Sisters of The Bruce 1292-1314 (Abridged Version )

Sisters of The Bruce Chapter 16.3

                                                                                                   III

Scotland

Kildrummy Castle

March 1306

Isa, dear heart,

A dreadful event has taken place at Dumfries. Robert confronted the Comyn regards his treachery. Involved in disputes being heard at the judicial court, Comyn was lodged at Greyfriars Kirk. Upon this neutral ground, the pair met - at Robert's request. An argument ensued. Both men drew their daggers. In front of the high altar, they struggled. Comyn fell to the ground. His uncle rushed to his aid - Christopher killed him with a blow to the head. The friars carried the younger man into the vestry. Shocked, Rob ran outside. His men went to make sure the Comyn was dead. Chaos followed! With many rallying to his banner, Robert seized the castle. The justices barricaded themselves in the Great Hall. Our brother threatened to burn the place down. Surrender was prompt.

From February, the fiery cross was carried from hillside to hillside across Scotland alerting men to raise arms. Castle after castle fell to Robert and his men. With a defensive ring in place, he hoped to protect the western seaboard, curtailing the movement of English ships. Only then might our allies from Ireland travel with impunity.

Despite a murder having been committed on holy ground, Bishop Wishart exhorted his flock to rise up and support Robert. The old Celtic process of tanistry had run its course and all attempts at reasonable compromise had failed. March saw our brother swear an oath before the bishop to fight for Scotland and uphold the liberties of the Scottish church, long overpowered by Rome and Avignon. Notables from all over the country headed for Scone.

Our contingent arrived; relieved to be attending Robert's coronation given the desperate events. Meanwhile, Bishop Lamberton escaped from Berwick. Taking the ferry, he reached Scone in time. Nothing, he said, would have kept him from witnessing Scotland's destiny take shape and form. Where possible, all royal traditions were to be maintained for this great event and, when Robert was crowned king, he sat upon a large block of stone on Moot Hill.

Some months before the theft of the Stone of Destiny - or so it was rumoured - a replica was secreted in its stead by Scone's canny monks. If it were so, the English king was none the wiser.

I wish you could have been with us, Isa. No one, not least Robert, liked how it had come about, but all were euphoric, willing to go with the grandeur of the occasion. All through the night, we banqueted and danced; our country's woes, pushed far from our thoughts. Only Elizabeth, our new queen, mood - sombre and restrained, reflected on what the future might hold. Across her features, fear and worry jostled with pride and love. King Edward, so cruel and unforgiving to his enemies, would unleash the English host upon her lord husband and his beloved Scotland. This Elizabeth understood. Once, she told me, she prayed they would come to an understanding but now she knew their differences could only be decided by war; Edward could never grasp how the community of the realm mattered so deeply to Robert. At its core, this Celtic belief was at odds with the feudal superiority of the English king. Ultimately, it set Robert apart.

Next day, a party of horsemen rode in to Scone, their gasping mounts lathered white. Concealed for safety within the group was Countess Isobel, wife of the Buchan earl who was a firm supporter of England. She escaped her husband's harsh care to ride to Scone to fulfil the ancient role belonging to the earls of Fife – her own family line – to crown the Scottish monarchy.

Keen to uphold tradition, Robert had a second coronation take place to great acclaim. With the ceremony complete, our family accompanied the king to Kildrummy where Mhairi and the household had prepared a great banquet. How proud you would have been to see our household gathered in the Great Hall cheering our brother, mugs of wine and ale raised to his health and happiness. You were sorely missed, dear one.

Kirsty