"Ah - I rejoice that you do not!"
"Not so fast, man — not so fast! I asked a question, did not give answer."
"I answer - no reason why you should find objection." "And I see no reason why I should intervene in no affair of mine."
"Perhaps then, Sire, that would be sufficient! May I tell the Archbishop that? That you see no reason to intervene in the matter?"
Henry turned to look at him, narrow-eyed. "You, my friend, grow importunate, I think!"
"How can you say that, Sire - if this matter is no concern of yours?"
"David - I will not be hedged and baited like this! Do not trade on my patience, man! Go to Ralph, if you must. But do not take him any message from me. You understand?"
"I do, Sire - oh, yes, I do!"
They stared at the extraordinary creature, the giraffe, but neither was really seeing it, despite its physical oddities.
David played his last card. "If the Archbishop will do nothing, I am authorised to go further, Sire. To the Abbot Bernard, at Clairvaux. To ask him use his influence with Pope Paschal to appoint the necessary bishop."
"Ha! So you would go that far! Alexander must be concerned, indeed? Is his position so precarious? But - at least I may save you a profitless journey, David. The good Abbot Bernard is dead."
"Dead? Bernard of Tiron . . . ?"
"The same. I had word that he died some months ago. A sad loss, no . . . ?"
David recognised that he was beaten. He could do no more here. Henry was equally percipient. He became affable again, particularly anent the giraffe.
As his visitors left next morning for Canterbury in Kent, they traded one last exchange.
"You will find Sheriff Gilbert a notable help, David," the King said. "Seek him at Cambridge. And, see you - build bridges, like your sister, rather than castles and abbeys! Maud has built a great bridge at London. This I can recommend. Bridges bring folk together - castles keep them apart."
"Maud would, I think, have you to build a bridge, Henry -back to her side. She is unhappy - she who was your chief delight."
"And still is, to be sure - but a sad delight! She pines, man-she pines overmuch."
"She pines for her husband's company. She pines for William, her son."
"Then why shut herself up in that abbey? She should be here, at Woodstock. None to stop the Queen coming here!"
"Ask her, Henry - ask her to come. Send William to ask her."
"My salutations to the Archbishop," the King said abruptly. "And, mind it - that is the only message I send him!"
* * *
At the great cathedral and abbey of Canterbury in the Kentish plain of the Stour, David found the Archbishop Ralph to be an amiable man but weak, carefully chosen by Henry so that the frictions of Anselm's regime would not be repeated - and his choice no doubt acquiesced in by the Pope for similar reasons. Strong and opinionated archbishops were not always appreciated.
Ralph was defensive about his failure to do as the King of Scots had requested, to send up a consecrated bishop for St. Andrews, making sundry excuses, and even claiming that there was no one suitable available. But when David insisted, and hinted at going direct to the Pope, also declaring that he had come from King Henry who left the matter entirely to the Archbishop, Ralph capitulated. Indeed, when David suggested the monk Eadmer, the Primate actually seemed to be slightly relieved. When that man was sent for, and proved to be a tall, thin, scholarly Saxon, short of sight and of a somewhat gloomy countenance, but strong-featured - stronger than his superior, David guessed - no real obstruction was put forward. Admittedly Eadmer showed no enthusiasm for the appointment, but he could scarcely refuse, and the Archbishop did not so advise. David clinched the matter by telling the monk that he could continue with writing his book on the life and miracles of the Blessed Anselm as readily in Scotland as here at Canterbury.
Thus, fairly easily, the visit was concluded, and David rode off after declaring that his royal brother, King Henry's son-in-law, would be well content - a sentiment which both prelate and monk rather noticeably failed to applaud.
They went northwards by Cambridge, as commanded, but visited Northampton and Huntingdon first. There, although David questioned his chief stewards for both earldoms closely, he could uncover no hint of any serious troubles or problems. In fact, the men were clearly mystified over his probings - and he would swear that they were honest, and long employed by the Countess Matilda. Unable to fault them, he asked, casually, what they knew of the Sheriff Gilbert of Cambridge?
They answered readily enough, both of them. Only good, they said. The Sheriff, although a King's officer, was a fine man, honest, fair, just. He had even founded a monastery, at a place called Merton.
Knowing something of the cost of founding monasteries, David wondered; but his informants assured him that Sir Gilbert's riches were not obtained by any oppressions, nor harsh appropriations of the tenantry, in the manner of so many. He appeared to have private wealth, and was clearly well-reared, even though his ancestry was something of a mystery. It was even suggested that he was one of the numerous natural sons of King William the Conqueror, and so a half-brother of King Henry.
So David journeyed eastwards from Huntingdon sixteen miles to Cambridge, where at Grantbridge Castle he found the Sheriff Gilbert, a busy man of affairs, working amongst papers and records and ledgers, with an office of clerks and secretaries - for it seemed that this strange man administered not only the royal earldom of Cambridge but those of other King's lands also, as well as certain wealth-creating matters for various monasteries, including the Cluniac St. Andrews of Northampton - which David had not realised. Although prepared to find this individual, who had been foisted upon him, more or less objectionable, in fact during the day he spent with him, David could not but like as well as admire the man. He judged him to be as effective as he was unassuming and tactful. It was evident that he had already been informed by Henry of the new duties he was to take up, even though he obviously assumed that it was all with the Earl's agreement, if not at his behest. David did not disillusion him. They discussed the business and concerns of the two earldoms at some length - and here too David learned of no serious difficulties or irregularities. He came to the conclusion that these were no more than an invention of the King to provide excuse for the imposition of this Sir Gilbert's care and oversight. This, in turn, might have inclined him to be the more resentful - only that, talking to the Sheriff, he could not fail to realise that it might well be much to his advantage to have such an able, scrupulous and experienced deputy on the spot. In fact, even whilst they talked, Gilbert, a man old enough to be David's father, tentatively suggested half-a-dozen alterations and improvements in the administration of various aspects of the vast estates, which patently could be beneficial and profitable to all concerned. David, indeed, in their short time together, really recognised for the first time something of the great potential of the lands, manors, fishings, villages, even towns, which he had acquired by his marriage, something Matilda herself had scarcely been competent to explain.
As a consequence, he rode northwards thereafter thoughtful, his feelings mixed, after signing sundry documents which gave the Sheriff authority to act in his name. He realised that he had been neglecting his responsibilities here in some measure, however inevitably and unknowingly - and to that extent Henry had excuse for his interference. The earldoms should be better managed now than they had ever been under Simon de St. Liz. On the other hand, Henry had now put himself in a position practically to control them - and that man did not usually act without due thought and forward planning. It could mean that from now on the King had an additionally firm grip over his Viceroy of Cumbria. David might spend most of his time three hundred and more miles away from Henry's Court, and seem to be almost an independent princeling; but his royal brother-in-law's displeasure could now be demonstrated, and at longer range than that, in no uncertain terms.
Life, he perceived, was to be a battle of wits with Henry B
eauclerc.
17
ROOK'S BURGH CASTLE was completed at last. Far from being put off by Henry's clear disapproval, David had pressed ahead more urgently with the building programme. It was not mere stubbornness - although an element of that may have entered into it. There were sufficiently good reasons to risk Henry's frowns, he felt. For one thing, it was necessary to show that he was not cowed by the King's intimidations and devious methods - or he would never again be his own man. Again, to halt the construction of a Scots castle on Scottish soil at the behest of an English monarch, would be to admit a quite unwarrantable influence and pressure, and cause offence to Alexander; as heir-presumptive to the Scots throne he could by no means countenance that. But more immediately vital was the sheer need for the place, locally. There had been no more large-scale incursions, admittedly; but small-scale raiding remained rife, almost as much on the Scots side as the Northumbrian, and David was concerned that this must stop, for lawlessness was infectious and small things often led to great. As it was, the vast Forest of Ettrick and its subsidiary hereabouts, the Forest of Jed worth, offered notable refuge for broken men, outlaws and refugees from authority on both sides of the march, and consequently a haven for raiders. A large part of the necessity for Rook's Burgh was to help to control at least these eastern parts of the Forest area; and David had plans for other, if less ambitious castles elsewhere. Until both the march or border country, along the Tweed, and the Forest no-man's-land, were under control, neither kings' writs would run hereabouts; and David had no doubts as to his duties in the matter. He had solved the Cumbria-Galloway problem, in the west; he would solve this one on the east, God willing. If Henry, misled by Flambard, did not understand, then he must take that risk. And if Henry thought to withhold the revenues from Huntingdon, which he was using for his work of pacification and rule up here, then it would be wise to get as much done as possible whilst the money lasted. Thus he argued, and Matilda agreed.
So, to mark the completion of the work, and to emphasise the start of a new phase in the maintenance of law and peace on the border, David held a major celebration the following midsummer, to which he brought his wife and children and much of his entourage at Caer-luel, as well as inviting a large representation of local people. He had learned that Teviotdale held a peculiar festival each year at this time, a traditional affair evidently compounded partly of Pictish and partly of Norse or Viking origins, for it involved elements of sun and fire worship connected with the summer solstice, and also homage to Thor and Odin, the Norse gods, with fertility rites relating to land, beast and man. David, whilst nowise countenancing these pagan practices, saw the advantage of making use of local enthusiasms and established custom. So, with Matilda's and Cospatrick's help, he concocted an amended programme for the festival, much as the Celtic Christian missionaries from Ireland had done towards the Druidical ceremonies five centuries before, seeking to retain the colour and vigour of the revelry whilst expunging most of the obvious heathen references, to substitute Christian themes as far as possible. Some of these might sit only oddly on the age-old rituals and observances, but the thing should still be vivid and unusual, not to say dramatic. This was all to be staged at Rook's Burgh, to coincide with the opening of the castle, so that it might be seen as no symbol of oppression and dread - as were so many Norman-style castles - but as a friendly place put there for the people's welfare and protection. In fact, David intended to reside there for considerable periods, for it was a highly attractive vicinity, more so than Caer-luel, and matters in Cumbria were now so well organised and established that they could be left to his lieutenants for periods at a time.
So, on Midsummer's Eve, 21st June, the celebration began, with an outdoor banquet held partly in the forecourt of the new castle, just cast of the gatehouse and drawbridge and partly down below the cliff, there being insufficient space for all above. This did not commence until late in the evening, for it was to go on all night. As a great treat Matilda's children, Waltheof, Matilda and Henry, now three years, were allowed to stay up, although Henry slept peacefully in a blanket most of the time. Great fires were lit, scores of them, and the carcases of oxen, deer and sheep roasted whole, whilst dances took place round them, David drawing the line, however, at young men running into and leaping through the flames, as was part of the old Norse fire ritual. It was never truly dark, of course, and there were still traces of sunset in the north at midnight. So there were only some four hours to wait until sunrise and the time went swiftly enough in revelry and singing, as well as. dancing-and, it must be admitted, in fairly extensive horseplay, for there was unlimited ale provided, and David, despite his religious inclinations, was no spoil-sport.
Amongst the songs, repeated time and again, was a traditional one which the locals called 'Teribus y Teri Odin', which obviously glorified Thor and Odin, to a rousing and suitably martial tune which, chanted by the light of the fires and punctuated by the stamping of feet and the wailing of bulls' horns, raised the hairs on even Norman necks. David, presently, found himself shouting its challenging refrain with the best, so strangely effective was its rhythm and theme - although he was careful to counter this by ordering the singing of some of the best-known hymns of the more forceful kind, in between, including the general favourite of Saint Serfs pet lamb which baa-ed in its eater's stomach.
The hours passed without any sense of weary waiting, to culminate, one hour before dawn, with a torchlight procession in which all took part, chanting, leading down from the castle to the haughland, along the river-bank, through the little town and back up to the castle again. Even young Henry was wakened up to toddle in this, amidst much excitement. Just to emphasise who and what they were worshipping, David had Abbot Ralph lead the way, bearing aloft a tall golden cross which gleamed in the flaming light, with other simple wooden crosses held up at intervals down the line.
Up on the rock again, the flaming torches were used to make new fires on the topmost towers of the castle, within the parapets and along the wall-walks, so that the whole great building was illuminated, its turrets and bartisans picked out in light and shade. All had been timed carefully, so that there was little further waiting. The sky was lightening. Suddenly the singing of 'Teribus y Teri Odin' was stilled by the high bugling notes of a single trumpet from the loftiest pinnacle of the castle, seeming to shiver the air and cause throats to constrict. Every eye turned north-eastwards as the flourish died. There, across the comparatively level plain of the Merse, the first fiery red rim of the sun arose, seen just those moments earlier by the higher-placed trumpeter. A great shout lifted and continued.
Then a bell began to toll, with the hollow deep note of a Celtic saint's bell, St. Boisel's own, brought by Cospatrick from the monastery of Melross. David climbed up on to the parapet-walk of the northern curtain-wall of the precinct, to address the company.
"My friends," he called, strong-voiced. "I, David mac Malcolm, greet you well, this new day of the Blessed John the Baptist. It is a new day, a new season, and I hope and believe, a new time of peace and prosperity and the rule of law and justice, in this ancient marchland. On this rock, the Picts or Cruithne, our ancestors, called in their tongue the March Mount, above the town of Rook's Burgh, watched, as we now watch, the new-born sun in its splendour dim and extinguish the feebler fires and flames of the night of darkness. The Picts, knowing no better, but recognising that there was a better, worshipped here the sun itself and what it foretold and heralded, the new and better life. But we know what the midsummer sun foretold — new life, yes, the birth of the Lord Christ and His promise of life and love and peace to men of goodwill."
He paused, and a murmur rose from the shadowy, listening crowds, as cocks crowed in the village below.
"So Midsummer's Day is now John the Baptist's Day throughout Christendom. For the Blessed John prophesied that, as at this solstice, he would grow less as the new sun, the Son of God and Man, grew greater, eleven centuries ago, John of the shortening days. So watching this su
n rise today, we worship not it but the Son of God Himself, of whom the Baptist foretold. We glorify Him, humbly, and pledge ourselves to work for His peace, the peace He was to die for, not war and bloodshed and rapine, but love and caring, man for man, honest labour, the fair rule of law, and above all, peace. This castle of mine, of ours, is a stronghold yes — but a stronghold for peace, not war. To uphold your liberties and safety, not to oppress. To restrain evil men and all who would disturb that peace. See it as the March Mount indeed, to maintain the peace of the marches. I pledge you that so long as I live it shall so do! I commend it to you all, my friends - the March Mount of Rook's Burgh, now completed!"
Hesitant at first, for folk were a little uncertain as to what all this might mean and signify, applause grew and presently swelled to great cheering and acclaim. Even so not one in a dozen probably recognised what really was intended, the vision behind it all. But some did, and led the acclamation.
David then called upon Abbot Ralph to pronounce the Benediction - adding that thereafter all would breakfast on the traditional curds and cream.
At Matilda's side again, she gripped David's arm.
"That was splendid, splendid!" she exclaimed. "I am proud of you, indeed. What matter if few here understood? David - I feel that we should celebrate this great occasion. So that none should forget ..."
"This is a celebration, my love!" he pointed out, smiling. "Have you forgot? It is to celebrate the completion of the castle and the start of a new regime along the march."
"Yes, yes - that I know. I mean something different, something to commemorate this night. What you have just said, Promised ..."
The breakfasting on curds and cream and ale followed. This was as traditional as the rest, representing the fertility of the land contributing to the fertility of the people. Great bowls of cold curds were produced, with jugs and pitchers of thick cream, all washed down with barrels of ale and mead, eaten and drunk with much hilarity. On this unconventional morning's diet, all were expected to perform prodigies and feats of strength, skill and endurance - for despite the fact that no one had had any sleep, the day was given over to sporting contests and trials of agility, races, wrestling, swimming, archery, stone-putting, caber-tossing and the like. Surprisingly there seemed to be no lack of energy and enthusiasm, and mighty feats were achieved. Even the Norman knights, with their slightly superior attitude, were spurred into demonstrations of their especial prowess in horsemanship, jousting and lance-work. David himself put up a reasonable performance, especially at running, at which he had always been proficient -although he by no means sought to emulate his brother Alex, who prided himself on his pre-eminence at sports.
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