Chapter 2

To Reduce the King and Kingdom of Scotland to His Rule

In April 1286, in the wake of Alexander III’s death, the leading men of Scotland came together to discuss the future of the kingdom. Two assemblies met at Scone. In spite of the promises made to the late king, however, Margaret of Norway was not acclaimed as queen. The situation was complicated by the fact that Yolande de Dreux was thought to be pregnant with Alexander’s child, thereby raising the possibility of a direct male heir – albeit an infant. In the absence of an acknowledged ruler it was essential to find some basis for effective governance and so at the end of the month it was decided that an oath of fealty should be sworn, somewhat ambiguously, to the heir ‘who ought to inherit’ (or words to that effect).¹ Seven² custodes or ‘Guardians’ were appointed – three bishops, two earls and two barons – who represented the political community, or ‘commune’, of the realm.

The Guardians were William Fraser, bishop of St Andrews; Robert Wishart, bishop of Glasgow; William, bishop of Dunkeld; Alexander Comyn, earl of Buchan; Duncan, earl of Fife; John Comyn, lord of Badenoch; and James the Steward (the ancestor of the Stewart kings). With the exception of the earl of Fife, who was still in his early twenties, all were experienced men. The appointment of the Guardians might therefore be seen as an expression of strength, demonstrating an enduring commitment to the kingdom and its institutions.³ Understandably, however, there were limits to their authority, and in these uncertain times it is not surprising that other men began to dream they might take the throne. After the Maid of Norway there were two obvious candidates, both of whom were adult males. Both were also descended from daughters of Earl David of Huntingdon, a grandson of King David I.

The first of the potential claimants was Robert Bruce, the grandfather of the famous future king. This Robert Bruce was the fifth member of his family to bear that name. He was also known as ‘the Noble’ and later as ‘the Competitor’: a reference to his tenacious pursuit of the throne. The Bruces, like much of the Scottish aristocracy, held lands in England but the main source of their power had long been their lordship of Annandale in south-west Scotland. By this time, though, the family had expanded its influence, because the son and heir of Robert the Noble, Robert Bruce VI, had gained the earldom of Carrick by marriage.

Bruce’s likely rival was John Balliol, even though up to this point he had spent much of his time on his lands in England and France. Balliol was the heir to the great lordship of Galloway, but at this time his mother, Lady Devorgilla, still held Galloway in her own right. It was significant, though, that Balliol had a connection with the Comyn family, to whom he was related by marriage. The Comyns were the most powerful noble family in Scotland; they held lands throughout the kingdom (although especially north of the Forth), and were also extremely influential in political affairs. Two members of the Comyn family were appointed as Guardians in 1286, as we have seen. The earl of Buchan was the head of one branch of the family, holding the core of his lands in north-eastern Scotland, but the lord of Badenoch represented the senior branch (even though he was not an earl); his powerbase was in the central Highlands.

The Comyns’ influence was partly based on their military capabilities and their control of significant lines of communication. The lord of Badenoch held the important fortress of Inverlochy, for example, whose defences are thought to have been strengthened and modernised during the 1270s and 1280s.⁴ Inverlochy held a vitally strategic position because it gave its owner the key to the Great Glen. Also known as Glen Albyn (from the Gaelic Gleann Albainn, meaning the ‘Glen of Scotland’), the Great Glen is in fact a series of glens, following the line of a geological fault that bisects the Highlands. The Great Glen therefore allows penetration into the heart of northern Scotland, meaning that control of this area has been crucially important throughout the whole of Scottish history. Inverlochy and the Comyns’ other great castles, such as Lochindorb and Slains, also served as administrative centres and as a focus of noble culture.

The Bruces also had powerful connections. In late September Robert the Noble met with a number of his closest associates, including James the Steward, at his son’s castle of Turnberry in Ayrshire. All those present agreed a pact of mutual assistance, which is known as the Turnberry Band. In addition to a group of Scottish nobles, the arrangement included two powerful Irish lords: Richard de Burgh, earl of Ulster, and Thomas de Clare. It has sometimes been suggested, therefore, that the meeting was prompted by concerns about the potential for disorder in Ireland and the Western Isles, which could spill over onto the Scottish mainland; whilst it is often noted that the Bruce family had ‘Anglo-Norman’ origins, by this time they were also part of a wider world that encompassed the Irish Sea.⁵ But the Turnberry Band must also have renewed Bruce’s confidence in the strength of his position in Scotland. By November it was clear that Queen Yolande would not become the mother of a king of Scots (her child may have been still-born), and Bruce decided to act.

The Bruces swept through the south-west of Scotland, openly in arms and with banners displayed. They took control of the royal castles at Wigmore and Dumfries, and also captured the Balliol stronghold of Buittle. These actions must have been interpreted as the opening moves in a Bruce bid for the throne – possibly paving the way for assistance from Ireland – but in fact Bruce had overestimated the extent of his support. Crucially, for example, he received no encouragement from James the Steward, who stayed true to his wider responsibilities, and the Bruces were soon forced to seek terms with the Guardians. They were not punished for their actions, but were compelled to give up the castles they had taken – and also to swear fealty to Margaret of Norway as the ‘Lady’ of Scotland and future queen.

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Establishing the Maid of Norway’s right to the throne of Scotland was one thing, but even her most stubborn adherents would have conceded that rule by a child – and a female one at that – was far from ideal. Moreover, her father, King Eric of Norway, was reluctant to give permission for Margaret to sail to Scotland unless her safety could be guaranteed. What little Margaret needed, then (from the medieval point of view), was a powerful protector: and was there a better candidate, it might have been argued, than Edward of England?

With the benefit of hindsight, it might be suggested that the Scots were mistaken to involve Edward in Scottish affairs. And was it really necessary? After all, it is clear that the Guardians were able to maintain a relatively effective administration, and even to face down the abortive rising of the Bruces. However, recent work has indicated that they found it increasingly difficult to stand apart from the aristocratic world of which they were still a part (and not only because of their connections to potential claimants to the throne).⁶ Edward, by contrast, might have provided an impartial source of authority, much as his father had done, to a certain extent, in the 1250s. Later events would suggest the Guardians were not entirely naïve, and doubtless there must have been considerable debate before any appeal was made to England. Nevertheless, it is also very clear that the Scots (or at least some of them) were keen to open a dialogue with Edward.

Immediately after the death of Alexander III, two Franciscan friars were despatched to inform Edward of the sad news of the passing of the king of Scots. Their task was at least partly a matter of courtesy, but they were followed by two more high-powered embassies. The first of these, in May 1286, was led by Bishop Fraser of St Andrews – who appears to have particularly respected Edward – but it is not clear if the bishop was able to meet with Edward before the latter left England for France. The second embassy, led by William Comyn, bishop of Brechin and two others, pursued Edward to the continent; they were ushered into his presence at Saintes, north of Bordeaux. According to the testimony of Walter Bower, writing in the early fifteenth century, the Scots pleaded with Edward to give them his ‘counsel and protection’.⁷

If the Scots truly hoped for great things from Edward, they would be sadly disappointed. He might well have given some vague assurances of his goodwill, but at this stage of his career he was concerned with much larger matters (as he would undoubtedly have understood the situation). As one modern historian has explained, ‘as so often, [Edward’s] plans seem to have been inflexibly set, and he was not to be diverted from them’.⁸ But what were these plans? Edward had travelled to France in order to place himself at the heart of a complex dispute involving the Papacy, France and the kingdom of Aragon (part of modern Spain). On this occasion Edward sought to act as a peacemaker: it was hoped that the achievement of unity between the great powers of Europe would pave the way for the organisation of a new Crusade. For the next three years Edward would have little time for Scottish affairs.

The main source of conflict in Europe at this time was the kingdom of Sicily (which then encompassed much of southern Italy). In 1282 there was a major revolt in Sicily, the so-called ‘Sicilian Vespers’, which led to the expulsion of the French ruler, Charles of Anjou, from the island itself. The Sicilian rebels invited King Peter III of Aragon to take the crown in Charles’s place, and Peter was pleased to accept their offer. Charles, in his turn, received financial and military backing from the king of France, Philip III, and he was determined to oust the Aragonese. The Pope at this time, Martin IV, who was also a Frenchman, provided stalwart support for the Angevin cause. A war ensued, including a series of naval engagements throughout the Mediterranean. In 1285, however, all the major players in the conflict passed away (including Martin IV). This left Edward, who was then in his mid-forties, as the senior statesman in western Europe, and it was hoped that he would be able to use his natural authority and experience to arbitrate between the various heirs.

England would have to do without its ruler until August 1289: the longest absence by one of its kings since the reign of Richard the Lionheart (who famously spent only around six months in England). Edward went first to Paris, where he met with the new king of France, Philip IV, and was obliged to pay homage to him for his duchy of Aquitaine – it is often noted that Edward does not appear to have appreciated the ironic parallel between his own situation and that of the king of Scots! – although he was also able to negotiate a truce between France and Aragon. From Paris Edward set out towards his own lands, visiting Fontevrault, the burial place of his Angevin ancestors, on his way south. He also took the opportunity to tour his lands in southern France, before he eventually reached Bordeaux in January 1287 (around which time he received the Scots envoys).

In addition to his efforts to resolve the Sicilian problem, Edward diverted himself with various other activities (such as hunting wolves). He also devoted considerable time to the governance of Gascony, as well as founding a number of new towns, known as bastides.⁹ (These followed similar developments in Wales.) The matter of Sicily remained his primary concern, however, although here he faced serious obstacles. The situation was complicated by the fact that Charles of Anjou’s heir, Charles of Salerno, had been captured by the Aragonese. But this did not strengthen the Aragonese position as much as might be expected, because the new Pope, Honorius IV, continued to support the Angevins. It was therefore anticipated that the release of Charles of Salerno would set off a chain of events that would pave the way for lasting peace.

Edward’s labours took on greater intensity after Easter Sunday in 1287, when he suffered another near-death experience. He was standing in a room in a tower when the floor suddenly collapsed, causing the king and his entourage to fall nearly eighty feet. Edward was lucky to escape with a broken collar-bone, although others were more seriously injured and three men were killed. One chronicle suggests the floor was dislodged by a bolt of lightning. This incident may therefore have been seen as divinely inspired, intended as a message for Edward. Perhaps he concurred: as soon as he was physically recovered, he once again ‘took the cross’. Pope Honorius agreed to provide funds for Edward’s enterprise, and nominated the archbishop of Ravenna to provide papal endorsement of his intentions. But unfortunately the Pope died in the meantime, rendering invalid the ensuing ceremony (as well as the financial negotiations that had preceded it).

Naturally the Pope’s death had wider diplomatic implications, although Edward continued to press for Charles’s release. Eventually he was able to bring this about, although the deal he brokered involved considerable costs for Edward; he himself paid part of Charles’s ransom (as a loan, albeit one that was never repaid), and he also sent English hostages to act as temporary surety when Charles was freed. However, in return Charles was expected to acknowledge the Aragonese hold on the island of Sicily (as was the Papacy). Whilst Charles offered profuse thanks to Edward, he swiftly reneged on his agreement with the Aragonese and further warfare ensued. Charles was later castigated for his dishonourable behaviour by Otto de Grandson, and this almost certainly reflected Edward’s own attitude. But for the moment Edward believed he had done everything in his power, and he was now keen to return to England.

Writing in the summer of 1289, a clerk who had accompanied Edward to Gascony commented that ‘the stay in these parts has seemed too long, both to him and his’.¹⁰ Edward was deeply disturbed by reports he had received from England, and when he returned to his kingdom in June he became particularly concerned with the restoration of order. Several of Edward’s officials in England were censured, as it was thought they had exploited the king’s absence for their own gain. It was around this time, too, that Edward set in train the expulsion of England’s Jews (probably inspired by a mixture of prejudice and financial motives): a policy that would not be reversed until the seventeenth century. But Edward was now also increasingly interested in Scotland: doubtless he had received reports about the unsettled nature of affairs there. By this time it appears that the authority of the Guardians, which was always precarious, had finally begun to fracture.

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In September 1289 the youngest of the Guardians, Duncan, earl of Fife, was murdered near Brechin. Earl Duncan had made numerous enemies during his time as a Guardian (the Lanercost Chronicle describes him as ‘cruel and greedy’¹¹), yet even so this was a shocking event. The perpetrator, Hugh Abernethy, was quickly arrested and imprisoned,¹² notwithstanding his own considerable status and close ties to the Comyns, but Earl Duncan was not replaced as a Guardian. Indeed, the failure to replace any of the Guardians who died in office (by this time the earl of Buchan and the bishop of Dunkeld had also passed away) may well provide evidence of political disagreements and an increasing sense of factionalism. The Maid of Norway could potentially provide a focus for unity, given that all of the main political actors in Scotland had offered her their loyalty, although of course there was a limit to her appeal while she remained with her father across the sea.

It was therefore necessary to find a way to overcome King Eric’s resistance to the notion that his daughter should leave Norway. Efforts had already been made to find a way out of the impasse before the alarming murder of the earl of Fife, and these efforts continued throughout the year 1289. An idea was mooted – although it is not clear where the suggestion originated – that Margaret should marry Edward I’s son and heir, Edward of Caernarfon (so-named after the place of his birth). Naturally the theory was that, in time, Margaret’s husband would serve as her protector and provide a guiding hand. Edward of Caernarfon was then still very young, but it was assumed that until he reached his majority his father would be happy to protect Margaret’s interests.

From the point of view of Eric of Norway, a marriage alliance with England had considerable appeal. Much of the impetus appears to have come from the Norwegians and the Scots, and the initial round of diplomacy took place while Edward was still in France. Nevertheless, Edward did express enthusiasm for the projected match; he welcomed a Norwegian embassy at Condom in May 1289, and he also sought to obtain a dispensation for the marriage from the next Pope, Nicholas IV. (A dispensation would be necessary because the children in question were cousins once removed.) Even though Edward could indeed sometimes be inflexible, to the point of obstinacy and obsession, it seems his mind was constantly alive to the possibility of future opportunities. In this case, of course, Edward understood that the marriage held the potential to make Scotland part of the Plantagenet domains.

Whilst Margaret and Edward of Caernarfon were both still too young to marry, the papal dispensation was successfully obtained. A series of complex negotiations laid the groundwork for a future marriage to proceed. The Treaty of Salisbury (6 November 1289) imposed significant obligations on the Scots. The terms of the treaty suggested that Margaret might travel first to England, before moving on to Scotland, but the latter would not occur unless the Scots could prove to Edward I and King Eric’s satisfaction that the realm was in a good state of order. However, the treaty also obliged Eric to send Margaret from Norway within the year.

In the coming months, ostensibly working on behalf of his son and prospective daughter-in-law, Edward began to assert himself in Scotland. He sought to gain control of Scottish royal castles in the name of the young couple; he also took the Isle of Man, which was then nominally part of the Scottish realm, under his ‘protection’. Whilst the question of the castles became a thorny subject in subsequent discussions, the Guardians remained eager for the marriage plan to be confirmed as this would mean their ‘lady’ could at last come to Scotland and become their queen. But they were also determined to ensure that the status of the kingdom would be preserved.

Fresh talks between the English and Scots in July 1290 led to another agreement, at Birgham in southern Scotland, which must have helped to set the Scots’ minds at rest.¹³ Among other things it was specified that, after the young Edward and Margaret married, Scotland would remain ‘separate, free in itself without any subjection to England’. The ‘rights, laws, liberties and customs of the realm of Scotland’ would all be retained. Whilst it was envisaged that the heir to the young couple would eventually inherit both of their thrones, future kings would be bound to maintain separate administrations in England and Scotland. The rights of the Scottish Church would be protected, because elections of its bishops would be held in Scotland, and the rulers of England and Scotland would also be expected to travel north of the border to receive the homage of their leading Scottish subjects.

Thus the agreement at Birgham held out the prospect of a peaceful union between the crowns of England and Scotland, more than 300 years before James VI of Scotland succeeded to the English throne. As Sir Walter Scott mused in his Tales of a Grandfather, had it come to pass then ‘an immeasurable quantity of money and bloodshed would probably have been saved’.¹⁴ Some readers might well take a less optimistic view of the projected marriage and its subsequent effects, although what it would have meant in practice remains one of the great ‘what if’s of British history. But tragedy once again intervened, striking yet another blow against the House of Canmore. The Scots had been promised at Salisbury that the Maid would reach the British Isles by 1 November. She did set out from Norway at some point in the autumn of 1290, but she never reached England or the Scottish mainland. Her ship put in to a harbour in Orkney, where little Margaret died of illness.

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The death of the Maid of Norway once again raised the spectre of civil war in Scotland. Naturally Robert Bruce was keen to reassert his claim to the throne, but John Balliol’s position was now somewhat stronger than it had been in 1286: Balliol had recently inherited the lordship of Galloway, following the death of his mother, and doubtless it was taken for granted that he could rely on his Comyn relatives in any power struggle to come. Writing in early October, when the news of the Maid’s death was still uncertain, the bishop of St Andrews continued to see Edward as a potential source of neutral authority; in the event that the Maid had indeed passed away (as, of course, she had), he exhorted Edward to travel swiftly north, for ‘the consolation of the Scottish people and for saving [preventing] the shedding of blood’.¹⁵

Unfortunately Edward’s reply to Bishop Fraser has not survived. A later Scottish source asserts that he encouraged the Scots to delay any decisions about the succession until he could offer his advice in person, promising to help them as ‘a friend and neighbour’.¹⁶ But the death of the Maid of Norway was closely followed by a more personal tragedy for Edward: the passing of his beloved wife. Queen Eleanor fell ill, and died at Harby in Lincolnshire on 28 November 1290. Edward was distraught; writing to the abbot of Cluny in the New Year, he described Eleanor as the woman ‘whom in life we dearly cherished, and whom in death we cannot cease to love’.¹⁷ Eleanor’s body was conveyed to London in a sad procession, and Edward later commissioned a monument at each of the places where the cortege rested for the evening: several of these ‘Eleanor Crosses’ still survive. Her tomb at Westminster was beautified by a splendid bronze effigy fashioned by William Torel, a celebrated goldsmith.

Eleanor’s funeral took place at Westminster on 17 December. Thereafter, in the depths of winter, Edward retreated to Ashridge Priory in Buckinghamshire. Here, one must imagine, he spent a desolate Christmas. When he emerged from Ashridge, however, in January 1291, the matter of Scotland appeared to be very much on his mind. But he was no longer speaking of friendship with the Scots. At a gathering of the king and his nobles, which took place at some point in early 1291, a chronicle from Waverley Abbey tells us that Edward openly stated his intentions: he ‘said that it was in his mind to reduce the king and kingdom of Scotland to his rule, as he had recently subjected Wales to his authority’.¹⁸

It seems Edward was not seriously contemplating military action at this time, although it is clear that he intended to exploit the situation in Scotland to his own advantage. What the Scots undoubtedly wanted was an arbitrated settlement between Robert Bruce and John Balliol: given Edward’s previous experience in such negotiations, it might have been argued that he would be admirably suited to such a role. To this end, in May 1291 the great men of Scotland gathered in Berwick-upon-Tweed (then an important Scottish town), where they waited for Edward to join them. But then the Scottish Guardians were summoned to meet Edward across the border at Norham. Here they learned that Edward did not intend to help resolve the issue as a disinterested arbiter, but rather as a judge – and as the superior lord of Scotland.

Edward had already taken steps to prepare the ground: not only had he ordered his officials to scour the chronicles for evidence of his ‘rights’, he had also summoned a force of knights to join him at Norham. But the Guardians of Scotland were not easily cowed; with Bishop Robert Wishart of Glasgow taking the lead, they rejected Edward’s position, acting with a poise and confidence that speaks highly of their courage and resolve.

The Guardians subsequently adopted a more conciliatory tone, but eventually Edward overcame their resistance by approaching the claimants directly. A number of candidates were encouraged to submit their claims – not only Bruce and Balliol – and ultimately all of them accepted that Edward had the right to make his decision between them as overlord of Scotland. Perhaps the candidates assumed that Edward would be satisfied with a theoretical acknowledgement of his superiority. Of course, it could also be argued, less charitably, that they simply feared being excluded from the succession if they did not accede to Edward’s demands.

Once the claimants had given their submission – John Balliol, it should be noted, was the last to give way – the Guardians had little opportunity for any further protest. What followed was a lengthy and complex legal process, punctuated by numerous delays, which has become known as the ‘Great Cause’.¹⁹ In the meantime – with the grudging consent and cooperation of the Guardians – Edward took possession of the royal Scottish castles, as well as retaining the Isle of Man, and effectively gained custody of the Scottish realm. Two Englishmen, Anthony Bek, bishop of Durham, and Sir Brian FitzAlan, were appointed as Guardians to serve alongside the four Scots still in office. This state of affairs endured for well over a year, and perhaps surprisingly a precarious state of order appears to have been maintained. It has been observed that Edward ‘moved softly’ and ‘was on his best behaviour’.²⁰ The people of Scotland, it might be suggested, collectively held their breath.

Edward’s court, now based at Berwick, considered the arguments of a long series of candidates: fourteen in all. Most of the claims, including those of the king of Norway and Edward himself,²¹ were never likely to be successful, and Bruce and Balliol were widely accepted as the most likely of the various claimants. As noted above, the two men were both descendants of Earl David of Huntingdon, a grandson of King David I. Balliol possessed the simplest and most coherent claim: he was the grandson of Earl David’s eldest daughter Margaret, and he therefore argued that he should inherit by right of primogeniture. Bruce’s case was derived from his mother Isabel, who was the next daughter of Earl David; he therefore argued that he should succeed because he was closer in degree to Earl David; he also asserted that King Alexander II had previously nominated him as his heir in the event of a failure in the main line.

At one point there was a significant pause in order to consult lawyers based in Paris, although the case was also complicated by various other factors, notably the dramatic emergence of Count Florence of Holland as a serious contender. Florence’s claim was based on his assertion that Earl David had renounced his rights to the Scottish throne to his sister Ada, from whom the count was descended. However, Count Florence was unable to provide any documents to prove his case, despite being granted an adjournment of almost a year in which this evidence might be found.²² But when the court convened for the final time, in October 1292, all the momentum was with Balliol. Bruce, now desperate, made a last-ditch plea that the realm should be divided between himself, Balliol and the Englishman John Hastings (a third descendant of Earl David), but this was rebuffed. On 17 November 1292 Edward finally announced that Balliol would be king.

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Like previous Scottish kings, John Balliol was inaugurated at Scone, and he was able to take possession of the Scottish castles and crown lands that had recently been under Edward’s control. This provides a telling reminder that Edward had not completely lost sight of the rights of others, nor had he forgotten his own obligations. Yet when John did homage to Edward on Boxing Day, the realities of his position became clear. The ceremony took place in England, at Newcastle, and there was no ambiguity whatsoever about his relationship with the English king. John spoke the words: ‘My lord, Lord Edward, lord superior of the realm of Scotland, I, John Balliol, king of Scots, hereby become your liegeman for the whole realm of Scotland.’²³

By this time John Balliol was a mature man, probably in his early forties, but in many respects he was an unlikely king. It was remarkable that he had inherited his father’s lands, never mind the throne of Scotland. As a youth, before the premature deaths of his three elder brothers, he was probably destined for a career in the Church. Moreover, as we have seen, he did not know Scotland particularly well. Obviously the support of his Comyn relatives was extremely valuable – if potentially restrictive – although he would presumably have faced a steep learning curve even if he had been given time and space to consolidate his rule.²⁴ But John’s main problem, of course, was Edward, who seized every opportunity to assert what he saw as his own rights in Scotland. In particular, Scotsmen who objected to King John’s judgements were encouraged to appeal to Edward as their ‘superior lord’; this gave Edward a pretext to summon John to the English court to answer for his actions.

There were a number of appeals, the most significant of which involved a Scottish nobleman by the name of Macduff, an uncle of the late earl of Fife, who claimed he had been wrongly deprived of some of his lands. Macduff occupied two disputed manors, but was evicted by agents of the bishop of St Andrews (who was then administering the earldom of Fife on behalf of the new earl, who was then still an infant). Denied justice by King John, as Macduff would have seen it, he was also temporarily imprisoned, and he therefore decided to appeal to Edward. It was impressed on King John that he would be expected to appear in person to answer the charges against him, and after some prevarication he duly presented himself in England.

It is quite possible that Balliol believed he was honour-bound to respond to Edward’s summons, rather than simply acting out of weakness, but he must have been aware of the significance of the situation. Thus when Macduff’s case was discussed in England, at the November Parliament of 1293, John came well prepared. Called upon to speak, he argued that ‘he dare not and cannot answer here on any matter touching his realm without consulting the people of his realm’.²⁵

John’s statement at the parliament gained him a little time, but he was subsequently threatened with the loss of three important castles (including Berwick) as a punishment for his tardy response to Edward’s summons. Doubtless more subtle forms of intimidation were also brought to bear, and the king of Scots was compelled to reaffirm his homage and his acceptance of Edward’s lordship. Macduff’s case was adjourned, but John promised to return to the English parliament in the following year, where he would ‘report’ to Edward on the advice he had received.²⁶

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Ultimately the Macduff case was overtaken by other events, and it was never concluded, but from Edward’s point of view another important precedent had been set. Nevertheless, it might be argued that Edward’s uncompromising attitude towards the king of Scots was counter-productive: another European conflict was brewing while he was seeking to impose his will on John Balliol – and this time the king of England would not be able to stand apart. The most pressing issue on Edward’s agenda throughout the early 1290s was his deteriorating relationship with Philip IV of France. Philip was famously handsome and was known as ‘the Fair’ (le Bel), although he is best known today for his savage persecution of the Knights Templar. He was surely one of the most ruthless men ever to sit on the French throne.

Tensions between the kings of England and France were nothing new, but the particular problems at this time were due to an escalation of disputes at sea: there had been a number of violent altercations between English and French seamen. As we have seen, Edward owed Philip homage for his lands in France (although not for his kingdom of England), and Edward was summoned to the French court in an attempt to resolve the matter. Unlike John Balliol, however, Edward did not feel compelled to answer a summons from his liege-lord in person. He responded by sending his younger brother Edmund, and soon it appeared that a compromise had been reached: it was agreed that Edward would temporarily surrender to Philip a number of key towns, including Bordeaux, but then the duchy of Acquitaine would be formally regranted on more favourable terms in a lavish ceremony.

It may not seem immediately obvious why the agreement negotiated by Edmund should have resolved the matters at issue, but it appears to have been understood that this would mark a fresh start in relations between England and France. The renewed sense of accord between the kings of England and France was to be symbolised by a marriage between Edward (now, of course, a widower) and Princess Margaret, Philip’s sister. Edward kept his side of the bargain: his officials in Gascony were ordered to surrender Bordeaux and the other towns to the French. Once he had the towns in his possession, though, Philip reneged on the deal: Edward was now deemed to be in default because he had not obeyed the French king’s summons to court, and all his lands in France were declared forfeit.

Upon hearing this news, apparently Edward ‘went red, and became very afraid, because he had acted less than wisely’.²⁷ But why had Edward been so easily deceived? There were suggestions that Edward’s judgement had been clouded by the prospect of marriage to a young Frenchwoman,²⁸ but it is more likely that he was sincerely committed to fostering peace with France at this time. Within the British Isles Edward sought mastery, but in Europe he continued to seek harmony. Behind his seemingly rather naïve approach to foreign relations (also demonstrated in his dealings with Charles of Salerno), there remained the dream of the Crusade. To lead another Crusade was still Edward’s most deeply held ambition: one that was expressed in correspondence to a diverse set of foreign rulers, including the king of Hungary and the Il-Khan of the Mongols. From 1291 onwards the fall of Acre – the last Christian outpost in the Holy Land – had lent this a new urgency.

Unsurprisingly Philip’s machinations led to war between England and France, and as French troops prepared to entrench themselves in Gascony, the scales fell from Edward’s eyes. He made plans to lead an army to Flanders, and the Scottish nobility were summoned to serve him in this enterprise, but the campaign had to be delayed. The initial problems were financial. Edward was let down by his long-time creditors, the Riccardi of Lucca,²⁹ and his increasingly aggressive pursuit of money caused discontent at all levels of society. His demands caused great anger in Wales, where simmering resentments soon burst into flame.

The Welsh rebels found a leader in Madog ap Llywelyn, who was distantly related to the princes of Gwynedd and now declared himself prince of Wales. Edward’s energies were therefore diverted to the west, as the king led the response to the Welsh uprising in person. Eventually Edward’s superior resources proved too much for the Welsh: Madog was captured (although, strangely, he was not executed, and appears to have died much later in English captivity), and the revolt was crushed. But the campaign was hard-fought and dangerous. Madog was a talented soldier, and he had enjoyed some early successes. The great chain of fortresses that Edward had ordered to be built in North Wales was still not complete, and his most cherished new castle, at Caernarfon, was all but destroyed. At one point Edward was himself pinned down at Conwy, with his men bereft of supplies.

Edward’s various difficulties appeared to offer an opportunity for the Scots to throw off the shackles of English overlordship. By the autumn of 1295 King John’s activities were formally supported by a Council of Twelve; some accounts suggest he had been replaced altogether. We can therefore assume that his policies had wider approval – and were quite possibly driven by others. Following the natural principle that ‘my enemy’s enemy is my friend’, the Scots made representations to Philip the Fair. Bishop Fraser of St Andrews, who by this time was thoroughly disillusioned with Edward, was a leading member of the Scottish embassy. On 23 October 1295 terms were agreed for a treaty, committing the Scots to an alliance with France. This was the beginning of the so-called ‘Auld Alliance’, which ensured that England, Scotland and France would be locked together in a diplomatic triangle for the rest of the Middle Ages. In Edward’s mind, of course, this was the action of a group of rebellious vassals. War between the kings of England and Scotland had now become inevitable.