I sat down resolutely in front of her and leaned towards her, looking her straight in the eye. “Listen to me, Mirren. Listen carefully to what I’m going to tell you. I swear it’s true and it is something you might never have heard before. Will you listen to me? I’m going to tell you something Will confessed to me … swore to me, in fact.” I saw her eyes flare with surprise and I knew instantly she had misunderstood. “No, no, no.” I reached out and took hold of her wrist. “It was a personal confession between friends, not a sacramental confession binding me to silence. Do you understand the difference?”
I knew she must, but I waited for her to nod her head in acknowledgment.
“Good.” I squeezed her wrist, reassuringly I hoped, but did not relinquish it. “Well then, we have talked about this, Will and I, since you”—I floundered for a moment, then pressed on—“since you became with child. And in fact we first talked about it soon after the raids along the border lands, when word came back that Tam Elliott the weaver had had his hamstring cut during the fighting at Selkirk town. Do you remember that?”
She nodded soberly. “I do, because his wife had just had twin baby boys, an’ it near killed her. All o’ it, I mean—the birth o’ the bairns and then the word that Tam had lost his leg.”
“Aye. Well, Will and I talked about what was to be done for them, and the talk turned to you and Will and what might happen to you were he ever crippled or, God forbid, killed in a fight. I know now that Will has been thinking deeply about it ever since, and he has made a decision that, quite frankly, I would not have believed three months ago.”
She did not ask, although her eyes grew even wider. She merely waited, unmoving, until I continued.
“Will has decided that his duty—but even more than that, his heart—lies with you and your child, Mirren. He has told me that you and his son, or the daughter you will bear him, are more valuable and far more important to him than anything else could ever be.”
She asked in a tiny voice, “What does that mean?”
I had to smile at her, at the tremulous hope in her voice, the halfformed awareness that her fears might yet prove groundless.
“It means that your man has decided that you and the child you carry, and the others you will bear him in the years ahead, are his world and his life. And he has chosen to believe that nothing else, especially not the political haverings and squabbling of men who would not deign to bid him the time of day in person, can ever be permitted to threaten the love and the esteem he has for you and what you mean to him. Those other men may think of themselves as Will’s betters, his superiors, his masters—poor benighted creatures that they are—but you know and I know that not a one of them approaches Will Wallace in stature or dignity or goodness. And the strange part is that, somewhere deep inside himself, Will is beginning to see that, too. Strange, I mean, because he is a modest, self-effacing man, with little idea of how highly other men esteem him.
But be that as it may, Mistress Wallace, I believe you can dry your tears, for Will is going nowhere that will grieve you.” Her eyes flared again with something resembling panic. “But he’s in wi’ the Bishop now. What if—?”
“Bishop Wishart will not change Will’s mind, no matter how persuasively he tries, and we all know how persuasive he can be. But Will has made his decision, and you know your goodman. Once his mind is made up, nothing, not even you, can change it.”
As I finished speaking, someone knocked at the door, and Mirren answered immediately.
“Come in.”
Ewan leaned inside, his face lighting with pleasure as he saw me. “Ah, there y’ are. God bless this house and good day to you, Mirren. Jamie, the Bishop sent me to fetch you.”
“Aye, I’ll be right there, Ewan.” I turned back to Mirren. “I have to leave for home tomorrow morning, so you and I should talk about this again later, perhaps before dinner. Will that be possible?”
She smiled at me then, the most open and friendly smile she had ever bestowed on me, and crossed her hands over her belly. “Aye, or perhaps after we eat. After all, I have to play the hostess and entertain the Bishop and his … companion.”
“He’s a canon, Canon Lamberton, chancellor of Glasgow Cathedral. You’ll like him.”
“Thank you for this, Jamie. You have eased my soul.”
I blessed her quickly and left.
3
The three faces grouped around the smallest of the tables in the hut that served as an assembly hall were all serious when I walked in, and the greetings we exchanged were no more than perfunctory nods. “Did someone die?” I asked and immediately regretted my levity. “Your pardon, my lord Bishop, I meant no disrespect.”
Wishart turned his gaze on me, his eyes distinctly unfriendly. “No, Father James,” he said, so quietly that I almost had to strain to hear him. I had worked closely with him for almost two full years by then, and I knew that Bishop Wishart whispering straight-faced was the equivalent of other men raving while they destroyed buildings and slaughtered innocents. “No one has yet died today. But preparations are afoot in numerous places that should see a profusion of death in times to come. We are entering dire times here in Scotland, times that will test the mettle of each one of us, and now your cousin has informed us that he will be removing himself from any possibility of conflict.”
I winced, despite knowing it was not a wise thing to do. I looked back at Will to try to guess at what had been said already, but he seemed unruffled.
“Aye, well,” I said, struggling to find my tongue and straighten out my thoughts. “His wife will make a father of him within the next few days. Events like that have been known to make men re-evaluate their lives and how they live them.”
“We are aware of that, Father James.” Now the icy chill in that quiet voice was radiating towards me. “I find Will’s motives admirable, and his desire to be with his wife and child could not be more laudable. The timing of all this, however, could not be more unfortunate.”
“Forgive me, my lord. The timing of all what?”
The Bishop moved his head to look at me, a quirk of annoyance appearing between his brows. “Must I lay it all out like a map in front of you?”
I felt my chin go up in spite of knowing I should not react. “I fear you must, my lord, for I have been in these woods for nigh on four months, and we hear little of the outside world here.”
I saw Will bend forward slightly, and when I glanced at him, I found him looking at me and he closed one eye in a long, approving wink. The Bishop, though, had gone stock-still, staring straight ahead. And then the stiffness left his posture and he sank back into his chair.
“Forgive me, Father James. You have every right to chastise me. Come, then, and sit down, and I will bring you up to date on all that has been going on in Scotland and in England.”
He waited until I was seated across from him and then he raised one hand, fingers spread, preparing to enumerate points as he made them.
“You left Glasgow to come down here as minister to your new flock soon after the Old Robert Bruce died, towards the end of April, did you not?”
“Aye, my lord, the twenty-eighth of April.”
“Right. And then in June, Will’s men launched several actions in response to the illegal activities of certain … people in these parts. That created a stir at the time, but though much was achieved here, it was regarded by the powers in the land to be a local issue, a minor disturbance that faded to insignificance against the backdrop of what was taking place elsewhere. And then came July, and many matters came to a head. The first ten days of July of the year of our Lord 1295 will prove, I believe, to have been a memorable time.
“On the third of the month, I set my name and episcopal seal, in the company of others, as witness to a royal charter from King John of Scotland. Those others were four belted earls—Buchan, Strathearn, Dunbar, and Mar—along with Patrick de Graham and John Comyn, Lord of Badenoch. An illustrious group of witnesses, by any gauge. The import of the cha
rter was to grant lands in Douglasdale, forfeited by the rebellious Sir William Douglas, to the Englishman Antony Bek, Prince Bishop of Durham and King Edward of England’s former deputy in Scotland.”
I was aware that my mouth was hanging open. “Bek?” I said eventually. “They gave Douglas’s lands to Bek?”
“Aye, they did.” The Bishop’s voice was flat. “Sir William Douglas stands convicted of sedition and rebellion and all his lands and goods are forfeit to the Crown. It is regrettable, but the man brought this judgment down upon himself through his own obstinacy. He was warned often enough, advised to pull in his horns, but he always was a bull, headstrong and wilful and heedless of what others thought. He behaved like a tyrant king within his own lands, and some argue that was his right, but he crossed the true King elsewhere in the realm, acting as though he were a law unto himself, and that was his undoing. His behaviour was little short of brigandage and treason, and he has paid the price for it.”
“But Bek, my lord! What folly is there, to make a gift of Scots lands to a man whose hatred of the realm is common knowledge—”
“Consider, Father James.” Wishart’s voice was minatory but not impatient, warning me to say no more. “The gifting was King John’s, a gesture of goodwill towards his royal cousin, England’s King. Would you take issue with your monarch over it?” I closed my mouth, restricting my protest to a frown as the Bishop continued. “The wishes of the likes of we four here weigh nothing in such matters, and besides, the gifting of Bek was rendered insignificant two days later, on the fifth of July.”
Lamberton cleared his throat quietly, steepling his fingers beneath his nose as though to pray and gazing at me from beneath a slightly raised eyebrow. I could almost feel the question hovering on my lips, and I knew they were waiting for me to ask it. I turned slightly to look directly at the Bishop.
“It seems to me, my lord, that anything capable of reducing such a grotesque gesture to insignificance must, in itself, have been earth shaking.”
“It was,” came Wishart’s reply. “It was indeed, although the effects of what occurred that day have not yet come to pass.”
Damnation, I thought. He is determined to make me ask. “I see. What took place, then? What was this earth-shaking occurrence?”
“Another charter from King John, but more significant by far than the temporary awarding of the title of some lands to a visiting potentate. This charter has great substance … or it has the potential to acquire great substance. On July fifth, His Grace the King appointed a delegation of senior representatives of both the Church and the laity of the realm to travel to France with plenary authority there to negotiate a formal alliance with the French Crown. The terms of the alliance, as drafted by King John, will set both realms, shoulder to shoulder, against any aggression against either party by the Crown of England. The chosen delegates were William Fraser, Bishop of St. Andrews, Matthew de Crambeth, Bishop of Dunkeld, Sir John de Soulis, and Sir Ingram de Umfraville. They left for France within two days and have since arrived in Paris, where they are currently in negotiations with King Philip and his advisers.” He paused. “How significant is that development, think you, as opposed to the granting of the Douglas lands to Bek?”
I nodded slowly. “It places an entire new meaning on the word,” I said. “And I can see, too, what you meant by saying that the earthshaking effects of it have not yet been felt. Does England have any inkling of what’s afoot?”
“Not yet. But they will, soon enough. Events of such magnitude cannot be easily concealed, especially in a place like France, where Philip keeps a court filled with foreigners and has been at war with England for years. Edward will have spies aplenty there, safeguarding his interests in the war over Gascony, and it will not take long for word of what is happening to reach him in England. When it does, then I have no doubt the earth will start to tremble.”
“How will he react, think you, my lord?”
“Noisily, I suspect, but not violently. Not yet, before he has taken time to assess the situation.”
“And what of King John? What does he hope to gain by this?”
“Time. Time and a strong ally. The approach to the French King is to work hand in hand with the other development that occurred in that same week. The following day, in fact.”
Canon Lamberton must have seen my confusion, for he dropped his hands into his lap and bent forward to speak to me directly. “The delegates to France were formally appointed in Stirling early on the morning of July the fifth, Father James. They left that same day for St. Andrews and sailed thence to France on the seventh, while on the sixth, King John’s seventh parliament opened in Stirling. My lord Bishop?” He shifted his gaze to Wishart, but the Bishop merely waggled his fingers at him in a signal to proceed.
“It is no secret that King John has had increasing troubles with King Edward since his assumption of the throne. The Plantagenet clearly believes that having made it possible for John to claim the crown, he now retains the right to dictate how the new King should wear it, and he has made it more than evident that he believes himself entitled to impose his will upon the entire realm of Scotland. Witness his continuing insistence that he be granted occupancy of all our castles. He wants them all, to garrison at his leisure and to his own purposes. And what could such purposes entail other than domination and suppression of this land? He seeks to cloak it all under the guise of diplomatic words: that he is entitled to be recognized as overlord of Scotland because most of our Scots magnates owe him some form of allegiance. That most, if not all, of Scotland disagrees with him matters naught to this man. He sees no impediment to imposing his regal will on all of us. But we will not permit that. Scotland will not permit it.”
I shifted my eyes sideways to Will and found him listening closely, his eyes narrowed to slits as he concentrated upon every word being spoken, and as I looked, he spoke up.
“How will Scotland not permit it? Who is this ‘we’ you speak of, and what do they intend to do, to change anything?”
It was the Bishop who responded this time. “We are the community of the realm. The description is new—”
“I’ve heard of it,” Will said.
“Aye, you have, for the idea is not new. It has been around for years, being talked about by everyone. Recently, though, it has begun taking hard form, in the persons of those most involved.”
“The magnates.” There was a flat, dismissive quality to Will’s voice, but the Bishop appeared not to notice it.
“The magnates, aye, but not alone … no longer alone. These are changing times. In recent years we have been seeing the emergence of an addition to the three main estates of the realm. A fourth is coming into being. The first three still hold sway: the bishops of the Church, the earls of the ancient Celtic kingdom, and the barons of the current realm. But a strong new voice is now making itself heard in the land—the voice of the burgesses, some of whom are beginning to call themselves the fourth estate. For the time being, though, and in the case we are discussing, the vested power is unchanged. The parliament in Stirling appointed a council of twelve governors—four bishops, four earls, and four barons—to assist King John wholeheartedly in his dealings with England, to provide visible and formidable support for the King’s grace in the face of bullying and bluster.”
Will muttered something tinged with disgust, and Wishart cocked his head sideways, eyeing him. “Have you something to add, Will?”
“Aye,” came the low response, “but nothing new. How long, think ye, before Edward yanks the chain and threatens to deprive your magnates of their lands in England? That has never failed to bring them obediently to heel before, and I see no reason why things should be different now.”
“But things are different now. These men have accepted full responsibility for their new tasks in the eyes of parliament.”
“And have they willingly agreed to forfeit their estates in England?”
That brought no answer, and the silence stretched until Will sp
oke again.
“That’s what I thought. And that, my lord, is why I will not fight. As long as these men rely on the wealth of their estates in England, England’s King will have them on a choke leash. Tell me this, and be truthful: why should I, why should any man of ability or worth, be expected to endanger and abandon his own family and step forward to fight for, or with, or beside these … these posturing buffoons, knowing them likely to skip sideways in the middle of the measure and end up dancing on the other side, accepting table scraps from England and leaving us to die for our folly in trusting them?”
He was glaring at the Bishop, defying him to interrupt him, and when Wishart said nothing he continued. “Magnates! Magnates, my arse. Maggots suits them better. Sir William Douglas may be a brigand and a bully and a rebel, but at least no one doubts where he stands. That kind of man I can deal with. But until these maggots can make up their mind about whether they’re Scots or English, they’ll get no support from me or any of my kind. And until then, be damned to them.” He dropped his voice dramatically and spoke his next words slowly and clearly. “I will not fight to enrich some faceless, half-bred mongrel magnate at my own expense and risk.”
He permitted that to linger in the air, then sat back in his chair. “On the other hand,” he said, “the moment the Scots noble houses wash their hands of all they held in England and commit themselves to being Scots and to caring for their folk and for this realm, I will stand prepared to change my mind. And if it comes to waging war, united one and all against Edward’s greedy grasp, I will come quickly out of Ettrick, with every outlaw I can muster, and join the fight.”
“And you are determined not to fight until then?”
Will laid his hands flat on the table, fingers spread. “I have explained my situation, my lord, as clearly as I am able, but I will do so again. I have a wife big with child. Within days we will have a son or a daughter, the first of many, I hope and pray. I will not endanger the welfare of my family needlessly. If it should come to a just war, properly led by trustworthy commanders for the common good, then I will march with everyone else. But I will risk nothing for, nor will I support in any way, anyone who has no care for me or mine and no interests in his mind but his own welfare.”