Kingdom (44 page)

‘I swore an oath to my grandfather long before I swore my oath to Edward. I told him I would defend my family’s right to the throne of Scotland. In that moment, I realised I could no longer serve two masters. I had to choose.’ Robert met Humphrey’s eyes. ‘And now I know I made the right choice. Now I know the truth behind your king’s so-called
Last Prophecy
.’

Humphrey felt his heart begin to thump. Now, he was nearing it – the question that had brought him here. ‘What of your prophecy – the death of the covetous king that will augur your rise to power as a new leader of the Britons? Will you try to tell me that is truth?’

‘My prophecy is as true as men want it to be.’ Robert smiled, but there was no humour in the expression. ‘King Edward taught me well.’

‘What does that mean?’

Robert shook his head. ‘Let us do what we came here to do, Humphrey. Let us agree this exchange. My family for Percy. Yes?’

‘Tell me. I want to know.’

As Robert studied him something shifted in his face, his expression changing from cold suspicion to faint surprise. ‘When I took the box from Westminster it broke. When I looked inside there was no prophecy.’

Humphrey felt an icy tide wash through him, hearing Robert repeat what Alexander had told him in Ayr, but, still, he refused to accept it as truth. ‘The text King Edward found at Nefyn was ancient. He had the
Last Prophecy
translated and kept the original locked in that box because he feared it could turn to dust. Maybe it had.’

‘There was nothing, Humphrey. No trace of anything.’

‘It predicted the death of King Alexander. It said he would die without issue. If the prophecy wasn’t real, how is that possible?’

‘That’s what kept me doubting, even after I made my decision to fight for my kingdom – what kept me fearing I might bring Britain to ruin by my actions. Until this.’ Reaching into the front of his surcoat, Robert pulled out the fragment of iron he wore around his neck on a worn leather thong. ‘That night in my father’s manor five years ago – the night we fought – I told you I didn’t know the man who attacked me in Ireland. It wasn’t a lie. I didn’t know him. But James Stewart did.’

Humphrey listened, disquiet rising, as Robert spoke of the corpse in the cellar of Dunluce Castle and the high steward’s shock as he recognised the dead man as Adam, a squire of King Alexander who had come from France in Queen Yolande’s retinue and had escorted Alexander to his new bride at Kinghorn.

‘This man,’ continued Robert, ‘who hunted me down in Ireland was with Alexander the night he died. That can be no mere coincidence. I was at Birgham, Humphrey. I heard Edward claim that Alexander had wanted to join their houses in marriage. He said our king had spoken of a possible union between Margaret of Norway and his infant son. If that marriage had gone ahead Edward would have taken control of Scotland through his son. But, then, Alexander chose Yolande for his new bride.’

Humphrey, seeing the abyss into which this conversation was heading – a far darker, deeper one than he had imagined – turned from Robert. But even as he did so he thought of Adam, commander of one of the king’s crossbow regiments in Gascony and a member of the Knights of the Dragon. He hadn’t seen the man in years. Edward had ordered him to question Robert on the identity of his attacker and whether the man was still alive.
Proof
.
He
wanted to know if they had proof
. Humphrey had wondered himself about the king’s possible involvement in Robert’s attack, but had dismissed it as unthinkable. Now, a parade of the king’s latest victims marched through his mind: John of Atholl, Christopher Seton, Alexander Bruce. He had seen, first-hand, what Edward was capable of. But the murder of his brother-in-law? Regicide?
He plotted against his father. After Evesham, he had the body of his own godfather, Simon de Montfort, mutilated. You saw what he did to his own son, just weeks ago.

‘Any children Alexander and Yolande had would have taken precedence over Margaret as heir to the throne of Scotland.’

‘Stop,’ murmured Humphrey. There was little force to the command.

‘After Alexander died, Edward secured the pope’s permission for his son to marry Margaret as planned. He would have got his wish had she not died on the voyage.’

Humphrey crossed to a stump of broken pillar and leaned against it. This was it – the spider at the centre of the web of secrets he had sensed spun between the king and Robert. It was, he knew, why he had felt so discomforted by the executions of Robert’s brothers, why guilt had assailed him at the incarceration of the man’s wife and family, and why his questions these past months had begun to shift in another, far more unpalatable, direction. His heart had known something his head had refused to accept: that Robert wasn’t the only one who had lied to him. His wasn’t the only betrayal.

Robert followed him, impassioned. ‘I believe Edward ordered Alexander’s murder so he could take control of Scotland, easily, without a prolonged war. And I believe he invented the
Last Prophecy
to legitimise his conquest of Britain and keep his men faithful to his cause. The relics he took are powerful symbols of the sovereignty of each of our nations. In taking them for himself he claimed the very souls of our kingdoms. But he claimed you too, Humphrey. While he conquered my country with the sword, he conquered you with the power of prophecy. You fought for his lie because you believed you were saving Britain. You weren’t. You were destroying it.’

Humphrey’s mind filled with the slow decay he had seen in England these past years; rising poverty in the countryside and lawlessness growing in the towns. He thought of the reports coming in from beleaguered English settlers in Ireland, towns abandoned as the Irish pressed in on the borders. He had a fleeting thought of the king’s sickness spreading to infect the realm, as if Edward himself had become the canker at the core of it. As he met Robert’s gaze, he realised the man looked relieved, as if lifted of a burden. In turn, he felt as though all that weight were now crushing his own shoulders. ‘Why have you said nothing before now?’

‘Edward built this lie over years. Its foundations are deep and the defences he has raised around it – in the Knights of the Dragon and his Round Table – are mighty. It would take a lot more than my word to bring it crashing down. I had hoped to use the prophecy box against him somehow, but it was taken with my brother.’

‘Have you told your men?’

‘A small number know the box was empty. But Sir James asked me to keep my silence on my suspicions over Alexander’s death. I wanted to find proof in London, but then Wallace was caught and . . .’ Robert trailed off, shaking his head. ‘In truth, I do not expect anything in telling you this, Humphrey. All I want now is my family. My daughter is in a cage, for Christ’s sake!’

Humphrey pushed a gloved hand through his hair, closing his eyes. He couldn’t take all this in – not yet – and he couldn’t show any more weakness in front of Robert. The man was still his enemy. No matter what else this meeting had yielded that fact remained. He straightened, meeting Robert’s eyes. ‘Marjorie isn’t in a cage. Edward passed the sentence upon her, yes, and she was taken to the Tower on his orders. But she never went into the cage. Queen Marguerite eventually managed to persuade him to house your daughter in a room there. Marjorie even has one of her own maids with her, I believe.’

‘Aymer said otherwise. I heard him – when he was hunting for me. He taunted me, saying she was caged like an animal.’

‘I expect he wanted you to suffer.’ Humphrey saw Robert’s face brighten and fill with hope. All at once, the grim, scarred man before him looked more like the youth he had known.

‘Then, the others? Niall? John? Christopher? Is what I’ve been told untrue? Are they—’

‘No,’ said Humphrey. ‘I’m afraid his leniency did not extend to your men.’ He frowned. ‘For whatever it is worth, I am sorry. Ralph de Monthermer and I petitioned the king to have mercy on them.’ He looked down the aisle to where Henry Percy was kneeling. ‘I can tell you now Edward will not agree to an exchange of prisoners. Sir Henry’s life doesn’t mean as much to him as your suffering does.’

‘I don’t believe that.’

‘You should.’ At the bluntness of the statement, Humphrey saw Robert’s defiance falter. ‘But if you release Henry into my custody and make me a promise I will do two things for you.’

‘What things?’

‘First – the promise. I want your word that you will keep your silence on what you believe happened to King Alexander.’ As Robert went to speak, Humphrey cut in. ‘Just as you feel it is your duty to protect your kingdom, I must defend mine. If Edward murdered his brother-in-law he will face judgement before God’s tribunal. But I will not allow England to be tarnished by the accusation. Whatever the truth, Alexander’s death must remain an accident.’

‘You want me to give up my hostage and promise to protect the reputation of the man who hanged my brothers?’ Robert’s tone was blistering.

‘The king is near death. Edward of Caernarfon will soon take the throne. You would do well to keep an ally in the royal court when that happens. He may be more open to negotiation than his father has been.’

‘You cannot guarantee that.’

‘No, but what I can assure you is that I will help your family. I will do whatever is in my power to ease their suffering. I could get your daughter moved from the Tower and make sure your wife has more agreeable lodgings in which to live out her days.’

‘My sisters? Isabel Comyn?’

‘I will do what I can.’ Humphrey maintained his poise, as Robert searched his face.

‘You said you would do two things for me,’ said Robert, after a long silence.

‘Give me Percy and I will tell you the second.’

Robert looked to where the prisoner knelt. He seemed to struggle with the decision, then gestured to Gilbert and Neil. ‘Bring him,’ he called, raising his voice.

The two men exchanged questioning looks, but they did as their king commanded. Henry Percy resisted as he was hauled to his feet.

The lord shouted through his hood as they marched him towards Humphrey. ‘What are you doing with me? Where are you taking me? Tell me, God damn you!’

‘Take him outside,’ Robert told his men, when Humphrey nodded.

After Percy had been conveyed through the archway to the waiting company of knights, Humphrey turned back to Robert. He looked to the altar, where Edward Bruce and Alexander Seton stood frowning at these unexpected proceedings. ‘You have a snake in your midst.’

Robert followed his gaze. ‘What?’

‘Seton told the Black Comyn of your intention to head to Islay. He is the reason John MacDougall of Argyll knew you were coming. I believe he was tortured for the information then, but when imprisoned in Berwick he freely offered to bring you in if we would spare his cousin the gallows.’ Humphrey looked back at Robert, who had paled. ‘When Seton came to me in Ayr it wasn’t to deliver your message. He was going to tell me where your fleet was based in return for Christopher’s release. He doesn’t know he is already dead.’

‘Why are you telling me this?’

‘As I said – two pledges from me in return for two from you.’ Humphrey took in the look of devastation on Robert’s face, but could find no pleasure in it. ‘Besides, I know what it’s like to have a friend betray you.’

Chapter 31

Burgh by Sands, England, 1307 AD

Humphrey rode into the English encampment, heading for the scarlet pavilion that loomed above the crowds of soldiers who filled the fields around the tiny settlement of Burgh by Sands, their upper arms adorned with bands of white cloth decorated with the cross of St George. The flanks of Humphrey’s horse were foamy with sweat. He and his men had ridden hard from Carlisle, determined to reach the king before he crossed the water. Another ship was sailing into the vast, brown mouth of the Solway Firth to join the others moored there. Soon, there would be enough vessels to transport the king’s army across the estuary to Scotland.

Humphrey drew his horse to a stamping halt outside the pavilion, his eyes on the ranks of the Galloway hills standing dark against the dun sky. A brisk wind hissed through the reeds of the nearby marshes. It was cold for early July.

Two royal knights were standing to either side of the pavilion’s entrance. As Humphrey approached, one moved to bar his way. ‘Sir Humphrey, I’m afraid the king is accepting no visitors.’

‘It is urgent, Geoffrey. I must speak with the king at once.’

‘I am sorry, sir.’

‘As Constable of England, I order you to stand aside.’

Geoffrey faltered, glancing at his companion for help.

Humphrey didn’t wait, but pushed past the man. As the knight stiffened and reached for his sword, he growled, ‘Do not try me today.’

Entering the pavilion, Humphrey saw Nicholas Tingewick talking to several royal officials. They looked round, surprised, as he headed for the curtains that partitioned the king’s bedchamber. Before they could stop him, he brushed aside the drapes and entered. He saw the bed erected in the centre of the large space, the womb-like red chamber unfurnished but for a black chest at the foot of the bed. At the head, obscuring Humphrey’s view, stood the king’s steward and his confessor. To the edges of the tent, pages clustered, pale and nervous. Seeing the priest was carrying a small, silver box, Humphrey’s throat went dry. It was a pyx, for the bearing of the sacrament.