Chapter XII: Appendix: 347 (11)

His son, the grandson of the competitor, was born, there seems no room to doubt, in or near Westminster, on the 11th of July, 1274.[142] This date, of itself, indicates the place of his birth, for at that time his father and mother must have been in the metropolis, waiting for Edward’s arrival and his coronation. The king was known to be approaching the coast, and, a few days after, he landed. The preparations for the ceremony and the feast had been going on for many weeks previous, and the king of Scotland, the duke of Bretagne, the archbishop, and all the barons of England, were gathered together to greet his arrival. His own personal friend, Bruce, who had accompanied him to Palestine, and who returned the year previous, could not, we may be sure, be absent. Nor was it at all probable that his vivacious lady, whose promptitude and decision had been shown, the previous year, in “taking to herself a husband,”[143] would prefer to remain in silence and solitude in her Scottish home, while one of the greatest ceremonies of the time was proceeding, in which her husband had a right to take a prominent part. Assuredly this Bruce, the second of the three, and his wife, the countess of Carrick, were in Westminster in July, 1274, and hence in that city, about three weeks before the king’s arrival, the son, who afterwards became king of Scotland, was born.

When rising out of boyhood into man’s estate, we find young Bruce in Edward’s court. His father, who was intimate enough with the king to ask him to lend him forty pounds,[144] would find no difficulty in introducing, as we are told he did, his son, when growing up, to a post in the royal household.[145] That the young Bruce often spent a summer at Turnberry, or at Holme Cultram, we can easily imagine; but his education he gained, we doubt not, as he received his birth, in or near Westminster; with occasional visits to others of the royal palaces.

But the events of 1290-1292 cannot have passed unheeded by the young scion of a Norman house. His grandfather, the inheritor of ninety‐four lordships in Yorkshire, had preferred a claim to be declared king of Scotland, and in that claim the young son of the earl of Carrick must have felt the deepest interest. It created a desire which seems never to have left the young de Brus. “The ideal perfection of the knight‐errant,” says Sir Walter Scott, “was to wander from land to land in quest of renown; to gain earldoms, nay, kingdoms, by the sword.” This idea must have been often present in the young de Brus’s mind.[146] He was empowered, as we have just seen, with his father, “to receive into the king’s peace the inhabitants of Annandale.” And from this date, 1296, until 1306, he continued to profess a loyal adherence to the crown of England. But there was an evident vacillation and hesitation in his course. He is claimed, more than once or twice, as a favourer of the insurgents who kept Scotland in commotion from 1297 to 1304. In truth, his position differed somewhat from that of his father and grandfather. In 1292 it was formally and solemnly adjudged that the right of John Baliol was superior to that of Robert de Brus. But in 1296 Baliol resigned the crown, and the king of England became king of Scotland also. The thought, therefore, could scarcely be absent from young de Brus’s mind, that if the two realms were again severed, and if Scotland became once more an independent kingdom, _he_, Robert de Brus, would surely be one of those who might advance the strongest title,—Baliol being now a refugee in France.

This thought seems to reveal itself at several stages of this history. Thus, when in 1297 Wallace raised the standard of rebellion, de Brus was called on to take his side. “His conduct,” says Mr. Tytler, “was vacillating and inconsistent.” The wardens of the marches called upon him to take his place under the king’s standard. He went, therefore, to Carlisle, and took a solemn oath to be faithful to the king. To prove his fidelity, he ravaged the estates of Sir William Douglas, who was then with Wallace; seized his wife and children, and carried them to Annandale. Having thus defeated suspicion, and saved his estates, he privately assembled his father’s retainers, talked lightly of “a foolish oath” he had taken, from which he hoped the pope would absolve him, and urged them to follow him, and join the insurgent forces.[147] During the next seven years we remark the same hesitating and doubtful course.

De Brus was an English baron; his father and his grandfather died on their English estates, and were buried in English graves. In Scotland they were men of note, men of power; but there were greater men in Scotland than they. Accordingly, when Wallace had driven the English out of Scotland, and a sort of “regency” was established, we hear of Comyn, and the earl of Buchan, and the bishop of St. Andrew’s acting as “regents,” and treating with Edward; but never do we meet with de Brus, either in the field or in the cabinet—either leading an armed force or placing himself at the head of a regency. His name, we believe, is once or twice used, but no proof is given that his concurrence had been obtained. From all open collision with the English government de Brus appears to have shrunk. And hence, when the strife of 1300-1304 came to an end, this cautious politician appeared to have saved himself from damage. Mr. Tytler observes that “Bruce, whose conduct had been _consistent only upon selfish principles_, found himself, when compared with other Scottish barons, in an enviable situation. He had preserved his great estates; his rivals were overpowered; and, on any new emergency occurring, the way was partly cleared for his own claim to the crown.”[148] Writers of a later date—writers whose object was to represent Bruce as a patriot—have put forward his name as concerned, with Comyn, Soulis, and others, in fighting the battle of Scottish independence; but it is very clear that Bruce himself contrived to make Edward regard him as a stedfast and sincere friend. On his father’s death, in 1304, he succeeded to the estates, and took the usual oaths of fealty; being released, by the favour of Edward, from the scutage payable to the feudal lord. And in that same year a letter was addressed to him by the king, in the following terms:—

“To our faithful and loyal Robert de Brus, earl of Carrick, and to all other our good people who are in his company, greeting:—We have heard that it is agreed between you and John de Segrave, and our other good people of his company, to follow the enemy; and that you desire we should hold you excused if you come not to us on the day appointed: know that for the great diligence and care which you have used in our affairs, and because you are thus agreed to follow the enemy, we thank you as heartily as we can; and we pray and require especially, as we confide in you, that ye put an end to this affair before ye leave these parts.”[149]

Thus, for a series of years, from 1296 to 1304, did de Brus succeed in making the king believe that, like his father and his grandfather, he was a faithful adherent of the English crown. And accordingly, when 1305 came, and all Scotland, from the Solway to the Orkneys, surrendered to the English king, he, desiring above all things peace and contentment, “placed himself chiefly in the hands of the bishop of St. Andrew’s, of John de Moubray, and of Robert de Brus.”[150] The last of the three was an Englishman, and also a Scottish baron. He was in the same position as our dukes of Sutherland of the present day, who are great lords in Staffordshire and other English counties, but one of whom, marrying a Scotch countess, added to his large English possessions almost a whole Scottish county.

That this Robert de Brus, on coming to man’s estate, and pondering the prospect before him, did often think upon his position with reference to the Scottish crown, is probable enough, and is suggested by several passages in his history. But so thinking, he would immediately discern three obstacles:—1. The declared superiority of Baliol’s claim, which had been recognized at the time of the arbitration. 2. Next, springing from the same root,—Margaret, the eldest daughter of David, earl of Huntingdon,—there stood John Comyn, a more potent baron in Scotland than he, and one who had, for five or six years past, acted as regent of the kingdom. How could de Brus expect that a Comyn would permit a descendant of David’s _second_ daughter to take the Scottish crown in his presence?[151] But, 3, there stood in his way the _de facto_ king of Scotland, Edward, to whom he, de Brus, and every lord in Scotland, had sworn fealty; and whose strong right arm showed, as yet, no signs of relinquishing so important an acquisition. De Brus could not forget that any appearance of treason on his part, in Scotland, would at once endanger his ninety‐four English lordships; and in spite of all that some Scottish historians have said, we feel satisfied, by Edward’s letter just cited, and by Bruce’s employment to settle “the pacification of Scotland,” that the king regarded him, up to the close of 1305, as “our dear and faithful Robert de Brus.”

But in October or November of that year, “having sworn upon the Holy Gospels” that he “would faithfully keep and observe the ordinances of the pacification of Scotland, Bruce took leave of the king, and returned home, with great appearance of joy and satisfaction.” No one pretends that the king had given him any cause for discontent or alienation. Yet every Scottish historian that has ever written on the subject has avowed his conviction that this swearing on the gospels was a deliberate perjury, and that the show of “joy and satisfaction” was wholly hypocritical. They all assure us that at this very time Bruce was planning and conspiring, with various persons, to obtain for himself the crown of Scotland.

In this temper of mind he began his journey homewards. He would direct his course, naturally, first to Holme Cultram, in Cumberland, where his father had, but a year or two before, been buried. From Holme Cultram a vessel would carry him in two or three hours to Dumfries, from whence an hour’s ride would bring him to his Scottish home at Lochmaben. During his long ride from Sheen and from London, his thoughts would inevitably turn to those three obstacles, of which we have spoken, which stood between him and the crown of Scotland; and we know now what must have been his thoughts. It is easy to describe them, without any risk of error.

Baliol, he knew, had pledged himself, three or four years before, not to meddle any further in the affairs of Scotland; nor had he any concealed intentions of another kind. Voluntarily, and expressing his own feelings, he had declared that he would never again set foot in a country which had treated him so unjustly. Baliol, therefore, who had been an obstacle in times past, might now be dismissed from view; he could obstruct the path no longer.

A more serious question was that which concerned Edward himself; but Bruce had latterly been spending much time in the king’s company, and he had learnt enough to satisfy him that the great warrior had seen the last of his battle‐fields. Edward was now in his sixty‐seventh year. The length of his lower limbs had always been the one fault in his otherwise perfect symmetry, and those limbs now began to fail him. In a public ceremonial, a few months after this, the king’s strength gave way before his task had been performed. Bruce might confidently assure himself that, whatever might happen, the victor of Falkirk would never again be found at the head of an army on the soil of Scotland. As for the young prince, he was not worth a thought.

Two principal obstacles, then, were vanishing out of his way, and the crisis, the present moment, was all‐important. A plan of a new English government had just been agreed upon, but it had still to be constructed and established. If that government should be allowed to develope itself, to assume the reins, and to take the rule of Scotland into its hands, a new rebellion might be almost a hopeless task. Now, if ever—_now_, with ten times more hope than two years later—_now_, must the effort be made.

But, though two obstacles had almost vanished, the third still remained. Comyn was “the first noble in the realm.”[152] His power in Scotland was far greater than that of Bruce. He had acted, too, as regent of Scotland for some five years past. Upon the course he should now take, the success of any new attempt must mainly depend. He had but recently applied for the king’s pardon, and had received it. He had, at the same time, given a new oath of fealty to the king. What would he now do? Should he adhere to his oath, and give his help to put down a new insurrection, what reasonable prospect of success would there be? Yet how could Bruce expect Comyn, after struggling in vain against English rule for five years, now to incur the terrible risk of a new rebellion? and that not for himself, but for another? The case seemed hopeless. What, then, was to be done?

Such thoughts as these, we cannot for a moment doubt, must have passed through Bruce’s mind in his journey from Sheen to Scotland, in October and November, 1305. The question seemed to reduce itself within the smallest limits: “Comyn, what will he do? And, supposing he refuses to aid us in a new rebellion, by what means can we thrust him out of our way?”

The answer to this question, the final resolve, we know to have been an evil one. Bruce had already entangled himself in the guilt of deception and hypocrisy, but now he must go much further. The great prize of a crown was suspended before him, and he would hesitate at nothing to gain it.

His decision was formed: if Comyn would obstruct his course—if Comyn would neither act nor permit others to act, then Comyn must be got rid of. A settled plan of deliberate assassination was the final result of these long cogitations.

Four of the principal English chroniclers of the time, besides divers others, give us the result.

Walter Hemingford, one of the best of the English historians, says—

“Robert de Brus, grandson of that Brus who had disputed with Baliol the crown of Scotland,” “relying on perverse counsel, aspired to the kingdom, and fearing lord John Comyn, a powerful noble, and faithful to the king,” “he sent to him with treacherous intent two of his brothers, Thomas and Nigel, asking him to meet him at Dumfries, to treat of certain matters; and he, suspecting no evil, came to him to the church of the Friars’ Minors. And when they were conversing, as it seemed, with peaceful words, all at once altering his mien and changing his language, he began to inveigh against him, accusing him of having injured him in the king’s estimation. And when Comyn attempted to reply, the other would not hear him, but, _as he had plotted_, he struck him with his foot, and then with his sword; and, retiring, left him to his retainers, who, pressing on him, left him for dead on the pavement of the altar.”

The “Chronicle of Lanercost,” written at the time and in the neighbourhood, thus records the fact:—

“Lord Robert Brus, earl of Carrick, guilefully sent a message to lord John Comyn, asking him to come and have an interview with him at the house of the Friars’ Minors in Dumfries; and when he had come, he slew him in the church, and also lord Robert Comyn, his uncle.”

Matthew of Westminster is another contemporary historian, who shows that he had access to the best sources of information. He thus describes the murder:—

“Robert Bruce, earl of Carrick, first secretly, and afterwards more openly, conferred with some of the Scottish nobles, saying, ‘Ye know that by right this kingdom belongs to me; and this nation intended to have crowned my grandfather king, had not the cunning of the king of England disappointed them. But now, if ye will crown me king, I will deliver this kingdom and people from the tyranny of the English.’ To this many consented. But when he asked John Comyn, a noble and powerful knight, he resolutely replied that he did not consent. He added, ‘All the world knows that the king of England has four times subdued our country, and that we all, both knights and clergy, have sworn fealty to him. Far be it from me to consent to this perjury, I will not burden my soul with it.’ Bruce begins to persuade, Comyn continues to object; the one threatens, the other withstands. At length, Bruce, drawing his sword, strikes Comyn, who was unarmed. Comyn fell, grasping the sword; Bruce’s attendants rushed in and gave Comyn fresh wounds. This took place at Dumfries, in the church of the Friars’ Minors.”

Peter Langtoft, another writer of the time, thus describes the scene:—

“He sent for John Comyn, the lord of Badenoch:
To Dumfries should he come, unto the Minors’ kirke:
A speking there they had: the Comyn will not worke,
Nor do after the saying of Robert the Bruse.
Away he ’gan him drawe; his conseil to refuse:
Robert, with a knife, the Comyn there he smote;
Through which wound his life he lost, well I wote.
He went to the high altar, and stood and rested him there;
Came Robert’s squire, and wounded him well more;
For he will not consent to raise no follye,
Nor do as he meant, to gin to make partie
Against king Edward, Scotland to dereyne.”

These four writers are all contemporary witnesses; they all had access to the best sources of information, and they wrote at the very time. Many other and similar accounts might be cited, but these are sufficient.

Almost one hundred years after, the three principal Scottish historians—Barbour, Fordun, and Wyntoun—arose in Scotland. They had to write the history of their country, but their only materials consisted of Scottish traditions and English chronicles. Barbour, the first of these, had a pension granted to him out of the Scottish exchequer, “for compiling the book of the deeds of king Robert the First.” The work assigned to him evidently was to represent the Bruce as a hero, and, as far as possible, a “blameless king.”

After him followed Fordun and Wyntoun, and, still later, Hector Boece. No one of these could pretend to be a contemporary—all gave from tradition such facts as the Scottish people demanded of them. The general result is a story of this kind:—

That Comyn and Bruce had had conferences, to discuss the prospects of a new rebellion, in which Comyn was to support Bruce, and to receive his, Bruce’s, estates as a reward. That this agreement was put into an “endentur,” and sealed. That Comyn, being in Scotland, rode off to the king (who, at the time indicated, was in Dorset or Hants) and showed him the “endentur,” and left it with him. That thereupon the king summoned a parliament, and Bruce came up from Scotland to attend it. That Edward, having Bruce in town, was about to seize him, when the earl of Gloucester gave him warning, and he fled. That, on his way to Scotland, he met a messenger, whom he killed, and on whose person he found letters from Comyn to Edward. That, thus armed, and indignant at Comyn’s treachery, he went to Dumfries, met Comyn in the church of the Friars’ Minors, where he upbraided him, and at last slew him.

Such is the story, which appeared a century after the time in which the events occurred, and from the pen of men engaged to represent Bruce as a hero. We shall give, first of all, a Scottish criticism on the whole romance—the reasonable remarks of Mr. David Macpherson, the editor of _Andrew Wyntoun’s Chronicle:—_

“This whole story of the transactions of Bruce with Comyn has much the air of a fable contrived to varnish over the murder, and to make it appear an act of justice in Bruce, whose splendid actions had so prepossessed the people in his favour that they were determined not to believe that he could do wrong. The story has this sure mark of fable—that the later writers give us more circumstances than the earlier ones. Barbour has nothing of the earl of Gloucester, nor of Comyn’s messenger being intercepted and put to death, which are found in Fordun. In Bower’s time the tale was embellished with the devil’s consultation, and his wise scheme of inspiring Comyn to betray Bruce; together with the fall of snow, and the ingenious device of shoeing the horses backward. It was also thought proper to augment his retinue with a groom, and to allow two days more for the journey. Nothing remained for Hector Boece but to turn the earl of Gloucester’s pennies into two pieces of gold, and to make a brother for Bruce, whom he calls David.”[153]

One or two other remarks may be added:—

1. All the Scottish writers speak of a parliament being summoned, in order to bring Bruce back to London.[154] Now we know that this is a fiction. No such parliament was ever held, or called.

2. Bruce having taken leave of the king, at the end of October, and returned home to Scotland, Comyn, whose presence in England at that time is nowhere to be traced, is said to go to the king, and to show him the “endentur.” Whereupon Bruce, who had returned to Scotland, is to be suddenly brought back again, that the king may charge him with his treason. Now the journey, at that time, occupied from fifteen to twenty days. Winchelsey, a few years earlier, described it as requiring twenty. Barbour says that Bruce accomplished it in fifteen.[155] Here we have, first, Comyn’s “riding off to the king”; then, the king’s issue of a summons, to be sent to Scotland to Bruce; then, the return of Bruce to England, to attend a parliament; and finally, Bruce’s flight back into Scotland—which last, of itself, his own historian says, occupied fifteen days. It cannot be necessary to add that all this riding backward and forward, from England to Scotland, and from Scotland to England, is a romance, not a history.

3. Had the king been warned beforehand of Bruce’s treachery, he would have spoken of it. It would have been recorded in some of the English chronicles. No reason can be imagined why such a fact, if known, should have been kept secret by any one. Bruce’s flight, too, had it ever happened, would have alarmed Edward, and precautions would have been taken. But it is quite clear that when Edward heard of Bruce’s treason, and of the assassination of Comyn, the news came upon him as a surprise. Neither he nor the people of England had any previous expectation of it. “Nothing,” says Dr. Henry, “could exceed the surprise and indignation of Edward, when he heard of this revolution.”

4. Comyn, it is alleged, after having been guilty of treachery towards Bruce, is invited to meet him in private conference. Bruce goes there with the dagger by his side; but Comyn, with all his consciousness of having sinned grievously against Bruce, which, according to this story, he must have felt, goes to this conference unarmed. Is this a credible account of the matter? Must we not rather agree with Dr. Lingard, who says, “There can be little doubt that all this is a fiction, invented to wash the guilt of blood from the character of Bruce, and to justify a transaction which led to the recovery of Scottish independence.”[156] A more recent writer, Mr. Pearson, says, “There can be no reasonable doubt that the crime was, to some extent, _premeditated_, as one in which lay the only hope of safety for a betrayed and desperate man” (vol. ii., p. 437). We believe that the murder was premeditated; but we see no proof of any betrayal.

Mr. Macpherson is doubtless right when he thinks that “this whole story has much the air of a fable,” invented long after, “to varnish over the murder of Comyn.” We are not at all bound to regard Bruce, as these Scottish writers would have us, as so hardened a hypocrite as to be blandly discussing with Edward, at Sheen, the terms of the “settlement of Scotland,” if he had already agreed with Comyn on the mode and manner of a new rebellion. We deem the simple narrative of the English chroniclers who wrote at the time to be both the more probable and also that which casts the least blame upon Bruce. It surely is most probable that the thoughts of a new rebellion only arose in his mind during his homeward journey; that, arrived in Scotland, he spent some time, as the English historians tell us, in conferring with the Scottish lords; and that it was only when he found that Comyn would not concur, and that his opposition would be fatal to the whole plan, that his final resolve was taken. He would draw Comyn into a position from which there should be no retreat. It should be, “Consent, or die!”

But the deed was now done. Bruce, by a perfidious device, had effected his purpose, and by one stroke of a dagger, had removed the last remaining obstacle from his path.[157] “The first noble in the realm,” whose opposition would have been fatal to the plan, was slain, and the conspirators had now the ground clear before them. We speak of a conspiracy, although most modern Scottish writers assume the murder to have been committed “in the heat of passion.” None, however, of the older Scottish historians so represent it; and the well‐known anecdote of Kirkpatrick refutes the idea. All Scottish writers tell us that Bruce came out of the church exclaiming, “I doubt I have killed Comyn!” “You doubt!” exclaims Kirkpatrick, “I’ll soon make sure!” (mak siccar). The exclamation is that of a man who expected some such news; not of one who was surprised or shocked. Evidently, Hemingford had ground for his statement. “He struck him with his foot, and then with his sword, _as he had plotted_, and then, retiring, left him to his retainers, who, pressing on him, left him for dead on the pavement.”

“The die was now cast,” adds Mr. Tytler. “Bruce had, with his own hand, assassinated the first noble in the land, in a place of tremendous sanctity. He had stained the high altar with blood, and had directed against himself the resentment of the powerful friends and vassals of the murdered earl.” “He must now either become a fugitive and an outlaw, or raise open banner against Edward.”

There can be no doubt that Bruce had weighed these chances beforehand. The inveigling his victim into “a place of tremendous sanctity,” into which he naturally came unarmed, and there falling upon him, shows clearly a “foregone conclusion.” The chief man in England, he well knew, was incapacitated by age and disease, and he had now got rid of the chief man in Scotland. These obstacles removed, for all the rest he relied on his own skill and audacity, his good sword, and his strong right arm. And the issue showed that his calculations were just and accurate; and “the power of intellect without conscience” was once more proved to be sufficient to achieve great earthly and temporary success.

He repaired forthwith to Lochmaben castle, where he was at least safe from any sudden pursuit of the Comyns. From thence he immediately despatched letters to every friend who was likely to give him any aid. Of these, the earls of Athol and Lennox, and the bishops of Glasgow, St. Andrew’s, and Athol, and about fourteen others of some rank, as knights or barons, quickly joined his standard. With these few supporters, “he had the courage,” says Fordun, “to raise his hand, not only against the king of England and his allies, but _against the whole accumulated power of Scotland_.”

This confession, from the pen of Scotland’s first historian—himself a profound admirer of Bruce—decides one question. It was not in obedience to Scotland’s call that Bruce took up arms;“the whole accumulated power of Scotland” was opposed to his enterprise. The cause he undertook was simply _his own cause_, not that of Scotland. He had said to the Scottish people—(to use the language of Matthew of Westminster)—“Make me your king, and I will deliver you from the tyranny of the English.” The response he received was the adherence of two earls, three bishops, and fourteen knights or barons. The _dissentients_ were so numerous as to amount, in Fordun’s view, to “the whole accumulated power of Scotland.”

Still, however insignificant the support he received, and however evident it might be that the movement had no other origin or purpose than the gratification of his own personal ambition, he had now gone too far to recede. Not even flight could save him, for who in France or Italy would shelter one who had committed such sacrilege? He therefore boldly took the only course which remained open. Three or four weeks sufficed to collect together a sufficient force, and on the 24th or the 25th of March, Bruce rode to Glasgow, and from thence, on the 27th, to Scone, where, in the accustomed spot, he received from the bishops some kind of a coronation. Some robes were provided by the bishop of Glasgow; a slight coronet of gold, “probably borrowed,” says Mr. Tytler, supplied the place of the ancient crown of Scotland; and a banner wrought with the royal arms was delivered by Wishart to the new king; who, beneath it, received the homage of his few adherents, as “Robert the first.” On the second day after the ceremony a repetition of the scene took place. The earls of Fife had long enjoyed the privilege of placing the kings of Scotland, at their coronation, upon the throne. The present earl was with Edward in England; but his sister, the countess of Buchan, was an enthusiastic partisan of Bruce; and, hearing of the intended ceremony, she rushed to Scone to offer her services in her brother’s room. Bruce could not afford to slight or disappoint any adherent; and hence, simply to gratify her, the coronation was performed over again, and she was allowed the privilege upon which she set so much value.

The new king then began a progress through such parts of Scotland as were likely to favour his pretensions; seizing the royal castles, driving away the English officers, and asserting his rights as king wherever he could find an opening. But his party, Mr. Tytler admits, “_was small;_ the Comyns possessed the greatest power in Scotland; and many earls and barons, who had suffered in the late war, preferred the quiet of submission to the hazard of insurrection and revolt.” In fact, as we have seen Fordun admitting—the rebellion was _not a popular one_. Bruce had a far smaller party than either Wallace or Comyn had gathered, and if a couple of years of life and vigour had been left to Edward, the suppression of this third revolt would have proved an easier task than the defeat of either of the former two. Of Bruce’s method of proceeding we have a sample in a document still extant, in which the earl of Strathern describes the mode in which he had been dealt with. This is a memorial, addressed by the earl to king Edward, in explanation of his position. In it the earl states, that as soon as Bruce was made king, he sent letters of credence to the earl, by the abbot of Inchaffrayn. The abbot urged the earl to repair forthwith to Bruce, to perform homage and fealty. “Nay,” said the earl, “I have nothing to do with him.” Thereupon Bruce and Athol, with a power, entered Strathern, and occupied Foulis. Bruce sent the earl a safe conduct, to repair to him. He did so, and on refusing to pay homage, he was carried to Inchmecolmec. Here he found Sir Robert Boyd, who advised Bruce, in his presence, _to behead him_, the earl, and to grant away the lands of Strathern. On hearing this, he was frightened, and did their will, and then they let him go.[158]

Tidings of all these proceedings—of Comyn’s murder; of Bruce’s coronation; and of the treason of Lennox and Athol, of Wishart, and of the two other bishops, reached Edward at Winchester, in Lent, and shortly before Easter in 1306. Had there been any truth in the stories told by Barbour, Fordun, and Wyntoun, of Bruce’s escape and flight to Scotland, in the January preceding, we should have found, long before this, traces of Edward’s foresight and energy, in the writs and other documents which such occurrences would have drawn forth. But no such traces are to be met with. This of itself abundantly proves that the narratives of Barbour and Fordun are wholly fabulous.

The intelligence came upon the king as a surprise; and it awakened in him feelings of the greatest indignation. As a knight and a soldier, accustomed to the laws of honour, an act of premeditated assassination—the assault of several armed men upon a single nobleman, whom they had induced to come without arms to an amicable meeting, would naturally fill his mind with horror and detestation. As a sincerely religious man, who, in 1289, had abstained from violating the sanctity of a church, even to take a notorious criminal from its protection, the ruthless murder of a nobleman on the steps of the altar must increase, if it were possible, his just indignation. But evidently, that feature of the case which most exasperated him, was the perfidy and treachery which had marked the whole transaction. The two chief actors in this tragedy had been Bruce and Wishart; and it had been to these two men, above all others, that he had looked for the quiet settlement of Scotland. They had come from Scotland professedly to assist him. They had sat at his council‐table for weeks together, and, doubtless, had often taken their places at his festive board, and shared with him in the summer enjoyments of his Richmond retirement. And now, it was not merely that they had fallen off from him, but that they had proved, by the desperate course which they adopted immediately on their return, that all their pretended zeal and loyalty in the October preceding, had been utterly false and treacherous. Edward was well versed in the language of the Psalms, and he would naturally be inclined to cry out, with David, “Yea! even mine own familiar friend, in whom I trusted, which did eat of my bread, hath lift up his heel against me.”

This perfidy is made the especial charge against both the bishops, in an accusation laid by Edward before the pope. In this document the king recounts a long list of perjuries. Thus, of Wishart, bishop of Glasgow, the king alleges—

That when he, the king, was first called into Scotland, about the matter of the succession, he, the bishop, took the oath to the king, as superior lord, and was appointed by him as one of the guardians of the realm; yet, when Baliol was put into possession of the kingdom, he, the bishop, aided and advised him in making war upon England.

Next, that, upon Baliol’s submission, the bishop came to the king at Elgin, and prayed forgiveness; and took an oath on the consecrated host, on the gospels, and upon the black rood of Scotland, that he would be faithful and true to the king, and would never counsel anything to his hurt or damage. And that, at the parliament held at Berwick, he took the oath of fealty for the third time. Yet when the king was gone to Flanders, the bishop abetted Wallace, and came forth into the field against the king.

Again, when the rebellion seemed to decline, the bishop once more submitted himself to the king, at Irvine, in July, 1297. Yet, in less than a month afterwards, he had again confederated himself with Wallace and the rebels, encouraging them as heretofore.

Next, the king having returned from Flanders, the bishop came before him at Holme Cultram, and prayed the king’s grace and mercy, and did then, for the _fourth_ time, take the oath of fealty upon the host, gospels, rood, etc., etc. Yet, while this oath was yet fresh, the bishop assembled all his strength, and marched against the king’s army.

Again, the rebellion being suppressed, the bishop came before the king at Cambuskenneth, and prayed grace and mercy, and forswore himself a _fifth_ time, upon the host, gospels, etc., etc. And at the parliament at St. Andrew’s, he took the same oath a _sixth_ time. And yet, after all this, within eight days after the murder of Comyn, he gave Bruce plenary absolution—thus showing his approval of the sacrilege and the murder. He also in every way promoted and encouraged the rebellion, in violation of the oath which he had, on six different occasions, taken.

Similar are the complaints made by the king of the perjuries of the bishop of St. Andrew’s, and the bishop of Elgin or Moray. To this general faithlessness on the part of the leaders in the rebellion, Wyntoun, in his “Cronykyl,” published in the next century, pleads guilty, saying of Wallace’s day—

“For in his time, I heard well say,
That fickle they were, all time, of fay” (faith).

But the disgust and exasperation which this perpetual perfidy would naturally excite in an honourable mind will be obvious to every one; and we have no doubt that it was this feeling which induced the inscription on the king’s tomb—_Pactum serva_—an inscription which doubtless was placed there by his own command.

All the troubles of Edward’s life had arisen from the faithlessness of those with whom he was concerned. David of Wales, Philip of France, Balliol, Bruce—all, in their turn, first swore to him, and then shamelessly violated their oaths. Hence, as his last word, he desires this injunction or maxim—“KEEP YOUR COVENANT”—to be engraven on his monument; and there, in Westminster Abbey, it still remains.

Meanwhile, the immediate result of all this perfidy is seen in the entire change which is perceptible in Edward’s policy. For thirty years he had been singularly merciful, insomuch that Lingard, as we have just seen, declares it to be “difficult to point out any conqueror who had displayed equal lenity.” And our latest historian, Mr. Pearson, concedes to him “the praise of being slow to shed blood.”[159] But there is truth in the maxim, “Beware of the anger of a patient man.” Edward was not naturally a patient man, but he had the command of his own spirit; he loved justice tempered with mercy; and one of his chief principles of action had been shown in his hasty exclamation in Segrave’s case, implying clearly that to seek his mercy, in all ordinary cases, was to find it. But now he evidently felt that the time for showing lenity was past. There is a degree of sternness, mingled probably with some feeling of exasperation, in the acts of the last year of his life; but his love of justice never varied, and cruelty was a thing to him unknown.

“Although broken in body,” says Mr. Tytler, “this great king was, in his mind and spirit, yet vigorous and unimpaired, as was soon evinced by the rapidity and decision of his orders, and the subsequent magnitude of his preparations. He instantly sent to strengthen the frontier‐garrisons of Berwick and Carlisle, with the intention of securing the English borders from invasion; and he appointed the earl of Pembroke, with lord Robert Clifford and Henry Percy, to march into Scotland.” It is clear, also, that the whole tone of the king’s mind and language was changed, and his purpose was everywhere openly avowed, to take a signal vengeance on all who had in any way been concerned in the murder of Comyn.

Yet the death of that nobleman had deprived him of no favourite,—of no intimate personal friend or counsellor. Between this Scottish baron and the king there had been very little intercourse. For four or five years Comyn had kept the field against Edward, while Bruce had been professing the greatest zeal in his service. But Edward recognized in Comyn a frank and earnest opponent, who carried on the war until submission seemed to be a duty, and then surrendered his sword, accepted peace, gave his fealty to the king, and _kept his covenant_. And Edward saw this nobleman treacherously murdered by that Robert Bruce who had often sat at his table and professed attachment to him;—murdered, too, merely because he would not join in treason. Hence the king’s vehement decision seemed at once to be taken, that for Bruce and his abettors there was to be no more mercy. The blood of Comyn should be fully avenged. He often showed his familiarity with the Old Testament, and on this occasion he probably recurred frequently to the language of David concerning Joab: “He shed the blood of war in peace, and put the blood of war upon the girdle that was about his loins, and in the shoes that were on his feet: let not his head go down to the grave in peace.”

And it is quite evident that his feelings were generally shared by his people. A grand religious ceremony was announced to take place at Whitsuntide in Westminster Abbey. There the king purposed to confer knighthood on the young prince, and on other young men of rank, his companions. Nearly three hundred of the younger nobility and gentry were candidates for this honour, and eager to take their part in the new enterprise. So vast was the concourse of people in the abbey, that some persons were crushed to death in the throng. The king was scarcely able to perform his part; but at the banquet which followed, he took a solemn oath, according to the laws of chivalry, that he would proceed to Scotland, there to avenge the death of John Comyn, and to punish the perfidy of the Scots; and that, when that work was done, he would embark for the Holy Land, and leave his body in that hallowed soil. Soon after this solemnity, the young prince, with the new‐made knights, his companions, and a considerable force of horse and foot, began the march to Scotland, leaving the king, who was now in his sixty‐eighth year, to follow more at leisure. The rendezvous was appointed for July 8, at Carlisle.

But before either the king or the prince could arrive in Scotland, the new rebellion seemed nearly to have reached its close. The surprise of Roslyn had been reversed, and a disastrous defeat had reduced Bruce to the condition of a fugitive. The earl of Pembroke commanded a small English force at Perth, then called Johnstown. Bruce, having now gathered to himself something amounting to an army, marched towards the place, and sent a challenge to the earl to come out and fight him. The earl sent him for answer, that the day was now too far advanced, but that he would give him battle on the morrow. The Scotch retired, and incautiously broke up their array, and began to prepare their suppers. Suddenly, the cry was heard that the enemy was upon them. Pembroke, on second thoughts, disliking to appear backward, had marshalled his forces, and marched out to find the Scots. Bruce, still a young commander, had neglected all the usual precautions, and his troops, taken entirely by surprise, were thrown into utter confusion. Six or seven men of note were taken prisoners, and the loss of the Scotch is said to have been seven thousand men; in fact, the army, such as it was, was annihilated. Bruce himself, with a few friends, escaped to the coast, and fled to hide themselves in the western isles. Here, says Fordun, “he was reduced to such necessity, that he passed a long period without any other food than herbs, and roots, and water. He wandered barefoot, now hiding alone in some of the islands, now chased by his enemies, and despised and ridiculed by his own vassals.”[160] “He and his friends,” says Mr. Tytler, “began to feel the miseries of outlaws. Compelled to harbour in the hills, deprived of the common comforts of life, he and his followers presented a ragged and wretched appearance. Their shoes were worn off their feet by constant toil; and hunting, instead of pastime, became a necessity.”[161] The English army, scouring the country, picked up all the fugitives they could find, and the chief power of Scotland was opposed to the insurrection. The lord of Lorne beset the passes, and had nearly captured Bruce. The earl of Rosse seized Bruce’s wife and daughter, and handed them over to the English. The bishops of Glasgow and St. Andrews, the abbot of Scone, the lord Seton, the earl of Athol, and the countess of Buchan, all were successively found, and brought in as prisoners. The king had, meanwhile, arrived at Dumfries, and the prince, after scouring the country, came to Perth. Bruce, now wholly disheartened, sent messengers to the young Edward to learn whether his submission would be accepted; but the king, when he heard of it, was incensed with the prince for holding any correspondence with “that traitor.” We thus see the distinction drawn between his case and Wallace’s. Wallace, after all his cruelties, was “to be received, if he chose to submit himself;” but Bruce’s perfidy, his sacrilege, and his treacherous murder of Comyn, had put him beyond the pale of mercy. The king had sworn to avenge Comyn’s murder, and hence with Bruce no communication was to be held.

There was now no visible insurrection in Scotland, the chief rebel being a mere fugitive among the hills. Hence, in October, we find the king at Lanercost, in Cumberland, where a council was held, and a deliberate sentence passed, with reference to the rebellion and its chief abettors.

This ordinance, in which various Scottish writers profess to find cruelty, is merely identical with what, _under the like circumstances_, would be passed at the present day. The parties arraigned had most of them been rebels in past years, and had found mercy. They had, in most cases, sworn fealty to Edward again and again, and had asked and received pardon. Their lives and their lands had been forfeited, and the forfeiture had not been exacted. Yet, after all this lenity, they were again found in rebellion, and now with the added guilt of murder and sacrilege. They had slain the first nobleman in Scotland, treacherously and perfidiously, and “in a place of tremendous sanctity.” What in our own time would be the judgment passed on such criminals? or, rather, what _has been_ the punishment adjudged to such criminals, within the last twenty years, in our Indian possessions?

The Ordinance of Lanercost declared—1. “That all who were guilty or were abettors of the murder of John Comyn should be hanged, and that all who advised or assented to such murder should have the same punishment.” 2. “And that all who were aiding or assisting Robert Bruce, or were procuring or persuading the people to rise contrary to law, should be imprisoned during the king’s pleasure.”

Could queen Victoria, _under like circumstances_, be advised to pursue any less severe course? Yet, for this mere administration of justice, is the king charged by some writers with “cruelty!”

Doubtless he had now deliberately laid aside that singular lenity with which, for ten years past, he had treated the Scotch, and had become convinced that, with respect to some among them at least, mercy would be no longer consistent with a proper regard to justice. Yet, surely, the second of these provisos, which merely ordains for actual rebels “imprisonment during the king’s pleasure,” is one seldom equalled for its temperance and lenity. There was also perceptible, in some of his decisions, that notion of apportioning the punishment to the offence, which was observable in former actions of the king’s life. Thus, the countess of Buchan had, careless of Bruce’s perfidy and recklessness of crime in the murder of Comyn, rushed forward with zeal to take part in his coronation. She was now a prisoner. The king said, “Since she has not struck with the sword, let her not be stricken with the sword; but as a penalty for the treasonable coronation in which she took part, let her be shut up in a cage made in the form of a crown, that she may be a spectacle and a reproach.”[162] The wife of Bruce, being also a prisoner, was sent to England as a captive. These two instances of severity are fastened upon by some writers as showing “vindictiveness.” Yet the countess of Buchan was plainly guilty of treason; and to have allowed Bruce’s wife to return free into Scotland, would evidently have been an act of imprudence. But the censors of Edward’s conduct neglect to remark that the countess’s cage was ordered “to have all the conveniences of a handsome chamber and that Bruce’s wife was sent to the king’s manor of Bruntwick; with seven attendants, and liberty to ride out whenever she chose.[163]

But with the male prisoners the Ordinance of Lanercost was carried into effect. Nigel Bruce was brought to trial at Berwick, hanged, and beheaded. Christopher and Alexander Seton, both Englishmen, shared the same sentence. These had been all concerned, in various ways, in the murder. The earl of Athol had taken part in the coronation of Bruce, and had been in arms at the affair of Johnstown. He attempted to escape by sea, but was driven back by a storm, and captured. Sir Simon Fraser was the same person who had cruelly murdered Ralph the cofferer at the battle of Roslyn, in 1302. He had received pardon for the offences of that period, but was now found again in arms. These two were tried in Westminster Hall, and executed, and their heads placed on London Bridge. “If we consider these men,” says Lingard, “as champions of freedom, they may demand our pity; but their execution cannot substantiate the charge of cruelty against Edward. Some were murderers, all had repeatedly broken their oaths of fealty, and had repeatedly been admitted to pardon.”

The winter now reigned, and Bruce was hidden in the little isle of Rachrin. On the approach of spring he surprised the isle of Arran, and from thence sent spies into his own country of Annandale. The English in and near Turnberry Castle were cantoned in careless security, hearing nothing of any enemy; and it was not difficult to take them by surprise. Lord Henry Percy shut himself up in the castle; but he was soon relieved by the arrival of Sir Roger St. John with a thousand men. About this time two of Bruce’s brothers, Thomas and Alexander, having collected about seven hundred men in Ireland, landed in Galloway. But they were met on landing by Macdowal, a Scottish chief, who remained true to his oath. The Irish auxiliaries were routed and scattered, and both the Bruces, with Sir Reginald Crawford, were taken prisoners. They were sent to Carlisle, and, having been concerned in Comyn’s murder, were immediately brought to trial and executed. The whole of the executions on the scaffold, which took place in consequence of this rebellion, included about sixteen or eighteen persons. Most of these had been concerned in Comyn’s murder, either as actual parties, or as accessories. Yet is it insisted upon by some writers that these punishments partook of cruelty. These critics, however, have no censure to spare for such atrocities as “the Douglas larder,” which was perpetrated on Palm Sunday. Sir James Douglas, one of Bruce’s adherents, surprised the English garrison of Douglas _while in church_. He butchered them all, after Wallace’s manner, and as he had no strength wherewith to hold the castle, he raised a great pile of wood, threw the bodies of the English garrison upon it, and then setting it on fire, consumed the whole.[164] Such deeds as these were not calculated to soften the king’s disposition, or to dispose him to lenity when any of Bruce’s immediate accomplices fell into his hands. Yet, when was such a rebellion as this suppressed—as, during Edward’s lifetime, it _was_ suppressed—with so small an amount of judicial punishment? Four centuries later, another Scottish rebellion was quelled, while England was guided by the councils of Pelham, Hardwicke, Stephen Fox, Granville, and the elder Pitt. And these statesmen did not shrink from exhibiting, in various places, eighty ghastly heads; or from beheading, on Tower Hill, lords Kilmarnock and Balmerino, and finally, lord Lovat, a man whose years were fourscore![165]