Insurrection by Robyn Young Read Free Book Online Page A

horse lost its footing and took him over the cliff. His neck was broken by the fall.’
    Only the scrape of ladles against the tureens accompanied the steward’s grave words, the servants waiting on the head table first. Robert’s nose filled with the smell of meat as a servant spooned the thick stew on to the trencher in front of him. The slab of bread had a hollow in the centre to catch the juices. Glancing at his father, Robert saw he was sitting forward, listening intently. As he felt for a spoon, he realised he hadn’t been given one. The servant had passed on down the line of men and Robert didn’t dare call out. He hadn’t eaten since that morning and his stomach wrenched.
    ‘No sooner was his body discovered than the Comyns sought to take control.’ A note of anger entered the steward’s poised tone. ‘Fortunately, many of the king’s officials had been in Edinburgh for a council and we were able to halt their ambitions.’ He nodded to the Earl of Dunbar. ‘Sir Patrick and I, with the support of the Bishop of Glasgow, forced the election of a council of six guardians. They will rule until the throne is filled.’
    ‘Who are the six?’ asked the Lord of Islay, his rumbling voice filling the chamber. His French was blunt and awkward, Gaelic his native tongue.
    ‘Myself,’ answered the steward, ‘the bishops of Glasgow and St Andrews, the Earl of Fife, and the heads of the Red and the Black Comyns.’
    ‘A balance of power,’ muttered the Earl of Carrick, digging his spoon into the stew. ‘It is a pity you could not swing the scales more firmly in your favour, Lord Steward.’
    ‘The Comyns hold some of the most powerful offices in our kingdom. They could not well be kept out.’
    Robert was studying his dinner, wondering if he could eat with his hands, when a spoon slid into view from his right. Angus Og MacDonald took a small knife from a sheath on his belt, sliced a wedge out of his trencher and stuffed it in his mouth, his blue eyes glittering in the torchlight. Robert nodded his thanks to the Lord of Islay’s son then thrust the spoon into the stew.
    ‘We are all well aware of the Comyns’ endeavours to control the throne,’ continued James. ‘They have always done so, even by force, as some of us well remember.’ The steward’s eyes moved to the Lord of Annandale, who nodded but said nothing. ‘But there is something more worrying than their rush to power.’ He returned to addressing the rest of the men. ‘At court, I have learned that it pays to watch those closest to the king. For a time now, my men have kept an eye on dealings in the royal household. In the wake of the king’s death, one of my spies overheard Sir John Comyn directing one of his knights to take a message to Galloway. Comyn spoke of Alexander’s death and that the king had granted the release of a prisoner, petitioned for during the council. But there was one thing in particular that caught my man’s attention. Comyn said, tell my brother-in-law that I will meet him soon, for the time is at hand when the white lion will blush.’
    Several of the men spoke up at once.
    The Earl of Carrick stared at the steward, his brow furrowing. ‘Balliol?’ he said sharply.
    ‘We believe,’ said James, nodding at the earl’s expression, ‘that the Red Comyn intends to put the Lord of Galloway on the throne.’
    Robert’s spoon halted mid-way to his mouth. He looked around the table at the men’s grim faces, but none of them revealed how this startling conclusion had been reached. He put down his spoon as the men began to talk over one another. All at once, he got the connection. The lion on the banner of Galloway was white. The lion on the royal banner of Scotland was red. When the white lion will blush.
    The Lord of Islay’s deep voice sounded over the others. ‘That is a grave charge to lay upon men who have taken the oath of fealty.’ Angus Mór MacDonald leaned forward, his furs shifting on his huge frame. ‘It is