Here the Knight of Loch Awe was lucky enough to have an audience with the Pope, who was touched by the devotion of these tough warriors come to do battle for Christ so far from their homes. Later, after years of blood and struggle, Colin would remember that day with pride and a certain ruefulness.
They had been dispatched at once to Rhodes were they would fight in the service of the Knights of St. John. Often in the years to come the bravery and skill of Black Colin and his men would be praised by the Grand Master, but the dream of going to reclaim the Holy Land was never realized. All their fighting, and there was much of it, took place elsewhere.
Early on Colin had sworn that he would liberate and then worship at all the holy sites in Jerusalem. Over the years, as his men died around him, he began to regret the oath as an impossibility. He came to a decision, that he would keep as much of his promise as he could, and if he could not reach the Holy Land as a triumphant warrior he would go as a pilgrim, risking his life in the process if need be.
For his sad and lonely wife the seven years passed slowly indeed. She dwelt in the castle on the Islet, ruling in all gentle ways, but fighting boldly when raiders came to plunder her land and clansmen. Every year she claimed her husband's dues and took good care to see that he was never cheated. Hawk-eyed as she was in defence of her husbands rights, in times of trouble she was the best help her clan ever had. There were none who did not sincerely bless her name for the kindness she showed and the good she did.
Of course, such a lovely and wealthy woman as the Lady of Loch Awe was bound to attract the notice of single men of her rank. Certainly there would have been no shortage of suitors had she been a widow. Indeed, even before the seven years had passed, there were men who would gladly have tried to convince her that Colin was dead and that she was free to look elsewhere.
“When he left,” she said, steadfastly refusing to entertain the vaguest notion of a remarriage, “my husband promised me two things: one that he would return, if possible, within seven years; and, secondly, that if he should fall, he would have sent to me a sure token of his death. The seven years are not yet over, and I have never received the token of his death. By Heaven above, and my own heart's desire, I am still the wife of Black Colin of Loch Awe. Who will say that I am not?”
This firm resolve and unshakeable determination eventually daunted all her suitors except one, who would not be dissuaded. Baron Niel MacCorquodale had reasons other than love or admiration or clan alliance for pursuing this lady. His lands bordered on Glenurchy, and he had long cast covetous eyes on the glen and its contents. The fair lady was prize enough, he had to admit, but she was only a part of his goal. The wealth she was reputed to possess and the power the marriage would give him were the prizes he was most intent on winning.
At midnight seven years from the day when Black Colin had gone to the Crusades, his lady wept miserably and awoke with a terrible feeling of emptiness. Bright and early that very morning the Baron MacCorquodale arrived again to pay court to her. Hiding her sadness, she received him reluctantly but did not respond to his references to her ‘freedom’.
“Until I have the token of my husband's death, I will be wife to no other man.”
“What is the token, my lady?” asked the Baron, already thinking of sending a false one. “What exactly does it amount to?”
“I'll never tell anyone that,” replied the lady. “You wouldn't dare to ask about such private things between a husband and wife, would you? I will know the token if it comes.”
The Baron was at pains to hide his rage over this. Nevertheless he decided that even if he could not discover the secret, he would wed the lady and her wealth by hook or by crook. Dispatching a trusted messenger to Rome, he set about forging a letter that would convince the lady that Black Colin was dead.
On the day the Baron arrived at the castle in the company of a palmer to bring this news to the lady, she was gazing out the window and saw them coming. The sight of the palmer filled her with both excitement and dread, for she believed he might have word of her husband.
“Lady,” the Baron said with a solemnity bordering on the excessive, even in the circumstances, “this palmer has tidings for you of a most saddening kind, I fear.”
“Well,” she said, turning pale, a wretched flutter in her stomach, “allow him to give these tidings then. Palmer, what news?”
“It is bitter, fair lady, very bitter,” said the palmer. “Your husband has fallen in battle, slain by the Saracens while in the service of the Grand Master of the Knights of Rhodes. This letter gives the details and the condolences of many officials of the Church.” All these individuals were in the pay of the Baron, of course.
“But is there any proof?” the lady demanded, taking the letter.
“My poor dear Lady, I am myself acquainted with the wounded soldier who brought the news,” the palmer said with arms outspread and a doleful expression.
“Is the soldier one of our people?”
“No, my lady. But this man saw him die with his own eyes. The last of your clansmen also perished with the Knight of Loch Awe. I was told that as he lay dying of his wounds your husband bid one of his last surviving followers to take from him a token, to withdraw from the battle and return with it to you, but alas the man was killed before this could be done. A sudden onrush of the enemy forced the Christians back and when once more they retook the ground – forgive me, Lady, but war is an ugly thing – and came upon the bodies of their comrades they had been stripped and plundered of all that was precious or even useful. I am sorry, but whatever your husband wished to send you was lost. They wrapped his body in a plaid and buried him on the field of battle.”
Without any real reason to doubt this news, the lady began to grieve at last. She dressed herself in mourning and wept anew for her lost husband. Nevertheless, some part of her did not give up hope. She still wore the broken half of the engraved ring on the chain round her neck, and she could not help but cling to the notion that the promised death-token had never come.
Naturally, the Baron now redoubled his efforts to wed the Lady of Loch Awe, courting her more openly and ardently than ever. The Lady herself was not uninterested on one level, for it would be a good match for the clan. But in her heart she did not like him, although she was hard put to find reasons for refusing him.
The fact was that she had to keep him on good terms, because from his lands bordering Glenurchy, he could easily make war on the people in the glen, who had been psychologically weakened by the news of the death of their chief. The lady was forced to turn to trickery, like Penelope of old in similar distress.
As the Baron's persistent wooing grew more sickeningly romantic, although always with a sinister threat underlying it, the Lady of Loch Awe seemed at last to come to terms with her loss and, from his perspective, she began to see sense.
“Yes,” she replied to his hundredth proposal. “I will marry you, now that I know that Colin is dead. You understand, though, that it cannot be at once. It would offend the clan and cause trouble to us both, and I need a period of mourning for myself.”
“I quite understand, my dear,” the Baron crooned, bursting with self-satisfaction at finally winning his prize, or rather both his prizes.
“To commemorate my husband and for many practical reasons, I must first build a castle to command the head of Glenurchy and of Loch Awe. The MacGregors chose the best place for a house there on Innis Eoalan. You know where the ruins of MacGregor's White House still stand?”
“Yes,” the Baron smiled indulgently.
“I will build my castle there. When the building is completed my mourning will end, and we may set the date of our wedding.”
The Baron now felt contented, having secured this promise. The building work on the castle began at the head of Loch Awe. Progress was painfully slow, however, for the lady had secretly instructed her men to build feebly. Surprisingly to the casual observer, often the walls fell down, stone cutters fell ill and labourers fell and in
jured themselves. The construction of the new castle was taking a very long time indeed, even with the Baron supplying encouragement, advice, doctors and workers whenever he could. Slowly and inexorably, however, the completion date drew nearer.
Meanwhile, everyone who loved Black Colin mourned, distressed at the knowledge that the Lady of Loch Awe would marry again. The absent knight's foster-mother grieved most of all, instinctively feeling certain that her beloved Colin was still alive. The death token had never arrived, and her nose for a scoundrel told her to fully mistrust Baron MacCorquodale. Mother Patterson was convinced that the palmer's message was a deliberate lie. Finally, unable to bear it any longer, and concerned that the new castle was almost complete, she called one of her sons to her.
“Go to Rome,” she said. “Find out for certain if Colin is alive or dead. If he is dead, do all you can to be certain of it. If he is alive, get word to him that he must return at once, and tell him why.”
Secretly, the youngest of the Patterson boys set off for Rome. His mother would always be grateful to Colin for not taking any of her sons to the Crusade, including her eldest – the only one of them who was not much younger than Colin – who at the time was married with two small babies and, everybody knew, was a much better farmer than a fighter.
In Rome, the traveller's enquiries after his foster-brother led him directly to Black Colin himself, just returned from Jerusalem. The knight, much changed by his experiences, was at last on his way home. The seven years had gone in sprints and crawls, he had seen much fighting, lost all his old comrades and all the new ones of other lands. He had been captured once and had escaped thanks partly to his dark complexion and black hair. He had been wounded in battle many times and suffered illnesses that had carried off less sturdy men. He had beheld the places where his Saviour had walked, preached and died, and all these things had made him a different man from the one who had set out for the wars so many years before.
The frustrations of his service had been many, but despite these he had felt he must fulfil at least part of his vow. That is when he had gone as a pilgrim to visit the holy places, so that he might honourably return home. He missed his wife more with the passing years and the gaining of wisdom, but he did not worry overmuch about her. He knew the death token had never been sent and he trusted that she would be loyal and patient and give him the time he needed.
Meeting his foster-brother and hearing the news of his supposed death and the betrothal of his wife galvanised Colin into action, however. Nothing could have more horrified the tired, homesick, lovestarved knight than the news brought to him by his clansman. As time had gone by, his faith in God and in his wife were all that had sustained him through the horrors he had witnessed.
Colin and his clansman started for home at once. Their fellowship was warm but silent over the long miles they travelled by land and sea. Both were men of few words, and Colin was largely lost in thought. He knew his lady could not wait forever and that the crafty Baron MacCorquodale must have been convincing. He had been gone too long, leaving not just his wife but his clan vulnerable.
Black Colin understood that his wife had only very reluctantly promised to marry the Baron and had delayed her wedding by some stratagem. Now, as he and his foster-brother trekked north, he vowed that he would return to Glenurchy in time to thwart MacCorquodale's wicked plans. Not pausing for longer than was absolutely necessary in their journey, Black Colin and his faithful clansman at last drew near to Glenurchy.
“Go on ahead, speak to no one about my coming,” he told his young foster-brother. “Find out how things stand and come back here to tell me the news.”
When the youth returned he brought word that the wedding had been fixed for the next day. He was then treated to the horrible sight of the old Black Colin in a fit of fury. The Baron was roundly cursed and a terrible vengeance sworn upon him for being such a forging, cheating thief and liar. Then, just as suddenly as he had erupted, Colin calmed down and quizzed the boy gently.
“Is he such a bad man, the Baron? Can my lady actually wish to marry him? Perhaps he simply knew he had to trick her out of her hopeless loyalty to me in order for her to live and not waste her life in waiting. I am not seven years gone to the wars but, by now, more like nine or ten.”
“He is wicked,” the youth swore. “And greedy. She cannot wish to marry him.”
“We shall see,” Colin said thoughtfully.” Perhaps some selfsacrificing part of this warrior longed for nobility, to stand aside and find the simple, spiritual solace of a monastery. He did not want to burst back into his wife's world, which did not yet seem his own, and take everything for granted. He was not the man who would once have welcomed the chance to avenge himself on the baron and show how mighty and stern he could be to his clan and family.
“Shall I raise the clan?” young Patterson asked. “Shall I find us horses and weapons and …”
“No, just go to your mother, and say nothing about me. I will be along directly, but pretend that I'm a stranger.”
Doing as he was asked, the perplexed young clansman showed no sign of recognition when Colin appeared at the farm in the glen. There, an hour before, the anxious Mother Patterson had awaited the return of the wanderers. Seeing her son alone, her heart tightened in her chest, and she concluded that her foster-son would return too late to stop the wedding.
Later that day the Knight of Loch Awe, looking like a beggar, came down the glen and saw the smoke from the old castle on the Islet. For a moment he lost his breath at the sight of it and he gasped a sob of happiness. “I see smoke from my house,” he said to himself. “And it's the smoke of a wedding feast being prepared. Oh God, who sent us light and love, I pray that I may reap the fruit of the love that is there.” In this moment he knew he did not want to repair to a monastery or start a lonely journey back to the Holy Land. This was his home and in that old castle was his wife, whom he loved. But a question remained in his mind: did she still love him?
The knight then knocked at the door of his foster-mother's house and, playing the beggar, humbly asked for food and shelter. There were things he needed to know that the love and loyalty of his people might prevent him from learning.
“Come in, good man,” said Mother Patterson despite her cares. “Have a seat in the chimney corner, and I will bring you your fill of oatcake and milk.”
Colin sat down with a heavy sigh, as if over-weary and watched as the farmer's wife moved about slowly, putting before him what she had. He could tell that she had recently been weeping. Clearly, too, she did not recognize him. He was a little astonished by this at first, then hurt, then amused. It was what he had hoped, after all, for the moment.
“I can see that you're very sad,” he said. “What, if you don't mind a stranger asking, is the cause?”
“I'll not confide in or burden a wandering stranger.” She replied with a shake of her head.
“Perhaps I can guess what troubles you,” he persisted. “You've lost some dear friend ….”
“Much worse,” she said, her voice breaking along with her resistance to this stranger, in whom she felt compelled to confide, as one might to a holy man. “I had a dear foster-son who went crusading. I loved him just as much as I do my own sons, but now it seems he is dead in a foreign land.”
“That is indeed sad,” Colin whispered.
“But it is not all,” his beloved foster-mother went on, weeping openly. “His wife, the Lady of Loch Awe, is meant to marry another man tomorrow.”
“A hard thing for a mother to bear, when a son's widow marries again.”
“She waited ever so long for him. All of three years past the seven he had asked her to. Even now, she would not be marrying again but that a letter came to assure her of her husband's death.”
“I am sure, it were best to be certain.”
“Even yet she is fretting because she has not had the token he promised to send her. As it is, she is only marrying the Baron because she dare not delay any longer.”
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br /> “What token was this?” asked Colin.
“She has not said,” replied his foster-mother.
“Do you see the lady? Can you say with certainty that she does not wish to marry the Baron and that she loves her husband still, that she would surely prefer him alive and home?”
“I do not know the lady. It would not be proper,” Mother Patterson declared. “But if my Colin was here there would be no question of who she preferred. She would have him and so would we all, and then none need fear that Glenurchy should fall into the hands of such as the Baron MacCorquodale.”
“If Black Colin were here, would you know him by sight?” asked the beggar with a smile.
“Know him? Did I not say he is my own dear fosterling?”
“It has been many years though, and war makes many changes.”
“I should know him in an instant,” Mother Patterson insisted.
“Tell me then if perchance I resemble him at all.”
“Well,” she began doubtfully, not in the mood for games. “Not much .…”
“Look more closely then, oh my mother, for I am indeed Colin of Loch Awe, home and alive.”
Grabbing the beggar by the arm, the mistress of the farm pulled him out into the light and eagerly studied his face. After nearly a minute she let out a hoot of joy and threw her arms around him.
“My dear son, home at last. Oh Colin, Colin, how I have missed you. The years have been long and sorrowful since my nurseling left us, but you are home now and all will be well again.” Hugging him she kissed his brow and stroked his hair, remarking on his even darker hue and his very ragged attire.
“There is something I must know,” he said when the ecstasy of their reunion subsided. “Does my wife still love me? It has been so many years, far more than I ever intended to be gone. We have had no word of each other and the Baron, as I recall, is a handsome and clever man.”
Myths and Legends from Around the World Page 24
