Page 112 of Bound By Honor
King Edward ruled everywhere except the Highlands and the Isles. Angus, by his own choice, continued to serve the English king, but Edward did not rule in the Isles.
While the MacDougalls, hiding in the Highlands, had yet to submit to Edward, Angus believed they could not hold out for long. He and his Islesmen kept the pressure on them from the west even as Edward’s men pursued them from the east.
In April, 1304, on his way to Lochmaben to reclaim his lands from the victorious king, Rob’s father, Robert Bruce VI, died. Angus went to be with his friend and to learn of his intentions now that he had inherited the Bruce claim to the Scottish throne.
The ride east this time was unlike the last. Beneath fair skies, wildflowers bloomed amid blades of grass and heather covered the hillsides. Sunlight filtered through the trees, dappling the ground with light. The air was fragrant with the season and the land appeared refreshed, as if war had not seen its ruin. A flock of sparrows, flushed from the trees by the sound of their horses, sped in front of him, reminding him of Áine.
He arrived at Lochmaben to learn the burial of Rob’s father had already taken place in Cumberland and the Earl of Carrick had returned. Angus removed his hat and strode into the great hall where he had met Rob before.
His friend looked up as Angus entered. The earl wore the garments of his rank, a fine woolen tunic and a gilded belt holding his sword and dagger. His dark auburn hair had been well groomed, yet his brow was furrowed and his face bore the look of sorrow.
Angus embraced him. Pulling back, he said, “I am sorry for your father’s passing.”
“It was not unexpected. He lived to see my return to Edward, which pleased him. He was, after all, a Norman loyal to Longshanks.”
“So, you are not only the Earl of Carrick, but now Lord of Annandale.”
“And the head of a large family,” Rob said. “In addition to Elizabeth and my daughter, Marjorie, there are my four brothers to consider, Edward, Alexander, Thomas and Nigel. And my sisters and nephews. Their futures weigh heavily. Alexander has only recently been named Dean of Glasgow, an honor for a scholarly clergyman.”
At Rob’s suggestion, they walked outside the castle where they could not be overheard. Angus asked, “What of your relationship with the king?”
Rob heaved a sigh. “He has made me Sheriff of Lanarkshire and constable of Ayr Castle. In truth, though Edward would bestow titles upon me and, in time, restore my lands, he does not trust me. Moreover, despite his words in times past suggesting otherwise, I now see he has no intention of allowing a Scot to rule the people of Scotland, even as a vassal king. He has spent too much of the crown’s money and spilled too much English blood to consider such a possibility. Aside from that, Edward likes being king of all. Did you know they call him the Hammer of the Scots?”
Angus frowned. “Aye. I had heard that.”
“He relishes the nickname. I think, in some twisted way, he views his cruelty as strength.”
Angus was not unmindful of the worry in his friend’s face, the heavy weight he carried for the safety of the many who depended upon him and the frustration he was experiencing for what—it was now clear—would never come to be under Edward’s reign. “What will you do?”
“I must care for my family while I look to my destiny,” said Rob, as he gazed out on the blue waters of the loch in front of the castle, the sun reflecting on the ripples. “However it ends, I cannot continue to serve Edward. Though I have lands in England, my home is here in Scotland. These are my people.” Facing Angus, he said, “To that end, I intend to meet with William Lamberton, Bishop of St. Andrews, the friend of Wallace, who is also my friend. I must have the bishop’s support if I am to pursue the crown and Scotland’s independence.”
“Bishop Lamberton would change his allegiance from Edward?”
“He already has but it is not known. I suspect Edward, having said nothing further about my claim to the Scottish crown, hopes my ambition will fade into the background as my father’s did. But I have not forgotten, and I am not my father. The king is old and often unwell. I can wait for him to pass. His son has neither his strength nor his determination.”
“Meantime?”
“Meantime, I will assist Edward’s new government of Scotland. He has made his nephew, the Earl of Richmond, head of all. Justices are to be appointed in pairs, one English and one Scottish. A Council will be formed to advise the earl, including Bishop Lamberton, John Comyn and me.”
“You are again paired with Comyn?” Angus asked, disbelieving, for he remembered the time when the hot-tempered Comyn had grabbed Rob by the throat.
“It would seem so. But for all the apparent participation by Scots, it is Edward who holds the real power.” For a moment, Rob was silent, and then he asked, “What of you?”
“As long as the king seeks capture of The MacDougall, I will continue to serve him as Admiral of the Western Isles. After that, we will see.”
“And how is that young son of yours?”
“Alexander thrives. He now has a sister, wee Finvola. Prettiest lass I have seen, apart from her mother. And you? How is that fair bride you have taken?”
“She has seen little of me since we were wed. Edward’s many tasks have kept me busy. Her letters express her love and understanding. Her love humbles me and, for her steadfast support and her care of Marjorie, I am grateful.” Rob met Angus’ steady gaze. “I have come to love Elizabeth and I need her. When I leave here, I will return to Edward’s court to fetch her and Marjorie back to Scotland.”
IN AUGUST OF the next year, 1305, William Wallace was betrayed by a servant and captured near Glasgow by Sir John Menteith. Edward had offered a huge reward for Wallace who, for years, had been the most hunted man in Scotland. When Angus heard of what Edward had done to him, he and all in the Isles were appalled.
In an act that could only represent King Edward’s hatred for the man who had oft defeated him—the symbol of Scottish pride—Wallace had been treated in a most heinous manner.
It took a fortnight following his capture for the English to bring Wallace to London. During that time, he was forced to ride with his legs bound beneath his horse. The day after his arrival in London, the English held a trial that was no true trial at all. The result was foregone and Wallace was permitted no defense. Sentenced to death, he was dragged by his ankles for four miles through the streets to the place of his execution in Smithfield.
There, he was hanged to the point of death but not allowed to die. Cut down, he was unmanned and disemboweled. The executioner then burned his intestines before him so that would be the last thing he would have smelled. Following this, Wallace was beheaded and his body quartered.
