In the midst of all this, Matilda was brought to bed with her sixth child. She had no easy time of it. She was now forty-two years, and had never had a really troublesome birth with any of the other five. David decided that this girl must be the last. They called her Hodierna, a traditional name in the Waltheof family, shortened almost immediately to Erna. Young Henry was now nearly six and Claricia three. Waltheof, now fourteen, and a grave child religiously-inclined, was ever asking to be allowed to go to Shiel Kirk to be enrolled as a novice; they let him go to the new Jedworth Priory on a part-time basis, to see how he got on. Of his elder brother Simon, in far Aumale, they heard nothing, to Matilda's distress, although she wrote to him frequently. David had sought Henry Beauclerc's aid to have the lad returned, but to no effect. Undoubtedly the future Earl of Northampton was more or less a hostage, even if originally a willing one.
David's own thirty-sixth birthday reminded him of something which he seldom remembered - that he was no longer a young man, however slender and almost boyish his appearance.
19
DAVID AND MATILDA were attending the wedding celebrations of Robert de Brus - who very sensibly was marrying the daughter of the Celtic Lord of Annadale, over whose lands he had oversight, and so settling comfortably into the local landscape-this at the town of Annan, in August, the ceremony over and suitable feasting commencing, when a special courier arrived from the North. Weary and dishevelled, for he had travelled long and at speed, via both Rook's Burgh and Caer-luel, he louted low to David - lower than usual. Yet he was his own nephew, Malcolm, the late Eth's third son.
"My lord," he panted. "My lord David. My lord Prince -who knows, it may be my lord King!"
"Eh. . . ? Malcolm-what is this? What do you mean, man?"
"The King, my lord. It is the King. Alexander. He is amissing. We, we fear that he is drowned. The Earl Madach of Atholl sent me to you . . ."
"Alexander? Drowned!" David stared from the young man to the wine-cup in his own hand. He raised it to his lips, then bethought him that the other probably had greater need, and thrust the cup at his nephew. "Drink, man. Then sit. You are wearied. Tell us these tidings. However evil."
"Yes, evil, Uncle." Malcolm emptied the beaker at a draught. "It was three days back- four, now. The King was out fishing in the Firth of Forth. Out from Culross Abbey. You know how he is fond of fishing. In a boat with three others. A great storm of wind arose. And rain. The boat was lost to sight. It did not come back to Culross that night. Next day the body of one of the boatmen was washed up on the shore. There is no word of the King."
"Merciful Lord!" David breathed. "Alex!"
"Oh, my love!" Matilda took his arm. "It may not be ... it need not be . . ."
"No. It may not. Pray God! Malcolm - there has been a search? No sign of the boat? No wreckage?"
"The sea was still very rough. Strong west winds . . ."
"From Culross, you say? That is quite far up Forth, from the Queen's Ferries. It should not have been so rough there."
"I know not, my lord. I was not there. I was at Stirling. But it was wild, wild. Of a sudden . . ."
There was silence amongst the wedding-guests.
"The Earl Madach of Atholl was at Stirling," Malcolm mac Eth went on, out of a full mouth. "He waited for two days. Then, then he sent me to tell you. If Alexander is indeed drowned, you are now the King, my lord. He asks that~you come. At once. Before, before all learn . .."
"Yes. Yes, to be sure. I must go. Without delay. But — I will not accept that Alexander is dead! I will not . . . !
It was a sorry interruption of a wedding-feast. Making hasty apologies to their host and to the bride and groom, and leaving Matilda to represent him, David took Hugo and Hervey with only one or two others, and in their finery as they were, took horse for the Forth and Stirling.
Although they rode well into that May night, it was evening of the next day before they looked down from the Gargunnock Hills on to the fort-crowned rock of Stirling rising starkly from the flood-plain of the Forth. At the castle, Hugo's uncle Eustace, the Great Constable, now an ageing man, greeted him uncertainly, not knowing whether to go down on one knee to him as monarch - but being left in no doubt that he should not. There was still no word of Alexander. The Earl Madach was away in Fothrif superintending the search.
It was too late to do anything worthwhile that night. Tired and dispirited, David sought a couch.
They were on their way to Culross, along the north shore of the Forth, when they met a party from Madach spurring in the other direction. These announced that the King had been found. He was alive, although weak and in a poor state. They had no details save that Alexander was lying at Culross Abbey. They were sent to inform the Constable and Chancellor at Stirling.
Thankfully David rode on".
Culross Abbey of St. Serf lay on the Fothrif coast of the Firth midway between Stirling and Dunfermline. It was an ancient establishment, very different from any Romish monastery, lacking any edifice of stone-and-lime and consisting of many clay and timber buildings, with thatched roofs, within a large stockaded enclosure. But it was a pleasant place amongst gardens and orchards, with its own boat-haven, quite famous in the Columban Church as where the renowned St. Serf had reared the still more renowned St. Mungo or Kentigern.
Madach greeted his cousin thankfully, a worried man still.
The King was very ill, he reported, coughing blood. Abbot Murdoch, skilled in such matters, said that he had crushed ribs and one or more had punctured the lung. He was sleeping just now, after tossing and coughing all night. One of his companions was in little better state, but the third had come out of the ordeal fairly well and had been able to give an account of what had happened.
It seemed that the King's fishing-boat, caught in the sudden squall of a week before, had been overturned, tossing its four occupants into the water. One of the boatmen had been swept away at once - he whose body had been recovered on the shore nearby. But the boat had not actually sunk, floating on keel-up, and the three survivors had managed to get back to it and to cling thereto. Then had commenced a grim and prolonged ordeal as, at the mercy of strong winds, high waves and an ebbing tide, they had drifted seawards. There was nothing that they could do to guide or affect the course. Hour after hour they had clung on desperately, chilled and losing hope. In time they had passed right out between the headlands where Queen Margaret's Ferry crossed, and on into the widening Scottish Sea. By then it was growing dark, and all three had said their last prayers and committed their souls to God and His saints, not believing that it was possible than they could survive even another hour. Anyway, what hope was there for them in the broad Scotwater, in these high seas and darkness?
None knew when it was that, still clinging although barely conscious, they had become aware of change, the sea suddenly seeming to grow even rougher and the noise greater. Then they were smashing and grinding amongst rocks and spray. Helpless, they were smashed and battered and tossed clear of the splintering boat. The man reporting had lost consciousness at this stage, presumably stunned against a rock.
When he had come to, he and his two companions were lying in a small hut made of drift-wood and turf, being tended by a wild-looking hairy man in rags and skins, who proved to be an anchorite of the Columban Church, a holy man living alone on the small island of Inch Colm, on which they had been cast up, with a single cow for sustenance. Although the man looked a mere skeleton, he had dragged all three of them up from the rocky shore to his cabin, treated their hurts as best he could and was cherishing them on milk and cheese and shell-fish and edible weeds - although the King, who was sorest hurt, was unable to eat anything. The hermit had no boat, and they were in his care, storm-bound, for five days before the seas abated and their saviour's three fires, lit as signals, could be seen from the mainland, and a boat had duly come out from Aberdour to their rescue. The search for them, of course, had not extended nearly as far east as this, fifteen miles and more from Culross.
His listeners could only wonder and give thanks to God, St. Columba and the hermit.
It was some hours before the King awakened and David saw his brother. Alexander, who so prided himself on his physical fitness, hardly seemed the same man. He was gaunt and drawn and grey, hollow-eyed and still coughing blood despite Abbot Murdoch's remedies. Nevertheless he was clearly glad to see David, more so than the latter could recollect, since their childhood, in a strange state of mind, gripping David's arm and talking fast, almost incoherently, between his coughings and blood-splutterings. Evidently his dire experiences had affected him almost as greatly emotionally as physically.
"I have looked on death, cast within the very jaws of doom, Davie!" he exclaimed. "Fore God, I as good as died! For I lost all consciousness on those rocks, and would have slipped away into the shades without further knowing. Had not this blessed eremite Malbride rescued me. He delivered me, took me out of the power of the enemy! God put him on that island to save me, I tell you! It was a miracle! God must have work for me to do, yet, Davie. It must be so . . ."
"Of course He has, Alex. You are but forty years old. You have much good work ahead of you. But - I thank God indeed that you are safe. That our prayers were answered."
"I shall build an abbey on that island, Davie. As I lay there in that hut, I vowed a vow that I would, if God permitted my rescue." A great bout of coughing brought up much scarlet froth into a basin which the Abbot held out, shaking his grey-head, and for a while the King could not speak. Indeed the Abbot signed to David that he should withdraw, murmuring that His Grace was better not to talk. But Alexander found his voice again, however brokenly.
"An abbey, I say . . . instead of that hut! A true abbey, of stone, with a noble church. I shall dedicate it to St. Columba himself, since it is his isle. But it will not be a Columban abbey but a Roman, see you. This I swear! And that eremite shall have my protection all his days. This I swear also. I ,I. . ." The rest was lost in a red flood.
David slipped away.
They remained three days at Culross, with David acting for his brother on certain matters brought by the Chancellor and other officers of state. Alexander improved only slowly, the coughing lessening in intensity but still producing blood. It was clear that he would be in no fit state to be moved for some time yet. David could not linger indefinitely, with many issues requiring his attention in the South and left suddenly.
At their parting, on the fourth morning, Alexander indicated that he wished to speak with his brother alone. "Davie," he said, "if this should yet go ill with me, watch you for Angus, Ethelred's elder son now that Duff is dead. Now Earl of Moray. Young Angus MacEth, he calls himself, Malcolm's brother. I am told that he has ambitions to be king. Claims that as son of our elder brother, he has the right. Also his mother was Lulach's daughter. So he represents the old line. Watch him, I say. Malcolm is well enough, I think - but watch Angus!"
"The lad may dream dreams, Alex. But you are crowned on the Stone of Destiny. You are undoubted High King. That is all that signifies."
"While I live, yes - while I live, perhaps . . ."
They left it at that.
* * *
It was as well that David returned to Caer-luel when he did, for it was to find major developments in train. First of all, sadly, his viscount, Richard d'Avranchcs, had broken his neck in a buck-hunting incident, leaving a major gap to be filled in the Cumbrian leadership as well as a personal loss. Then Bishop John had at last arrived back from his prolonged exile-pilgrimage. He came back in modest triumph, his cause vindicated. Pope Calixtus was dead and Honorius the Second reigned in his stead, a very different man who was no friend to Henry Beauclerc. Now the Vatican had confirmed that Glasgow was the pontifical see of Cumbria and that John was lawfully bishop both in Scotland and England. At first it had seemed as though there would be no success, for on John's arrival at Rome he could by no means again an audience with Calixtus - who admittedly was ill but who also was unsympathetic towards his cause. He was told to wait, and wait again. So, partly to fill in the time of waiting and partly to register protest, he had gone off on an onward pilgrimage to Jerusalem, as great a joy and privilege as it was a device. And when he returned to Rome, Calixtus was dead and Honorius was Pontiff - and was engaged in undoing much of his predecessor's work. He made no difficulties over John's plea, ordered him to return to his see; and at the same time declared against Eadmer's retiral from Scotland as neglect of duty, pronouncing that if Eadmer refused to resume his episcopal duties in Scodand and the primatial see, he was unworthy to be Bishop of St. Andrews, and another must be appointed. So all was well, and the Scottish episcopate was endorsed. Incidentally Eadmer's own domestic position was no longer secure, for as John had learned only a few days previously, Ralph of Canterbury himself had died. When a new Archbishop came to be appointed, King Henry would find it more difficult to get his nominee endorsed by Honorius. So the situation was improved on all counts.
Most of this much pleased David, needless to say. But Bishop John's other news was less satisfactory. King Henry was back in England, indeed in the North of England. He was apparently engaged in something which he had never previously thought to do - visiting York and Northumbria and the word was that he intended to come to Cumbria also, thereafter.
John had another item of information regarding Henry. Possibly as a counter-stroke to his reduction of influence at the Vatican, he had just married his sole remaining legitimate child, Matilda, to the Holy Roman Emperor, Henry the Fifth.
David was, of course, much exercised over the news of Henry's northern tour, especially the prospect of his coming to Cumbria. This was something quite new and presumably significant, meaning — what? Henry had for long seemed to be more interested in Normandy and France than in England. Also in the past when he had wanted to see his subjects, he summoned them to his presence, did not go visiting them. So far as David knew, he had not been further north than Woodstock for years. York, Northumbria, Cumbria - what did it mean?
Confirmation reached Caer-luel presently. The King was at Durham with a large train, and was expected to cross the spine of England, by Weardale and Gilderdale, into Cumbria. Durham — Flambard!
To show that he was not lacking in courtesy any more than in due alertness, David despatched a welcoming party to meet the monarch at the Cumbrian border - although Henry had sent him no intimation of approach. He made what preparations he could for Henry's reception, doing so not without some sense of foreboding.
When the King's cavalcade eventually arrived at Caer-luel, David was surprised at its size-and splendour- even though he had been warned that it was large. It was indeed a royal progress, a Court on the move, with earls and barons and bishops as well as officers of state, together with two members of his own family, illegitimate as they were, Robert and Elizabeth; although notably his new young wife, still disappointingly childless, was not of the party. Henry had allegedly taken a vow that he would never smile again, on hearing of the drowning of William the Atheling; nevertheless he was now showing a sudden and marked interest in his hitherto neglected bastard Robert, aged sixteen, for whom he had found an heiress wife, and created Earl of Gloucester. Of the girl, Elizabeth, aged a year or so younger, David had not heard.
The King's greeting to his former brother-in-law was carefully civil but not warm. He was looking his age of fifty-five and inclining to fat - although nothing like the dimensions of Bishop Flambard, who bulked massively behind him.
"Ah, David - it is good to see you, good to catch you!" he exclaimed. "I feared that we might not, that you might be . . . elsewhere. So busy a man! Ever on the move, I am told."
"I have large territories to govern, Sire. I hope that I see you well? Not fatigued with your much travelling?"
"Why should I be, man? I am none so old, yet!" That was quick. "I am very well. Sufficiently well to look to my kingdom. To look closely!"
"I rejoice, my lord King. And hope that you approve what you see?"
&nb
sp; "Not altogether, David - not altogether!" Henry turned. "Ha - here is the fair Matilda - so blooming, so altogether a delight! How excellent a wife I found for you, David!"
"That I have never questioned, Sire. Although I thought that I had found her for myself!" David managed a smile at that.
"More fool you, then! I planned it before you thought aught of it, man!"
"Then Your Grace had the gift of prophesy!" Matilda put in, calmly. "Moreover, you traduced one of your own earls! For the Earl Simon was still much alive when David first expressed his devotion to me. And I to him. We did nothing, nothing to injure Simon's rights as husband. But we knew our own hearts. Did Your Grace plan that also?"
David looked at his wife with a surge of affection and admiration, that she should speak out thus in front of all.
Henry frowned, but recovered himself quickly. "So we were of a like mind! Our judgment concurring. But. . . did we judge aright, woman? Did we judge this man aright? Was he worth it?" With that thrust Henry moved on into the castle.
Just when the King had intended to announce the reasons for his visit was not to be known. But undoubtedly it was precipitated by an encounter of the two bishops, Flambard and John, which took place whilst first refreshment was being dispensed and before the larger banquet. These two had long known and disliked each other, from Winchester days. Flambard was not long in referring John's presence there to the King.
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