Once more his dark eye flashed, his proud lip curled
with its wonted smiles; his warrior form, erect and
firm as in former days, now spurned the couch of disease,
and rode his war-horse with all the grace and ease
of former years. A gallant army, under the command
of Aymer de Valence, Earl of Pembroke, had already
been dispatched towards Scotland, bearing with it
the messengers of the Earl of Buchan, armed both with
their lord’s commands and Edward’s warrant
for the detention of the young heir of Buchan, and
to bring him with all honor to the head-quarters of
the king. The name of Isabella of Buchan was
subjoined to that of the Bruce, and together with
all those concerned in his rising proclaimed as traitors
and a price set upon their heads. This done, the
king had been enabled to wait with greater tranquillity
the assembling of his larger army, and after the ceremonials
of Westminster, orders were issued for every earl
and baron to proceed with their followers to Carlisle,
which was named the head-quarters of the army, there
to join their sovereign with his own immediate troops.
The Scottish nobles Edward’s usual policy retained
in honorable posts about his person, not choosing to
trust their fidelity beyond the reach of his own eye.
Obedient to these commands, all England speedily appeared
in motion, the troops of every county moving as by
one impulse to Carlisle. Yet there were some
of England’s noblest barons in whose breasts
a species of admiration, even affection, was at work
towards the very man they were now marching to destroy,
and this was frequently the case in the ages of chivalry.
Fickle as the character of Robert Bruce had appeared
to be, there was that in it which had ever attracted,
riveted the regard of many of the noble spirits in
King Edward’s court. The rash daring of
his enterprise, the dangers which encircled him, were
such as dazzled and fascinated the imagination of
those knights in whom the true spirit of chivalry
found rest. Pre-eminent amongst these was the
noble Earl of Gloucester. His duty to his sovereign
urged him to take the field; his attachment for the
Bruce would have held him neuter, for the ties that
bound brothers in arms were of no common or wavering
nature. Brothers in blood had frequently found
themselves opposed horse to horse, and lance to lance,
on the same field, and no scruples of conscience, no
pleadings of affection, had power to avert the unnatural
strife; but not such was it with brothers in arms—a
link strong as adamant, pure as their own sword-steel,
bound their hearts as one; and rather, much rather
would Gloucester have laid down his own life, than
expose himself to the fearful risk of staining his
sword with the blood of his friend. The deepest
dejection took possession of his soul, which not all
the confidence of his sovereign, the gentle, affectionate
pleadings of his wife, could in any way assuage.
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