But in October or November of that year, “having sworn upon the Holy Gospels” that he “would faithfully keep and observe the ordinances of the pacification of Scotland, Bruce took leave of the king, and returned home, with great appearance of joy and satisfaction.” No one pretends that the king had given him any cause for discontent or alienation. Yet every Scottish historian that has ever written on the subject has avowed his conviction that this swearing on the gospels was a deliberate perjury, and that the show of “joy and satisfaction” was wholly hypocritical. They all assure us that at this very time Bruce was planning and conspiring, with various persons, to obtain for himself the crown of Scotland.
In this temper of mind he began his journey homewards. He would direct his course, naturally, first to Holme Cultram, in Cumberland, where his father had, but a year or two before, been buried. From Holme Cultram a vessel would carry him in two or three hours to Dumfries, from whence an hour’s ride would bring him to his Scottish home at Lochmaben. During his long ride from Sheen and from London, his thoughts would inevitably turn to those three obstacles, of which we have spoken, which stood between him and the crown of Scotland; and we know now what must have been his thoughts. It is easy to describe them, without any risk of error.
Baliol, he knew, had pledged himself, three or four years before, not to meddle any further in the affairs of Scotland; nor had he any concealed intentions of another kind. Voluntarily, and expressing his own feelings, he had declared that he would never again set foot in a country which had treated him so unjustly. Baliol, therefore, who had been an obstacle in times past, might now be dismissed from view; he could obstruct the path no longer.
A more serious question was that which concerned Edward himself; but Bruce had latterly been spending much time in the king’s company, and he had learnt enough to satisfy him that the great warrior had seen the last of his battle‐fields. Edward was now in his sixty‐seventh year. The length of his lower limbs had always been the one fault in his otherwise perfect symmetry, and those limbs now began to fail him. In a public ceremonial, a few months after this, the king’s strength gave way before his task had been performed. Bruce might confidently assure himself that, whatever might happen, the victor of Falkirk would never again be found at the head of an army on the soil of Scotland. As for the young prince, he was not worth a thought.
