David the Prince - Scotland 03 (19 page)

"Fergus? You ride to see Fergus? He is in cousin-ship to me."

"So I understand. You will, then, be able to direct me, friend? We have heard that he has many houses or strongholds. We are making for Lochinvar,
where it is thought he might be”

"No. He is at Kenmure. I saw him there but four days back. What is your business with Fergus, my lord David?"

It was as well that none of David's Norman friends understood the Gaelic, or they would have taken ill out of such a blunt demand to Henry's viceroy. But their leader showed no resentment.

"I seek to discuss with him what may be done about the Earl Hakon Claw of Orkney and his misdeeds," he explained.

"Ha! That jackal! That Norse pirate! I can tell you what should be done with him, David mac Malcolm! I . . ."

"Yes — but it is not
being
done, is it? He must be shown the error of his ways, I think. His sister is wed to my own cousin, Madach of Atholl . . ."

"More to be pitied him, then! What do you intend?"

"I intend to confer with Fergus. He is at . . . Kenmore, did you say? Where is that?"

"Kenmure.
It
is at the head of Loch Ken. Yonder, fifteen
miles." He pointed westwards. "I
shall take you there."

"You are kind. That will serve me very well. For your advice will be valuable. In the matter of Hakon Claw. Fifteen more miles is less than we had expected to have to go . . ."

So the Lord of Nithsdale dismissed some two-thirds of his company back whence they had come - but still retained about twice David's numbers, just
to show what was what in Strath
nith. He mentioned that the numbers were necessary for the visitor's protection, the Lord Fergus being a fierce man, his lands not to be encroached upon with impunity.

They ro
de on, the Normans and the Galwe
gians tending to look askance. Over the high moorlands and bare hills, with the local garrons making better going than the taller and heavier horses of the visitors, they came at length to the hidden valley of the Ken, a green and pleasant oasis in that lofty wilderness, the long and very narrow Loch Ken filling its vale for miles, quite populous country suddenly. Near the head of the loch, at the far, western side, they could discern what looked almost like a Norman stone castle crowning a height above the water. Dunegal declared, almost proudly, that the potent and mighty Fergus, his cousin, had built a hold there as good as any Frenchman's keep.

David was intrigued, for the Scots did not go in for stone castles, any more than did the Saxons and Welsh - they were a Norman conception - the native strongholds being timber raths or hallhouses set within ramparts, palisades and ditches. On their way to that castle, round the head of the loch, they passed another establishment within ramparts; but this was a cashcl, a monastery of the Celtic Church, unlikely as it seemed to those used to Romish abbeys, a cluster of simple umber-and-thatch huts, large and small, within the earthen banks and palisade. This was the Cashel of St. John, Dunegal revealed, under the famous Abbot Gillicolm, uncle of Fergus.

At this information, David insisted on pausing to pay his respects to the man of God - of whom, in his ignorance, he had not heard. However, monks of the Columban Church, in their simple dark-brown, leather-girdled habits with forehead instead of crown tonsures, declared that their Abbot was presently dining up at his nephew's rath of Kcnmure. So on the travellers rode, southwards now, in the evening shadows.

From Dunegal's description and constant references to the mighty power, if not downright ferocity of this Fergus, David had expected all the way to be challenged, if not assailed by his armed minions. But nothing of the sort had materialised — and still did not. Near the castle on its hilltop site they had to pass through quite a large township of hutments and hovels, where plenty of armed kerns were in evidence; but though these eyed the armoured knights sullenly there was no actual threatening gestures. Perhaps they imagined David's party to be Dunegal's captives.

Their approach had not passed unnoticed, however, for when they had climbed the winding track which corkscrewed round the hillock to the summit they found quite a sizeable company awaiting them in the level forecourt under the soaring, harsh stone-walls of the square keep. This was a very similar, if somewhat smaller, building to Rufus's castle of Caer-luel - and as new, by the look of it.

David was surprised. But much greater was his surprise at the appearance of the central figure of the group awaiting them. Two men stood slightly apart here, one older and dressed exactly as had been the monks of the Cashel of St. John, save that his tonsured long hair was grey - presumably the Abbot Gillicolm. But the other was young, pale-faced, slightly-built and dressed as might be any Norman, no older than David himself and of much the same physical stature.

David stared at this individual, scanning his good-looking features, and then, exclaimed. "Sweenie!" he cried. "On my soul - Sweenie Mac Sween! You!"

Hugo and Hervey were gasping the same name.

"David mac Malcolm - grown a man, a God's name! Like Hervey here, and Hugo de Morville!" the other jerked, and came hastening forward. "You three! God be good — Davie himself!"

David leapt down from his horse, to reach out and embrace the speaker, Hugo and Hervcy doing the same, whilst the other Normans stared, astonished. "Sweenie - here's a joy! Who would have thought . . .? How long is it? Eight years? Nine? Since you left Romsey Abbey . . .?

"Nearer ten,
a graidh
.
Aye, then. 1098. And we were all laddies. Now . . .!"

"Laddies no more. Hostages no more. But — you? Do you live here? Or but visit . . .?

"I live here, in the main, yes. Since most of my other houses are
...
in other hands! Do you like the castle I have built? It is not finished yet. But when it is done it will be as good as any of your Norman holds. Eh, Hugo? Hervcy? Have your sires better?"

"You
built it . . .?"

"Aye. But I forget the civilities. Here meet my uncle, the good Abbot Gillicolm mac Malcolm of St. John."

David bowed to the older man. "I greet you warmly, my lord Abbot, and seek your blessing," he said.

"My poor blessing you have, my son. But lord me not. We do not lord our abbots in Scotland. I am but a humble servant of God- and leave the lording to my nephew here!" But the Abbot smiled as he said it.

David nodded. He should have remembered that. He turned back to the younger man. "Sweenie — can it be that you are the son of the Lord Fergus?"

"Son? Scarce that. I
am
Fergus. Do you not remember? Fergus mac Suibhne. Your old fellow-pupil and hostage.

"But . . . but . . . ! You were never anything but Sweenie! Sweenie Mac Sween."

"To the Normans, yes. My name was uncouth, impossible for them. Sween was as much as they could get their miserable tongues round!" The young man glanced at the watching Normans, grinning. "So Sween I was - my father's name, mispronounced. I am Fergus mac Suibhne mac Malcolm, mac Gilliciaran - name enough for any man!"

"Saints above! So
you
are the mighty Lord Fergus of Carrick, Sweenie! Who would have believed that? I ever thought that your father was some Viking! I have come this long road from Caer-Iucl in fear and trembling, seeking Sweenie Mac Sween!"

"Caer-luel? Then you . . .?"

"Yes. I too am transformed, Sweenie . . . my Lord Fergus. You see before you the lord Earl of Cumbria, no less, Henry Beauclerc's Viceroy of the North-West!"

"Ha! So that is it? I heard that poor Dolfin was put out to grass. That the new governor was some kin of the King of Scots. But - who would have thought that it would be our gentle Davie!" He grimaced, comically enough. "Forgive me. Perhaps you are none so gentle now? Like myself!"

"I would hope to be - when permitted!" David's glance flickered around his watching companions.

"To be sure." Fergus clapped him on the shoulder. "Well, my lord Earl - enough of this. Standing here. We were at meat when we heard that the visitors who had been crossing my lands all day, unbidden, under Cousin Dunegal, were approaching my house. So you are well come. Inside with you -yonder, into the hall. All of you. Your men and beasts will be attended to."

So, after much dismounting and rough-and-ready washing, they were led into, not the great square keep but into a long hallhouse, of timber and plaster erection, lean-to against one of the courtyard walls, with other subsidiary building - a deal more comfortable than the stark stone chambers of the donjon-tower itself; while the escort was shown into another and still larger hall across the yard, Strathnith men and Norman soldiers both. No one seemed to be concerned about the extra food situation.

The lordly ones had no reason to complain, at any rate; and after a more than adequate repast in the seemingly bachelor establishment, over the ale-beakers, Fergus asked what brought Henry's Earl of Cumbria into Scotland seeking the Lord of Carrick?

"I came to see what sort of man he was," David admitted. "I had heard that he was strong. Even with a name for . . . harshness. I desired to seek out his strength. And, if it was sufficient, propose an alliance. Should he be not too ill a creature! Cumbria and Fergus - against the Earl Hakon Claw."

"Ha!" That was all the other said.

"My lord David finds the Orkneyman less than to his taste," Hugo de Morville commented.

"As do all half-honest men," Fergus agreed.

"He has been raiding the Cumbrian coasts," Hervey added. "We were for teaching him a lesson. But David — he is still sufficiently gentle to look askance at bloodshed! Or perhaps he thought that
y
ou might do the shedding for him!" The strong Galloway ale, on top of good feeding, had them distinctly relaxed.

David showed no offence. "I thought that we might perhaps act together. You suffer from Hakon Claw still more than does Cumbria. He never goes far from our coasts, from his longships, so he is hard to catc
h red-handed. I
have no authority, as England's Earl of Cumbria, to go warring on Scottish soil. But if you went warring, a native lord, against these Orkney brigands I could support you."

"Ah, yes. But. . . the Orkney brigands are led by a man who is, in name at least, Governor of Galloway."

"I had not forgotten. But Hakon Claw was appointed by his father, Earl Hakon Paulsson of Orkney. And Orkney is now taken over by Norway. The King of Scots cannot have a subject of the Kings of Norway governing a Scots province. So . . ."

"Very well so. I do not contest that. What, then, do you propose?"

"That you call upon me, as brother of your King, to aid you expel Hakon Claw from Galloway. How many men can you raise?"

"Four thousand in two weeks. Another thousand a week later. And you?"

"I cannot do as well. As yet. Two thousand will be as many as I can field this season. But three hundred will be trained Norman cavalry."

"To fight on rough and broken country where Norman cavalry is at least advantage."

"It is my hope that there should be no real fighting."

"Eh?"

Hervey de W
arenne hooted and slapped the table. "I told you, Sweenie - Davie has not changed with wearing an earl's belt!"

"A show of strength and the threat of greater force," David went on, quietly. "Threat of the King of England and the King of Scots, both, moving in. Not just Fergus of Carrick and the Earl of Cumbria. I believe that Cospatrick of Dunbar, with at least a token force would join us. How many men has Hakon Claw?"

"His own Orkney Vikings, no more than twelve hundred. But Galloway levies amany. Perhaps six thousand. More."

"How reliable are they? Will they fight for him? Against their own folk and the King of Scots' brother?"

"If they think Hakon Claw will win, yes!"

"Then we must convince them otherwise. They must be led to believe, beyond all doubt, that Hakon Claw's days
are numbered in Galloway. That you
Fergus, will be the next Lord of Galloway. And their chiefs to know whom to support."

The other raised his brows but said nothing.

"I will seek to bring Man into this. If only in a gesture . . ."

"You will gain nothing there. Olaf Morsel is still but a youth - and a timorous one. He will not go hosting."

"Not himself, no. But there are stout men on Man, warriors. And they fear attack by Eystein of Norway - as does all the West. Eystein has boasted that he will rule from Iceland to Dublin. And he would use Galloway as his base, in the south. Man would be glad to see Hakon Claw and all Orkneymen and Norsemen out of Galloway, I swear. A fleet of Manx longships lying in the Solway Firth, with not so much as a sword drawn, might work wonders."