He was industriously studying locomotion, crawling everywhere before he was fully six months old and endlessly exploring the wonders of every place where he was not supposed to venture, so that, one morning in January, after early Mass, I found him at the entrance to the byre, eyeing the cattle with delight. He had escaped, somehow, out from under the eye of his mother or the cook in whose charge he had been left, and, clad in nothing but a loincloth, had made his way right across the inner yard, which was inches deep in icy muck. I stopped short, because he was doing something I had never seen him do before. He had pulled himself upright, using the chinks in the rough, narrow logging of the door, and was standing on his own, barefoot but heedless of discomfort and swaying slightly as he peered into the beast-warmed gloom of the cowshed, gurgling to himself in enjoyment. He caught sight of me from the corner of his eye and swung to face me, crowing ecstatically over his own cleverness. But even as I began to move towards him he tottered alarmingly, fighting to retain his balance for at least two steps before landing flush in a pile of wet dung. His howls of outrage were spectacular. I carried him home very carefully, attempting to keep him at arm’s length to protect my priestly robes, but it was a hopeless task, because he was so slippery with mud and dung that I had to hold him close to prevent him from slipping right through my fingers.
A very different kind of crisis occurred the following month, when Bishop Wishart and Canon Lamberton once again turned up unexpectedly on our doorstep. Will was the first to see them coming, and he set aside the arrow he was fletching and strode into the middle of the clearing that served us as a village square. He gave a shout of welcome and stood awaiting them, hands on hips and a broad grin on his face. I had heard his shout and come outside to see what had occasioned it, and I was in time to watch his face settle into lines of apprehension and even trepidation to match the look on our visitors’ faces.
We stood silent as they dismounted with the merest nod of greeting, and then Will gestured wordlessly and spun on his heel to lead us into his hut. As soon as we were all inside, he closed the door and leaned against it.
“What?” he growled, looking directly at Wishart. “What’s happened?”
“We are at war with England.”
“
What?
We’re at
war
? Sweet Jesus, has Balliol gone mad? We are not fit to fight among ourselves, let alone go to war with England! What happened?”
Wishart was shaking his head. “John had little to do with it, Will. It was Edward who declared war, on us. He’s had an army gathering at Newcastle for months. We all knew that, but we assumed he was merely flaunting his displeasure, threatening us. We didn’t seriously think he would invade.”
“But he did. What caused him to?”
Wishart glanced at Lamberton and nodded to him to respond, and the younger man straightened up and sucked in a quick breath. “Displeasure with King John,” he said quietly. “John summoned an assembly of nobles to Dunfermline to ratify the French alliance.”
“A parliament? Then he must have done it in secrecy. We would have heard of such a thing even here in Selkirk.”
“It was not a parliament,” Wishart muttered. “It was an assembly, far less formal.”
“Formal enough yet to involve the nobility and offend Edward of England sufficiently to launch a war. What happened at this
assembly
that prompted such a response?”
Lamberton cleared his throat discreetly. “Perhaps I can answer that. His Grace is correct, this was not a parliament. Those who were there referred to it as a gathering of the community of the realm. But the truth is that in certain respects it proved to be more noteworthy, and perhaps more important in terms of influence, than a true parliament might have been.”
“Evidently so, given the result.” Will’s voice was redolent of disgust.
“It achieved what it was intended to achieve, and quickly. In a matter of hours, the new treaty with France was ratified and a marriage proposal between King John’s son Prince Edward and the Princess Jeanne de Valois of France was approved and witnessed in writing by all present, including four earls of the realm, eleven barons, four bishops, and five abbots. All of which is well and good, but something far more significant occurred in Dunfermline. This truly was a gathering of the community of the realm. For the first time official representatives of the burghs of Aberdeen, Berwick, Edinburgh, Perth, Roxburgh, and Stirling were invited to participate, and for the first time the voice of the burgesses was officially added to the public record.”
Will nodded. “And Longshanks responded with war.”
“Almost instantly,” Wishart said. “He must have had a spy there, because the word went back to him as though on wings. His reaction was spectacular, I’m told. He upended his table and cried upon God to witness that these ingrate Scots upstarts had finally exhausted his long-suffering patience. He declared war on us then and there and summoned his dukes and barons to invade.”
“Hmm …” Will crossed the room to the nearest chair and sank into it, his eyes gazing into nothingness, and the silence stretched, broken only by the sounds of movement as the rest of us seated ourselves, too, each one of us momentarily lost in his own thoughts.
Finally Will straightened up again. “So what happens next? Where are my people to go? We’re practically astride the main invasion route.”
Wishart glanced at Lamberton. “Father William, you might like to answer that, since you and I were talking about it on the way here.”
Lamberton nodded, solemn faced, then spoke directly to Will. “The honest answer is that we don’t know. You might be perfectly safe here—and by you I mean, of course, your womenfolk and children. You are a mile or two off the main road, and that might be enough to safeguard your settlements. The English armies will be moving quickly—at least through the thickest parts of the forest here—so they won’t have much temptation to stray from the high road. And it’s safe to say that the English commanders will be taking precautions against desertion, so they won’t be letting their people into the woods, for fear of losing them. So your distance from the road certainly makes your situation quite promising. But it is also precisely the kind of situation than no one can judge in advance.” He paused.
“Were I in your shoes, Will, I would prepare for the worst while hoping for the best. I would get the women and children safely away from these settlements and into defensible, out-of-the-way areas, and I would set up a strong but mobile screen of bowmen between them and the road. That way, if the English pass by without stopping, you will be able to move back into your homes in a matter of hours, and if anyone does come into the woods looking for you, the bowmen can deal with them.”
Will nodded. “Aye, that is much like what I had already decided to do. Have you any other tidings?”
Lamberton turned to Wishart, and the older man spoke up quickly. “Of course, as you might imagine, we have been taking advantage of our foreknowledge of Edward’s preparations and making arrangements of our own to counteract his threats.”
“We being the maggots, you mean.”
“Of course. Who else should I mean? This new community of ours may speak with one unanimous voice, but it cannot yet fight with one unanimous incentive. The armies must still be raised by the earls who control them, and commanded by the barons whose responsibility such things have ever been. But I am happy to be able to tell you, Will, that matters have improved in that respect since last we spoke. The commanders of the realm stand united today, and they are confident, as am I, that we, under the banner of King John and with the blessing of God, will acquit ourselves more than honourably in the fight ahead.”
Will blew a puff of air from his cheeks, dismissing the opinions of the magnates. “That is all very fine, my lord, but can we
win
? Acquitting ourselves well and losing in spite of that has no appeal for me. And I know it will not appeal to any of the men who have to march through rain and mud, carrying spears and pikes. Besides, the English share our God with us, and they will swear, to a man, that He is on their side. What about the Bruces?”
The Bishop blinked. “What about them?”
“Annandale and Carrick are two of the most powerful men in Scotland. Where do they stand on all of this? For I tell you frankly, if Bruce is not with us in this war, then it were best to sue for Edward’s peace this minute. Where do they stand? More simply, where is the young pup Carrick?”
“The Earl of Carrick …” The Bishop cleared his throat, looking away into a corner. “I do not know his exact location.”
“Nor do I, my lord, but I would be willing to wager that you would find him in King Edward’s court, for that is more home to him than is Scotland. The earl, whose title makes him one of this realm’s most illustrious peers, is a popinjay, a spoiled brat who enjoys draping himself in outlandish clothes and disporting himself with other men’s wives, playing at being a man himself while spending his sponsor’s money like a fool. There’s precious little of the Scot in him, from what I hear. He is young—what, twenty, one and twenty? And I have been told he is engaging, pleasant, and amiable when he wishes so to be, but he is also completely irresponsible. Edward dotes on him as though he were a favourite son and spoils him ruinously. He gives him leave to abuse anything and anyone he wishes to. And when he tires of indulging the young earl’s rebelliousness, he summons him back into the fold with a click of his fingers. You mark my words, my lord. Bruce is an ill name to employ in demonstrating solidarity, or anything purely Scottish and admirable, on the part of the magnates.”
The Bishop opened his mouth to speak, but Will ignored him.
“The Houses of Bruce and Comyn have been at daggers drawn for long years now, and the Bruces, God knows, are no great supporters of King John Balliol. They see in him, right or wrong, an upstart and a weakling, thrust into kingship by England and held in place only by the power and support of the Comyns. And the young earl is not the only one we need to be concerned about. His father is another matter altogether. The Lord of Annandale is currently castellan of Carlisle, is he not?”
When the Bishop nodded, Will grunted. “Very well, then. Let us consider the unthinkable. Now that the two realms are at war, one of our first moves must be to march against Carlisle, to shut off the English approach to the Solway Firth and neutralize the threat of invasion from that direction. So the question becomes this: which way will Robert Bruce of Annandale declare himself? Will he support his anointed King and open Carlisle to a Scots army? Or will he cleave to his much-acknowledged overlord and benefactor and defend Edward’s Carlisle Castle against his true King’s advance? I have my own opinion on that matter, but yours, my lord Bishop, is the one that matters here. Until you and your advisers can answer that single question, beyond a doubt and without reservation, I suggest you would be foolish to trust the fate of this realm to any assumptions having to do with the name of Bruce. I do not enjoy saying that, for my family have always been Bruce men, and I have no doubt that you are not happy to hear me bring my doubts to your attention, but that is the truth as I see it today.”
Robert Wishart rubbed at his eyes. “I know, my friend, I know. But that, at least, is a matter that will not take long to resolve, for we must put it to the test sooner than later, and by the time we do, we will know how to proceed in either circumstance. In the meantime, I am assured that the earls have matters well in hand. John Comyn, Earl of Buchan, is fortifying Annandale, since Bruce himself is in the English camp for the time being. Lord John de Soulis’s nephew Nicholas commands in Liddesdale, and between the two of them, the south is well cared for. Sir William Douglas holds the castle at Berwick, and Sir James the Stewart has charge of Roxburgh Keep. We are well prepared and in good hands.”
Wallace stood up and moved to a cupboard against the wall, from which he withdrew a jug of wine and a pair of cups, signalling to me to bring out more. He placed a cup in front of the bishop, but before he could pour any wine the old man waved him away, and so he stood there for a few moments, holding the jug between his hands and looking from one to the other of us. “Well,” he said eventually, “I hope you’re right and that the hands in which we rest are truly good, for if they hesitate or fumble, this land of ours will go down into chaos, and the groans of the folk crushed under England’s heel will assault the gates of Heaven itself.” He placed the jug carefully on the table, untouched. “I hope you’re right, and I will pray that you are.”
“But you won’t fight.” Wishart’s voice was bleak, and Will sat down and gazed at him levelly. I could see that he was fighting against his temper and I found myself wondering if the Bishop had any idea of how close he was to receiving the full benediction of my cousin’s wrath. But as the moments passed, the danger of an explosion passed with them, and soon Will raised his hand, almost in a blessing.
“I told you, on the last occasion that we met, that if a just cause ever came along and the folk of Scotland marched to war united, I would join them. I have not since changed my mind. I am not yet convinced, though, that the unity of which I spoke is firmly in place … and yet on the other hand, I am greatly encouraged by what you told me today about the power of the burghs and the burgesses. That, I believe, is a mighty step towards what we had hoped to achieve, for if the burgesses can speak with one independent voice, then someday this country of ours could stand on its own as an independent land, governed by its own community for the welfare of
all
its people.”
William Lamberton studied him carefully. “What are you saying, Will?”
“That I am half convinced. That is what I am saying, I think.” He scratched at his beard. “I am half convinced; the other half remains in doubt. And so I shall half prepare for war; I will half fight. I will stay here in the forest with my folk and watch what happens, and if the English come to me in search of pain and grief and sorrow, I will supply them with all they can take, and more atop that. But I will not yet march away to war.” He straightened up and looked directly at the Bishop. “Show me a leader worth following and a war worth dying in, and I will fight. That I swear to you.”