Lord of the Isles (Coronet Books) (48 page)

Whether indeed Godfrey had intended to make for England, or was merely fleeing in the direction most open and available, was not to be known. But fairly soon he reacted on Somerled’s course by swinging away northwards. As the Islesman followed suit, the Manxman maintained the new course, and steadily drew ahead. Presently, going fast, the other was miles away and still heading north. That satisfied Somerled. Godfrey could go lick his wounds in Orkney or Norway—not England. He turned his own ship back, south-westwards.

By the time that he got back to the former battle area, it was to find it all over. Godfrey’s flight had clearly been the last straw and it had become a case of general exodus. Like Somerled’s own crew, the other Isles rowers were all too weary to engage in any purposeful chasing of the departing Manxmen. Only his own fleet and the many crippled enemy vessels remained on the darkening scene.

It had been an extraordinary and unprecedented victory and at the most insignificant cost to the Islesmen. They had, of course, suffered a few damaged ships, crushed prows and splintered timbers, but had not actually lost a single craft. Casualties amongst the men were minimal, although exhaustion prevailed. A new dimension in sea-warfare had been introduced.

Somerled ordered an unhurried move to Ramsey Bay as night fell.

By and large, Man welcomed the Islesmen. The North was already conditioned by Thorfinn and his friends to accept them as deliverers; and the South had suffered so much at Godfrey’s hands as to hail his departure with relief and be prepared to see any successor as a possible improvement. Ragnhilde had been well-loved on the island, and her son was received with fairly general goodwill. Godfrey’s minions and supporters quietly absented themselves, although angry islanders captured some and made them pay for their sins; and there was considerable sacking and burning of the houses and lands of such folk, as was inevitable after a period of tyranny and oppression. Ragnhilde’s illegitimate half-brothers had disappeared, but their properties suffered. Many of the defeated Manx longships turned up in remote havens around the island and were left abandoned by their discreet crews.

On Thorfinn’s urging, no time was lost in proclaiming Dougal mac Somerled MacFergus as King of Man before a hastily-summoned and distinctly reduced Manx High Council at Rushen Castle. Dougal was still not enthusiastic but went through the motions; and thereafter, with his father and Thorfinn, made a tour of the island, showing himself and receiving fealties. All this took nearly three weeks—by which time word reached Man, via the Outer Hebrides, that Godfrey Olafsson had gone to Orkney but sailed on soon thereafter for Norway, whence he had come.

With this news, Somerled decided that he could risk a return to his own kingdom and Ragnhilde. Dougal, who would have liked to accompany him, leaving Thorfinn and the Council to govern Man in his name, at least until he was a little older, was persuaded to stay on a while longer—for Somerled was anxious that it should not appear as though he himself had taken over Man as an appendage of his island empire, with his son as a mere puppet. He took pains to emphasise that his only concern with Man, apart from his wife’s son’s inherited interest, was that it should remain a good neighbour and not become a base to be used against his own kingdom, by any.

He sailed for Islay in mid-October, Gillecolm electing to remain with his half-brother meantime.

Ragnhilde loved Saddail. Her favourite home in her husband’s wide-scattered domains was undoubtedly Finlaggan of Islay, that fair green island in the sapphire sea; but in autumn, as now, Saddail was even more lovely. This was because Islay, like most of the isles, lacked the rich woodlands of the mainland, and at this season the colours at Saddail were breathtaking, the crimsons and golds and russets against the dark green of the pines, all glowing against the backcloth of the browning purple of heather, a vivid tapestry which never failed to enchant. On this occasion, however, she could have wished that there was a little more colour on the man-made scene—as there would have been on Man or anywhere else where the Romish Church prevailed. The Islesmen’s Celtic Church no doubt had many virtues, but it certainly lacked colour and flourish. Its abbots and priests and serving-brothers all looked alike in either sober black or plain off-white girdled habits, lacking even a relieving stole or scapular, much less the glorious copes, chasubles, dalmatics and other vestments of the Roman clergy. For such an inauguration as this, surely, they could have risen to something a little more joyful and celebratory. As it was, her own chaplain Wilfrith provided all the clerical colour to the scene, and though active at the moment, he was officially only a mere spectator. The laymen, to be sure, were in their multi-hued best, in tartans and plaiding and dyed leather and furs, Somerled himself magnificent in cloth-of-gold doublet and kilt, instead of the usual saffron, under a polar-bearskin half-cloak lined with scarlet silk—although Dougal was quite the most resplendent of all, and made deliberately so as King of Man, even though normally he cared not how he dressed. Gillecolm, Ranald and Angus were notably fine for the occasion—as indeed were Anna and herself for that matter, and Cathula too—for this surely was a great and memorable day, the consecration and opening for worship of the first true abbey of the Columban Church, other than lona itself, even to be built in Scotland. So-called abbeys or cashels, monastic steadings under abbots, or earthen ramparts and beehive-shaped cells and hutments, were common-place of course; but a towering stone minster and shrine, with cloisters and oratories and all the rest, after the Romish fashion, was something new in Highland Scotland. Which made it a pity, in Ragnhilde’s estimation, that the officiating clergy could not have found something better then drab, stained and tattered habits to celebrate in.

Not that she disapproved of the visitors from lona themselves—on the contrary. Abbot Augustine was a saintly old man but with a twinkle in his eye—actually reminding her of St. Malachy O’Moore, which was scarcely surprising since that odd character had been a Celtic abbot before he became a Roman prelate. Augustine was not, in fact, titular Abbot of lona and Primate of the Columban Church but, as it were, only sub-Abbot in charge, the true head of the Church being domiciled in Ireland, at Derry Abbey, where the Columban hierarchy had taken refuge long ago, from the Viking raiders, and never come back to lona, sacked so many times; although Somerled was trying hard to get the present man, Flaithbertach, to return, with assurances that he now had the pirates well under control. Along with Augustine had come, for this ceremony, Dubhsith, the lona lector, a genial barrel of a man, and MacForcellach, chief of the Keledi, the Friends of God, the special priestly order within the Church, a surprisingly young man for such position, silent but with a piercing glance. With a group of lesser clerics, a cheerfully unpretentious lot, they stood out only by reason of their drab clothing.

It was rather amusing, really, in that since none of these had had any experience in opening new abbeys, it had fallen to the Romish Wilfrith, ably assisted by Somerled, to advise and organise the affair. They were presently assembled in the refectory, not yet quite completed but decked in foliage and greenery for the day, to process from there around the establishment to the great church itself, behind a troop of fiddlers—at which Wilfrith raised his eyebrows. He was, of course, basing his attempts at organisation on his experience of the consecration of Rushen Abbey on Man—and finding gentle resistance from the Columbans, who obviously had a deep suspicion of ritual and display. Without Somerled’s support the thing would have been done with no more ceremonial than one of their ordinary brief baptismal services. At least, unlike the Romans, the Celtic clergy had nothing against women taking full part in whatever was done, and Ragnhilde and Anna were lined up to process with the rest.

At last Wilfrith was as satisfied as he was likely to be, and they moved off. Saor MacNeil, as Chamberlain of Argyll, led the way, bearing aloft the great galley banner of the Isles and looking notably pleased with himself. Then came the eight fiddlers, playing with much
élan
. That they rendered what amounted to a quick-step, of spirit and verve good enough to dance to, no doubt emphasised the holy joy of the occasion, but it did have the effect of sending the company along at a pace which few sacred processions can have equalled, and which forced old Abbot Augustine into a sort of tottering run, his pastoral staff waving about alarmingly, the rest of the clergy hurrying after. Somerled, with Ragnhilde on his arm, strode out as though to urgent war, the Queen having to kilt up her skirts. Dougal followed on with skipping Anna, then Gillecolm with Cathula, then Ranald and Angus grinning widely, Conn Ironhand muttering about his old bones and Dermot Maguire deliberately refusing to be hurried, the long tail of chieftains and captains thereafter inevitably getting left behind, losing their places and becoming something of a rabble. All this to the cheers of the delighted crewmen, soldiery and watching local populace.

Thus they wound round the monastic buildings, completed and otherwise, through the grove of tall old trees carefully retained, through the new-planted orchard and apiary, to reach the handsome, lofty, cruciform church in almost less time then it takes to tell, Wilfrith panting along in the rear, profoundly shocked.

The fiddlers finished with a splendid flourish, approximately in unison, and there was silence save for puffing breathing. It was now time for Augustine to take charge but meantime that saintly character was in no state to do more than lean on his crozier and gasp.

Perceiving this, Somerled called on the musicians to give them another offering whilst they waited, and after something of a false start they launched into
Cuchullin’s Wedding March
, a lively air productive of much toe-tapping and beating time. Clearly the instrumentalists believed that joyful occasions should be celebrated joyfully.

When this was finished, Augustine was sufficiently recovered to turn and take the handsome carved bronze bell-shrine from the lector, Dubhsith, and extract the battered old rectangular bell therefrom, to wave it to and fro, with a hollow clanging, notably deep-sounding for something so small. This was St. Moluag’s Bell, from Lismore, the second-most-holy in the land, St. Columba’s own bell presently being with his other relics in Ireland. Thereafter the old man raised his crozier and led the way round the outside of the building, tapping at the masonry here and there and murmuring a few words each time, in a quite conversational tone, as it were wishing it well. He had quite refused, although courteously, Wilfrith’s direction about sprinkling holy water, declaring that such was for baptising human souls into the Body of Christ, not for spilling on lumpen stone. Back round at the main arched and carved western doorway, splendid with Celtic beasts and interlacing, he beat on the great oaken doors with his useful staff; but when they were flung open by someone inside, he did not go in but turned to face the throng. There, hand uplifted, he uttered a prayer for the good and proper worship of God ever to take place here, and Christ’s teachings to be expounded worthily to receptive ears, with the saints’ guidance and comfort on all who came with humble minds, especially that of blessed St. Marnock—for this was St. Marnock’s Day, 25th October—and ending with a benediction on those present. Thereafter he stood smiling beatifically at them, obviously finished. He did not actually enter the church. The Columban clerics conducted most of their services and worship in the open air, weather accepted as part of God’s providence, using their small and humble buildings mainly to house portable altars, fonts, communion-elements, chalices, patens, spoons and the like. Augustine was gently reminding all not to have too much concern with the towering monuments of man’s self-glorification—with perhaps a special glance at Somerled.

Ceremonial being thus suddenly at an end, most others thereafter went into the church to admire, wonder and exclaim, of course—but the lesson was not entirely lost on them.

Later, however, as they enjoyed a celebratory feast in the refectory, a very different note was struck. Abbot Augustine was displaying another side to his character, that of the born storyteller, entertaining all by recounting the story of St. Marnock, how as a small boy in Ireland he was present at the splendid reception given to St. Columba on his one and only return to his native land from Scotland, in the year 585, at Clonmacnois, and was so carried away by his wonderment and admiration for the holy man that he actually crept in under the hangings of the tent-like canopy being carried over the saint in procession, and there clutched on to the tail of Columba’s cloak; duly uncovered and upbraided by all but the saint himself, he was told to put out his tongue—and then all were informed that the lad would indeed grow up under his shadow and become a noted fellow-worker for Christ and that this tongue they all saw would be gifted by God with especial eloquence. So it was meet that on this St. Marnock’s Day this new abbey should be dedicated to his name, especially as he had laboured abundantly in these very parts all those years ago, as witnessed by his island of Inchmarnock off Bute, less than twenty miles away, and the cells of Kilmarnock in Cowal and in Ayrshire.

They had got thus far when there was an interruption. A courier, who had obviously travelled far and fast, was shown in and brought to Somerled. He came from distant Ross, from the Earl Malcolm thereof, with an urgent message. The five Celtic earls, under Fertech of Strathearn, hitherto so reluctant to take up arms, had now suddenly and much against Malcolm’s advice, risen in revolt against the High King, on the grounds that he had betrayed them, and Scotland, by absenting himself from the country for so long and paying fealty to the King of England. They were marching south with the armies of the North—but not that of Ross. Malcolm was sure that this was folly, at the present juncture, with no hope of success. Moreover he, Malcolm, was only released on parole and the High King held his wife and son as hostage for his good behaviour. Strathearn and the others would almost certainly appeal to Somerled for aid, if they had not already done so; and he urged him strongly not to give it, instead to send them word that they should give up this ill-timed project.