In the midst of this enormous work and planning, there developed a more local problem. Ever since Abbot Ralph's translation to Tiron, his successors had been complaining that Shiel Kirk was not really a viable site for a major abbey. It was too remote, deep in the forest; it still suffered from sporadic raids of broken men and robbers; and its surrounding lands, although beautiful, were insufficiently fertile and productive to support the establishment. If this seemed an extraordinary state of affairs, there was another and less openly-voiced reason behind the discontent - simple jealousy. This had been provoked by the growing power and royal favour towards the Priory of Jedworth, so comparatively near to the King's seat of Rook's Burgh. This was an Augustinian establishment, of course, and the Tironensians considered themselves to be a step above this, or other, rival Order— and theirs was an abbey where Jedworth was only a priory. Bishop John, in whose diocese were both monasteries, and who personally maintained close links with Tiron, came to the King and urged that something should be done. This ill-feeling was unsuitable and must be put an end to. But he pointed out also that Tiron was more important on the wide scene than were the Augustinians, in its influence with the Vatican, Pope Honorius being a strong supporter thereof. It would be a pity to offend, in any way, the Pontiff who had maintained Scotland's case against York.
With so much else on his mind, David asked his old tutor what he proposed?
'The real reason behind this matter is but simple human failing, Sire," he asserted. "This of jealousy. Shiel Kirk was the first monastery you founded. It was therefore your favourite. Its monks considered themselves your especial friars. Then you came to dwell at Rook's Burgh, and in due course set up this new foundation of Jedworth, a mere eight or nine miles away. Now Jedworth's monks see more of you than do Shiel Kirk's, minister to your household, gain more privileges, have better land. The religious have their weaknesses, like other men - all too many, I fear."
"What then is to be done, John?"
"I see only the one answer, my lord David. Move Shiel Kirk."
"Move Shiel Kirk? Lord, man - what do you mean? Move an abbey?"
"Just that, Sire. It may seem folly- but it would, I think, be a greater folly to allow this ill-feeling to grow, to the hurt of all Holy Church in Scotland, at so delicate a stage. It could do untold harm to your plans and hopes for this land, if there is trouble between these two, if feuding develops between Tironensians and Augustinians. Better far to effect a move."
"But how, John? How move a great abbey?"
"None so difficult, Sire. Not so difficult as to start a new one— as you are proposing to do at Melrose and Brechin and Urqu-hart, I am told. As you are doing at Edinburgh and Dunfermline. Give the Tironensians land near here, nearer Rook's Burgh than Jedworth! Fertile land. It must only help your town and royal burgh of Rook's Burgh. Then tell them to move their abbey. It will be much work — but they will do it gladly, I vow. They will have to take down every stone and slate and timber that they have put up with such labour, and have all carried down Tweed the twenty-five miles or so, perhaps on rafts or barges, and rebuilt here. Make them sweat, Sire, for their jealousy! But they could do it. All the materials are there. They will need little that is new - only hard toil and much time. It may teach them a valuable lesson ..."
"But it is not only buildings. What of the farms, the orchards and gardens and fields. The mills and fisheries?"
"Let these remain as a grange, my lord, a small, working daughter-house at Shiel Kirk. Many abbeys have such. Tiron itself has many."
"All this - to give in to petty jealousy!"
"Little cost to you, Sire. The toil and sweat will be theirs. But - you could gain from it. Burden the new abbey with some task, some duty to perform. In token . . ."
They were standing on a flanking-tower of the March Mount castle, with David gazing down on what had been Matilda's favourite prospect, the joining of the two great rivers to eastwards and the fair meadowlands on the far side of Tweed, where cattle grazed in lush pasture and where had been the abandoned cashel of Kelshaugh, the haugh of the Keledei, its associated salmon-fishers' hamlet still there. Suddenly he pointed.
"There! The ford, to be sure. Kelshaugh! Let them have Kelshaugh. Let them work and drain that rich land, and build there. And maintain for me a free ferry, for goods and foot-folk, above the ford! Across to this Rook's Burgh. This we have needed, since ever we came. That is it! A useful service for our jealous friars! For all time. Tell them that, John. Let them build their barges, to ship all the stones and carving and gear down Tweed. Then use the barges as a ferry across Tweed to Rook's Burgh. We shall see who crows the loudest and longest in the end!"
* * *
The King's detailed planning labours suffered another and much greater interruption that autumn - and again it was Bishop John who presented it. David was at Stirling, putting theories into practice, when the Bishop came in haste from the South. He had had serious tidings from Rome. The Bishop William of Man had been there, and on his way home had halted at Kirk Cuthbert's Town on the Galloway coast on hearing that there was trouble in Man, Olaf Morsel having had to flee to Dublin meantime, three of his illegitimate sons running riot in the island kingdom. The prudent William had decided to delay his return until matters simmered down, and Bishop John had offered him shelter - and learned of the Rome situation. Pope Honorius was dead, and the College of Cardinals had split in two over electing a successor. Equal numbers had voted on each side, and only the casting vote of the presiding cardinal had declared Innocent the Second, a Roman noble, to be Pontiff. This was not accepted by the other half, who declared the Spaniard, Peter of Leon, Pope, under the tide of Anacletus the Second. So there were now two Holy Fathers, and confusion reigned, with bloody fighting in the streets of Rome.
David was shocked, but asserted that sanity and God's order would prevail - until he heard that the rival Pontiffs were each seeking the support of the monarchs of Christendom. Innocent was known to be friendly with King Henry and also with the Emperor Lothair; but Anacletus had Lombardy, Venice and Spain behind him, and occupied the Vatican buildings, St. Peter's and most of Rome. The Bishop of Winchester, Henry's nephew and brother of Stephen of Boulogne, had been present in Rome at the time, and had boasted to the Bishop of Man that Innocent would triumph and would quickly overturn the decision of the late Honorius regarding York and Scotland and bring the wretched Scots to heel.
John did not have to enlarge on the dangers and problems this situation could and probably would produce.
David took little time to make his initial decisions. He would send immediate word to Rome of his support for Anacletus as Pope, with a message for that prelate himself. Nothing could undo Thurstan's consecration of Robert as Bishop of St. Andrews; but there might well be declarations that he was no longer Primate and that Scotland had no other metropolitan than Thurstan. So all arrangements for the new bishoprics must be speeded up and finalised, before any Vatican pronouncements and prohibitions could reach Scotland, in the event of Innocent becoming established. There was, of course, one particularly vulnerable area - the new diocese of Galloway. This almost certainly would be Thurstan's first target, the thin end of the English wedge, as it had been before. Thurstan would declare that its establishment was an infringement of the old York bishopric of Candida Casa or Whithorn, and either appoint a completely new bishop thereof, in opposition, with papal support, or put Galloway under the rule of his Bishop of Caer-luel. So the Scots would have to act fast. David had already chosen his nominee, one Gillialdan, a former Celtic monk and a kinsman of Fergus. But he had delayed actual implementation because of the admittedly rather difficult situation regarding Fergus, Galloway being different from other Scottish provinces, a semi-independent principality. Indeed, since his marital alliances with the royal houses of England and Man, Fergus had taken to styling himself Prince, not Lord of Galloway. The appointment of a Bishop of Galloway, therefore, could hardly go ahead without his knowledge and concurrence, at least
.
So now David went in some haste down to Galloway, included in his train the Bishops John and Robert, and the episcopal candidate Gillialdan. With trouble in Man and Olaf fled, Fergus, who had been roosting there since Stracathro, would almost certainly have come home.
When the royal cavalcade reached Kirk Cuthbert's Town eventually - clerics tending to be less than urgent horsemen - it was to learn that Fergus was indeed back in Galloway. But not here. He was at his remote stronghold of Cruggleton, possibly hiding himself away discreetly — although discretion was scarcely one of his normal attributes. Cruggleton lay some forty miles further west, on the shore of the great Wigtown Bay. Prelatical groans greeted this information.
Their reception at Cruggleton, an eagle's nest of a place on top of a cliff, high above the tide, was as though Fergus's cup of joy was now full to overflowing, his delight untrammelled by doubts of any sort - although his renowned grin had a distinctly determined aspect. He looked at his clerical kinsman, Gillialdan somewhat askance, however. No doubt his spies had been able to give him a few hours' warning of the royal approach, enabling him to decide on his attitude - which was evidently not to be that of any penitent rebel.
Cruggleton was no great establishment, however impressive the site, and with the visitors and Fergus's own quite large entourage, was uncomfortably crowded. Certainly there was little opportunity for private converse - which perhaps suited both sides. David decided that something in the nature of a conference was probably the best way of attaining his objectives- although Hervey and even Hugo, suggested that the best course was just to arrest and depose the man there and then, and appoint a successor who would do what he was told. But that was not the King's way, and would be to reckon without Henry and the Vatican.
So they sat at the long table in the draughty bare hall, David at one end, Fergus at the other, rough Galloway chieftains glowering across at the prelates and Norman knights.
David led off, picking his words carefully. "We are here to deal with a matter of considerable importance to my realm and to the Lordship of Galloway. All know, none better than the Lord Fergus, that the Archbishop of York, with insufferable arrogance, has long claimed spiritual dominance over Scotland. And especially over, the one-time see of Candida Casa or Whithorn here. This the Pope has controverted. But Popes come and go, and it behoves us to take steps to ensure our position." He looked down at Fergus, who made no comment— so that it seemed as though, fortunately, he had not yet heard of Honorius's death.
"It is my fear," he went on, "that the new Bishop Athelulf of Caer-luel will, at Archbishop Thurstan's bidding, lay claim to Whithorn, and so to Galloway. Indeed this has already been done, in name, but so far no moves have been made to enforce that claim. It is my belief that this may soon be attempted."
"Why?" Fergus asked.
"Information received," the King answered briefly. "It seems necessary, therefore that our own Bishop of Candida Casa - or better, of Galloway - be appointed forthwith, before any such move can be made. It is long since there was such a bishop - many centuries. Before Galloway was within the kingdom of Scotland. So there is no precedent. The appointment would seem to be a joint matter."
"Any appointment of a Bishop of Galloway must be the responsibility of the Lord of Galloway, Sire," Fergus said. "The former Bishops of Candida Casa, whoever they paid allegiance to as priests, would assuredly be appointed by the Kings or Princes of Galloway. I am Prince of Galloway."
"You are Lord of Galloway, within my realm of Scotland, my friend. Made so, at my recommendation, by my brother King Alexander. Even if you have not always remembered it!"
There was a growl from down the right side of the table, responded to by a similar growl from opposite.
"I suggest a joint appointment," David went on, conversationally. "This would seem fair and suitable. I further suggest your own kinsman, here, Gillialdan, a worthy priest and man of Galloway. Bishop Robert of St. Andrews is prepared to consecrate him, and Bishop John of Glasgow to yield him spiritual rule over Galloway, which hitherto has been his. Without such acceptance and yielding no incumbent could be installed." That last was pointed.
Fergus looked round the table and stroked his small beard. "I prefer to choose and appoint my own bishop - if such there is to be, my lord King," he said, smiling strongly. "King Alexander may have named me Lord of Galloway, in his kingdom. But long before that I and my ancestors were King or Prince of Galloway."
There was a quivering silence in the hall.
When David spoke his voice had lost only a little of its ease and conversational tone. "Ah, yes. And was it, therefore, as King or Prince of Galloway that you married, without informing me, the King of England's daughter? And fought with my rebels against me at Stracathro, this year? Do you no longer accept me as liege lord, my friend? Or do you prefer your father-in-law of England?"
Again there was silence. Both sides had now thrown down their gauntlets.
Fergus took his time to answer - as well he might. Wording it as the other had, he was placed in something of a cleft stick. To agree with these suggestions, to assert that he could act as an independent prince, was as good as a declaration of war: whereas not to do so, to agree that David was indeed his liege lord, made his two breaches of conduct and good faith, admitted sedition if not treason.
He took refuge in subterfuge. "Not so, Sire. King Henry is not my liege lord. Only my good friend. As yours. I have had to act as is best for Galloway. But . . ."
David's voice hardened perceptibly now. "Am I your liege lord or am I not? Answer, Fergus."
The other moistened his lips. "Yes, my lord King. But. . ."
David held up his hand. "Very well. No buts on my kingship, friend!" He sat back and allowed his tones to relax again. "Now we know where we stand, in this realm. You, Fergus, Lord of Galloway, and I your overlord. But, that there be no further such confusion, I propose to make our relationship fully clear, Fergus. I propose to create and appoint you an earl of Scotland. Fergus, Earl of Galloway. How say you, my friend?"
There were gasps not only from Fergus but from all around the hall. David's own friends stared at him, scarcely believing their ears. To shrug off treachery and rebellion was bad enough; but to reward it with an earldom, the highest honour in the land, was beyond all credibility.
Fergus for once looked bewildered, at a complete loss. "I. . . I do not understand, Sire."
"Yet it is entirely simple. We come to an agreement, you and I, Fergus Mac Sween — a final agreement. Galloway becomes an earldom and you an earl of Scotland with all an earl's privileges. And together we appoint Gillialdan as Bishop of Galloway. Together we seal our leal compact by founding a monastery here in Galloway, for the glory of God and the good of our souls, in token and enduring symbol of our accord and good faith, in the eyes of God and man. Is it not the best outcome of our meeting and conference?"
Fergus swallowed, as just an inkling of what all this implied dawned on him, and on others around that table. An earl of Scodand had distinct, well-defined and unquestionable duties to the monarch, as well as privileges, to fail in which was outright and accepted treason. No longer would it be possible to talk about a vaguely defined independent principality. He might be enhanced in status, but he was now tied down to the King of Scots. And a bishopric and a monastery or abbey were to witness to the fact, for all time to come - as well as to help forward David's diocesan and parish system.
Yet to refuse was all but impossible in the circumstances.
Later, Fergus, however doubtfully, was duly invested as Earl of Galloway, with a golden earl's belt David had brought for the purpose. And the following day they all moved the five miles down the coast to Whithorn, at the tip of the peninsula, where, at the old ruined chapel of St. Ninian on the rocky seashore, the two bishops duly consecrated and installed Gillialdan as Bishop of Galloway.
Before the royal party left for the North again, they decided on a site for the new abbey, at Trahil, where there was a juttin
g tidal island of fertile land at the head of Saint Cuthbert's Bay, near Kirk Cuthbert's Town. Fergus would provide the land and the workmen, while David would find the monks and most of the money.
26
SITTING IN HIS chair-of-state in Edinburgh Castle, flanked by his two Chief Justiciars, of North and South of Forth, the new Earl of Fife and Walter de Lindsay, David nodded to the Great Constable for the prisoner to be brought in. He was much troubled - partly on account of the business on hand, but more by the fact that his son Henry was reported to be unwell at Rook's Burgh. He must be truly ill, not merely somewhat sick, for he was to have taken part in the forenoon's ceremony of the opening of the newly-completed abbey beneath King Arthur's Chair, and the handing over to its abbot's keeping, for all time, of the sacred Black Rood, from Queen Margaret's Chapel here in the castle - the establishment thereafter to be known as the Abbey of the Holy Rood. Henry himself had been going to hand over his grandmother's precious relic, and keenly conscientious young man as he had grown to be, would have been loth indeed to miss this great occasion, which also celebrated his father's almost miraculous escape from death. So David was worried, and would have been well on his way to Rook's Burgh by now had it not been for this wretched matter of the trial, which he could by no means either miss or dismiss.
The Constable's men led in the prisoner, clanking, shackled with iron and a rope around his neck and trailing behind, as custom required - although this young man might well assert that' he could nowise be hanged. For he could not only claim that he was rightfully an earl of Scotland, one of the ri, but might choose to lay claim to the throne itself. He was Malcolm MacEth, David's nephew, and since his brother's death at Stracathro, representative of the northern and senior royal line, grandson of Lulach. Having been on the run for almost four years, he had been captured in Moray.
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