David the Prince - Scotland 03

by Nigel Tranter

  "You may be right. It may be nothing to Scotland's hurt. Or yours. But - I would not like to see Henry shackling you to him with my earldoms!"

  "I am warned, at least! But Henry may be acting only my good friend - and yours."

  "True. I hope so. For I would be sorrowful indeed if you decided, out of all this, that the risk was too great, and rejected me!"

  That called for some further demonstration to the contrary, of course, and for a while discussion lapsed.

  But presently the woman found another cause for demur, not exactly pushing him away but sitting up and restraining him somewhat. This time she laughed, if unsteadily.

  "David mac Malcolm," she declared, "am I not of all women the most foolish? Here have I been discussing marriage and the disposal of my earldoms — not to speak of behaving in this shameless fashion. And in fact, I do not know that you intend to marry me! At least, you have not asked me yet!"

  "Eh? Lord!" he said. And again, "Lord! Is it . . . can it be . . . ? Save us - it is true! I have not said it, no. Not in words. Forgive me, my heart. How could I have forgotten? All this talk, assumption. It is beyond belief." He slid down from the settle on which they sat, to his knees, to take her hand "Lady, fairest of women, kindest, truest - I humbly seek this hand in marriage. Seek to be your husband and help-meet and proud companion all the days of my life. Seek the haven of your love, the warmth of your arms, the bliss of your body, and your leal companionship on the journey of our lives. Will you wed me, Matilda?"

  Swallowing, wordless, she shook her head - but even a stupid man would scarcely have taken that as a negative.

  It was enough eloquence for one evening, however belated.

  Later still, when she saw him yawning - for he had ridden seventy miles that day - she declared that it was time that he sought his couch. She said it a little uncertainly. Taking up one of the cluster of already-lit lanterns, she took his hand to lead the way along the corridor to his room. At its door she paused.

  "My heart," she said. "We say good night here?" That was a question.

  He eyed her in the wavering lamplight. "You would . . . say otherwise?"

  "I might!, I am a weak woman."

  "That is not how I would name you, my dear. But — I thank vou for saying it." "But . . . ?"

  "I am weak, also. And, and sorely tempted. Not by you, lass, but by the nature of me, in me. Yet . . . with you, for you, I desire more than the body's desire. I am but a sore saint, God help me! But with you I seek to show only the best part of me. We have awaited each other for long. We shall wait a little longer, shall we not? If I can! Now that I have the promise of joy-"

  She did not speak.

  He reached out to her. "You understand me, my love? You are not . . . hurt?"

  "How could I be hurt, David? When you pay me so true a compliment. I am proud. The true, the best part of me, rejoices. The unworthy part will need to lean upon your strength, always. I thank you, my sore saint!" She drew away from him abruptly, thrust the lantern at him, and hurried off along the passage.

  He looked after her, features working, a man torn and no saint indeed.

  The travellers left again mid-day, on fresh horses from the Countess's well-filled stables, the parting controlled, low key, almost formal, in front of the children and the others.

  "Tell Henry Beauclerc that I thank him. And that I know my own mind," she said. "He will not concede me Northumbria, I think. And Sim must be Earl of Northampton, in due course. But you are Earl of Huntingdon, in my eyes, from this day on. And master of all my substance, as my person. Tell him so, David. And rejoice me by endowing your monastery as first charge on it all. Make it an abbey, indeed."

  He shook his head and rode away, not daring to look back.

  11

  THAT DAVID SHOULD be riding through the great Forest of Ettrick, in South Scotland, a few weeks later, prospecting for the site of an abbey, certainly was something that he could not have foreseen. Yet that was the way it had worked out. Henry had been graciously pleased to indicate his concurrence with the Countess Matilda's ideas as to her future and the disposal of her earldoms and wealth - as well he might since so he himself had planned it - and had, in the end, actually encouraged David in his monastic venture, just why uncertain, although that man would have a reason. So, on the dispersal of the allied armies, after a satisfactory confrontation with Robert de Belleme of Shrewsbury, David and Alexander had set off on their long journey northwards again, laden with thanks, goodwill and gifts, and taking with them the Prior Ralph and his dozen surviving colleagues. And at this stage Alexander had announced that he wished to be associated with the enterprise. In the name of their sainted mother. Let it be a joint venture. He would donate the necessary lands and charters and privileges, and David could pay for the work of building and equipping. It transpired that he was rather suspicious of Henry's support for the project, and argued that if it was good for the King of England to involve himself, then it was good for the King of Scots. Moreover, the monastery should undoubtedly be sited in Scotland, otherwise Henry would almost certainly claim much of the credit, and perhaps even take it over at some stage. As to exactly where, was a matter for discussion and selection, but he suggested somewhere in the Forest of Ettrick, which was royal property, a vast hunting demesne, almost empty, unpopulated, and might benefit greatly from such an establishment, a civilising influence as well as a useful place to lodge in on hunting trips, badly required. If David was a little doubtful as to the piety and disinterest behind all this, he had nevertheless recognised certain advantages. The cost of the exercise was beginning to weigh on his mind. He was loth to delve too deeply into Matilda's wealth before they were even wed; and he had insufficient of his own to purchase much land as well as pay for the construction. So the offer of royal land was not to be dismissed lightly. Moreover Prior Ralph indicated a distinct preference for a remote site - as at Pennant-Bachwy -the Tironensians being concerned to keep themselves from becoming contaminated by worldly preoccupations, the great danger in monastic Orders. And it was true that the establishment would best be sited in Scotland; he had promised his protection, and he was only in Cumbria on Henry's orders and sufferance and might easily be moved away. Galloway was too unsettled, exposed to invasion and war, whilst the Ettrick Forest area was almost an upland sanctuary, and fairly readily accessible from Caer-luel, up the Annan and Esk rivers.

  When they had reached Caer-luel they had discovered all to be well. Fergus in Galloway, was exercising a strong hand, and this was having its effect on trouble-makers in Cumbria, so that the two provinces were more peaceable than had been the case in living memory. Alexander had left David there, and pressed on for Stirling with his host, wondering what he would find on his return home.

  So here David was, with a small party, ranging the Forest area. It was a huge territory, covering perhaps nine hundred square miles, comprising the upland watersheds of the Ettrick, Yarrow, Teviot and Annan Waters, much of it not forested at all in the sense of being tree-grown, but consisting of many ranges of lonely green hills. There were great woodlands, of pine, oak, birch and hazel, of course, mainly in the deep valleys, but there was also much high moorland and waste, bog and water-meadow, with only here and there patches of cultivation and recognisable pasture, and comparatively few settlements.

  The terrain was alive with game and beasts and birds of prey, deer, wolves, boar as well as lesser creatures, and notable for the herds of wild white cattle, the bulls whereof were exceedingly fierce and much prized for their great curling horns as trophies, drinking-horns and the like.

  The party had come up long Annandale for almost thirty miles, and from its fair head had turned north-eastwards, up the Moffat Water, to climb into the empty hills, exploring each possible side-valley, considering every prospect. The Prior had a shrewd eye as well as boundless faith, and a clear idea of what he was looking for. Remoteness he wanted, yes - but no barren wilderness. His Order's monasteries had to be more or less self-su
pporting as well as able to send back annual tribute to the mother-abbey at Tiron; so they required arable or cultivatable land for crops, orchards and gardens, grazing land for sheep and cattle, bogs for peat, water-power for mills, oak-woods for tanneries and other timber for fuel, quarried stone and wood for building and so on. Not every valley offered all these, although the territory generally was hopeful.

  Probing eastwards, by a small deserted Celtic cashel under Bodesbeck Law, too constricted for Ralph's purposes, and passing a magnificent and dramatic waterfall near a Pictish fort which had once guarded the very summit of the pass from the Moffat Water over to the Yarrow, they came at length down to a great loch, much larger than any they had seen so far, indeed two lochs really, separated only by a narrow neck of land, the whole length being almost five miles, by about half-a-mile across. Here the Prior thought that he had found that for which he sought. The hills drew well back and there was level ground around the shores, particularly at the head and foot, marshy admittedly but which, he asserted, could be drained, as they had had to drain Pennant-Bachwy. There were woods of oak and ash and pine, and workable sandstone in plenty. And there was the site of another abandoned Celtic monastery, small and simple, but with the tradition of Christian worship, according to a shepherd whose cothouse they found nearby, dedicated to the Blessed Virgin. But the shepherd also told them that the place's looks were deceitful. This was high summer and all looked very fair. But when the winter snows melted on the hills, the two lochs swelled to twice their present size and all the level land around was flooded for months, with even the little cashel becoming an island. That is why his own cottage was built well up on the hillside. No amount of digging would alter that.

  So, sadly, they moved on.

  Now they were following an ever deepening valley, really a mountain defile, whose river, the Yarrow, rising in the loch, rapidly developed into a noble, rushing stream, rich in salmon and trout they were assured. Prior Ralph admired the beauty of this vale, the wooded lower slopes and the noble hills that flanked it, a positive sea of green hills. But in mile after mile there was no major broadening, no hub of substantial side-glens sufficient to site and maintain the sort of establishment he visualised. It was not until, some fifteen miles down, the river joined another of similar size coming in from a more southerly direction, the Ettrick itself, that the joint valleys suddenly opened out to a great green basin in the hills, wide and fair with, a few miles ahead, a still further widening, where the combined river met the Tweed. The Prior exclaimed joyfully that this was the most beautiful place that he had seen in all his days. Could he, of a mercy, have this? Could he settle here and build his monastery to the glory of God in this God-given loveliness, this quiet, sylvan heaven-on-earth?

  David had never been here before. There was a small township called Shiel Kirk, with one more abandoned Celtic Church cashel, and an all-but-abandoned royal hunting-lodge, unused since MacBeth's time. This presumably was the poor accommodation which Alexander had deplored and which he foresaw a monastery as usefully replacing. The folk here were herders and hunters and foresters, who moved up into this upland paradise for the summer months to take advantage of the rich but brief growth of the high pastures, returning to lower lands down Tweedside for the autumn and winter—hence its name of Shiel Kirk, the cashel of the summer shielings. It was all royal land, however neglected. If it so pleased Prior Ralph, here surely the quest could end. In the name of the King of Scots, David told the monk that all the land between Ettrick and Yarrow and Tweed, with all the nearside hill-slopes, was his - or, at least, the Tironensian Order's — to God's glory and in memory of the blessed Queen Margaret, for the erection of a monastery to replace Pennant-Bachwy. Tears in his eyes and kissing David's hand, the man thanked him, thanked his Creator and all saints, and vowed that he would build here no monastery but a great Abbey which would attempt to do justice to this lovely sanctuary in the mountains and the great heart which had inspired it all.

  Almost as moved as the other, David gripped the monk's shoulder - although he realised ruefully that an abbey would take a deal more money to construct than any mere monastery.

  But far be it from him to spoil so splendid a conception, with doubts.

  So they turned back for Caer-luel. But before they left, David arranged for teams of the herdsmen and foresters to quarry and cart stone and fell timber in readiness for the monkish builders. Ralph assured them that he would be back, to start work, within the month, God willing.

  David found a distinct trepidation growing on him on that return journey. Had he, in fact, bitten off more than he could chew? Had he been something of a fool in all this? Was it for such as himself, a young man not yet of thirty years, of no fortune however high-born, hopefully to wed a rich wife, to endow a great religious house? There was no single Romish Church abbey in all Scotland, only a priory at Coldingham founded by Edgar. There were Celtic Church abbeys in plenty; but these were a totally different conception, in the main mere humble settlements of huts of wood and thatch within stone-and-turf enclosures. The Columbans did not go in for stone churches, expensive or otherwise. David knew something of what it had cost his mother to build the great stone minster at Dunfermline, the first of its kind in Scotland - and that was only a large church, not an abbey. This Ralph was an enthusiast; nothing more certain than that he would be content with nothing but the best and finest. What had he let himself in for?

  A week or two later, at Caer-luel, with the Prior and his colleagues deep in plans, drawings, dimensions and calculations, David was little reassured. But he kept his doubts to himself as he watched and listened. He wrote letters to Matilda, of course, and told her something of what was to do — but he tried to prevent his fears from showing through in these also. Ruling Cumbria had become considerably easier since Hakon Claw and the Norsemen had been expelled and Fergus made Lord of Galloway. David's reputation had been enhanced even by the Welsh expedition, however undeservedly, and the Cumbrians now accepted his authority without much demur; also the Viscount d'Avranches made an able lieutenant, if, like Fergus, somewhat heavy-handed in his methods. So David was not over-taxed for time and was able to turn some of his attention to South Scotland and Strathclyde, as Alexander had suggested. That great area certainly needed attention, for it had been neglected for years; and as is apt to happen in such circumstances, petty tyrants had sprung up, oppression and violence were rife, and the King's peace and laws set at naught. Lothian, the Merse and Teviotdale were well enough, under Cospatrick of Dunbar's control; but the rest was no-man's-land - or any-man's-land. It was Cospatrick's warning that the new abbey-builders at Shiel Kirk might be at some risk, which caused David to accept some responsibilities in the matter, if his proffered protection was to mean anything.

  So he began to make his presence known and felt in the great territory between Cumbria and Northumbria and the Scottish Sea. He visited and warned a number of the local lords and chiefs, burned a few robbers' camps in the Forest area — which was notorious for sheltering broken men - hanged two or three proven murderers and ravishers, as example, and let it be known that the King of Scots' writ would run from now on and that the holy brothers of Shiel Kirk in especial were to be aided and not harassed. He did not effect any lightening pacification, but improvement commenced - and there were no complaints from Prior Ralph.

  So passed that summer and harvest-time. There was no news from Alexander, who was not much of a correspondent. But Henry sent word that the threat from Eystein of Norway had receded meantime, for he was at war again with his own half-brothers, Sigurd Half Deacon and Olaf Magnusson, over the division of Norway itself. Henry also informed that he had seen Matilda, given his official royal approval to their marriage, and made it his decision that the wedding should take place immediately after the Yuletide celebrations and before Lent, when he would-be free to attend and would give away the bride, as was suitable. He suggested the Feast of St. Valentine would be apt.

  David might have felt a l
ittle piqued that his brother-in-law appeared to be deciding on matters which were normally the bride's and bridegroom's concern; but then of course, it was not any normal wedding, and could not take place without the King's authority. Anyway, he was so delighted that it had got so far, and that he had only some five months more to wait, that he would have swallowed more than this. But it did reinforce Matilda's warning that Henry, might seek to use them as pawns in his own games.

  Less speedily delivered than by the royal courier, Matilda herself wrote also, giving the same news but adding that she sought to have his, David's, agreement and concurrence gained before the King made any final decision. But Henry had said that this was not necessary, that David was sufficiently fortunate in getting the greatest heiress in England to wife and the earldom of Huntingdon confirmed. He, the King, would decide the wedding-date since, as his ward and kinswoman, he must be present. She was unhappy about this, but overjoyed in all else, counting the days. Once they were wed, Henry could not unwed them, and they might take a stronger line. For the rest, she was at once the happiest and most impatient woman in the land. Hasten the Feast of St. Valentine - and might all heaven and its angels, as well as that saint, look after him, for her, until she had him safe in her arms.

  David paid another visit to Shiel Kirk at the tail-end of autumn, in early November, before the winter snows and rising rivers made travel through the hills difficult. He was surprised at how well the work of construction was going, cheered at progress but alarmed at the ambitious scale of the establishment, the scope of which seemed to grow each time he saw the revised plans. Far be it from him to say so, however. The monks inevitably had to concentrate initially on living and working quarters, with only a makeshift chapel of timber and thatch. But the foundations of the great church were laid down and something of its dimensions could be visualised. To David it seemed enormous, if anything larger than Holy Trinity at Dunfermline, and he did permit himself to wonder, aloud, where the congregation to fill this vast edifice was to be drawn from? Prior Ralph assured him that God would provide - David praying for a like faith — and besides, it was not so large as it seemed, foundations always giving an enhanced impression of size. By the time that the lofty and groined vaulting was added, sixty-seven feet high, with the one hundred and twenty foot tower at the crossing and the two lesser towers of ninety feet each at the west end flanking the great rose window, plus the clerestoreys, the pillars - twenty-four of them - the aisles and side-chapels, flying buttresses and the rest, the building would require every inch of its length and breadth dimensions. Even the niches for the carved figures of saints inside and out, demanded space and height if they were not to appear huddled and oppressive. The payer for all this glory-to-be in stone groaned shamefully in spirit and hurried off to inspect the mill and tannery being constructed at the riverside, more in line with his preoccupations and his purse.