Lord of the Isles (Coronet Books) (33 page)

Although now mid-October and the weather blustery, conditions in the Hebridean Sea were still not so bad that exercises and manoeuvres were out-of-the-question; and as they sailed southwards, Somerled took the opportunity to engage in a number of sham-fights, feints and trials in the handling and best disposal of large numbers of vessels in various situations, good for all concerned and, he admitted to himself, overdue.

They encountered no opposition, seeing only fishing-craft and the occasional longship, Norse almost certainly—but these naturally gave the fleet a wide berth and disappeared from the scene as quickly as possible.

Once beyond the Mull of Kintyre they turned eastwards towards North Galloway, to proceed down that coast, fairly close-inshore so that there would be no question as to their being seen and reported. Then, round the jutting Mull of Galloway, they entered the wide Firth of Solway.

Here they could not risk going near the land, so shallow and sand-bound was this firth; but at least they could move in to show themselves at selected points where there was deeper water and where, consequently, were havens and centres of population, at Monreith, Whithorn, Cruggleton and off the Dee estuary at Kirk Cuthbert’s Bay. The Earl Fergus had houses or castles at all of these, and so would be likely to get the message.

No craft came out to investigate, much less to challenge them.

After lying-to for a couple of days off the Dee estuary, performing more exercises, most there hoping that Fergus or other would venture out to try conclusions, they moved on almost due eastwards now, making for the Cumbrian shore. This northern portion was almost as shallow as on the Galloway side, and they had to content themselves with making another demonstration fairly far-out, off Silloth, which was the closest they might venture to Carlisle, the Cumbrian capital—still to no effect. It was only when they were off Ellenfoot, where there was a deep-water harbour, and Somerled was about to give the order to increase speed and head south-westwards for Man, that there was some reaction. Out from the haven’s bay there came four war-galleys. As they drew nearer their sails could be seen to be painted with the lion emblem of Galloway.

“So the stalwart Fergus ventures out at last!” Saor exclaimed. “What to attempt, think you? It cannot be to fight—four against so many.”

“If it is to parley, or treat, he will be the more dangerous,” Cathula declared. “I would sooner trust a Norseman’s word, even, than that one’s!”

“I need no warnings as to Fergus,” Somerled returned shortly.

“Why does the first one fly a different beast?” young Gillecolm asked, pointing, where he stood beside the Queen. “Four lions and one other. A boar, is it?” The youth’s eyes might lack lustre but they were sufficiently sharp-sighted.

“Eh . . .?”

“He is right,” Ragnhilde said. “That leading ship flies a banner. Of a blue boar on white, I think. That is the device of Scotland’s royal house, is it not?”

“Lord—do not say that this Wimund is impudent enough to use David’s own banner . . .!”

The galleys drew close enough to Somerled’s great dragon-ship to hail—while around them closed the Argyll longships in menacing array.

“Who are you who dares flaunt this might of shipping off my lord King’s coasts?” came a voice from the craft with the banner. “Are you Norse? Or Manx? Or Irish?”

“None of these,” Somerled shouted back. “Who are you, to ask?”

“I am the High Constable of Scotland. Hugo de Morville. I demand answer, in the name of King David.”

“David! De Morville!” Somerled exclaimed. “What is this? It cannot be Fergus, despite the lions. Unless . . .”

“Unless it is trickery,” Cathula said. “That Fergus is capable of it.”

“A bold man to pit four vessels against this fleet, even in deceit.” Somerled raised his voice. “What does David’s Constable in Fergus of Galloway’s galleys?”

“Surrendered,” came back the brief answer. “Who asks?”

“Somerled of Argyll, man. Do you not know my emblem?”

There was a pause. Then the voice sounded again. “King Somerled I know. Are you still the High King’s man?”

“I am my own man, and David’s friend! Where is the High King?”

“In Caer Luel. In fullest strength.”

So that was it. David was not so preoccupied with abbey-founding, after all. He had heeded the warnings. “I shall come speak with him,” Somerled shouted. “Is there space in yonder bay for my ships?”

“I know not. Come and discover it.”

Somerled ordered one of his longships to speed shore-wards to inspect Ellenfoot Bay. Then he had Cathula steer the dragon-ship close to the foremost galley. He was able to recognise Sir Hugo, whom he had found, in the past, to be one of the more civil of David’s proud Normans. Standing on the galley’s high poop beside him, he identified the Earl Cospatrick of Dunbar. No trickery here.

“Well met. Come aboard my ship, my lords,” he called. “I have not seen you since the sorry business on Tees-side. Northallerton.”

Expertly the dragon-ship was laid alongside the galley, and the Norman knight and Celtic earl jumped across, to be presented to Ragnhilde and to greet Saor, Conn, Dermot and Cathula, and be offered wine. They were polite but wary.

“David has come south, then? And not before time,” Somerled commented. “I sent him warnings three months back.”

“But not of this impostor, this Wimund,” Cospatrick said.

“No, that is new. But the same Wimund who was in the bishopric plot. A clerkly snake! But, Fergus?”

“The Earl Fergus is now at Caer Luel, with the High King.”

“With David? That rogue? He is a greater snake than Wimund, a treacherous dog! Is David fool enough to have him close?”

“He is powerful and master of a troublesome, unruly province. Forby, married now to the late King Henry’s daughter, Henry who was David’s friend.” Cospatrick pointed out.

“His Grace is over-merciful,” de Morville observed. “But we shall be watching that man. We came to Galloway with a great force, and he yielded without battle. Better if he had fought, perhaps. Now he is as good as hostage—like your own kinsman, Malcolm, sir! So many snakes!”

“M’mm. And Wimund? Where is he?”

“He has fled south. Into the Cumbrian mountains, they say. That is why we are at this Caer Luel. Parties are out, probing for him.”

“He will be making for York, to his master, Thurstan. Or else to Stephen. It is all another plot, by these two.”

“He will not reach Stephen, at least. Stephen of Blois, the usurper, is a prisoner.”

“What . . .?”

“The Empress Maud has come, at last. Henry’s daughter. To take her throne. She landed at Portsmouth. Stephen has been misruling, persecuting. So many of the nobles abandoned him and flocked to Maud. There was a battle, at Lincoln, and she won. Stephen was captured.”

“Save us—so the threat is by with! It is all over?”

“We want this Wimund . . .”

The longship returned, to declare that there was sufficient room for all the Argyll fleet, packed close, in the shelter of Ellenfoot Bay. The dragon-ship led the way in.

Part of the Scots army proved to be camped around the little town. Apparently David had taken this threat seriously, at least, and had marched with almost twenty-thousand men, much too many to billet and quarter in and around Caer Luel itself. So the force was meantime scattered over a quite wide area. Towns were few in North Cumbria.

There was horseflesh in plenty. It was more than twenty miles to Caer Luel; but it seemed that they would not have to go that far to see King David, for he was spending much of the waiting period at Holm Cultram, an abbey he had founded, in conjunction with his son Henry, only a year or two earlier, and which was now nearing completion. It appeared that he had planted this monastery here in Cumbria for political as well as pious reasons—David was like that—Henry being titular Prince of Strathclyde, and Cumbria being part of that ancient sub-kingdom. So Somerled’s party had only a few miles to ride.

They found David actually helping the monkish builders to select the best roof timbers from a great pile of cut wood. He greeted Somerled with much surprise and obvious pleasure—with gratification also when he heard that it was the Argyll fleet which had been demonstrating in the Solway, and that it had done so, unbidden, against this Stephen-Thurstan-Wimund project.

“I think that this trouble is now all but overpast,” he declared. “You have heard that Stephen is captured by my niece, the Empress? And I am told that Archbishop Thurstan is fallen sick. And he is an old man. But I am more happy than I can say, my friend, that you should have done this, made this sally. Indeed, that you are still actively on my side.”

“Why, Sire? Would you have expected otherwise? I swore allegiance, did I not? And offered my friendship with it—which is the greater matter.”

“True. And I much value both. But I had heard that you had wed Olaf of Man’s daughter—and he, it seems, has turned against me, thrown in his lot with Stephen. This Wimund is his bishop . . .”

“I married his daughter, yes. She is here, with me. Yonder, with my party. But I was much against this traffic with Thurstan and Stephen. As was she. We sought to dissuade him. But they threatened him. With force but also with the anathemas of your Church. He is weak but not evil, I think. Unlike his new wife’s father, Fergus!”

“Ah yes, Fergus. I have Fergus with me at Caer Luel. A man to watch. I have netted Fergus and clipped his wings. I think! But must use him still, over Galloway. Ruling a realm is no simple task, friend Somerled. You believe then that Olaf is in truth not my enemy? Only weak and constrained by those who are?”

“I do, yes. His kingdom is very vulnerable, and his sons are of no help to him in it. His daughter, now, was otherwise. Ragnhilde did all that she could to have him fight against Thurstan’s threats. Come, Sire, and let me present her to you . . .”

Presently they all rode on to Caer Luel.

David persuaded Somerled to stay with him there for a few days. As well as building Holm Cultram Abbey he was busy turning Caer Luel itself into a fortress, so that it could serve as his base and watch-tower over both Galloway and North Cumbria. David’s son and heir, the sickly Henry, Prince of Strathclyde, was both Earl of Cumbria, by appointment of his father, and Earl of Northumbria as inherited from his mother. Stephen had forfeited him from both, claiming that they were English territories; and now David was seeking to reimpose his hold over them, in case the Empress, even though his late sister’s daughter, should think to follow Stephen’s policy in this respect. Somerled, himself concerned with castle-building to enhance the security of his Hebridean kingdom, was glad to avail himself of this opportunity to study the advanced fortification works and engineering skill of David’s Normans, the most renowned castle-builders in Christendom, David pleased to demonstrate and guide.

It made a pleasant interlude, although Somerled could not leave his fleet for long in cramped idleness at Ellenfoot. Ragnhilde got on well with David, not difficult of course; and young Gillecolm and Prince Henry seemed to find satisfaction in each other’s company, their handicaps, however different, perhaps constituting a bond.

On the third day a courier from the south brought news—Archbishop Thurstan had died at York. It is to be feared that there was no mourning, at any rate in Scotland, only relief and a sort of wonder that so old and frail a man should have been so preoccupied with plotting and power right up to his latter end.

The very next day there were more tidings, from not so far south, from Furness in South Cumbria. Bishop Wimund had been found there and apprehended by local nobles. They awaited King David’s instructions as to the impostor’s fate. Being a bishop they had not slain him out-of-hand meantime, being content with emasculating him and putting out his eyes. They trusted that this would commend itself to the High King.

David grieved over the savagery of his vassals, however thankful that the entire upset was now at an end. He sent orders that Wimund was to be no further maltreated, delivered to Furness Abbey and put in the care of the abbot there as a perpetual resident.

So all was more or less satisfactorily settled and there was nothing to detain the royal visitors at Caer Luel; the various building activities there, and at Holm Cultram, must go on without the monarch’s supervision. It was perhaps typical of David mac Malcolm, however, that he felt it necessary to give thanks to God in suitable fashion, for all this bringing low of his enemies with minimum effort on his own part; so he decided that another abbey was the answer. This plethora of abbey-founding, to be sure, had its very practical side. David was involved in the cherished project of dividing up Scotland into a diocesan and parish system, not only for religious advancement but for the better administration and governance of his realm, and the consequent limiting of the powers of his barons and chiefs in local affairs. But this enormous and ambitious task required vast numbers of priests to take over and staff the hundreds of parishes. Hence the need for seminaries and training centres, carefully placed all over the kingdom—the abbeys. David was very much a practical as well as a practising Christian, as he demonstrated to Somerled, seeking to convince that rather more secular and strategic administrator to go and do likewise. Demonstrated in more than persuasive words, too—for his immediate thanksgiving, he decided, would take the form of furthering God’s good cause, as well as improving civilisation, in Galloway. They would build a new abbey at a desirable spot somewhere near Fergus’s main town of Kirk Cuthbert’s Town on the Dee; also restore the defunct priory of Whithorn or Candida Casa, of ancient fame—both at the expense of the Earl Fergus. What could be more apt and suitable? They would go prospecting for a site for the former, and thereafter repair to Rook’s Burgh for Yuletide.

David sought to induce Somerled and Ragnhilde to remain with him, over Yule, if possible. But Somerled pointed out that he had a great fleet to captain and that he wanted to get all back safely to his Hebridean havens before winter storms set in, especially in view of his wife’s condition.