The Renegade(68)

“The need is here already,” Wishart growled. “My question is, would you trust him to adjudicate the matter, were he to profess himself willing?”

Lord Robert sniffed loudly, then pulled out a kerchief and wiped his nose. “For the good of the realm and to avoid a war? For those reasons I would set aside my reluctance, and aye, I would trust him. Providing, mind you, that the rules to guarantee fair-mindedness and a willingness to accept the settlement were clearly outlined and agreed upon in Scots law, and on all sides, beforehand. And that would lie within the jurisdiction of the Guardians’ council. So aye, I would trust Edward of England’s judgment. I have fought beside him when we were both younger and I respect him as a man. Besides, he is my liege lord under the ancient feudal laws of Christendom, since I owe him fealty for my lands and estates in England.” He sat musing for a few moments. “But think you the Balliol people will agree? And if they do, how will your council proceed?”

“It is already done.”

Rob watched as his grandfather stiffened and drew himself upright.

“What did you say?”

Wishart shrugged and spread his hands. “A letter has been sent to England, asking Edward to intercede.”

The old man’s eyes were wide with disbelief. “You sought the agreement of the Comyns ahead of mine?”

“We did not consult the Comyns. We but wrote to Edward, voicing our fears of civil war and asking him for assistance in maintaining the peace of the realm.”

“Did you, by God? And who is this ‘we’?”

The bishop’s green chasuble shifted as Wishart shrugged his shoulders again. “The letter was drafted by Fraser of St. Andrews.”

“Damnation, man, he is a Comyn. What kind of villainy is he plotting?”

“Shame on you, Robert Bruce.” Wishart’s tone was withering. “Above and beyond all else William Fraser is a bishop of Holy Church. He is also a former chancellor of Scotland. The man is a lifelong patriot, dedicated to the welfare and prosperity of this land and its folk—all of its folk. His reputation and his probity are beyond question, attested to by a lifetime of service and devotion to duty. That his name is Comyn has no relevance in this matter. He saw his duty to be as clear as it has always been: to protect the peace and stability of the realm. He drafted his letter to that end, with the ungrudging assistance of another Comyn, Lord John of Badenoch, a man whose rectitude matches Fraser’s own. And neither of them thought to set the welfare of their house ahead of that of the realm. They drafted the letter as soon as word reached them of your preparations to march, for they perceived the predictable response of Balliol’s supporters, most of them their own kin. They sent it first to me, for my input. I saw no need to improve upon what they had written and I endorsed the letter myself, for the good and the need of Scotland, Lord Bruce. That same need that led you to concede just now that you will abide by Edward Plantagenet’s judgment in order to avoid civil war. The fact that most of those Balliol supporters are Comyns mattered nothing to either of the writers, for they believe that nothing—not family name or pride or reputation— supersedes the importance of their first priority, the realm and its folk.”

The fire of Wishart’s delivery left no one in any doubt of his belief in every word he spoke, and Rob could see that it had mollified the fierce old warrior to whom it had been addressed. Lord Robert sat glowering, his jaw jutting pugnaciously, but he said nothing for a while, shifting his eyes from one spot to another without looking directly at anyone. Finally, though, he grunted and turned to his son.

“Robert, what think you of this?”

Earl Robert spread his hands. “I am here as a mere witness, Father. Your decision, whatever it may be, will affect my life henceforth, as it will Rob’s, but yours is the claim and therefore this is your decision to make. I’ll be content to stand at your shoulder and support you, whatever you conclude.”

“Hmm … ” The fierce old eyes switched to Rob, who thought his grandfather was going to speak to him, but Lord Robert turned back to face Wishart.

“Fine,” he growled. “I will retract that last remark about Fraser. It was unworthy. So the letter is sent. So be it. Where does that leave us now, the four of us here?”

The bishop cleared his throat. “Well, for one thing, it leaves me hoping that now you’ll have a cup of wine with no ill will between us, for water does little to cut the fog in my gullet. For another, it leaves us to decide what’s to be done to clear the air.”

“Hmm … Rob, pour us all some wine before the bishop dies of thirst.”