The Renegade(204)

Two days later, Bruce rode into Carrick by way of the small town of Maybole, where he stopped to gather what news he could from the townsfolk. His unexpected arrival caused quite a stir, and he was soon surrounded by a growing crowd of well-wishers eager to know what the future would hold in store for them. None of them knew that he himself was as anxious for such information as they were.

The town’s provost owned the only house in the entire town with an enclosed yard big enough to hold the crowd that quickly gathered and kept growing, and Bruce quickly commandeered it, then arranged with the two innkeepers to have food brought in to feed the townspeople and thronging visitors who were still arriving. He also had some men set up a small dais against the wall of the provost’s house and place a large chair on it, so that he could sit and overlook the entire yard.

The town meeting that followed was the liveliest that had been held there in years, since before the time of Bruce’s replacement by the new Comyn landlord, and Bruce set the tone by calling everyone to order and then showing them the King’s writ.

“Here’s a thing you’ve never seen before,” he began, holding the writ up so everyone could see it. “I know it doesn’t look like much, but none of us has ever seen its like. Look at the official seals and ribbons. ” He held the scroll horizontally, allowing the brightly coloured fabric strips to dangle. “They look important, do they not? But they’re nowhere near as important as the words on the scroll itself.” He held the scroll higher and pulled it open it with his other hand, spreading it for them to witness. “This is a king’s writ, signed by Edward of England himself, as overlord of Scotland, and it returns to the House of Bruce—to my father and myself and our Bruce heirs—all the rights and possessions that were taken from us by King John Balliol and his Comyn supporters. I am now, once more, the rightful Earl of Carrick.”

When the storm of applause and conversation caused by that began to abate—and by then Bruce estimated that there must have been close to a hundred people in attendance—he moved on quickly, telling them about the parliament currently under way in Berwick and outlining the plans that were being put in place for the ongoing governance of the realm. The matter of the kingship was being held in abeyance, he explained, but Edward had no intention of taking the Crown for himself. There would be an interim period—an interregnum of sorts—until the lord paramount should decide how to proceed.

He was aware that everyone in the crowd was listening avidly. These were the ordinary folk of Scotland—farmers, fishermen, herders, and small merchants—and they were unaccustomed to hearing such matters being laid out for their understanding.

There were three options open to the English monarch, he told them, and all were governed by feudal law. The first was the possible restoration of John Balliol to his throne, after a suitable period of penance and expiation for his rebellion against his feudal overlord. That possibility did not come without difficulties, Bruce pointed out. He explained that King John, a prisoner and convicted rebel as he was, could not simply be forgiven and reinstated. His former supporters, the magnates and mormaers who had driven the revolt, were still in custody in England, too dangerous to be released until they had given public and irrevocable declarations of their own guilt and undertaken to honour the King’s peace in future. Once that had been achieved, Edward could decide what he would do about his vassal Balliol and the Scots Crown.

The second option, he continued, involved the folk of Carrick directly, by mere association. If Balliol’s loss of the Crown was confirmed, then another claimant might be put in place, and the only suitable claimant was Robert Bruce of Annandale. He waited out the lacklustre reaction to that. Robert Bruce of Annandale was Edward’s man, every bit as Balliol had seemed to be, and it was clear in the faces around him that these people were seeing the exchange of one weak leader for another. Bruce was neither surprised nor upset. He had his own doubts about his father’s fitness to be king when that position entailed, as it inevitably must, unending eye-to-eye confrontation with England’s intractable and domineering monarch. His father had never been, and would never be, a match for Edward Plantagenet.

As the buzz of speculation began to fade, the town miller, Gibby Rankin, raised his hand. “That canna happen afore the Balliol question’s settled, can it? So is there any more o’ these options ye’re talkin’ about?”

“Aye, Gibby, there is another one.” Bruce glanced around the assembly, aware of the silence. “A third option is for Edward to name himself the King of Scots.” He held up a hand quickly, to dispel the growing storm before it could become overwhelming. “But he won’t,” he shouted, and rose to his feet. The increase in height he gained by standing up forced men to look up at him, and they quickly fell silent.