The Forest Laird(80)
He cocked his head in a well-remembered gesture and grinned at me. “Come on, then, spit it out. What’s on your mind?”
I sucked in my breath “Caution … the need for it, despite what you say. I want to come with you tomorrow. When you meet the Bishop.”
“There’s no need for that. Or do you think I’ll need your protection?”
“No, but I think it might not hurt to have a cleric there prepared to swear an oath to bear witness on your behalf. Even such a poor half-cleric as I am.”
He grunted in what might have been a laugh. “You are something of a neither-nor, aren’t you? Ewan told me that your ordination was postponed when the Maid died. But that was a long time ago. Will you ever see ordination?”
“Aye, within the month, in fact, in time for Christmas. And nothing will stop it this time.”
Will stopped in his tracks and grasped me by the upper arms, tilting his head to catch my face in the light of the moon. “You will be priested then? Truly? Then by the living God, I will be there to stand witness to it, unless God Himself sees fit to blast me before the day. I’ll be there, Jamie, as God is my judge.”
“Good, then, and I’ll be there with you, come morning, when you meet Bek, as God is my judge, too.”
4
Sometime before noon, Bishop Antony Bek of Durham, or one of his close associates, committed what I have come to believe was the single most costly error of Edward Plantagenet’s entire reign as King of England, casting the die for the ruination of his ambitious plans for Scotland.
To this day I cannot say with certainty who was truly to blame for what happened that morning. Not even Will could swear afterwards to the truth of who said what and to whom, and he was much closer to the events than I was. That single incident, a visit to a bishop, made in good faith by a man of honour seeking redress for an indefensible transgression against the laws of God and man, might have had incalculably beneficial consequences for King Edward’s designs had it been handled otherwise. But it was not, and the injustice that took place instead became the catalyst that aroused William Wallace to anger and thereafter focused all of Scotland’s rage against the would-be usurpers. Bek’s unconscionable treatment of William Wallace that day threw the English into a struggle that would last for twenty-two years and end with their being driven from Scotland completely.
The day began badly and deteriorated steadily. Will and I presented ourselves at the Bishop’s encampment as planned, unarmed and alone—Will had ordered the others to remain at Paisley—soon after first light, after a two-hour walk through a black, wind-racked darkness that paled gradually into a grey and cloudy dawn. We spoke quietly with the acting sergeant of the guard, at what passed for the main entrance but was really nothing more than an opening in the high hedge that bordered the extensive pastureland Bek had chosen for his campsite.
The guard sergeant, a surly, slovenly looking type, was more interested in impressing his own four-man detachment than he was in listening to what Will had to say. He barely listened, preening for his men all the while, rocking back on his heels with his hands clasped around the buckle of the heavy sword belt at his waist and his face twisted in a sneer. As soon as Will had finished speaking, the lout waved us away with a curse. The Bishop was not yet in camp, he said, and not expected soon, so he wished a pestilence on us and told us to get out of his gateway, out of his sight.
Will showed no reaction to the man’s ill manners; he merely stepped a little closer as the sergeant turned away and requested, respectfully, that we be permitted to await the Bishop’s arrival off to one side, out of the way of the people coming and going to and from the camp. The guardsman swung around, starting to raise his fist, but then he stopped, doubtless noting the width of my cousin’s shoulders and the depth of his chest. His fist opened up and he flicked his hand, indicating a nearby log that had obviously been used as a seat by many people over many years. Will nodded his thanks mildly, and together we crossed to the log and sat down.
As I passed the gateway in the hedge, I took a look through it, and was surprised by how empty the place looked. There was nothing to indicate, at first glance, that this was a military encampment, other than the presence of the guards themselves. The space I could see directly beyond the gates, an empty stretch of sodden turf, perhaps thirty to forty paces deep, must have been used as a parade ground or marshalling area. Beyond the grass, though, almost invisible in the half light, I detected the distant tops of uniform rows of tents rising up from the morning mist behind a row of skeletal trees, and as the light grew stronger we began to hear shouted orders and the sounds of organized military activities back there.