The Life and Reign of Edward I.

by Robert Benton Seeley

But the disgust and exasperation which this perpetual perfidy would naturally excite in an honourable mind will be obvious to every one; and we have no doubt that it was this feeling which induced the inscription on the king’s tomb—Pactum serva—an inscription which doubtless was placed there by his own command.

All the troubles of Edward’s life had arisen from the faithlessness of those with whom he was concerned. David of Wales, Philip of France, Balliol, Bruce—all, in their turn, first swore to him, and then shamelessly violated their oaths. Hence, as his last word, he desires this injunction or maxim—“KEEP YOUR COVENANT”—to be engraven on his monument; and there, in Westminster Abbey, it still remains.

Meanwhile, the immediate result of all this perfidy is seen in the entire change which is perceptible in Edward’s policy. For thirty years he had been singularly merciful, insomuch that Lingard, as we have just seen, declares it to be “difficult to point out any conqueror who had displayed equal lenity.” And our latest historian, Mr. Pearson, concedes to him “the praise of being slow to shed blood.”[159] But there is truth in the maxim, “Beware of the anger of a patient man.” Edward was not naturally a patient man, but he had the command of his own spirit; he loved justice tempered with mercy; and one of his chief principles of action had been shown in his hasty exclamation in Segrave’s case, implying clearly that to seek his mercy, in all ordinary cases, was to find it. But now he evidently felt that the time for showing lenity was past. There is a degree of sternness, mingled probably with some feeling of exasperation, in the acts of the last year of his life; but his love of justice never varied, and cruelty was a thing to him unknown.

“Although broken in body,” says Mr. Tytler, “this great king was, in his mind and spirit, yet vigorous and unimpaired, as was soon evinced by the rapidity and decision of his orders, and the subsequent magnitude of his preparations. He instantly sent to strengthen the frontier‐garrisons of Berwick and Carlisle, with the intention of securing the English borders from invasion; and he appointed the earl of Pembroke, with lord Robert Clifford and Henry Percy, to march into Scotland.” It is clear, also, that the whole tone of the king’s mind and language was changed, and his purpose was everywhere openly avowed, to take a signal vengeance on all who had in any way been concerned in the murder of Comyn.

Yet the death of that nobleman had deprived him of no favourite,—of no intimate personal friend or counsellor. Between this Scottish baron and the king there had been very little intercourse. For four or five years Comyn had kept the field against Edward, while Bruce had been professing the greatest zeal in his service. But Edward recognized in Comyn a frank and earnest opponent, who carried on the war until submission seemed to be a duty, and then surrendered his sword, accepted peace, gave his fealty to the king, and kept his covenant. And Edward saw this nobleman treacherously murdered by that Robert Bruce who had often sat at his table and professed attachment to him;—murdered, too, merely because he would not join in treason. Hence the king’s vehement decision seemed at once to be taken, that for Bruce and his abettors there was to be no more mercy. The blood of Comyn should be fully avenged. He often showed his familiarity with the Old Testament, and on this occasion he probably recurred frequently to the language of David concerning Joab: “He shed the blood of war in peace, and put the blood of war upon the girdle that was about his loins, and in the shoes that were on his feet: let not his head go down to the grave in peace.”

And it is quite evident that his feelings were generally shared by his people. A grand religious ceremony was announced to take place at Whitsuntide in Westminster Abbey. There the king purposed to confer knighthood on the young prince, and on other young men of rank, his companions. Nearly three hundred of the younger nobility and gentry were candidates for this honour, and eager to take their part in the new enterprise. So vast was the concourse of people in the abbey, that some persons were crushed to death in the throng. The king was scarcely able to perform his part; but at the banquet which followed, he took a solemn oath, according to the laws of chivalry, that he would proceed to Scotland, there to avenge the death of John Comyn, and to punish the perfidy of the Scots; and that, when that work was done, he would embark for the Holy Land, and leave his body in that hallowed soil. Soon after this solemnity, the young prince, with the new‐made knights, his companions, and a considerable force of horse and foot, began the march to Scotland, leaving the king, who was now in his sixty‐eighth year, to follow more at leisure. The rendezvous was appointed for July 8, at Carlisle.

But before either the king or the prince could arrive in Scotland, the new rebellion seemed nearly to have reached its close. The surprise of Roslyn had been reversed, and a disastrous defeat had reduced Bruce to the condition of a fugitive. The earl of Pembroke commanded a small English force at Perth, then called Johnstown. Bruce, having now gathered to himself something amounting to an army, marched towards the place, and sent a challenge to the earl to come out and fight him. The earl sent him for answer, that the day was now too far advanced, but that he would give him battle on the morrow. The Scotch retired, and incautiously broke up their array, and began to prepare their suppers. Suddenly, the cry was heard that the enemy was upon them. Pembroke, on second thoughts, disliking to appear backward, had marshalled his forces, and marched out to find the Scots. Bruce, still a young commander, had neglected all the usual precautions, and his troops, taken entirely by surprise, were thrown into utter confusion. Six or seven men of note were taken prisoners, and the loss of the Scotch is said to have been seven thousand men; in fact, the army, such as it was, was annihilated. Bruce himself, with a few friends, escaped to the coast, and fled to hide themselves in the western isles. Here, says Fordun, “he was reduced to such necessity, that he passed a long period without any other food than herbs, and roots, and water. He wandered barefoot, now hiding alone in some of the islands, now chased by his enemies, and despised and ridiculed by his own vassals.”[160] “He and his friends,” says Mr. Tytler, “began to feel the miseries of outlaws. Compelled to harbour in the hills, deprived of the common comforts of life, he and his followers presented a ragged and wretched appearance. Their shoes were worn off their feet by constant toil; and hunting, instead of pastime, became a necessity.”[161] The English army, scouring the country, picked up all the fugitives they could find, and the chief power of Scotland was opposed to the insurrection. The lord of Lorne beset the passes, and had nearly captured Bruce. The earl of Rosse seized Bruce’s wife and daughter, and handed them over to the English. The bishops of Glasgow and St. Andrews, the abbot of Scone, the lord Seton, the earl of Athol, and the countess of Buchan, all were successively found, and brought in as prisoners. The king had, meanwhile, arrived at Dumfries, and the prince, after scouring the country, came to Perth. Bruce, now wholly disheartened, sent messengers to the young Edward to learn whether his submission would be accepted; but the king, when he heard of it, was incensed with the prince for holding any correspondence with “that traitor.” We thus see the distinction drawn between his case and Wallace’s. Wallace, after all his cruelties, was “to be received, if he chose to submit himself;” but Bruce’s perfidy, his sacrilege, and his treacherous murder of Comyn, had put him beyond the pale of mercy. The king had sworn to avenge Comyn’s murder, and hence with Bruce no communication was to be held.

There was now no visible insurrection in Scotland, the chief rebel being a mere fugitive among the hills. Hence, in October, we find the king at Lanercost, in Cumberland, where a council was held, and a deliberate sentence passed, with reference to the rebellion and its chief abettors.

This ordinance, in which various Scottish writers profess to find cruelty, is merely identical with what, under the like circumstances, would be passed at the present day. The parties arraigned had most of them been rebels in past years, and had found mercy. They had, in most cases, sworn fealty to Edward again and again, and had asked and received pardon. Their lives and their lands had been forfeited, and the forfeiture had not been exacted. Yet, after all this lenity, they were again found in rebellion, and now with the added guilt of murder and sacrilege. They had slain the first nobleman in Scotland, treacherously and perfidiously, and “in a place of tremendous sanctity.” What in our own time would be the judgment passed on such criminals? or, rather, what has been the punishment adjudged to such criminals, within the last twenty years, in our Indian possessions?