Within, a hidden choir raised their voices. Carved screens and tapestries screened the high altar from view. The high vaulted chamber was bathed in light from hundreds of high windows and countless candelabras. A cloth-draped dais had been built in front of the chancel.
The place echoed with hundreds of voices. Heralds pointed and guided the company to their assigned places. In the front were benches. On one side, the bishops of Saint Andrews, Ross, Brechin, Dunblane, and Dunkeld took their places in gleaming episcopal finery. Behind them, abbots filed in. On the opposite side, Robert Stewart, Lord High Steward, the Earl of Wigton, and the Earl of Dunbar, in velvet, silk, and gleaming jewels, were escorted to their places at the front by heralds. After a minute, the scowling Earls of Ross and Mar stamped forward to join them. Ross and Stewart had a long-standing enmity, made worse when the king made Ross and Mar Guardians of the Realm in his absence. Behind them were benches for lesser nobles and burghers that filled as heralds pointed them to where they should sit.
The back of the abbey was filled with hundreds of townspeople. The smells of incense, wax candles, and the sweat of hundreds of men wafted along with angry muttering over English guards ranged along the walls. Will and I used our elbows to defend our places next to columns, where we would have a good view.
The abbey doors were thrown open for the king’s entrance. There was a deafening flourish from a score of trumpets.
The king strode through the doors and up the aisle between the benches, crown on his auburn head and a purple cloak lined with white fur and hemmed with gold thread about his shoulders. His back was straight as a spear shaft, his footstep firm. Behind him, Sir William Keith, Great Marischal of Scotland, his face flushed, marched in, carrying before him the unsheathed sword of state. Sir Thomas de la Hay, Lord High Constable of Scotland, followed with the royal scepter resting on a purple cushion.
The herald intoned, “Hear ye! Hear ye! All persons having business before the King of the Scots are called to draw near, for the Parliament of the Kingdom of Scotland is now in session. God save the King!”
The king stood before the cloth of gold-draped throne for a moment and sat. He said in a battlefield voice that carried across the chamber, “As the first order of business in this parliament, I ask that the parliament thank my uncle, Sir Robert de Stewart, for his service to the realm in my absence and appoint him as Guardian of the Realm until my permanent release from durance.” I raised my brows. No wonder Ross and Mar looked so angry. But the room broke into cheers. Stewart had many friends in the room, and Dunbar clapped Stewart on the shoulder.
David waited until the tumult subsided. “The second order of business is to appoint Patrick de Leuchars, Bishop of Brechin, as Lord Chancellor of the realm.”
“How say you?” The herald called out. “Aye or Nae?” Both appointments were approved, but Stewart’s eyes narrowed at the vote for Bishop Leuchars.
I furrowed my brow, trying to understand what David was doing by honoring Stewart on the one hand but angering him on the other. I struggled to understand the power struggles but did not know enough to parse them out.
The bishop proceeded to a table at the foot of the dais. He picked up a parchment, gave it a serious look, and lifted his gaze to spread over the Parliament. “I have for consideration a proposal from the King of England for a ransom for the King of Scots.” His voice was low yet carrying, and he spoke as one not to be rushed. “King Edward proposes to release King David, agreeing to demand no monetary payment and no oath of fealty. For this generosity, Parliament must agree that should King David die with no heir of his body, that King Edward’s youngest son, John, Earl of Richmond, should be named heir to the crown of Sc—”
I gasped in horror. A cacophony of shouts and jeers drowned out the bishop. Men leapt to their feet. Douglas shook his fist at the king. Robert Stewart, who was David’s heir, screamed, “Never!” His face was purple with rage. Mar was jabbing a finger at the king, spittle flying from his mouth.
“God’s blood!” Will shouted over the noise, “Did he truly think we would agree to such a thing?”
“Why… How…” I stuttered, unable to find words for my shock. I shook my head, unable to believe he would even propose such a thing.
Bishop Leuchars raised the ceremonial mace and banged it on the table. When that met with no success, he banged it even harder.
King David stood and held up both hands, his face calm, but his bellow echoed over the pandemonium, “Hear me!”
The bishop turned, his eyes widening, and the clamor gradually died.
“Hear me,” David repeated in a quieter voice. “You willnae accept an English king, and I dinnae propose one for you. I remind you that I am a young man, not yet even in my thirtieth year. I shall have a son.” He looked around, staring into men’s faces. “My wife has nae given me a son. That is true. She may yet, but if she doesnae, I shall divorce her for consanguinity and find me a wife who can.”
Some of the abbots gasped.
The king gave the Parliament a second to absorb what he had said, but I was still agog from the shock of his proposal.
“Without such an agreement, the ransom would beggar our kingdom. So I propose that you agree to this with my most solemn oath before God and the saints that—”
“You cannae make such an oath!” Douglas jumped to his feet, planting his feet wide. “King Alexander had three children, and still he had nae heir!”
Mar shouted, “Aye! And that has cost us fifty years of war!”
“Never!” a voice shouted.
Ross leapt onto the edge of the dais. Keith rushed between him and the king, but Ross turned his back and shouted, “My father swore a solemn oath that should our king try to make us subject to the King of England or the English, we should drive him out as our enemy and make some other man our king! I repeat that oath! Are you with me?”
The entire Parliament rose to their feet, shouting, “Aye! Aye! Aye!” If anyone said nae, I didnae hear them. Even some townspeople were yelling “Aye!” and stamping their feet. I rubbed my forehead. Will groaned. This Parliament simply could not have gone more disastrously, but I could not understand how the king had thought it would go well.
Bishop Leuchars was pounding on the table again so hard I thought it might break.
David’s face went slack, and he was blinking fast. He held up his hands again and waited for silence that was several minutes coming. “I cannae force this on you. I willnae try. If you dinnae agree, then I shall return to my durance in England.” He looked once more across the chamber, hoping for some change of mind. When it did not come, he said, “Chancellor, this parliament is ended.” He stumbled as he stepped from the dais, as though his legs had gone weak beneath him.