Lord of the Isles (Coronet Books) (49 page)

This was the first that Somerled had heard of the earls’ surprising move and he required no persuading not to become involved. He was getting a little tired of being used by the men of the North in their consistently ineffective ploys, and always without any return service or advantage to himself, or even thanks. He would send the courier back to his brother-in-law, assuring him of his non-intervention on this occasion.

The Saddail Abbey celebration continued.

On their return northwards to winter at Ardtornish, Somerled received a request indeed, not to join the Five Earls in war but the High King in peace. This surprising development was intimated by the arrival of an envoy from Malcolm the Maiden, Gregory Bishop of Dunkeld, no less, chosen no doubt as one of the few Gaelic-speaking prelates of the Roman Church, most of whom now were Normans. He brought the good wishes of the monarch for King Somerled and an invitation to join him and his court at Perth for the Yuletide festivities.

This unlooked-for courtesy naturally called for some explanation on the part of the Bishop—although Somerled had anticipated that King Malcolm might well be looking for allies in the present state of threat from Henry of England, his erstwhile friend. Master Gregory amplified. The High King had answered the unexpected danger of the northern earls’ revolt in forthright fashion, marching promptly against them and summoning all loyal men to rally to his standard at Perth. He had been rather swifter to act than were most of the said loyal subjects, with the result that before any large numbers had assembled, he had been in fact besieged in the walled city of Perth by the said rebellious earls. However, this crisis brought about a speeding-up of the loyalist muster and a major host came to the relief of the besieged monarch, in the face of which the earls discreetly withdrew north-eastwards. In due course, King Malcolm followed them, with a large army now, into the earldoms of Angus, Mar and Buchan, laying waste these lands and placing Norman governors therein, to teach the folk the cost of revolt, the earls fleeing ever further north. The High King was now back at Perth, supervising the assertion of the royal authority in the more southerly earldoms of Strathearn and Lennox. He intended to remain there over Yule. Hence the invitation to Somerled.

That man did not take long to decide on his course. He would go to Perth. If the young King wanted now to be friends, at least on the surface, that was surely to his own advantage. For he himself could do with allies. The Celtic North was obviously a spent force. Godfrey was still at large, and might possibly succeed in obtaining aid from Norway, Orkney or even England, just conceivably all three—in which case Somerled would be glad indeed of Scottish support. And there was his sister and nephew at Rook’s Burgh to think of. He would go, but in style, as one king to another, or rather two, for he would take Dougal also, as helping to establish him as accepted King of Man. Ragnhilde also, and Anna as Donald’s betrothed, all in the interests of due recognition. And, of course, a goodly train of armed men.

So, at the end of November they set out, on a fairly leisurely progress, by ship first to his new castle of Dunstaffnage, built on the site of the famed Pictish fort at the mouth of Loch Etive in Lorne, where Somerled had had horses collected for them, a great many of the short-legged, sturdy Highland ponies and garrons. From there they rode, a long cavalcade, eastwards along Etive-side and through the mighty Pass of Brander below towering Cruachan, to the foot of Loch Awe, where they stayed for the first night at the hallhouse of Sir Malcolm MacGregor of Glenorchy, who was to accompany them onwards to Perth.

The next day they had to cross the high spine of the land by the long, bare and lofty gut of Glen Lochy and over the summit of Mamlorn into Breadalbane; and so down to Tyndrum, where there was a Columban cashel to provide modest comfort for the ladies. There was snow on the high tops already but fortunately none on the drove-road which they were following, the route by which the great West Highland cattle-herds were driven each year to the low-country markets. This would be their longest and toughest day, over the passes. Thereafter it was comparatively easy, a mere few miles through forested country now to Glen Dochart, where Abbot Farquhar MacFerdoch made them welcome at his house before likewise joining their company.

Easy stages up Dochart and down Glen Ogle and along Loch Earnside into Strathearn, took them into a cowering land, however fair, which had so recently felt the royal—or Norman—wrath. They came to Perth in four more days.

St. John’s Town of Perth was a semi-walled town, set on the south bank of the Tay, here a broad and noble river. The place, although notable as a religious centre, with many monasteries and churches, was now as an armed camp, of course. Somerled’s cavalcade was challenged a mile off, but discreetly, for it made an impressive sight, obviously not to be provoked lightly. Messengers were sent on ahead to announce their arrival.

At the west gate of the town proper they were met by a group of Norman knights, clearly sent hurriedly to welcome and escort the King and Queen of Argyll and the Isles to the High King’s presence. These were more respectful than had been those who greeted Somerled at Rook’s Burgh on his first visit to the High King, David, all those years ago.

David’s grandson received them civilly but without warmth, obviously surprised to see Ragnhilde. But then reputedly he was not a warm young man in many respects, and uninterested in women. Pale, slightly-built, unimpressive, Malcolm the Fourth was a strange representative of one of the oldest lines of warrior-kings in Christendom. By-named the Maiden, meaning virgin, because of his determinedly unmarried state, there were nevertheless stories about his secret habits which were scarcely maidenly. Somerled did not like the look of him—a more different character from his own would probably have been hard to find. But he also was civil, courteous, careful to give no more and no less than one monarch should give to another. Dougal too, as King of Man, heedfully took the same attitude. Ragnhilde was reserved. There appeared to be very few women about this court—Malcolm of course was still more or less on campaign.

Malcolm mac Henry mac David was, it transpired, a man of as little subtlety and finesse as he was of grace, and that very night at table, with Somerled seated on his right and Ragnhilde on his left, without preamble he plunged into business.

“You, sir, were friend to my grandsire David—his vassal, I am told. I hope that I can call you mine also?”

“Ah—yes and no, my lord King. Friend, yes; vassal, no.”

“But, I am told . . .?”

“I gave him my oath of fealty, my lord, as High King of Scots, gave it of my choice, not of duty.
Because
he was my friend.”

“But . . . fealty and vassalage, King Somerled, are they not the same?”

“No, sir, they are not. The
Ri
, or lesser kings of Scotland, are not vassals of the High King but his appointers and councillors. You would not name the Earls of Fife, Strathearn, Moray, Mar and the rest your vassals, I think?”

“They are rebels, sir, rebels! In shameful revolt against me. But I have drawn their teeth.”

“Perhaps, sir. But they are not and never were your vassals. The
Ri
of the
Ard Righ
. I chose to be of a like accord with my friend King David.”

Malcolm scratched his hairless chin uncertainly. He had been wholly reared and educated, if that was the word, by Normans and neither knew nor cared much about his ancient Celtic inheritance—which was why his earls were in rebellion against him. He changed his stance.

“If not my vassal I would wish you to be my friend, Lord Somerled.”

“Ah, that is different. Friendship is . . . admirable.” That was carefully said.

“Yes.” The other hesitated. “I could be a good friend to you,” he declared.

“That would be gratifying, my lord King. And what would I have to do to earn such . . . felicity?”

“
Act
my friend—that is all.”

“Would I do otherwise, lacking cause? Forby, you must have a fair sufficiency of friends, have you not? All these Norman lords and bishops. Not to speak of the puissant King Henry of England.”

Malcolm frowned and plucked at his sleeve. “Henry is no true friend. He threatens me.”

“You say so? But he is your companion-in-arms, is he not? You went to his wars. He knighted you. Returned to you your earldom of Huntingdon?”

“At a price. He claims paramountcy over me and my realm, now. Summons me,
me
, High King of Scots, to Caer Luel to do homage to him. And claims all Cumbria and Northumbria as his.”

“That is an old story, to be sure. You have already done homage to him, have you not?”

“That was only for my English earldom of Huntingdon. For nothing in Scotland.”

“Nevertheless it was unwise, I think. It gives Henry excuse to say that you are in vassalage to him . . .”

“For an English earldom only—which was mine by inheritance. My grandmother’s.”

“Even so. Vassalage, I say, is to be eschewed!”

The other looked sour and turned away. There was Ragnhilde on his other side, hitherto ignored. Finding nothing to say to her, Malcolm looked beyond her to Dougal, more to his taste presumably. But Dougal was in animated converse with Prince William, the High King’s brother. Perforce he had to turn back to Somerled.

“Henry means war, I think,” he blurted out. “He builds up and strengthens the great castle of Wark, over Tweed from my Rook’s Burgh. Raises many men in Northumbria. He delights in war.”

“And you desire my aid against him?”

The younger man cleared his throat. “Yes—it would be an act of friendship, sir.”

“It would indeed, since I have no quarrel with Henry Plantagenet.”

“If he won Scotland, you would have!” That was the first touch of spirit displayed.

“Perhaps. But I believe that I can defend my own kingdom. If I were to squander my strength aiding you, sir King, I might be the less able.”

“No, no—I do not ask you to do great battle, King Somerled. It is but your ships . . .”

“Ah!”

“Yes, your ships, your fleet. With that of Man. Off the Cumbrian coast. A threat to Henry’s flank. He would not dare strike into Scotland, with such a threat. Although he has many English ships, they are wide-scattered. He has no war-fleet to match your longships and galleys.”

“I see. So my longships, and my son’s, are to save you, and Scotland, from invasion?”

“It would much help.”

“No doubt, sir. But at much cost to me, and Man, and little to you, I think!”

Ragnhilde put in a word, from the other side. “My lord Malcolm will, I am sure, have much to offer you in exchange—beyond merely his valuable friendship, husband.”

“That is to be expected, yes,” Somerled agreed gravely.

There was a pause.

“I will do what I can,” Malcolm said, at length.

“That is good.” Conversationally, the older man went on. “You have my sister and my nephew held prisoners in your castle of Rook’s Burgh, for one matter!”

“Not prisoners, no. Not that. Guests, rather. Living at my charges. In fair comfort . . .”

“Confined in your castle these long years, my lord King.”

“Donald—he was in revolt against me.”

“Because you held his father and mother hostage.”

“I have pardoned the Earl Malcolm. Restored to him his earldom of Ross. Even now he acts in my name in Morayland. Dwells in the Priory of Urquhart there . . .”

“With you holding his wife and son as hostage, so that he does
your
will. I do not name that pardon and restoration, sir.”

“He might have joined these other rebellious earls, otherwise.”

“Perhaps. But if your policy towards your ancient Celtic realm was, I say, wise and proper, none of these would be in revolt and you would have no need of hostages.” Somerled shrugged. “Whatever your policies, King Malcolm, I could not consider bringing my fleet to your aid, much less friendship, whilst you hold my sister and nephew close.”

The other spread his narrow, womanlike hands and looked almost longingly over to where his senior Norman nobles sat watching, the Chancellor, High Steward, High Constable, Chamberlain, Knight Marischal and the rest.

“I shall consider the matter,” he said, at length.

“Do that, my lord. Also there is the matter of Arran and Bute. Although they are mine, your Steward’s people continue to trouble these islands. They raid there, steal cattle, take women, even demand rents. This must stop.”

“I know naught of that, King Somerled. But will speak with Walter Stewart!”

“Yes. I have driven the Norsemen out of my isles. I hope that I do not have to do the same with the Scots!”

There was silence for a little, as they ate and drank. It was Somerled who resumed.

“You say that Henry Plantagenet has summoned you to do fealty at Caer Luel. When, my lord?”

“At Eastertide. When he is to be in the North.”

“And what will you do?”

“Nothing. I shall not go.”

“M’mmm. I think that would be a pity.”

“Why? you would not have me to agree to this?”

“No. But go, to
disagree
. In strength. Muster a great host. March south. Leave your host just north of Caer Luel. Go meet Henry. Then, when he talks of fealty, tell him . . . otherwise. He will perceive the message very clearly, I’ll warrant. Much more surely than if you merely stayed away. Especially if you had come to an arrangement with me, whereby my fleet, and Man’s also perhaps, lay offshore in Solway at the same time.”

“You . . . you would do that, then?”

“If my reasonable requirements were met, I would consider it, yes.”

“I like that—yes, I like that. I shall speak with my lords . . .”

“Speak this also with them, then, my lord King. Change your policy towards the Celtic North, to all your Celtic heritage. You have the most ancient throne in Christendom, a Celtic throne. Yet you, the
Ard Righ
, have all your
Ri
against you, your lesser kings who should be your shield and strong support. They cannot all be mistaken, nor traitors. Seek their goodwill then, not their enmity. Heed not only your Normans. Bind the North to your side by showing favour, not drawn steel. Show concern for your Celtic people, not scorn. Learn their customs. Even learn something of their language. You are Malcolm the Fourth. Your forebears Malcolm First and Second could speak none other than the Gaelic. Only Malcolm Third, Canmore, learned the Saxon and Norman tongues—to his cost! Do this, and you need fear no stab-in-the-back when you outface Henry. Indeed you might have a Celtic host to add to your army facing Caer Luel.”