The Steps to the Empty Throne by Nigel Tranter

Author:Nigel Tranter [Tranter, Nigel]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781899841097
Publisher: Novelsound
Published: 1969-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

and want and despair, it all seemed as pointless as it was unreal,

even ridiculous.

Wallace himself certainly gave the impression that he thought it so, standing about ill at ease and unhappy. Seldom can a man have looked less at one with the surroundings of which he was the central figure. He had changed not a little since Falkirk. He was thinner, more gaunt, older-seeming altogether, and though of course still enormous, of less commanding presence than heretofore, despite the finery which seemed to sit so uncomfortably on his huge frame. His great hands were seldom still, groping about him as though seeking the sword, the dirk, the battle-axe, which were almost extensions of himself, but today were absent.

He looked a man at odds with his fate.

He came great-strided to greet Bruce, at least, with an access of animation.

“My lord, my lord—you have come! I thank God for it.” He gripped the younger man’s hand and shoulder.

“It is good to see you—for much depends on you hereafter.”

Bruce looked doubtful at that, his glance searching past the other for Comyn.

Wallace perceived it.

“The Lord of Badenoch is not yet arrived,” he said.

“But he comes, he comes.”

“His coming here, like mine, is the least of it, Sir Guardian!

We shall never agree—that I swear.”

“Do not say so. If sufficient depends on it, any two men can seem to agree, however ill-matched. Even I have learned that lesson! Think you I have loved all that I have had to deal with, work with, this past year and more? And enough depends, here, on my soul! The future of this realm, no less.”

“Scarce so much as that, I think …”

“Yes. So much as that. See you, my lord—the magnates of this Scotland are divided. By many things, many feuds, much jealousy, warring interests. But, in the end, all depend on the Crown for their lands and titles. You know that. And the Crown is vacant—or nearly so. I act in the name of King John Baliol, since the Crown must be vested in some name. De jure, he is still King. De facto, he is not, and the throne empty. One day, if Scotland survives, she will have a king again. That king will be either a Baliol, a Comyn or a Bruce. You know it. John Baliol has a son, Edward—a child. Held, like his father, hostage by the King of England. King John has renounced the throne, for himself and his son, at the demand of King Edward. Renounced and abandoned. Therefore, it is scarce likely that John or his son shall ever reign. So the king shall be your father, the Bruce. Or John Comyn, Baliol’s nephew.”

Bruce made an impatient gesture, at this rehearsal of facts only too well known to him.

“Aye—you know it. All men know it, my lord. Therefore, since the nobles hold all they have of the Crown, they must take sides. For Comyn or Bruce. In order that they may retain their lands from the winner in this contest. Divided, as I say.

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