Lord of the Isles (Coronet Books)

by Nigel Tranter

  Somerled had little choice, then, but to send Farquhar MacFerdoch to the Scottish court as his emissary. He could send Wilfrith too; as a true Roman cleric he could, as it were, speak the language the Normans understood—Ragnhilde suggesting that he call himself Prior of Saddail for the occasion, as sounding better. Somerled toyed with the idea of sending back Donald with them, but recognised that he might well be seized and held as valuable hostage—after all he was in the direct line of the old royal house.

  So the pair of very reluctant envoys were primed with instructions for their mission, with half-a-dozen of MacKay of Saddail’s men as escort, and sent off in the dragon-ship for Eskmouth on Solway, from whence they would make their way to Rook’s Burgh. They were promised that a longship would be sent to pick them up again in perhaps one week’s time, so that the dragon-ship could return here as required.

  None pretended that it would be a pleasant embassage.

  All this cast something of a shadow over their Saddail stay, but for the children’s sake they made the best of it. Donald was impatient that they should be wasting precious time on stone-masonry and the like when his parents were in dire danger, but admitted that he did not know what better they could be doing in the interim. They had to wait for reaction from Rook’s Burgh before they could decide on any further moves. Anyway, they had to await the dragon-ship’s return.

  Their abbey had progressed far enough, however slowly, to begin to be quite impressive, the cruciform church building furthest ahead naturally and the cloister-garth and monastic outworks little more than foundations as yet. Impressive for its site and situation, that is, rising out of the Highland wilderness, for compared with the great Lowland abbeys it was hardly that. The church, with its double rows of octagonal pillars partially decorated with intricate Celtic carving of interlacing design, and mythical animals, after the fashion of the renowned high crosses, had not yet reached wallhead and roof-level, and was one-hundred-and-thirty-six feet long by twenty-four wide, the transept measuring seventy-eight feet, the narrowness of it all emphasising the length and height. There had been an argument about the level of the chancel flooring, Wilfrith wanting it raised two or three steps above nave and transept, Somerled and Farquhar contending that there was no tradition in the Columban Church of the clergy being raised higher than the other worshippers; however the priest pointed out that the increased elevation also assisted visibility by the congregation of what went on at the altar, and a compromise was reached of raising by one step. The cloister-garth had to be on the south side, on account of availability of level land on the platform site, the cloisters themselves being modest in size, fifty-eight feet square, with the abbey-well enclosed. Their monk-mason, a lay brother of the Cistercian Order from Wales, named Idris, had a team of only eight local men to assist him. Somerled offered more but was told that further untrained hands would be of little value. Skilled stone-carvers were what was required, for the decorative work. It was too soon for the woodworkers, although many would be required eventually.

  The visitors were duly gratified, if a little disappointed at the apparent slowness of progress. They tried to help where they could but found their efforts little appreciated by the dedicated workers, and were quite prepared to call a halt when, on the third day, the dragon-ship returned. The fact was that the adults at least had their thoughts preoccupied elsewhere. They did not long delay their embarkation thereafter, to head back for Islay.

  At Gigha, where a couple of longships were now permanently stationed, they called in, and sent one of these to collect Farquhar and Wilfrith at Eskmouth on Solway.

  When they got back to Finlaggan on Islay, however, it was to find news awaiting them which had the effect of pushing rather from the forefront of their minds—Somerled’s and Ragnhilde’s, if not Donald’s—the problem of Malcolm MacEth and his wife. Messengers had arrived from Man. Olaf Morsel was dead, assassinated. A force of Norse-Irish from troubled Dublin, led by the three sons of Olaf’s late brother, Harald the Blind, had descended on Man, demanding half the kingdom; and when they were opposed, laid waste the countryside, and, gaining the presence of their uncle, at Rushen, stabbed him to death, actually cutting off his head. Their father, admittedly, was called The Blind, and sometimes worse than that, because he had been emasculated and his eyes put out by Olaf s other brother Logmann many years before, after a rebellion. These young men were now in control of the island, Ragnhilde’s unsavoury half-brothers having apparently put up little or no resistance.

  Ragnhilde was appalled, Somerled less so, but much perturbed. He had long recognised that Man was a danger-spot, a weak kingdom positively asking to be taken over by the unscrupulous and power-hungry, Norse or English. Olaf had managed to sit on its uneasy throne for nearly fifty years, but Somerled had long feared that it was only a question of time—and a now practically bed-ridden monarch was temptation compounded. Grievous as this was for Ragnhilde, and for Man, it was also of course a serious matter for Somerled’s kingdom and lordship. Man, neighbouring realm, in wrong hands would be a constant threat. And its rulers, in the past, had from time to time called themselves Kings of the Hebrides, however nominal such claim, even though Olaf himself had never voiced any such ambition. But these aggressive Norse-Irish newcomers might look northwards. Here was a new and potent danger.

  Ragnhilde’s legitimate brother Godfrey should now be lawful King of Man. But he was very much an unknown quantity, having spent most of his adult life at the court of Norway, as a semi-hostage—and was presumably in Norway still. What his reaction would be remained to be seen.

  Ragnhilde’s own was predictable. Of spirited Norse blood herself, she urgently demanded immediate vengeance on her father’s slayers, Somerled to descend on Man with his whole power. Her husband temporised and demurred, however sympathetic. He could not do that—at least, not at this stage. This was not just some Norse pirate raid. It would mean war, full war—and possibly with Dublin also. And at a time when he might well be in trouble with the Scots Normans. They must see how her brother took this—the new King. Aid him, perhaps. What would he be apt to do? What sort of a man was he?

  Ragnhilde admitted that she scarcely knew her only lawful brother. He had gone to Norway whilst she was little more than a child. She thought of him as more Norwegian than Manx. But at least he was friendly with the Norwegian King and could look for help there—if not from his sister’s husband!

  They must wait a little, Somerled insisted. Wait to see what transpired, in Man, in Scotland, in Norway. Only a fool would rush in, at this stage. It was too late to save her father.

  They waited. In a few days the emissaries returned from Rook’s Burgh, thankful to be safely back in Argyll. They were both much shaken. Farquhar declared that Scotland was a different place from heretofore, the difference scarcely to be believed. With King David’s good but firm hand removed and little more than a child to succeed him, it was every man for himself, with the Normans everywhere grasping for power, lands, offices. No man’s property or position—or women—was safe. They had not so much as seen the young King, the Normans about the court keeping him and his brothers hidden. They had had to give Somerled’s message to the High Steward, the Marischal, the Lord Chamberlain and the High Constable, the men who now ruled Scotland—all English-born Normans. Only the last, de Morville, had been so much as civil to them. They had even feared for their freedom and return to Eskmouth.

  The kernel of their report was that they had obtained no assurances as to the continued well-being of the Earl and Countess of Ross. They had not even been permitted to see them. But the High Constable had assured them that they were in good health and although under sterner restraint than in the late King’s time, lived in fair comfort—he, as Constable, was responsible for them. Clearly they were not to be freed, and the visitors were left in no doubt that should there be any rising in the North, led by Donald or Somerled or other supporters of the alternative royal line, Malcolm MacEth would be the first casualty. As for
Somerled of the Isles himself, let him watch his step, and Donald MacEth with him; the days of David’s long-sufferance were over and Norman-style rule had a longer and stronger arm—and an iron fist at the end of it.

  This account brought fury from Donald, predictably, more restrained reaction from Somerled, who had anticipated little else. Indeed uncle sought to soothe nephew somewhat by pointing out that despite the arrogant threats, the object of their mission had probably been achieved, meantime. Evidently his father and mother were still to be held, but now mainly as hostages for the peaceable behaviour of the North and West. And it went without saying that dead hostages were of no use to anyone. So at least it was now probable that the Earl Malcolm and his wife were safe enough from physical harm, however grievous the restrictions on their freedom. But, after all, they had been restricted for years now, anyway.

  Needless to say, this did little to satisfy Donald—or Somerled himself if the truth be told. The former wanted action—but did not see what could be done without endangering his parents—the latter perceived that any action would be premature, dangerous in the circumstances, and must be postponed. But it was postponement rather than rejection, he emphasised. Rulers must be prepared to play a waiting game—as Donald would find out if he aspired one day to be King of Scots.

  So they waited. But young men, lacking major responsibilities, and footloose, usually find it harder to be patient than their elders, and presently Donald MacEth announced that he was for the mainland North, going to visit his father’s earldom of Ross, to test out opinion, also Morayland, Mar, Buchan and the rest of the Celtic North, to discover the willingness and preparedness there for armed uprising against the Normans. His uncle warned against any premature overt move which could put the Earl Malcolm at risk, but otherwise was glad enough to see his nephew go. His was an unsettling presence and tended to distract Somerled’s preoccupation with the most immediate danger, Man.

  That uneasy summer passed, with rumours in plenty but no actualities to affect Argyll and the Isles. There were stories of dire happenings on Man; that Orkney was preparing to take a hand in the Manx situation; that Godfrey Olafsson was on his way; that the Norse-Irish were mustering—to what end was uncertain. On the Scottish front, the Normans were not letting the grass grow under their mailed feet either, making three different expeditions against Fergus of Galloway—whom, as a Celtic earl and nearest to their power-base, they presumably deemed a danger. Fergus it seemed had finally been cornered and now, rather than execution had allegedly chosen to become a lay-brother at the Abbey of the Holy Rood at Edinburgh, a curious fate for that individual. Clearly he was one more hostage.

  This last rumour, if true—and it sounded sufficiently circumstantial—was ominous, as indicating not only the Normans’ effectiveness in bringing Fergus to book but their military predilections. Actual warfare had always been a last resort with David. Now things were to be different, obviously. Somerled took note.

  It was late September before any positive development of the Manx situation was revealed, when news was brought to Islay from the further-out Isle of Tiree that a great fleet of no fewer than forty-eight ships had been seen sailing southwards, nearly all bearing the spread-winged-raven device of the Earls of Orkney but the leading vessels also flying the unmistakable emblem of Man. There could be little doubt as to what this meant. Godfrey Olafsson was on his way to recover his kingdom, and had won the support of Ronald of Orkney, if not the King of Norway, to do so.

  Ragnhilde was delighted but Somerled less so. It would have been courteous, he pointed out, for a large armed force to inform him before passing through his narrow seas; if they did not wish to do so, they could have taken the slightly longer and more exposed route in the open ocean beyond the Outer Isles. And that Godfrey had not asked for the help of his sister’s husband in such venture was perhaps significant?

  Thereafter, Somerled made it his business to learn what transpired on Man. He had not very long to wait, in this instance. The Kintyre, Galloway and Manx fishermen were always in constant touch, and great purveyors of news. Godfrey and his Orkney allies apparently had recovered the island kingdom speedily and with no great difficulty, the people rising to aid them against their oppressors. He had captured his three cousins and executed them after first putting out their eyes. He now sat secure on the throne of his fathers.

  This all seemed, on the face of it, satisfactory and a resolving of one of the problems and dangers which concerned Somerled. He sent Farquhar MacFerdoch and Sir Malcolm MacGregor to congratulate his brother-in-law—and of course Ragnhilde sent her sisterly greetings. But there were no corresponding civilities on Godfrey’s part; indeed the two emissaries had only a very cool reception.

  On the other front, there appeared to be a lull. There were stirrings all over the North, with word of Donald being well received. Galloway seethed, the defeat and removal of its earl evidently by no means subduing that difficult and unruly province. The Normans appeared to be biding their time for the moment, with winter coming and the campaigning season past.

  Somerled and his family packed up at Islay to return to winter-quarters at Ardtomish in Morvern, only a little easier in their minds.

  CHAPTER 17

  Ease of mind scarcely prevailed at Ardtornish in the following months, despite winter’s usual inactivity; less so when they moved back to Islay with the swallows’ return and the cuckoos calling. The news from Man was consistently alarming. Godfrey—he was already being called Godfrey the Black, and not for the colour of his hair or complexion—was proving to be a very different ruler from his father, moody, harsh, oppressive. Stories of savagery and tyranny were constantly reaching the neighbouring island kingdom.

  Ragnhilde was much grieved. Her husband was still more so when informed that Godfrey had been heard to refer to himself as King of Man and the Hebrides—that old folly. Somerled was further angered but equally mystified when later he learned that the wretched business of the bishopric of the Isles had been taken up anew by Godfrey. He had thought, with Wimund’s fall, that nonsense had been disposed of—especially as Godfrey’s links were with Norway and Orkney, not with Stephen’s England and the archbishopric of York. Yet the word was that Godfrey had made especial confirmation to Furness Abbey in Cumbria—where Wimund had come from, and died—of the right to nominate his Bishop of the Hebrides, and that chapter had actually chosen someone called Reginald for the see. The authority for this peculiar claim and development, out of Cumbria, was not explained; but it was suspiciously like part of a move on the part of Godfrey to try for power in the Hebrides. When, a month or so later, a messenger from Moray told them, amongst other tidings, that Pope Anastasius the Fourth had appointed a new Archbishop of Nidaros, in Norway, as Metropolitan of all the North, including Norway, Sweden, Denmark, Orkney, Iceland, Greenland and the Hebrides, the thing became clearer. This was not York using Man for its ambitions, as before, but Norway stealing a march on England and York, in getting round an anti-English Pope. That the Hebrides should be included in this Papal pronouncement seemed to imply that it had all been arranged between Godfrey and the Norwegian king before ever the former started out on his venture, the price of Norwegian and Orkney support.

  Somerled perceived that he was going to be forced to do something about Ragnhilde’s brother, unhappy situation as this was.

  His thoughts in that direction were complicated however by other tidings brought by the courier from Moray, which included a message from Donald himself. It seemed that that young man was taking up a much more positive attitude than had been contemplated when he left Islay. For one thing, he was calling himself Earl of Moray as successor to his late uncle, Angus. He appeared now to be discounting the danger to his captive parents, as mere threats, arguing that the more immediate the menace in the North, the less likely the Normans were to liquidate their valuable hostages. He was getting support from all over Ross and Moray for a campaign to unseat the youthful King Malcolm and place either his father or him
self on the Scots throne. Resenting the Norman grasp of power and alarmed at their military attacks on Galloway, the remaining five earls—that is Fife, Strathearn, Angus, Mar and Buchan, who with Moray and Ross made up the traditional Ri, the Celtic Seven Earls of Scotland who appointed the High King—had agreed in principle to rise in the MacEth cause. This was only in principle so far, and it was important to turn it into positive action, mobilisation. Undoubtedly the best way to achieve this would be for one powerful force to be seen to make a move as threat to the Normans, to show that all were not cowed by the example of Galloway. Only his Uncle Somerled was in any position to do this with little danger of reprisal, at this stage, having a fleet and large numbers of men available. Moreover he was brother to the imprisoned Countess. Donald was not asking for actual war—only for a muster and token invasion of the mainland, to encourage the other earls and to serve warning on the Normans.

  Somerled’s initial reaction was to dismiss this plea out-of-hand, as a young man’s headstrong folly. But on second thoughts it occurred to him that such gesture might serve him well enough, in the other regard. To have any army mustered and a fleet gathered was possibly just what was required to give Godfrey pause in any dreams of taking over the Hebrides with Orkney or Norwegian help. This way he could demonstrate his preparedness and strength, in both directions, Manx and Scots, without actually declaring outright war. If he was to descend in force on some southerly part of mainland Argyll where he would be seen to be poised equally well for an assault on Lowland Scotland or the Isle of Man—or even to go to the help of rebellious Galloway—then much good might come of it, Donald and his earls be suitably encouraged, Godfrey discouraged and the Normans given warning that any hurt to Earl Malcolm and his wife could precipitate war on three flanks, west, north and south-west. Yet in itself the move could be disclaimed as any provocation, if need be, since it would be still contained within his own kingdom of Argyll.