David the Prince - Scotland 03

by Nigel Tranter

  David was, nevertheless, interested to learn that many of the local helpers, normally only at Shiel Kirk for the summer months, had elected to stay on over the winter, in order that the good work should not be interrupted. This the monks looked upon as a notable advance and an excellent omen for the future. Fortunately David had brought sufficient funds with him to pay for this - as much as he could spare meantime, for he had large expenses looming ahead for the wedding, a suitable entourage to take down to Northampton, fine clothing, gifts and so on. To marry a prominent heiress was no doubt an enviable situation to contemplate, but as others had discovered the preliminary stages were direly taxing. His position as ruler of Cumbria did not bring him in any large revenue personally— although he might have made it do so had he chosen, as did so many governors; and he had no personal fortune whatsoever. His Norman colleagues, used to living off the land wherever they were as a matter of course, could not understand his attitude, and were apt to be a little resentful that he did not allow them a free hand in wealth-gathering either, one of the few rifts in an otherwise fairly harmonious administration. It was quite common custom for them to curse the late Queen Margaret of Scots, who was held to be responsible for most of her son's less-than-practical notions.

  David blamed himself for his growing concern with matters of riches, gold, and sordid gain. Always he had despised men so preoccupied; such as Ranulf Flambard. He spoke to his chaplain and former tutor, John the Benedictine, about it, and gained little help. John quoted scripture with great authority-take no thought for the morrow; trust not in uncertain riches but in the living God; in the house of the righteous is much treasure but in the revenues of the wicked is trouble; and so on, little of which appeared to David noticeably to apply to his present dilemma. Was he deplorably lacking in faith?

  12

  THE WEDDING TOOK place, as Henry had ordained, on the Feast of St. Valentine, 14th February 1114, a few days before the beginning of Lent, in the presence of a great and distinguished company, the Castle of Northampton and the Priory of St. Andrew nearby, taken over entirely for the occasion, Henry personally stage-managing all and turning the proceedings into a major state event. Indeed the bridegroom came to feel himself to be a mere incidental, not much more than one cog-in-the-wheel of an elaborate ceremonial machine, set in motion presumably to advance the King of England's policies and influence, in especial to tighten his grip on his Norman baronage. This, in fact, was the principal problem of Henry's reign, the Montgomery brothers being only the tip of an iceberg. By and large the Norman earls, barons and landholders did not approve of Henry Beauclerc. He was insufficiently a warrior for them, too fond of the Saxons, over-concerned with laws and statutes and writings, as his by-name implied, a man who should have been a churchman not a monarch, they held. So constantly the King was at pains to demonstrate to his fellow-Normans that the pen could be quite as effective as the sword, and that his grip on his realm was firm enough to keep them all in their places. The present occasion was undoubtedly in that tradition. All the most important Normans were invited, indeed commanded, to attend the ceremony, to perceive how, the Scots could be tamed and made useful more successfully than by battle, how rich and powerful earldoms could be placed in non-Norman hands, and how what the Crown had granted the Crown could take away. The lessons would be clear to all but the blind.

  Unfortunately, at the last moment, the King of Scots sent word that he was unable to attend. There had been a rising of Northerners, the men of Moray and Ross, led by MacBeth's and Lulach's descendants, and Alexander could by no means leave Scotland meantime; but he sent his elder brother Ethelred, Abbot of Dunkeld and titular Earl of Moray, as deputy, bearing gifts, along with the Earls Madach of Atholl and Cospatrick of Dunbar, with sundry other Scots notables. Henry was displeased.

  David's longing was to see Matilda, naturally, and alone; but this appeared to be no part of the programme, indeed practically an impossibility in the circumstances, with Northampton and vicinity crowded out, and the King having requisitioned Earl's Thorpe Manor for himself and his family - where Matilda herself was still domiciled. The bridegroom and his party, comparative late-comers owing to the difficulties of travel from Cumbria in winter conditions, were allotted cramped quarters in the castle. His only meetings with his bride prior to the nuptials were very much in public or in the presence of Henry, Maud and others including Matilda's sister Alicia, from Normandy. The happy couple could only exchange a few platitudes, eye each other in fond exasperation and seek to possess their souls in patience.

  David was glad, at least, to see his brother Ethelred, or Hugh, who was allocated quarters near his own in the castle. He told him that the rising in Scotland had been a serious one, and that the rebels had got as far south as Invergowrie, where Alexander had been residing — with one of his mistresses, it was added - his favourite house. They had almost trapped him, but he had managed to escape and reach Stirling, where he had raised a force sufficient to put the Northerners to flight, had pursued them back to Moray and finally defeated them near the mouth of Spey. But the North was still restive and Alex dared not absent himself. He sent his good wishes by himself, Eth, because he had wanted to be rid of him meantime, and to some extent their cousin Madach of Atholl too; Alex was in process of creating a new Romish bishopric and diocese at Dunkeld, only the second in Scotland after St. Andrews - and this of course would put the final end to his own Celtic Church abbacy there and nominal primacy — which was one of the reasons for the revolt of the Northerners, who were hot against the Roman Church. Turgot, Bishop of St. Andrews, was still at odds with Alex over the asserted supremacy of the Archbishop of York - indeed he had now left Scotland altogether and retired to his old monastery of Wearmouth in Northumbria — and this of a new bishopric at Dunkeld was Alex's answer.

  The bridegroom, with his mind tending to be on other things, did not commit himself to taking sides in this matter.

  The day before the wedding, Henry produced a preliminary ceremony, with its own significance. In this also David had his part to play, however passive a role was planned for him, Matilda likewise. A banquet for hundreds was prepared, at the bride's expense, in the distinctly gaunt hall of Northampton Castle, and here, before the feasting started, with Matilda seated on his right hand between himself and the Queen, and David on his left, the King rose to his feet - as so must everyone else. When a trumpeter had gained him silence, he spoke.

  "Your Grace, Countess and my friends all - hear you. Tomorrow, to our joy - and, may I say, her own! - the Countess Matilda of Northampton and Huntingdon will wed Your Grace's royal brother, David of Scotland, my Earl of Cumbria, a match which will, God willing, enrich us all and draw still closer our two kingdoms. In this happy circumstance, the Countess has dutifully placed her two earldoms in my hands, as is proper, but prays that I dispose and destine them in the following fashion - and this, after due consideration, I have decided to do. Simon de St. Liz, her elder son, to be Earl of Northampton in the room of his late father - but not to exercise the powers and duties of that rank and title until he comes of due age. And David of Scotland to be Earl of Huntingdon, not in the Countess's right but in full and entire possession, now and for all time, together with all its manors, lands, jurisdictions, pertinents and servitures - a great inheritance. This she wishes to be done today, while yet she is unwed to him, that there can be no doubt but that the earldom is his in entirety, not by marriage but in free gift. This it is my pleasure to agree."

  There was a stirring amongst the company. David turned to gaze at Matilda much moved, mind in a whirl at what this implied.

  Henry went on. "I, and only I, can invest any man as earl. Before I so do, I have something other to do." He turned to two officers who had come to stand behind his throne-like chair, and from one of them took a sword. "Kneel, David mac Malcolm," he commanded.

  So there on the dais, in front of all that great company, David sank to his knees and Henry tapped each shoulder with the sword-blade.r />
  "David of Scotland, as myself knight, I dub you knight," the King intoned. "Take your vows hereafter, I charge you, and be you good and true knight until your life's end. Arise, Sir David!"

  The new knight stood, amidst applause, and Henry turned to the other officer, to take from him a most splendid and heavy belt of gleaming gold, much more handsome than that with which he had been invested as titular Earl of Cumbria. This he raised, its weight obvious, to place over David's head and shoulder. Then he handed him a small bag of Huntingdon soil.

  "I hereby invest you in the earldom of Huntingdon, in this my realm of England," the King said. "Hold it well to my sure support, Sir David, Earl of Huntingdon. It is mine as well as yours. Moreover, I do likewise charge you with the care, oversight and control of the earldom of Northampton, for the child, Simon de St. Liz, whose guardian you will become tomorrow, yours to rule until he comes of age. This also at the behest of the Countess Matilda. Cherish it to his weal, and mine, I charge you as your liege lord. As well as you have cherished my province of Cumbria." And he held out his two hands, palms together, for David to take between his own in the gesture of fealty.

  It flashed through the younger man's mind just what was the significance of what was here involved, apart from the enormous compliment paid to him in giving him control of both earldoms which, taken with that of Cumbria's governorship, made him at one stroke probably the most powerful noble in England. Fealty. Fealty - that was the price, fealty which he had hitherto paid only to the King of Scots. He had had to swear no fealty for Cumbria, which was not his, he being only viceroy, the style of earl but titular. But this . . .

  Bowing slightly, he enclosed Henry's hands within his own. "Sire, I thank you," he said. "I David of Scotland, remaining a leal subject of the King of Scots, as is my bounden duty, hereby pay fealty to you for these English fiefs of Huntingdon and Northampton. God save Your Grace."

  There was prolonged silence in that hall as men considered that and what it meant.

  David looked up, to find Henry's narrowed eyes directly searching his own, for once cold, hostile, assessing. There was no doubting what he considered it to mean. Face to face they stared.

  Then the King withdrew his hands and half-shrugged, smiling faintly. "So be it," he said. Turning, he sat down without further word.

  As the murmuring swelled in the hall, David moved behind the King's chair and that of the Countess, fo the Queen's where he bowed. His sister was looking anxious. He touched her shoulder briefly. Then he turned to Matilda, who still stood, and taking her hand, raised it to his lips, holding it there for moments. They did not speak, save with their eyes, but those were sufficiently eloquent. Then he went back to his place, removing the heavy golden belt, to place it on the table. All resumed their seats.

  Henry, usually all but loquacious, appeared to find words in short supply, for he stared straight ahead of him while the meal was being served, his shoulders slightly turned towards his brother-in-law. David took the opportunity to chat to Matilda's sister, Alicia, Countess of Leicester, who had been married at an early age to Ralph de Toelni, given that English earldom but who spent most of his time on great estates in Normandy. She had come over for her sister's wedding, a plump and matronly creature, very different from Matilda. She failed to disguise her present nervousness.

  However, as the banquet wore on, Henry gradually relaxed, and at least ceased to show his displeasure without being actually affable. David for his part expressed his deep appreciation of all the honour done to him and assured him that his gratitude would be reflected in his actions. They left it at that, nothing more being said about fealty.

  It was a long evening, with elaborate and varied entertainment after the eating - and none might retire before the King. So it was late when, at last, a move was made, and David could at last snatch a few words with his bride-to-be as he escorted her to her horse-litter, which was to take her back, with the royal party, to Earl's Thorpe.

  "Matilda, how can I thank you?" he said, as they moved down the vaulted corridor behind the King and Queen. "You are kind, beyond all telling. What can I say? This of Huntingdon. It was not necessary ..."

  "Do not say anything, my love - beyond what you said to Henry! About your Scots loyalty coming first. Serving him warning. That was good, splendid!"

  "He was displeased."

  "To be sure he was. But it fell to be said, if you were not to be held in his two hands always. You did it excellently well. I did not know of the knighthood ..."

  "Nor I. It must all have made me to sound ungrateful. Yet..”

  "It had to be said — and said before all. I desire my husband to be a free man, no more tied to Henry than to my own woman's skirts!"

  "You are good. You understand it so well . . ."

  That was all that they had time for before they reached the courtyard doorway and the waiting horses. David would have escorted her all the way to Earl's Thorpe, but there was no point in that, with the royal cavalcade, plus a troop of Norman cavalry in attendance. Henry took charge of Matilda, making the inevitable remarks about her requiring to get to her bed in good time for the last undisturbed night's sleep that she was likely to enjoy for some time. Somebody had to say it.

  The service was held next noon in St. Peter's, the largest church in Northampton - St. Sepulchre's was to be larger but it was not completed yet, having only been founded by the reformed Earl Simon on his return from his first Crusade, copying the round design he had seen at the Church of the Holy Sepulchre at Jerusalem. Even so, by no means all the notables and guests could squeeze in, and the place was uncomfortably crowded - but at least this served to heat up the atmosphere within, for it was a cold day with bitter north-east winds sweeping in off the fens.

  David, with Ethelred as groomsman, took up his position at the chancel-steps in good time, with the church almost shaking to the clamour of the bells. He was dressed in his finest, but even so was much outshone by many of the guests. They had a long wait while the bells clashed and jangled above them, David assuring himself and his brother that this would be Henry's doing, not Matilda's, that she would never cause such delay to others, Eth grinning and declaring that his young brother would have to learn about women.

  It was a relief when the bells stopped and into the quivering hush a fanfare of trumpets signalled the approach of the bride-although it was for her royal escort rather than herself that the flourish was sounded, undoubtedly. Three processions entered the church simultaneously. The King with Matilda on his arm moved in from the west door up the centre of the nave, the standing congregation moving aside to give them passage. The Queen and her ladies, with members of the royal family and Matilda's children, came in by the south transept, to proceed to their places at the choir stalls. And the officiating clergy, Bishop Maurice of London and Bishop Roger of Salisbury, with their supporters, from the north transept, turning into the chancel and up to the high altar. All thereafter turned to watch the progress of the bride and her monarch up the length of the church, with a choir of singing boys chanting behind them - all except David and his brother, that is, who gazed straight ahead of them, at the chancel-steps.

  At last Matilda was at her groom's side and he could look at her. She was quite breathtakingly beautiful, tall and slender, a mature and assured women of poise and character, her dark hair in two long plaits hanging before her to below her waist, pearl-seeded head-veil held in place by a gemmed circlet, gowned to perfection in cloth-of-silver, furred at neck and wide sleeves with sable, this also sewn with pearls which gleamed warmly as she moved — Scots pearls, these, from the River Tay, sent south by David as Aw gift, purchased from Alexander who was reputed to have the finest collection of pearls in all Christendom. Beside her Henry, now nearing fifty, short-legged and growing paunchy, despite - or perhaps partly because of— his over-richness of dress in cloth-of-gold and embroidery, looked fussy and ostentatious. She reached out to take David's hand.

  The singing over, the bridal party
moved up towards the altar where the bishops awaited them, and the service commenced.

  It is undoubtedly no unusual state of affairs for the bridegroom, even one fairly religiously-inclined, to go through the nuptial ceremony with scarcely any awareness of what is done and said; as well that the marriage is none the less valid. David knew the service well enough and went through the required motions without any obvious faults and hesitations; nevertheless, it was as though it was all happening to somebody else, and he was only remotely involved. He was, at one stage, dimly aware of Henry, having done his part in handing over the bride, retiring to his seat beside the Queen; and of Ethelred handing over the ring for him to place on Matilda's finger. But otherwise the significance of what was happening largely failed to penetrate. All that he was intensely aware of was that Matilda was there by his side, just the two of them standing close, in the sight of God, the rest mattering little — and that she looked radiantly happy. Perhaps that was enough.