David the Prince - Scotland 03

by Nigel Tranter

  "Who are you who rides so bold and unbidden over my lands?" he demanded. He spoke in the soft, sibilant Gaelic tongue, but managed to make his question sound sufficiently menacing nevertheless.

  It was long since David had spoken Gaelic but he knew it well enough. His father, whose native language it was., had nevertheless discouraged its use; but oddly enough his mother, the Saxon Margaret, had made all her children learn it, since it was the language of the common people and used by their household servants.

  "I am David mac Malcolm of Scotland, friend," he said. "Earl of Cumbria for Henry of England. But it is as brother of the King of Scots that I ride through Strathnith."

  The other nodded. "I thought that it might be something such," he admitted. "I have heard of the Earl of Cumbria. I am Dunegal mac Murdoch of Strathnith."

  "Ah. my lord," David acknowledged, and kneed his horse forward closer to the other's garron, both hands out to grasp the man's forearms in friendly fashion. "Your fame is known to me also. I salute you. I had thought to visit you. After I had seen the Lord Fergus of Carrick."

  "Fergus? You ride to see Fergus? He is in cousin-ship to me."

  "So I understand. You will, then, be able to direct me, friend? We have heard that he has many houses or strongholds. We are making for Lochinvar, where it is thought he might be”

  "No. He is at Kenmure. I saw him there but four days back. What is your business with Fergus, my lord David?"

  It was as well that none of David's Norman friends understood the Gaelic, or they would have taken ill out of such a blunt demand to Henry's viceroy. But their leader showed no resentment.

  "I seek to discuss with him what may be done about the Earl Hakon Claw of Orkney and his misdeeds," he explained.

  "Ha! That jackal! That Norse pirate! I can tell you what should be done with him, David mac Malcolm! I . . ."

  "Yes — but it is not being done, is it? He must be shown the error of his ways, I think. His sister is wed to my own cousin, Madach of Atholl . . ."

  "More to be pitied him, then! What do you intend?"

  "I intend to confer with Fergus. He is at . . . Kenmore, did you say? Where is that?"

  "Kenmure. It is at the head of Loch Ken. Yonder, fifteen miles." He pointed westwards. "I shall take you there."

  "You are kind. That will serve me very well. For your advice will be valuable. In the matter of Hakon Claw. Fifteen more miles is less than we had expected to have to go . . ."

  So the Lord of Nithsdale dismissed some two-thirds of his company back whence they had come - but still retained about twice David's numbers, just to show what was what in Strathnith. He mentioned that the numbers were necessary for the visitor's protection, the Lord Fergus being a fierce man, his lands not to be encroached upon with impunity.

  They rode on, the Normans and the Galwegians tending to look askance. Over the high moorlands and bare hills, with the local garrons making better going than the taller and heavier horses of the visitors, they came at length to the hidden valley of the Ken, a green and pleasant oasis in that lofty wilderness, the long and very narrow Loch Ken filling its vale for miles, quite populous country suddenly. Near the head of the loch, at the far, western side, they could discern what looked almost like a Norman stone castle crowning a height above the water. Dunegal declared, almost proudly, that the potent and mighty Fergus, his cousin, had built a hold there as good as any Frenchman's keep.

  David was intrigued, for the Scots did not go in for stone castles, any more than did the Saxons and Welsh - they were a Norman conception - the native strongholds being timber raths or hallhouses set within ramparts, palisades and ditches. On their way to that castle, round the head of the loch, they passed another establishment within ramparts; but this was a cashcl, a monastery of the Celtic Church, unlikely as it seemed to those used to Romish abbeys, a cluster of simple umber-and-thatch huts, large and small, within the earthen banks and palisade. This was the Cashel of St. John, Dunegal revealed, under the famous Abbot Gillicolm, uncle of Fergus.

  At this information, David insisted on pausing to pay his respects to the man of God - of whom, in his ignorance, he had not heard. However, monks of the Columban Church, in their simple dark-brown, leather-girdled habits with forehead instead of crown tonsures, declared that their Abbot was presently dining up at his nephew's rath of Kcnmure. So on the travellers rode, southwards now, in the evening shadows.

  From Dunegal's description and constant references to the mighty power, if not downright ferocity of this Fergus, David had expected all the way to be challenged, if not assailed by his armed minions. But nothing of the sort had materialised — and still did not. Near the castle on its hilltop site they had to pass through quite a large township of hutments and hovels, where plenty of armed kerns were in evidence; but though these eyed the armoured knights sullenly there was no actual threatening gestures. Perhaps they imagined David's party to be Dunegal's captives.

  Their approach had not passed unnoticed, however, for when they had climbed the winding track which corkscrewed round the hillock to the summit they found quite a sizeable company awaiting them in the level forecourt under the soaring, harsh stone-walls of the square keep. This was a very similar, if somewhat smaller, building to Rufus's castle of Caer-luel - and as new, by the look of it.

  David was surprised. But much greater was his surprise at the appearance of the central figure of the group awaiting them. Two men stood slightly apart here, one older and dressed exactly as had been the monks of the Cashel of St. John, save that his tonsured long hair was grey - presumably the Abbot Gillicolm. But the other was young, pale-faced, slightly-built and dressed as might be any Norman, no older than David himself and of much the same physical stature.

  David stared at this individual, scanning his good-looking features, and then, exclaimed. "Sweenie!" he cried. "On my soul - Sweenie Mac Sween! You!"

  Hugo and Hervey were gasping the same name.

  "David mac Malcolm - grown a man, a God's name! Like Hervey here, and Hugo de Morville!" the other jerked, and came hastening forward. "You three! God be good — Davie himself!"

  David leapt down from his horse, to reach out and embrace the speaker, Hugo and Hervcy doing the same, whilst the other Normans stared, astonished. "Sweenie - here's a joy! Who would have thought . . .? How long is it? Eight years? Nine? Since you left Romsey Abbey . . .?

  "Nearer ten, a graidh. Aye, then. 1098. And we were all laddies. Now . . .!"

  "Laddies no more. Hostages no more. But — you? Do you live here? Or but visit . . .?

  "I live here, in the main, yes. Since most of my other houses are ... in other hands! Do you like the castle I have built? It is not finished yet. But when it is done it will be as good as any of your Norman holds. Eh, Hugo? Hervcy? Have your sires better?"

  "You built it . . .?"

  "Aye. But I forget the civilities. Here meet my uncle, the good Abbot Gillicolm mac Malcolm of St. John."

  David bowed to the older man. "I greet you warmly, my lord Abbot, and seek your blessing," he said.

  "My poor blessing you have, my son. But lord me not. We do not lord our abbots in Scotland. I am but a humble servant of God- and leave the lording to my nephew here!" But the Abbot smiled as he said it.

  David nodded. He should have remembered that. He turned back to the younger man. "Sweenie — can it be that you are the son of the Lord Fergus?"

  "Son? Scarce that. I am Fergus. Do you not remember? Fergus mac Suibhne. Your old fellow-pupil and hostage.

  "But . . . but . . . ! You were never anything but Sweenie! Sweenie Mac Sween."

  "To the Normans, yes. My name was uncouth, impossible for them. Sween was as much as they could get their miserable tongues round!" The young man glanced at the watching Normans, grinning. "So Sween I was - my father's name, mispronounced. I am Fergus mac Suibhne mac Malcolm, mac Gilliciaran - name enough for any man!"

  "Saints above! So you are the mighty Lord Fergus of Carrick, Sweenie! Who would have belie
ved that? I ever thought that your father was some Viking! I have come this long road from Caer-Iucl in fear and trembling, seeking Sweenie Mac Sween!"

  "Caer-luel? Then you . . .?"

  "Yes. I too am transformed, Sweenie . . . my Lord Fergus. You see before you the lord Earl of Cumbria, no less, Henry Beauclerc's Viceroy of the North-West!"

  "Ha! So that is it? I heard that poor Dolfin was put out to grass. That the new governor was some kin of the King of Scots. But - who would have thought that it would be our gentle Davie!" He grimaced, comically enough. "Forgive me. Perhaps you are none so gentle now? Like myself!"

  "I would hope to be - when permitted!" David's glance flickered around his watching companions.

  "To be sure." Fergus clapped him on the shoulder. "Well, my lord Earl - enough of this. Standing here. We were at meat when we heard that the visitors who had been crossing my lands all day, unbidden, under Cousin Dunegal, were approaching my house. So you are well come. Inside with you -yonder, into the hall. All of you. Your men and beasts will be attended to."

  So, after much dismounting and rough-and-ready washing, they were led into, not the great square keep but into a long hallhouse, of timber and plaster erection, lean-to against one of the courtyard walls, with other subsidiary building - a deal more comfortable than the stark stone chambers of the donjon-tower itself; while the escort was shown into another and still larger hall across the yard, Strathnith men and Norman soldiers both. No one seemed to be concerned about the extra food situation.

  The lordly ones had no reason to complain, at any rate; and after a more than adequate repast in the seemingly bachelor establishment, over the ale-beakers, Fergus asked what brought Henry's Earl of Cumbria into Scotland seeking the Lord of Carrick?

  "I came to see what sort of man he was," David admitted. "I had heard that he was strong. Even with a name for . . . harshness. I desired to seek out his strength. And, if it was sufficient, propose an alliance. Should he be not too ill a creature! Cumbria and Fergus - against the Earl Hakon Claw."

  "Ha!" That was all the other said.

  "My lord David finds the Orkneyman less than to his taste," Hugo de Morville commented.

  "As do all half-honest men," Fergus agreed.

  "He has been raiding the Cumbrian coasts," Hervey added. "We were for teaching him a lesson. But David — he is still sufficiently gentle to look askance at bloodshed! Or perhaps he thought that you might do the shedding for him!" The strong Galloway ale, on top of good feeding, had them distinctly relaxed.

  David showed no offence. "I thought that we might perhaps act together. You suffer from Hakon Claw still more than does Cumbria. He never goes far from our coasts, from his longships, so he is hard to catch red-handed. I have no authority, as England's Earl of Cumbria, to go warring on Scottish soil. But if you went warring, a native lord, against these Orkney brigands I could support you."

  "Ah, yes. But. . . the Orkney brigands are led by a man who is, in name at least, Governor of Galloway."

  "I had not forgotten. But Hakon Claw was appointed by his father, Earl Hakon Paulsson of Orkney. And Orkney is now taken over by Norway. The King of Scots cannot have a subject of the Kings of Norway governing a Scots province. So . . ."

  "Very well so. I do not contest that. What, then, do you propose?"

  "That you call upon me, as brother of your King, to aid you expel Hakon Claw from Galloway. How many men can you raise?"

  "Four thousand in two weeks. Another thousand a week later. And you?"

  "I cannot do as well. As yet. Two thousand will be as many as I can field this season. But three hundred will be trained Norman cavalry."

  "To fight on rough and broken country where Norman cavalry is at least advantage."

  "It is my hope that there should be no real fighting."

  "Eh?"

  Hervey de Warenne hooted and slapped the table. "I told you, Sweenie - Davie has not changed with wearing an earl's belt!"

  "A show of strength and the threat of greater force," David went on, quietly. "Threat of the King of England and the King of Scots, both, moving in. Not just Fergus of Carrick and the Earl of Cumbria. I believe that Cospatrick of Dunbar, with at least a token force would join us. How many men has Hakon Claw?"

  "His own Orkney Vikings, no more than twelve hundred. But Galloway levies amany. Perhaps six thousand. More."

  "How reliable are they? Will they fight for him? Against their own folk and the King of Scots' brother?"

  "If they think Hakon Claw will win, yes!"

  "Then we must convince them otherwise. They must be led to believe, beyond all doubt, that Hakon Claw's days are numbered in Galloway. That you Fergus, will be the next Lord of Galloway. And their chiefs to know whom to support."

  The other raised his brows but said nothing.

  "I will seek to bring Man into this. If only in a gesture . . ."

  "You will gain nothing there. Olaf Morsel is still but a youth - and a timorous one. He will not go hosting."

  "Not himself, no. But there are stout men on Man, warriors. And they fear attack by Eystein of Norway - as does all the West. Eystein has boasted that he will rule from Iceland to Dublin. And he would use Galloway as his base, in the south. Man would be glad to see Hakon Claw and all Orkneymen and Norsemen out of Galloway, I swear. A fleet of Manx longships lying in the Solway Firth, with not so much as a sword drawn, might work wonders."

  "Would they do that? For you?"

  "Not for me - for themselves. Will you do it?"

  "Oh, yes - I will do it. Since I have been itching to do something of the sort for long. Whether the rest do, or no, is your concern, Earl Davie! When do we march?"

  It was as easy as that. David had set out from Caer-luel anticipating having to work hard and long to gain agreement for his project. He leaned back relieved. Details could be worked out later.

  * * *

  Five weeks later, on the Eve of St. Clement, a chill day of late November, almost too late for practical campaigning, David's Cumbrian force met Fergus and his Galwegians at Dumfries. Fergus was better than his word, he and Dunegal between them producing well over five thousand men, a fierce-looking horde, well-armed if unruly and certainly with no appearance of being the scrapings of any barrel. For his part David also had improved on his predictions, for with the Earl Cospatrick of Dunbar and March, who had gladly joined in the venture with four hundred Border moss-troopers, he had brought three thousand. Dolfin had come along too, less enthusiastic than his brother, and though little acquisition militarily, adherence had its own value for he was popular with the Cumbrians. So the combined force made a quite impressive army of over eight thousand.

  But combined force was perhaps scarcely the phrase to apply. Even that first night at Dumfries, trouble broke out, Galloway kerns fighting with Borderers and Cumbrians, Normans assailed by all and sundry, and the unfortunate locals of Dumfries anyone's prey. Fergus did not seem to be greatly perturbed at this, possibly because his people were greatly in the majority, but also, clearly, because this was normal campaigning behaviour, mere high spirits unavoidable in a host of fighting-men of any worth. David however was much concerned, angered, and insisted on order being restored and maintained, using his chain-mailed and mounted Norman knights to exert heavy-handed discipline, and reproaching Fergus for his attitude. To mollify his boyhood friend rather than out of any sense of duty apparently, the Lord of Carrick thereafter summarily hanged a dozen of his Gallowaymen, selected evidently at random, hoisting the corpses at various corners of the unhappy town where the cowering inhabitants would be apt to see them by the light of their flaming hovels. Almost as upset by this as he was by the rioting and looting itself, David urged no further punishment, and meted out none himself, other than that inflicted by the flats of Norman swords. It all made for a disturbed night.

  By morning David had changed his plans. The army must be divided, he decided. Fortunately this would be effective enough strategically; and there were two routes to their
goal at Kirk Cuthbert's Town, on the Dee estuary, where Hakon Claw had his headquarters - that is, north-about and south-about around the mountain-mass of Criffel. The larger force, under Fergus, would advance by the Urr and Carlingwark Loch to the Dee valley, whilst David would take the Cumbrians, men of Teviotdale and the Merse and the cavalry, by the Solway coast. They would keep in close touch, for the two hosts would never be more than a dozen miles apart, although high ground would separate them. Hakon Claw would no doubt be informed of the approach of both armies. It would be interesting to see his reactions.

  Fergus had no objections. In fact, David had the impression that he might even be relieved, to have any restrictions on his command and people's behaviour removed. It was only about thirty-five miles to Kirk Cuthbert's Town, by both routes. They allowed themselves three days — for non-mounted hosts could not move much faster, in large numbers, however galling this might be for the horsed men. Besides, timing was of the essence in David's planning. Olaf Morsel of Man - or at least that youth's advisers - had agreed to make a demonstration, as far as they were concerned. Which meant that Hakon's longships should not actually put to sea to give battle. The Manxmen would show themselves off the mouth of St. Cuthbert's Bay and seem to threaten - but that was all. That was to be in three days time. So the Orkneymen must by then be so concerned over the near approach of the land armies that they would not risk dividing their forces and sending out their longships. David had to time this exactly, or the Orkneymen might sally out, and the Manxmen turn for home, with nothing achieved.