The Renegade(217)
“Thank you, Sir John,” he said, then lapsed back into silence. No one stirred, their stillness reflecting the gravity of what had transpired here, and Bruce wiped the corners of his mouth with a spread hand before continuing. “This—session—has given me much to think about, and none of it expected.” He rose to his feet and began to pace, his gaze moving now among all the listeners. “Much to think about. And though I would never have believed yesterday that I would say what I am going to say, I say it now without reluctance and without hesitation.” His formal tone announced that he spoke not as Robert Bruce the younger but as the Earl of Carrick. “My grandfather taught me well on the importance of perceptions, and having listened now to Alexander Armstrong and the rest of you, I can see not only what you mean but also that you are correct. In my own defence, I can only say that my blindness to the truth of what I’ve heard was—like my father’s own—born of our isolation in England. My father and I have had no idea of the situation you have to live with. And so I withdraw my request in the belief that my father would, too. I will ask no man of Annandale to place himself against the judgment of the folk in Scotland for what could look like treasonous behaviour in their eyes.
“My own men of Carrick have told me the same kind of thing, but until I came here this day I had chosen to believe they were speaking only of local occurrences. Carrick is far removed from here, after all. But now it seems that no place in Scotland is too far removed to be unscathed. The task I have to do at Castle Douglas can be accomplished with the men I have at hand. It is mine alone to perform and I will do it, as I must, with my Carrick men, under the blue banner of Bruce and the gold of Carrick.”
He looked around the room, meeting the gaze of each man. “I am grateful, then, for your patience in listening to what I have had to say and I thank you for allowing me the time in which to say it, foolish as it might have seemed to you even without the horror of the tale we have heard this day. And that said, I will detain you no longer. I will send a report to my father in Carlisle, and I give you my word it will contain my full agreement with your concerns and no hint of criticism of you or your beliefs in this matter. Once again, my thanks, and God be with you all.”
When they had gone, Bruce sat musing for a while, then pushed himself away from the table and walked the few steps to his grandfather’s den. There he paused in the doorway, leaning against the jamb and frowning at the chair where the old man had sat working for so many years by the fire. Things had changed greatly since the old man left. There was no fire burning in the grate now, and the place looked dusty and unused. He could never remember having seen that fire dead before, and that single detail struck home to him, making him realize that had Alan Bellow been in Lochmaben, that fire would still be burning, if for no other purpose than to keep the old man’s memory alive. He made a mental note to reinstate Bellow as factor as soon as he returned to London and had an opportunity to send the word to Writtle. Alan was part of the fabric of Lochmaben and was practically useless in England, with nothing better to do than keep the little-used Writtle cellars stocked; besides, he was aging rapidly, and Bruce knew it would be good for the taciturn old servant to return to the place that had been his home for most of his life.
That thought conjured an immediate image of his grandfather sipping hot toddy by the fire. Bruce straightened up, seeing the old iron kettle still in place, its singed handling cloth suspended on a nearby nail, and he wondered suddenly if the battered wooden cupboard against the wall still held his grandfather’s toddy ingredients. He crossed the room quickly and stooped to open the cupboard doors, knowing even as he went that the shelves would be bare, but as he turned away, disappointed, he decided to have the fire lit and fresh toddy ingredients brought in. He knew he still had much thinking to do, for he did not feel comfortable with some of the things he had learned in the previous two days and was aware of some new, niggling, formless doubt. A toddy by the fire would do him good, he thought, for until he could point his finger firmly at whatever it was, this canker that was gnawing at him, he would fret himself into inaction. And inaction, with the looming raid upon Douglas Castle, was something he could not afford.
After going to the kitchens and issuing orders to have the fire lit in Lord Robert’s den and a fresh supply of spirits, honey, hot water, and fresh cups taken there, Bruce went for a walk in the late- afternoon air, wandering wherever his feet took him while he allowed his thoughts free rein.
Half an hour after that he re-entered the assembly hall from the courtyard and almost bumped into Sir James Jardine as they both stepped into the doorway from opposite directions. Bruce stopped, stock-still.