The Path of the Hero King by Nigel Tranter

Author:Nigel Tranter [Tranter, Nigel]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Historical
ISBN: 9781899841110
Publisher: Novelsound
Published: 1969-12-31T13:00:00+00:00

and remained silent. “My lord of Douglas captured Sir Thomas in a

fray in Ettrick Forest. Along with Sir Alexander Stewart of Bonkyl -who I understand also used to be Your Grace’s friend. Their troops were English, however. Stewart was wounded. But this being Your Grace’s own kinsman, my lord asked me to bring to you. For… for disposal!”

“Yes. To be sure. I thank you, my lord Bishop.” The King, still eyeing Randolph, was frowning darkly in perplexity. He had liked this young man, spirited and talented as he was good-looking, and hitherto namely for being upright to a degree, his half-sister’s son. Bruce’s own mother, Marjory, Countess of Carrick in her own right, before she wed his father had been married to one Adam, Lord of Kilconquhar, of the ancient lofty line of Mac Duff Earls of life. A child of that marriage, a daughter, had wed Sir Thomas Ranulf of Nithsdale, another Celtic lord who had Normanised his name to Randolph. Here before him was the fruit of that union, a sprig of the most purely Celtic nobility, allegedly the soul of honour and the mirror of chivalry, whom Bruce himself had delighted to honour with knighthood at his coronation, Scot of the Scots, with no taint of Norman blood in him. Yet there he stood, a traitor caught in his treachery, a man who had, it seemed, bought his life at the expense of his honour. He had fought for Bruce at Methven, been captured, and almost alone of the long list of noble prisoners, escaped shameful execution, to fight thereafter for Edward Plantagenet.

“I have not seen you since Methven fight, nephew,” the King said, controlling his voice.

“Though I have heard of your doings. I believe you were at Loudoun Hill. At Pembroke’s side!”

“I was,” the younger man agreed, as carefully.

“To my sorrow.”

“Your sorrow? You regret it, then?”

“My sorrow is for this Scotland. And for you, my lord. That so sorry a travesty of battle should have been fought in the name of this realm. My regret for myself only that I had no opportunity to use my sword against your person.”

The Bishop coughed, and seemed about to rebuke the young man, but Bruce held up his hand.

“You would have fought me, slain me, then? At Loudoun Hill?

If you had been able?”

“I would have fought you there. Or other where In fair and knightly combat. To redeem, if I might, the honour of my mother’s house!”

“Fair and knightly combat! Yet it was I who knighted you, man.

At Scone. Four years ago. Have you forgot?”

“I have not forgot-and judge it my greatest shame, my

Bruce drew a long breath.

“You do not mince your words, nephew. It seems that you do not like me. Yet we used to be friends, as well as kinsmen.”

“I used to deem you honourable, sir.”

Again Bruce restrained Balmyle.

“I see that you name me sir, not Sire. Lord not Grace. Yet you helped make me King, at my coronation, Thomas.”

“You have besmirched that anointing and coronation. You have dragged the royal dignity in the mire of murder and brigandage.

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