The Forest Laird(160)
Lamberton started by explaining that they had, in fact, encountered Buchan on the road, no more than half a day after leaving us, to the great surprise of both parties. The earl, it transpired, had sent his main army of several hundred men marching south and west into Annandale while he himself had taken a small escort of horsemen and made a diversionary cross-country journey to the east, to visit briefly with James Stewart the High Steward, who had garrisoned and was holding Roxburgh Castle. Through Stewart he had passed on dispatches to Sir William Douglas in Berwick, and then, on the road back towards Annandale to rejoin his army, he and his men had run into Bishop Wishart’s little group at a fork in the road. They had set up a camp close by the road junction so they could conduct their business.
When Lamberton had finished, Will turned to Wishart. “And all went well? You achieved everything you sought?” The canny old churchman raised an eyebrow, the merest flicker of response, but Will carried right on. “I know you went in search of something from Buchan, my lord. You would hardly have ridden all the way from Glasgow merely to wish him well. Am I permitted to ask what it was?”
The older man sighed, and I thought he looked more frail than he had seemed a mere half year earlier, when he had first brought Lamberton to visit us around the time of young Will’s birth. He looked exhausted and dispirited, but even as the thought came to me, he straightened his shoulders and pulled himself up straighter, visibly shaking off the appearance of listlessness.
“Aye, William,” he said, “you are permitted to ask. And I can even answer you now, which I could not have done before we left to meet with John Comyn. There are plans afoot to send an army of mounted skirmishers over the border into England at the first sign of hostilities. It will be led by a number of earls—”
“Now there’s an error at the outset, my lord, if I may say so. No group can be a leader. It sounds fine and noble, but it’s nonsense. All your group of earls will do is fight with one another for command.”
“No, not so!” The Bishop’s voice was whip-like. “Bear in mind, my son, that the Church itself is such a group, and leads the entire world.” He paused, and then resumed in a milder tone. “Granted, the Pope is the leader of the Church, but the cardinals are effectively His Holiness’s earls, and they wield their powers effectively. So it will be in this case. The earls will share joint command, each leader commanding his own men, as has ever been the case within this realm when the earls raise the Scots feudal host, calling every ablebodied fighting man in the realm to arm himself and answer the summons. They will act separately but in unison, in accordance with a carefully prepared plan in which every earl will have a role to play. It is the way our forefathers have fought for centuries.”
“Aye, for centuries … and there’s another point I wish to raise in time to come.” Will glanced sideways at me. “Jamie, remind me of that if I forget to bring it up—the way they have fought for centuries.” He turned back to Wishart, who sat blinking at him, his lips moving, but Will himself appeared unfazed. “Pardon me, my lord. Which earls will be involved in this cross-border attack?”
“Six at this point. Stewart of Menteith, Malise of Strathearn, Strathbogie of Atholl, Donald of Mar, Malcolm of Lennox, and William of Ross. And, of course, Comyn of Buchan, newly named Lord of Annandale after Bruce’s defection and failure to answer the call to arms, will now make a seventh.”
“The Comyns are well represented, I see—Ross, Buchan, and Mar.”
“Aye, and don’t forget John Comyn the Younger of Badenoch, son of the Guardian. He rides with them.”
“Hmmph. And where will they ride to, can you tell me?”
“They will begin with a three-pronged raid into Cumberland, from south of Jedburgh, striking at Hexham and Corbridge. Farther west, under the command of Buchan, they will attack Carlisle itself.”
“Carlisle. You will pit Comyn against Bruce. Think you that is wise?”
The Bishop sighed deeply and peered into his drinking cup. “I do now, though I would not have thought so before you asked me your question about Bruce’s loyalties the other night. Before that, I would not have doubted Bruce’s commitment to this realm. But then I looked at your question through different eyes—the eyes of a discerning and often disapproving cleric, rather than the wishful, self-deluding eyes of an optimist and a patriot—and what I saw unsettled me. Bruce is for Bruce. His commitment has never been otherwise. And if Bruce has to stoop to using Edward’s power to open up the route to Scotland’s throne on his behalf, against the Comyns, why then, that is what Bruce will do …”