Lord of the Isles (Coronet Books) (29 page)

Amidst the pious acclamation of the clergy and the murmur and throat-clearing of less dedicated folk, Wimund rose.

“My lord Archbishop,” he said briefly, “I am much honoured and exercised by the trust you have put in me in this matter and will, with God’s help, do all in my power to ensure that the true light of the Gospel will shine more brightly in these remote isles and northern seaboard.” He sat down.

The Bishop of Durham stood—but Somerled spoke first, even though, like Thurstan, he did not stand.

“Olaf Godfreysson, as guest in this your kingdom, I, Somerled of Argyll and the Isles, would ask whether you knew of what these Romish churchmen proposed? And if so, why I was not informed and consulted before any such announcement was made?”

There was a stunned silence for a few moments, and then outraged murmuring from the clerics.

Olaf, looking unhappy, blinked and took a gulp of wine from his chalice. “Friend Somerled,” he said, “this matter was privy until the Lord Archbishop chose to divulge it. No concern of mine. Nor, would I have thought, was it any concern of
yours
, since you are King of Argyll, not of the Isles. Is that not so?”

“I had not thought, friend, to have to explain my position to such as yourself—even if these others are ignorant. Which I misdoubt! My kingdom of Argyll includes much of the isles—Mull, Islay, Jura, Rhum, Eigg, Lismore and many others. Moreover, my longships control the rest! Ewan MacSween has borne the title of King of the Isles, yes, with my consent. But Ewan is a dying man—which is no doubt why these clerks have chosen this moment to attempt their folly and device, before he dies and I become King of the Isles in his room, in name as well as in fact. For that has long been agreed between us. I made call on Ewan, on his deathbed, as I came here to Man, and he confirmed all. He may indeed be dead by now, for he was far gone—in which case I am already King of the Isles. If not, I am
Lord
of the Isles. Can any deny it?”

Olaf flapped his hands, shook his head and looked anxiously at Thurstan.

But it was the bullet-headed, bull-necked Raoul of Durham who spoke, and gratingly. “Lord Somerled, whatever your title, this matter is no concern of yours. It is entirely a matter for Holy Church. Of which, I understand, you are no true member, being of the heretical Columban faith. Holy Church may create sees and bishoprics where she will. Indeed she has the Christian duty to do so.”

“But not in the realm of another monarch, Sir Priest. Without his permission.”

“You are not monarch of the Isles, my lord. Nor even Ewan MacSween. Both are but sub-kings—Regulus.”

“Ha—so that is it! As, then, is King Olaf here, all sub-kings of the realm of Scotland. Do you, Archbishop Thurstan, have King David’s agreement and permission to officiate
here
today? As certainly you do not have his permission to create a diocese of the Isles, part of the realm of Scotland.”

Raoul was beginning to answer, pugnacious jaw out-thrust, when Thurstan twitched his magnificent cope. Frowning darkly he sat down.

“Young man,” the Archbishop said sternly, “You may be very effective with sword and battleaxe, but in matters of religion and church-governance you would be wise to heed those better informed. I am Metropolitan of the North, with spiritual jurisdiction over all lands and territories wherein no other Metropolitan has function. I may ordain bishops where I will.”

“But not in an independent realm which has not granted you leave to do so, old man. Has King David agreed to this?”

“King David is not to be considered. He has proved to be an enemy of Holy Church. He fought against God’s own Body at Northallerton—as did you, I am told. He has made himself excommunicate . . .”

“An enemy of the Church—he who has founded the abbeys of Jedburgh, Kelshaugh, Melrose, the Holy Rood and many another? You rave, Sir Priest—you rave! As to this of appointing bishops of your Romish Church, is there a single bishop of Scotland appointed by you or your predecessors? All have been nominated by the Kings of Scots and appointed directly by the Pope in Rome. This is but a base ruse, a device, to seek to claim a false overlordship over part of Scotland, at the behest of your master the usurper Stephen of Blois, Count of Boulogne. No religion in it. Dare you deny it, Clerk?”

Thurstan all but choked, raising a quivering hand to point at Somerled, wordless.

Bishop Raoul was more vocal. “King Olaf—how dares this cut-throat Islesman speak so to a prince of Holy Church! It is intolerable! He must withdraw. Withdraw, I say—his allegations and slanders. Or better, his person, from this sacred building.”

“I withdraw what I have said only if the Archbishop withdraws this false and insolent bishopric. Not otherwise.”

In the uproar, Olaf beat with his chalice on the table-top. “King Somerled! My lords! This is too much! Restrain yourselves, of a mercy! In my presence. And of my queen and daughter. If there is disagreement, let us discuss it calmly. All can be resolved, I swear.”

“It can and shall be,” Somerled nodded. “By making an end of this folly and deceit of a bishopric in my Isles. In name—as it will be in fact! For I tell all here, I will not have it. Any attempt to send a single Romish Priest into my territories will be met by my longships. We have our own good Columban priests, from lona. You, Wimund, take heed. Sail a keel into the Hebridean Sea, as Bishop of my Isles, and you will not sail out again! Come as my guest, as Bishop of Man, and you are welcome. Can I say fairer?”

“Safer not to come at all, whatever!” Saor MacNeil added, to vigorous acclaim from the Argyll table.

Thurstan had recovered his voice, even though it trembled a little. “This is sacrilege! Infamous sacrilege. Not to be borne. To threaten Holy Church with force! Hear me, young man, in your rash and heretical pride. In God’s cause, Mother Church too can call upon the sword, the sword of righteousness. And when she does so, let him beware who provokes it! Your barbarous petty kingdom will drown in a welter of blood greater than that with which you carved it out!”

“You threaten
me
, old man, Somerled of the Isles, with priestly swords and clerkly arks? Know you what you say? Have you ever
seen
the Hebrides? Ever fought one longship, let alone hundreds? Ever even tried to land on a defended beach? You will require more than bread and wine shamefully hoisted on a mast, to gain even a foothold on the smallest isle of my kingdom!”

“Hold your ranting tongue, upstart, heretic!” Raoul bellowed, all Norman baron now, episcopal dignity forgotten. “Little you know what you so arrogantly challenge. It is the might of England that you will face. King Stephen will answer the call of the Church. As will others. You will be swept into your precious Western Sea, with all your piratical crew . . .!”

“With what, sirrah? Oar-boats and fishercraft and merchanters? Stephen has no war-fleet. Where are the longships and galleys to challenge mine? Do you, in your ignorance, think that the Isles can be taken by a land army? Even if they could, think you King David would permit you to march through his Scotland?”

“You are not the only one with ships-of-war, barbarian! King Olaf has many. The King of Dublin not a few. The Earl of Orkney, even you cannot deny, has sufficient to more than match your own.”

“All these know better than to challenge the Islesmen in their own Isles, with the King of Scots watching! Eh, Olaf Godfreysson? I am David’s ally and vassal, you will mind, and have his protection. And this is David’s quarrel also. I answered
his
call; he will answer mine. And have you forgot the Norsemen, still in Skye and the Long Island? How think you they would welcome churchmen and Englishry into the Hebrides? Even if Dublin and Orkney would—which I doubt.”

“The pirate Norsemen will not oppose their own kin. They are almost all from Orkney. And Orkney can call on the King of Norway . . .”

“But Orkney will not! The last thing that Earl Ronald Kali would wish is for King Ingi Cripple to come sailing into his waters. Always the Orkneymen are concerned to keep Norway at a decent distance. Nor has Ronald any interest in this seaboard. They say he sets his eyes on Jerusalem! He would be thought a saint . . .!”

“Ha—tell him otherwise, Olaf.” That was Fergus, making his first intervention. “Tell this arrogant Islesman of Ronald Kali’s interest!”

Olaf, frowning, shook his head. “On another occasion, my lord. Not now.”

“Why not? The sooner he learns, the sooner he will recognise that his fool’s bladder is pierced! For Ronald of Orkney, as he knows full well, can launch three longships for every one of his!”

“That is so. But this is scarcely the occasion. In this bicker. My daughter’s presence . . .”

“Then
I
shall tell it—since it much concerns this issue,” Fergus exclaimed. “King Olaf, my own goodson, intends to marry his daughter, the Princess Ragnhilde, to Earl Ronald of Orkney. A firm alliance between Man and the power of the Orcades. It will . . .” The rest was lost in the tumult of outcry and clamour.

Somerled was part-way to his feet, appalled, when gazing across to where Ragnhilde sat, with Affrica, he saw the shock, bewilderment and horror of her expression and realised that this was as much as a surprise and blow to her as to himself. He resumed his seat as the young woman rose from hers.

Ragnhilde did not speak. Set-faced and looking at none of them, she turned and hastened from the refectory.

A silence descended upon the company, broken only by a tinkle of laughter from the Queen. Olaf frowned on her, looked as though he was going to hurry out after his daughter, then thought better of it.

Raoul spoke. “An excellent provision, we must all agree. Such alliance must make it clear, even to this intemperate Islesman, that his vaunted reliance on his ships of war will not save him. The combined fleets of Orkney and Man must much outnumber his own, without counting that of Dublin. King Stephen’s armies will not lack for transport.”

“Stephen’s armies will require more than transport!” Somerled said grimly. “You clerks know nothing of warfare at sea and in the islands, or you would not speak as you do. Troops have got to
land
from ships, and landing-places are few and often dangerous. All would be defended, to the end. And if one isle was taken, there would be another and another and another to assail. Held by men who
knew
such warfare. I tell you, you know not what you say. King Olaf is no warrior, but even he, I swear, knows that talk of conquering the Isles, in borrowed ships, against my power, is folly. Tell them so, Olaf Godfreysson.”

That man said nothing, seeming as though he scarcely heard, his eyes on the door through which his daughter had disappeared.

Somerled himself would have wished to leave and go in search of the young woman, but recognised that this would look odd and serve no purpose for either of them. But at least he did not have to sit there indefinitely being harried and browbeaten. As Fergus began to speak again, he slammed down his hand.

“Enough!” he cried. “Further talk is profitless. You now know my mind. Any attempt to impose this bishopric on the Isles will be met with the drawn sword. Any invasion of my kingdom will be fought island by island. And King David will be apprised forthwith of what has been proposed here. You, Fergus of Galloway, now one of his earls, take heed! And you, Olaf Godfreysson, one of his vassals, likewise! Now, sir—may we make an end here?”

Amidst contrary shouts, abuse and threats, Olaf stood. Clearly he was glad enough to be finished with this confrontation, meantime at any rate, anxious to be off after his daughter.

Somerled and his party rose and stamped out of the building, waiting for none.

That evening, having been informed that there would be another banquet in the main hall of Rushen Castle, and having returned a message that he and his preferred to eat in private this night, Somerled removed himself from his friends and went to his own borrowed chamber. After a while, he descended the stairs again, to knock at the door of Ragnhilde’s apartment. He guessed that she, likewise, would not be dining in the hall.

From beyond the door, the girl Berthe’s voice sounded. “The princess is indisposed. She does not wish to be disturbed.”

“I regret that. I would not wish to intrude,” he called. “But I would esteem a word with her, for I intend to leave early in the morning. This is Somerled.”

There was a pause and then the door was thrown open, and by Ragnhilde herself.

“I did not know that it was you,” she said. “Do not leave so soon, I beg of you. I . . . I need help.”

“There is nothing for me here, now. All has been said. Too much! I should be off.”

“No. All has not been said.
I
have said nothing, as yet! Come.” She took his arm and drew him into the room, shutting the door again.

It was a handsome chamber, amply furnished, with a great bed and a small, tapestries on the walls and white bearskin rugs on the floor. Berthe discreetly went to busy herself in a garderobe closet attached.

“You did not know? Of this of the marriage?” he put to her.

“Think you that I would know and not tell you?” she demanded. If he had expected a stricken woman, distraught, possibly in tears, he did not find it. She was clear-eyed, unbowed, determined. “I will not wed this man—I
will
not! I am not to be married off like some chattel, to a man I have never seen. It is beyond belief that my father should do this. Without a word to me. He is weak, yes—but kindly. It is shameful, not to be borne. He has been forced to it. That Fergus and Bishop Raoul, between them. It is their doing—with Affrica. I know it.”

“Perhaps, yes. But how will you gainsay him? If he is determined on it, and has committed himself.”

“I shall find a way, some way. I will not be bought and sold, like, like some cattle-beast!”

The thought of this graceful and spirited young woman likening herself to a cattle-beast was such as to draw a brief smile from the man, even though he was feeling far from amused. Seeing it, she flared up, in marked contrast to her normal calm assurance.