Part 5 (1/2)
The Templars' destination was a substantial two-story house in the Flemish quarter of the city, gifted to the Order by the family of a knight-brother who had been killed at the siege of Tripoli. Though it had since been leased out to a prosperous Flemish wool merchant and his family, the merchant, one Johan Lindsay, had readily agreed to provide accommodation, in exchange for a remittance on his rent.
The early dusk of late October was settling as the Templars rode into Lindsay's prosperous yard. Within an hour, they were sitting down to meat with Lindsay and his two strapping sons, his wife and a teenage daughter having absented themselves out of deference to the Templar Rule that forbade contact with women. At Arnault's urging, Lindsay ventured to offer his Templar guests a local a.s.sessment of how the court of claims was progressing.
”Quite frankly, the folk of Berwick would like nothing better than to see this dispute settled by the end of the year,” Lindsay informed his listeners. ”Some few may be doing well enough, out of the increase in local trade, but the resources of the town are being strained beyond their limits. The drains are backed up, the streets are ankle-deep with rubbish, the local courts have been disrupted, and the incidence of thievery has doubled from what it was a year ago. Speaking as a merchant, most folk in these parts don't really care who gets the crown; all they want to do is to get back to business as usual.”
Arnault was not surprised by this disclosure. From discussions with Torquil and Luc, he knew that the Guardians of Scotland had done their best to govern the country during the interregnum, but their powers were circ.u.mscribed. Only a duly enthroned monarch could hold full parliamentary a.s.semblies, confirm and grant charters, or treat authoritatively with another foreign sovereign. Until such time as Scotland once again had a king to sit upon her throne, royal burghs such as Berwick would continue to suffer from disruptions to trade and industry.
The various claims to the Scottish throne were being examined in detail by two separate juries, one Scottish and one English. The English jury of twenty-four had been chosen from among Edward's English barons; the Scottish jurors numbered eighty, half chosen by Balliol and half by Bruce, who were considered the princ.i.p.al contenders. At Edward's behest, these juries were conducting their deliberations behind closed doors in the upper levels of the castle keep. The respective reports of the two juries were relayed to the English king and his advisors in the castle's great hall, in the presence of the Scottish compet.i.tors, their auditors, and various eminent witnesses, both secular and religious. These reports were then turned over to Edward's own team of legal experts for a final review, by dint of whose deliberations the claim of Count Florence of Holland had recently been disallowed, leaving only John Balliol and Robert Bruce as increasingly bitter contenders.
”We understand that Balliol is generally acknowledged to have the stronger legal case,” Arnault said.
”So he does,” Lindsay said with a grimace. ”And more's the pity.”
”Why do you say that?” Jay asked sharply.
Lindsay shrugged. ”Mind you, I am a Fleming, not a Scot, but if the Scots are to emerge from this business as a free and independent people, their new king, whoever he is, will have to face up to Edward's demands to be recognized as Scotland's feudal overlord. That is going to take more steel, I fear, than Balliol has in him.”
”And you think the Bruces might be better fitted for such resistance?” Robert de Sautre asked, with the affected laugh that habitually characterized his manner.
”Aye, that I do,” Lindsay answered bluntly. ”The Bruces are no man's lackeys. Whatever the grandsire starts, the grandson will surely finish.”
The following morning, Jay led the Templar delegation on horseback up to the castle. Here they were received by Sir William Latimer, one of the senior knights of Edward's royal household, to whom Jay made formal pet.i.tion that the Templar party be allowed to observe the proceedings of the court at first hand.
”Such a request is certainly in order,” Latimer told Jay, when the latter had finished, ”provided that you and your brother-knights are prepared to swear that you will commit no breach of privilege by openly discussing the proceedings of the court outside the confines of the session chamber.”
Such oaths were an accepted formality, and Jay agreed without demur. When each of the Templar knights had submitted his oath in turn, Latimer conducted them to a doorway that gave access to the minstrels' gallery at the lower end of the castle's great hall. Here, they took their places among a number of other observers, who included representatives from several religious orders, a Norwegian emissary, and a legate from the papal court. From this vantage point, it was possible to hear and see everything that was going on in the hall below-and for most of those in the Templar delegation, it provided their first actual glimpse of the English king.
Edward Plantagenet was seated on a dais at the far end of the hall, flanked by a handful of personal advisors, long-limbed and yellow-haired, with hard, pale features and eyes as icy and unfathomable as a winter lake. He followed the speeches of the jurors in heavy-lidded silence, one long-fingered hand resting idle on his knee. The other was clasped with casual firmness around a golden pendant hanging from a rich chain about his neck, perhaps in echo of his obvious intent to keep a similar hold on the realm of Scotland.
”Isn't he the one?” Torquil muttered under his breath, so that only Arnault could hear him.
Arnault, less personally affronted, was more intent on weighing up the two chief compet.i.tors, Bruce and Balliol, who were also present in the hall, together with a select following of adherents. John Balliol of Barnard Castle was a lean, hatchet-faced man in his middle fifties, whose darting, close-set eyes held an acquisitive gleam. Robert Bruce of Annandale, by sharp contrast, was burly and truculent as a badger, still fiercely bellicose despite his seventy-two years. Arnault thought it likely that the old man had bequeathed more than his name to the grandson who stood at his shoulder: a fiery-looking youth of eighteen, with more than a hint of his grandsire's indomitable spirit in his keen gray eyes.
Standing at Balliol's right hand was his brother-in-law, Black John Comyn of Badenoch, accompanied by a clever-looking young man of much the same age as Torquil- surely Comyn's son-with restless dark eyes and a predatory excitement in his manner that put Arnault in mind of a hunting cat. Though Comyn figured publicly as Balliol's staunchest supporter, Arnault was struck by the curious impression that he, and not Balliol, was the one in authority. That impression prompted him to consider Comyn and his son more closely.
Outwardly, there was nothing to hint that the Comyns were anything other than they appeared: a wealthy, influential n.o.bleman and his promising young heir. But as Arnault continued to study them, his vision seemed gradually obscured by a curious darkening of the air in their vicinity, as if someone had cast about them a transparent veil of shadow.
He stiffened slightly and rubbed his eyes. With his next blink, the shadow was gone, leaving him to wonder whether it had been merely a curious trick of the light. His air of perplexity prompted Torquil to look at him askance, leaning slightly closer.
”What is it?” he whispered.
By no means certain of what he might-or might not- have seen, Arnault merely shook his head, summoning a fleeting smile.
”Nothing of import,” he murmured back, hoping he was speaking the truth. ”Just a momentary lapse in concentration.”
But his deeper instincts, once roused, warned him that the Comyns would bear watching in the future.
All of them came away from that first day at the court of claims with heads in a daze over the conflicting complexities of various compendia of law. More debates followed during the days and weeks that followed, as October gave way to November. Hackles continued to bristle among the rival parties as their respective legal experts continued to trade arguments and reb.u.t.tals.
Then on the night of the sixteenth of November, after the court of claims had been adjourned for the day, the spokesmen for the two jury parties came together in King Edward's presence to deliver their final a.s.sessment. Edward heard them out in private. When they had finished, he gave orders calling for a general a.s.sembly to meet outside the castle on the morning of the seventeenth, there to hear the public proclamation of his verdict.
That night the folk of Berwick retired to their beds amid a storm of flying rumors. Up at the castle, lamps burned late in the stables as heralds made ready to carry the news abroad to the outlying corners of the land. Servants and clerks of the privy chamber stayed awake into the small hours of the morning, making preparations to commemorate the occasion with all due ceremony. Knights of the king's household put their arrays in order so as to do credit to their lord when he stepped forth into the sunlight to make his long-awaited proclamation.
The next morning, the Templar delegation was among the excited throng that gathered outside the castle walls. Nor were they long kept waiting. As the late autumn sun climbed in a cold gray sky, a flourish of trumpets heralded the appearance of Edward of England on the battlement, resplendent in his royal robes of ermine and cloth-of-gold and with a golden crown upon his head. With him, at the fore of the English king's retinue, was John Balliol of Barnard Castle.
Bruce of Annandale was nowhere to be seen. The significance of his absence was not lost on the crowd below. Though a second flourish of trumpets served as prelude to the official proclamation, the crowd gathered on the green were already cheering: ”Long live John Balliol! Long live King John!”
There followed a ceremonial procession from the gates of the castle to the open field that adjoined the castle embankments. Here in the open air, with banners snapping all around in the cold, bright wind, Balliol was invited to come forward and place his hands between those of the King of England. In a ringing voice, Edward Plantagenet professed that he was now handing over the kingdom of Scotland to her rightfully appointed monarch. Arnault, however, could not help noticing the feudal significance of the gesture, which tacitly presented Balliol in the role of a va.s.sal submitting to an acknowledged overlord.
Lending reinforcement to the impression that Balliol's sovereignty was already compromised, the newly nominated King of Scots shortly proceeded to offer formal homage to the King of England. Balliol's oath was carefully worded to emphasize that he was acknowledging Edward's lords.h.i.+p only with respect to the lands that Edward had granted him in England, but Arnault doubted that Edward would notice-or heed-the technical distinction.
As this part of the ceremony was drawing to a close, the Bruces of Annandale arrived, without fanfare.
With them was the English Earl of Gloucester, who had allied himself to the Bruce family by means of marriage. Their faces were hard, and they carried themselves with an air of grim purpose. Antic.i.p.ating the possibility of violence, the crowds hastily opened the way before them as the Bruce contingent advanced on the dais where Balliol stood poised to receive the homage of his supporters.
The Comyns and their followers tensed, hands hovering near to weapons. Before they or anyone else could offer challenge, the Earl of Gloucester reached out as he walked and gripped the senior Robert Bruce by one gauntleted hand. Thus joined, the two men continued forward to confront King Edward, halting before the dais. With all eyes turned to them, the Earl of Gloucester addressed himself to Edward in ringing tones.
”Take heed, Your Majesty, of the kind of judgment you have given today,” he warned loudly. ”And remember that you must be judged at the Last Judgment!”
This admonition drew a suppressed gasp from the surrounding crowd, but before King Edward could summon more than a frigid glare, Robert Bruce of Annandale took up the veiled challenge.
”My n.o.ble lords, I shall be brief,” he declared. ”My family have fought long and hard to defend our right to the Scottish crown. Since the adjudicators have ruled against us, I feel it only fitting that I should henceforth absent myself from the Scottish court. To that end, I hereby renounce my t.i.tle as Earl of Carrick in favor of the son who bears my name. Let him do what is required here today, and let me retire with such honor as my services to the community of the realm have merited.”
Following this dramatic resignation, the eldest Bruce of Annandale and his ally Gloucester bowed themselves out of King Edward's presence and retired from the field. Their departure was attended by a storm of speculative murmurs, and it was several minutes before the king's officers could restore order to the a.s.sembly. As the confusion subsided, the new king's brother-in-law strode forward decisively, to drop down on one knee at Balliol's feet.
”I, John Comyn, Lord of Badenoch, do hereby acknowledge King John Balliol to be my liege lord,” he cried loudly, ”in token of which fealty I present to him my sword, together with my right arm and the strength of my following, to defend the ancient kingdom of our ancestors and the honor of the Scottish crown!”
This ringing endors.e.m.e.nt drew cheers from the crowd. The cheers redoubled as a Comyn cousin, the Earl of Buchan, came forward to do homage in his turn. This example was copied by the earls and other n.o.bles who had supported Balliol's claim throughout the long, drawn-out court battle. When these had all fulfilled their feudal obligations, all eyes turned once again to the two remaining representatives of the Bruce family.
There was a moment's bristling silence. Then the new Earl of Carrick advanced to the edge of the dais and knelt, as custom required, to pledge his support to the new king. His face in profile wore an expression of grim resignation. Several members of the Comyn faction were openly smirking at his discomfiture, but Arnault wondered if it had perhaps escaped their attention that by sacrificing his own honor, the new earl was effectively preserving intact the honor of both his father and his son.
Following the solemn presentation of homages, a general celebration ensued, which would last over several days. When it became clear that no outright hostilities were likely to erupt over the day's developments-at least not in the immediate aftermath-Brian de Jay authorized procurement of a keg of ale for himself and his knights and gave leave for private indulgence within the privacy of Johan Lindsay's hall, himself giving reinforcement to the oft-quoted simile, ”to drink like a Templar.” Torquil, however, though obliged to join in Jay's gesture of magnanimity, could find little reason to take pleasure in the reason for the indulgence.
”But I think perhaps this is an occasion to get quietly drunk,” he told Arnault bleakly, as the two nursed leather tankards of tasteless ale, a little apart from the others.
For no amount of revelry could alter the fact that John Balliol had won the crown at the expense of Scotland's independence. Edward of England had established himself as Scotland's suzerain; and with Balliol under his thumb, there was nothing to prevent him from further pressing his intention to eventually absorb Scotland into his own kingdom.
Chapter Eight.
WITH THE ELECTION OF JOHN BALLIOL TO THE SCOTTISH throne, the duties of Brian de Jay's Templar delegation now were to s.h.i.+ft to those of peacekeepers as well as neutral observers; for the process begun in Berwick would culminate at the abbey of Scone, near Perth, once the capital of the ancient Pictish Kingdom of Dalriada, where Balliol's accession must be validated by enthronement upon the kingdom's sacred inaugural stone-the so-called Stone of Destiny.
It was to this place that the magnates of Scotland were summoned to appear on Saint Andrew's Day, the thirtieth of November, to witness the new king's formal inauguration. With a full fortnight allowed to move the court to Scone, Brian de Jay announced his intention to make the journey via Balantrodoch.
”I will wish to pick up an additional escort before proceeding to Scone,” he told his fellow Templars, as they broached his keg of ale in Johan Lindsay's hall, ”but the detour will not delay us overlong. We leave at first light.”
Accordingly, while the folk of Berwick were still at their revels and Jay and his knights made short work of the allotted keg of ale, the lowlier serjeants set about making preparations to leave Berwick in the morning. Much later, when all had retired to their pallets laid out in the darkened Lindsay hall, Arnault sat hunched over the trestle table by the kitchen hearth, pen in hand and parchment and inkhorn before him, and put the finis.h.i.+ng touches on his report of the day's proceedings, while the details were still fresh in his mind.