Sisters of The Bruce 1292-1314 (Abridged Version )

Sisters of The Bruce: Pt 2; Chapter 1.2(i)

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Robert the Bruce thought long and hard about returning to his birthplace - Carrick, home of his Celtic ancestors. For some time, after news of the deaths and imprisonment of his loved ones and supporters, a desire for revenge burned with a devilish glow deep within his breast. This pervasive darkness of spirit was not a normal companion for Robert and did not sit well, brought up as he had been with the values of chivalry. In the dead of night, hot pokers of guilt caused him to lie awake, clammy with sweat, stomach churning, aware his actions in far off Dumfries had led to the misfortunes of his family and kingdom. Grief gnawed as well upon his organs like some strange, intestinal worm.

Robert's thoughts returned again and again to the confrontation with his rival, which led to his murder. Not by his hand it had to be said, but many believed it to be so. Within the walls of a church, it was an irrevocable offence against God. Such a belief was like a hard, solid form within his chest, threatening at times to choke the air from his lungs. How was it his plan had gone so awry? He adjudged the site of their meeting within a sacred place to be safe, but when wilfully goaded, his temper reached a flash point and ruined all. Now, he had played into the hands of his enemies.

King Edward arranged for Robert and his supporters to be excommunicated by the Pope. There would be no blessings from the church for marriages, baptisms or burials. None could enter the kingdom of God. For the whole of eternity, all of them would be lost, wandering in the smoky depths. Nightmares feasted upon Robert's sleep. Daylight found him exhausted. It was this turmoil of emotions the embittered, grieving king needed to conquer – inner demons of guilt, shame and bewilderment; the English could come later.

Was the crown of Scotland a siren, whose malign call was leading him towards destruction? Was it ambition and power, and the fear of failure which so engaged him? Determined, Robert probed and penetrated his beliefs, delving into his core. His faith had always been a natural part of his life as a knight. Now, so much he believed essential had been denied him. Was it all folly? Without the firm foundation of the church, he felt adrift, as a ship without an anchor flounders in rough seas.

At times, his Anglo-Norman and Celtic blood had been a blessing and at others, a curse, pulling him this way and that as if he were some ill-formed puppet, a caricature in a mummers' play. He scarce knew if his words and thoughts were his own: uniquely-formed or those of his grandfather. He had tried to use his wits and take the larger view, changing sides to strengthen his position. In doing so, he was branded by some as a wily betrayer, repudiated by many of his countrymen whose aid he desperately sought. Now he had taken a firmer path. It had led to his ruin. He was isolated from all he loved by death, distance and infamy. How could he unite this land, if his own actions involved broken vows and impulsive depredations rather than his long-held, heroic intentions?

Such reflections proved a revelation for this son of feudal Scotland, where the superiority of his class was an accepted truth. Now, life had changed irrevocably for him. He saw that nobility of spirit came not from birth. It was forged like the finest steel through life's furnace of pain and hardship, as he had been. In the process, old and new beliefs were melded together and cast anew, much as the strongest sword takes its final shape in the flames.

Slowly, Robert's perception of his future gained focus and clarity. His quest entered a new phase, well beyond the confines of self and family. Humility must walk hand in hand with courage, strength and vision. Respect and loyalty must be earned. All must be included in the final outcome, friends and enemies alike, if order and balance were to be regained. The sacrifices would be great, and he would need the strength and persistence of all the saints to maintain these high ideals – but, however rough and dangerous the journey, Robert vowed to lead his people to safety and peaceful abundance. This time, right would prevail over might, and all those who had suffered so harshly would be vindicated.

When the king said his farewells to Christina of Gamoran, it seemed to both of them that he was a changed man. Gravely, he thanked her for her support – a contingent of highlanders, weaponry and galleys, as well as extensive funds and victuals.

As Robert leaped aboard his vessel, his stern expression was implacable. With booming gongs beating time for hundreds of chanting, bare-chested rowers, the Hebridean birlinns sped like grey sea-wolves out of the loch, heading south, slicing through the waves with curved prows. For some time, Christina remained alone, standing in a patch of fitful sunlight at the rocky harbour, small wavelets rippling at her feet. Bereft, but strangely calm, she placed a protective hand upon the small mound of her belly. Change was not only the prerogative of kings.