Lord of the Isles (Coronet Books) (22 page)

“Me! Ah, no—not so, Malcolm. This is not for me, at all . . .”

“But, Sorley—surely you will come in? Surely you, of all men, will not fail me? I have relied on you.”

“I am sorry—but no. This is something that I cannot do, man. I have taken an oath of allegiance to David. I am his vassal, now. As are you, indeed! Forby, I esteem him my friend. I cannot take up arms against him.”

“But . . . you are my wife’s brother! I was relying on your fleet to assail the South-West and Clyde for me. David can mean but little to you.”

“I cannot, will not, do it, Malcolm. An oath is an oath. And David is making a good king.”

“When I am King, you will wish that you had aided me. See, Sorley—surely I can persuade you? What do you want? I will give you anything, in reason, in my kingdom. You have but to ask it.”

Somerled shook his head.

“I have come far seeking you. Much out of my way. With this great fleet of ships. I would not have believed that you, that you . . .” Malcolm also shook his head. “It is not like you. You, the fire-eater . . .!”

“I have eaten sufficient fire, and meantime digest it! But it is not only that. I have cast my lot with David. I shall not betray him. Whoever else does.”

“
I
do not betray David. I am his elder brother’s son. Also I am King Lulach’s daughter’s son—of the older line. By both tokens I should have the throne.”

“Nevertheless, Malcolm, David has been accepted by your fellow
Ri
, the mormaors and earls, and crowned on the Stone of Destiny. He
is
the King. My duty is to him, not to you. Indeed, instead ofjoining you, it could be my duty to inform him of this danger!”

“You would not, by God!” The other stared. “I . . . I would not permit it. I tell you, you will
not
do that! I will stop you, I promise you. Silence even my wife’s brother, if I must!”

“You would go so far, my deer-hunting good-brother? Have you it in you, I wonder? So great a change. You say that this is not like me. What of you? What has changed Malcolm MacEth into so fierce a warrior?”

“I but seek what is mine. And must avenge my brother. I will not allow you, or any, to stay me . . .”

“Never fear, man—I shall not send word to David. Even if I should. I wager that he can fight his own battles, that one. But I would counsel you to think well on this, Malcolm. For if you fail, as Angus failed, it will not be just a crown that you lose, but your life, your all.”

“
You
talk like that—you, Somerled Norse-Slayer! Counselling caution, back-drawing in others—but never for yourself! No—all is in train. Moray and the North are being raised to my cause. Angus and the Mearns will join me. Thereafter all Scotland.”

“As you will. I cannot wish you well in this, Malcolm. But I wish you a safe outcome . . .”

So, disappointed, disgruntled, the Earl of Ross took leave of his brother-in-law there behind Shona Beg and sailed back to his fleet.

“I doubt if that one will be Malcolm the Fourth!” Saor commented. “But, if so, you may have cost us dear, King Sorley!”

“What is cost, foster-brother . . .?”

The summons from the High King reached Somerled on the island of Islay, scarcely convenient. It came by a weary messenger, a Clan Alpine Mac-an-Leister, who had had to travel thus far fast. King David requested the attendance of his friend and vassal, King Somerled of Argyll, at Rook’s Burgh in the Middle March, with his fullest strength and at all possible speed—as simple as that.

Questioned, Mac-an-Leister said that it was to be invasion of England. King Henry dead, Stephen of Blois his nephew had usurped the English throne in place of the Empress Maud, Henry’s daughter. David had vowed to support Maud, his own niece—as once indeed had Stephen himself—and so was going to march into England to encourage the English nobility to rise against the usurper. David was a man of peace, but was always prepared to put his promises into practice. Now that the abortive rising of the Earl of Ross was safely over and done with, the King could move south with an easy mind.

Somerled was by no means eager. It was early summer of 1138 and a busy time in the Highland year, with the hay to cut and dry. Not that he need concern himself with hay-making and the like, of course; but it was no convenient time to take away the bulk of his manpower, the winter feed for whose cattle depended on a good hay-crop. For himself, he was supervising the building of his new castle of Finlaggan, on an islet in the loch of that name, on Islay; and lacking his supervision the work would suffer. But he was not the man to fail the High King, at his first call. Especially with his unwise brother-in-law Malcolm a condemned prisoner in David’s hands.

If his participation and contribution was to be of any use, there was no time to be lost. Men had to be summoned and collected from a vast area, to muster at a convenient centre. Ardtornish, on the Sound of Mull, would be best. Even with the utmost speed it would take many days to assemble a major force from all of mainland and island Argyll—but presumably David Margaretson had thought of that.

So the couriers were sent out in all directions, as far north as Eigg and Rhum and Moidart, as far south as Kintyre and Bute and Arran, as far west as Tiree, whilst Somerled himself sailed back to Ardtornish, dropping off messengers to rouse Mull in the by-going, to assemble the necessary flotilla.

It was ten days later before he was able to depart, with twelve hundred men in eleven ships, with instructions left behind for the onward despatch of a further contingent when it should be assembled from the more distant territories and islands.

They sailed southwards down the coasts of Nether Lorne, Knapdale and long Kintyre, to turn the Mull thereof and cross the mouth of the Firth of Clyde making for that of Solway. Once again they made their landfall at Eskmouth, near where Galloway and Cumbria joined. It took them almost four days to march the twelve hundred across the watershed of Lowland Scotland, sixty-five miles, by Eskdale and Teviotdale to Rook’s Burgh—for this force, of course, was not mounted.

Any fears that they might be too late were dispelled long before they got that far, by meeting many other groups and contingents of armed men, although none so large as themselves, all heading in the same direction. These tended to look askance at the fierce-seeming, dismounted Highlanders in their kilts and plaids and barbaric jewellery. Most of the other parties were Borderers, mounted on the hardy, long-maned horses for which these parts were famed, and would go to make up the light skirmishing cavalry of the King’s host.

Rook’s Burgh itself was one vast armed camp, the town swallowed up within a spreading tented and pavilioned city which spilled over both Tweed and Teviot and filled the haughlands beyond, endless rows of idling men and tethered horses, with the blue smoke from innumerable camp-fires rising everywhere.

The newcomers discovered that there had been dramatic developments in the situation since David’s messenger had brought them their summons. Before any large proportion of this present host had assembled, King Stephen himself had sought to settle the issue by invading Scotland. For surprise, he had brought his main English-French force by sea to Berwick-on-Tweed, Scotland’s greatest port, no more than twenty-five miles east of Rook’s Burgh, and from there marched up Tweed. David, caught without any large army, had devised and executed a masterly stroke, with great daring. With only a few hundred light horse, Normans and Borderers, he had made a night dash down the south bank of Tweed to Berwick, passing unseen the huge area lit by Stephen’s camp-fires on the north side; and at the estuary-bay of Tweedmouth had put his men on many fishing-boats, to row out in the darkness to all the anchored English fleet, whose crews were in the main roistering in Berwick town. They had set every ship on fire, with little effective opposition. Then, riding back westwards along the north side of the river, they had descended upon and ridden down, stampeded Stephen’s sleeping camp, in the Coldstream area, just before dawn, creating extraordinary panic and havoc—unconventional warfare and scarcely chivalrous by knightly standards, but exceedingly effective. The bewildered and sleep-heavy English had broken and run before the pounding, trampling cavalry, bolting at first for Berwick and their burning ships and then streaming away southwards into Northumberland, Stephen and his demoralised nobles well to the fore. The usurper was now thought to be somewhere in the Durham area.

They found the High King in the camp, conferring with his leaders. He greeted Somerled warmly, almost affectionately.

“So, my friend, you have answered my call. And speedily, as a friend should, despite Argyll being so far away. More speedily than many nearer, and owing greater service! And you have brought a notable array, I see—a potent addition to my host.”

“Twelve hundred, Sire—with more to come, when they win in from the Isles. I hastened, fearing that you would have marched already.”

“We march in two days’ time. Many others, besides yours, will have to follow on. I have forty thousand assembled here now—so you will perceive that the King of Argyll, with his twelve hundred, has served me better than have many of my lords.” And David looked around his lieutenants, meaningfully.

“I have no horsed chivalry for Your Grace. But my broadswords and gallowglasses will fight where horse cannot go.”

“That I well believe. And I shall need their aid, I think. For although we gave Stephen of Blois a sore head there at Coldstream those weeks back, I learn that he is gathering much strength at Durham and York, with too many of the English lords forswearing their allegiance to Maud. And Holy Church is supporting him—or, at least, the Archbishop of York is, shame on him! So I must needs strike a blow for the Empress, as none other seems to be eager to do. Ah—here now is your friend the High Steward, who yielded you Bute and Arran—at a price . . .!”

Walter Stewart came up, unsmiling. “So we are honoured by the presence of Malcolm MacEth’s good-brother!” he commented, thinly.

“King Somerled has brought twelve hundred, Walter. Despite his foolish good-brother. That compares none so ill with
your
numbers, if I recollect?”

The other frowned but said nothing.

“I much regret Malcolm’s folly and defection, Sire. What was his fate? I have not heard.”

“His fate is to be ever near but not
on
the throne he sought to win!” David answered, smiling. “But he will become accustomed to it in time. Already he scowls less!”

“Near? Scowls less? I do not understand . . .?”

“His Grace is over tender of heart,” the Steward declared. “When MacEth was captured, instead of execution for highest treason, he but made of him a perpetual prisoner in the royal house. Nursing a viper to his bosom, I say! Wherever the King goes, Malcolm goes. Living mighty well, when he should be under the sod!”

A growl from others standing by most evidently indicated approval of the Steward’s sentiments.

“The Earl of Ross is one of the
Ri
of Scotland, and my own nephew,” David pointed out, mildly. “There has been enough of death and vengeance in our royal house. He was misled—and now must suffer his uncle to lead him, always! Sufficiently galling for any man! If you seek word with him, Somerled, you will find him fishing in Teviot, from a window in my castle yonder. Or he was, when I left him . . .”

Astonished, Somerled withdrew from the royal presence, and went to see to the encampment of his men.

Later he found his way to Rook’s Burgh Castle, in search of Malcolm, to find him, not fishing but playing chess with Prince Henry of Strathclyde, David’s son, the good-looking but delicate young man whom St. Malachy O’Moore had so dramatically brought back from death’s door. He and his cousin appeared to be on the best of terms.

When the prince left the brothers-in-law to their private conversation, they eyed each other doubtfully.

“You will spare me your complacency, Somerled, I hope. Likewise your commiserations,” the Earl said. “I was betrayed, and so am here, thus. Those I trusted failed me. That is the beginning and the end of it. There is little more to be said.”

“As you wish. I cannot in honesty say that I am sorry, Malcolm. At the outcome. But I am glad that you are no worse off than this your present state. I would scarcely have expected so, so congenial an outcome!”

“Do not be misled, man. I am a prisoner, no better. Wholly at David’s mercy. And am to remain so, for God knows how long! I may seem to live well enough, but I live entirely in David’s shadow. And at any time he may change his mind and have done with me. This is no life for any man . . .”

“Yet it
is
life, Malcolm—not death! When David’s nobles, those Normans, are calling for your execution. And a tolerably comfortable life, it does seem. At least you are not immured in pit or dungeon. And David is a fair and honourable man. I say that you are scarcely ill done by.”

“Had you said differently at Moidart, that time, I belike would not be a prisoner now!”

The other shrugged. “You fought no battles? I heard of none.”

“I had no opportunity, man. I was betrayed, I tell you. Before ever I could march south. The Moraymen turned craven, at David’s threats. They lost all their spirit. They yielded me up. Whilst I was separated from my ships and host. Sent me captive to David’s Constable de Morville, he who slew my brother. Lord—that I ever thought to trust my fellow-Scots . . .!”

Feeling unable to weep with or for his sister’s husband, Somerled excused himself and made his way back to his troops.

In the two days before the great army made a move, he became acquainted with many of the commanders of the royal host, mainly Normans but with a number of the old Celtic nobility. With the former he could not feel on easy terms. They seemed to him stiff, arrogant and clearly conceived themselves to be a superior breed to the native Scots, the Highlanders in especial. None treated Somerled like any sort of monarch, none indeed so respectfully as did David himself. He elected to remain most of the time with his own Argyll men.