King John. Yet they fear to give offence to Longshanks, lest they lose wealth and privilege. Bluntly, they are duplicitous and treasonous, and I intend to keep myself and my family as far removed as I can be from all the stink of their corruption.”
He stood up and bowed stiffly to Bishop Wishart and the canon. Then, without another word, he was gone, closing the door quietly behind him. No one spoke for a long time, but then Wishart sighed and looked over at Lamberton.