From Caerlaverock the king marched on to Galloway, where the bishop of that place came to speak of peace. It was not Edward’s wont to treat with rebels with arms in their hands; but it seems probable that he gave the bishop a safe‐conduct for John Comyn and the earl of Buchan; inasmuch as we find that these nobles, on the part, probably, of the regency, had an interview with him at this period. They rather absurdly proposed that he should let them have John Baliol back again, as king; and should restore the forfeited estates on payment of reasonable fines. Now, Baliol, when he was actually their king, was imprisoned by them in order that they might rule without him; and he, Baliol himself, as we have just seen, had recently declared that he would never again set foot in Scotland. This proposal, too, was made to a sovereign to whom they had taken, more than once, oaths of allegiance; and whose army they feared, at that very time, to meet in the open field. And upon what pretence, on what rational ground, could they make such an application? It was but some three or four years before, that all the nobles and gentry of Scotland had thronged around Edward, to offer him their homage as king of Scotland. And what had he done, since 1296, to forfeit their allegiance? Had his rule been tyrannical? Let the Scottish historians bear witness. “His conduct,” says Lord Hailes, “in all things bore the semblance of moderation.” “The measures he adopted,” says Mr. Tytler, “were equally politic and just. No wanton or unnecessary act of rigour was committed; no capricious changes introduced.”[106] On the whole, this singular request, preferred to a victorious general at the head of his army—that he would quietly relinquish all the fruits of his victories, seems one of the most irrational of the measures of the Scottish leaders.
The king naturally parted from Comyn and the earl in anger, and marched to Irvine, where he waited for the arrival of his supplies by sea. The Scottish army showed itself on the opposite side of the river; but on preparations being made for an attack, it fled to the mountains and morasses. The king then fixed his head‐quarters at Dumfries, and employed himself in taking possession of the towns and castles of Galloway, and receiving the submission of the inhabitants of that district.
But now a fresh obstacle arose to an immediate settlement of the affairs of Scotland. The regents, as they were called—Comyn, Soulis, and the bishop of St. Andrew’s—had, as we have already remarked, taken measures to solicit the interposition both of the king of France and of the pope. Walsingham, himself a Benedictine monk of St. Alban’s, writes, that “about the beginning of this year, 1300, the Scotch, knowing all things to be saleable at Rome, sent over rich presents to the pope,” praying him to interfere in their behalf, and to stop the king of England in his proceedings against them. Such applications were generally successful at Rome, especially when, as in the present instance, they gave the papal court an opportunity for the assertion of some new claim. A mandate was, therefore, sent over to England, and consigned to the care of Winchelsey, the primate, who was charged with its delivery to the king in person; which mandate desired the king to abstain from all further proceedings against the realm of Scotland: which realm, said pope Boniface, “did, and doth still, belong in full right to the church of Rome.” Such a pretension, now for the first time advanced, might, and doubtless did, appear to all parties to savour of audacity; but Boniface well knew that he might advance it without fear. He had been, and still was, the umpire between Edward and Philip. The questions placed before him had not been finally decided, and Gascony was not yet actually restored. Hence, he knew full well, that however indignant Edward might feel, his practical sagacity would prevent him from actually defying the Roman see. For a certain “consideration,” the pope had promised to do the Scotch a certain service, and that compact he thus observed, caring little about the validity of the pleas advanced, which were only intended to serve the purposes of the hour.
In Winchelsey the pope found a prompt and willing agent. This able and artful prelate was always forward in any scheme for exalting the power of the church, and reducing that of the crown. He therefore very naturally undertook the commission assigned to him with evident pleasure; and his letter to the pope, recounting his zealous labours, in obedience to the papal instructions, is a most edifying document. He writes to Boniface, that, immediately on receiving his mandate, he prepared his baggage and carriages, and money for his expenses, and set forth to deliver the pontifical mandate to his lord the king, who was then twenty days’ journey from the place where he, Winchelsey, received the papal instructions. He then recounts the difficulties of the journey, and finally states, that he arrived in the presence of the king, who was then in the midst of his army, and at dinner. The king, he adds, was too much occupied with business to receive him that day, but appointed him an audience on the next day at noon.
Winchelsey, in proceeding to give an account of this audience, omits one characteristic incident which is related by Walsingham. The archbishop, on being introduced to the king, according to his appointment, first read, and presented, the papal mandate. But, to manifest his zeal still further, he proceeded to give the king, in addition, some admonitions of his own, garnished with certain flowers of ecclesiastical rhetoric, which, to a clear‐sighted and plain‐spoken man like Edward, must have been peculiarly nauseous. He counselled the king to yield a prompt and entire obedience to the commands of the Holy Father, inasmuch as “Jerusalem would not fail to protect her citizens, and to cherish, like Mount Zion, those who trusted in the Lord.” To which Edward replied, with evident disdain, that “neither ‘Mount Zion’ nor ‘Jerusalem’ should prevent him from maintaining what all the world knew to be his right.” At the same time, having regard to the peculiar nature of the application, and to the dignity of the pontiff, he first desired the archbishop to retire while he consulted his nobles, and then, recalling him, gave him, by the lips of his chancellor, a more formal reply: “That, since it is the custom of England, that in such matters as relate to the state of that kingdom, advice should be had with all whom they may concern; and since the present business not only affects the state of Scotland, but the rights of England also; and since many prelates, barons, and other principal men are now absent; it is my purpose, as soon as possible, to hold a council with my nobility, and by their joint advice and determination, to transmit an answer to his holiness by messengers of my own.”
The archbishop, in his report to the pope, is glad to be able to add some tokens of the success of his mission. He says, “I afterward heard that my lord the king, within four days after my departure, returned with his army into England; and his forces being dispersed, he purposes to stay at a certain abbey called Holme Cultram, on the border. And thus have I reverently executed your commission in every respect, with all the diligence that I was able to use.”
We have already stated, that from the peculiar position of his affairs, it would have been most undesirable for Edward to have any serious quarrel with Boniface at this moment. The negociations for peace, which had been carried on for two or three years past, were still unconcluded. Treaties had been signed; but other treaties were still under discussion. The decision of many important points was still in Boniface’s hands. Hence to have dealt with the Papal claims in a prompt and peremptory manner, might have driven the pope into Philip’s hands, and thrown many important questions into the greatest confusion. Edward, therefore, could only deal with these new pretensions in a respectful and temperate manner. He restored the bishop of Glasgow to his see, on his taking a fresh oath of fealty to him and his successors, kings of England. He complied with a request of Philip’s, and granted the Scots a new truce, until the Whitsuntide of 1301; and he issued writs, summoning a parliament to meet at Lincoln on the 20th of January of that year. Before that parliament he proposed to lay the letter or monition of Boniface; and to that parliament he also desired reports to be brought by the commissioners appointed to inquire into the boundaries of the forests. He also sent letters to the two universities, and to the principal religious houses, desiring them to send to Lincoln some of their most learned men, with copies of any archives or other records which might be in their possession, bearing upon the questions agitated in the papal mandate. Having thus taken every proper and expedient measure for meeting this new attack upon his position, the king retired to Northampton, where he spent the Christmas of 1300, surrounded by his queen and family; proposing early in the new year to remove to Lincoln; there to discuss and settle, if possible, both the affairs of Scotland, and also that more domestic question, which had latterly assumed an almost threatening aspect, “the perambulation of the royal forests.”
The parliament of Lincoln, A.D. 1301, deserves a high place among the notable events of English history. In it we find the parliamentary system firmly established, in all its dimensions, features, and characters. To its principal act—the reply to pope Boniface—we find appended the names and seals of no fewer than one hundred and four earls and barons; and as the prelates, and the Scottish barons, were, for obvious reasons, excused from taking part in this proceeding, we may safely estimate the attendance of the higher orders, or, what we now term “the house of lords,” at more than one hundred and fifty. To this parliament, also, there were summoned representatives from one hundred and thirty‐seven cities and boroughs. Probably, in the existing state of society, these merchants and traders,[107] in the presence of the great barons of the realm, were generally modest and silent; but we cannot imagine so large a body of Englishmen—many of them independent in property and position[108]—executing a public trust in a spirit of absolute subjection and passiveness.
Lincoln, the scene of this great gathering, must have presented a lively and singular spectacle in the months of January and February, 1301. The royal court itself would have created a throng in any city of the second class. But the splendid trains which always attended the great barons and prelates must have far exceeded, in the aggregate, the officers and attendants on the court. And when to all these were added some two or three hundred borough‐representatives, all requiring both lodging and provisions, we may feel sure that this city of the fens must have been the scene of a turmoil, bustle, and commotion, which none of its inhabitants were likely ever to forget. Langtoft tells us that—
“At the park afterwards his parliament set he,—