Sisters of The Bruce 1292-1314 (Abridged Version )

Sisters of The Bruce Chapter 6.7

Norway

Bergen

December 1296

As the year drew to a close, Isa received a letter. It was the first time Robert had written since she had left Turnberry over three years ago. Clutching the calfskin parchment, she made her way over to the window embrasure where the light was marginally better. Solas jumped up on the padded seat and laid his soft head upon her lap. Outside, it was a grey day, soft mizzle falling. The sea smelt stale full of the refuse thrown into it. Above the lapping waves, the cry of sea birds could be heard. Nestled within her woollen shawl, Isa broke the seal and began to read, oblivious to all but the words before her.

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London

October 1296

Dearest Isa,

This letter comes to you by the hand of Jan Falko, a trustworthy merchant within the Hansa group, who hails from the German town of Lubeck. The Bruce contract for our English wool exports has been with his family for many years. Forgive me for not writing sooner, but I have been wary lest my words fall into the wrong hands. As you know, English ships patrol our waters seeking to cut off our trade with other countries and prevent aid reaching us. My seal is in lead so it can be disposed of overboard if necessary. Equally, please burn this missive after reading it.

It was Jan's brother, Otto, who brought you our wedding gifts a couple of years ago. I hope you liked the presents. The girls had the capes fur-trimmed as we knew Norway would be cold, but I doubt the wintry conditions would be much of a shock to someone reared at Turnberry. We hoped the bed linen, coverlets, silver plate and dishes would be of use in your new life. The kist was from me. I had it painted in red and gold for Bruce and Scotland, with a sprinkling of Lions Rampant to remind you that you may be a queen of Norway but you are first, and always, a princess of Scotland.

Our fortunes are at low ebb. I speak both of Scotland and Bruce. As you know, we could never pay homage to King John Balliol or his Comyn kinsmen. Nor could many of our friends and allies accept this hopeless man as King of Scots. It was an intolerable situation. In January, we received a summons from Balliol. We refused to raise our forces and, in consequence, lost our Scottish lands at one stroke. I took fifty men from Carrick and Annandale and a dozen knights only. These I led to Carlisle where Father had been appointed governor. All our other men were instructed to stay home, guard their possessions as best they could and wait for our return. Edward of England was marching north and there was little doubt Balliol would be destroyed. Carlisle was besieged by Alexander Comyn, Earl of Buchan, who had been given Annandale by Balliol. He had no siege engines. We manned the walls, using the citizens of the town and my men. After a poor attempt to rush the gates, they fell back, burning and murdering on the way.

This folly left Edward of England a free hand to lay siege to Berwick, which he did with his usual efficiency and brutality. When it fell, there was butchery for two days. The death and destruction turned my stomach: thousands, slaughtered. Edward turned the place into his base for the invasion of Scotland and brought English settlers north to replace those many good Scots, so cruelly murdered. Before I arrived, he struck north and met Buchan and the Scottish army at Dunbar. It was all too easy for the English army. Buchan let the Scots attack off the hill west of the town. It was utter folly. By night on 27 April, the majority of the Balliol/Comyn faction was either dead or in English hands. I care not about their fate, bar many of our friends like Mar and Atholl who sided with Balliol. Too many good, ordinary Scots folk would grieve that day. I then accompanied King Edward north, turning off to reoccupy our own lands of Carrick and Annandale (and repair some of the damage left behind).

In July, the English monarch caught up with 'King' John Balliol at Montrose. It was pathetic. He yielded not only himself, but also Scotland to Edward, muttering about evil counsel and his own simplicity. He had the royal arms of Scotland torn from his tabard and trampled on the floor. 'King Nobody', 'Toom Tabard', is king no more. After a leisurely progress to Elgin, Edward returned via Perth where he removed the Stone of Destiny from Scone.

By August we were back in Berwick, where every landowner in Scotland was forced to swear fealty to Edward. He let it be known there would be no other King of Scots. When Father spoke with him, Edward said, "Have we nothing else to do, but win kingdoms for you?" It was clear he means to incorporate not only Wales, but also Scotland into one kingdom. Englishmen have been appointed sheriffs all over Scotland, supported by thousands of English soldiers. Edward means to abolish Scotland. Father pinned his hopes on Edward but returned to Hatfield in anger; his bleak spirit overwhelmed by hopeless despair. For myself, I bide my time. Edward means to spend next year campaigning in France and the Scots may yet prove less pliant to his will than he expects.

Kirsty told me about the loss of your son and that you are once more with child. I pray all goes well. We have both had our share of sadness; for you will know I married Isabella of Mar last year and she is already dead, leaving me with a daughter. Marjorie has a mop of black hair and huge dark eyes. Luckily, our sisters have time for the babe. I have hardly been able to see her. She will grow up in better hands than mine and I can only hope she knows her father loves her though he shows it poorly. What it is to be a Bruce! I wish we were back at Turnberry, but I fear such happiness will never return at least to me.

Your loving brother

Rob