by Regan Walker
A cheer rose up as his longship came to rest. “Somerled!”
“The men are glad to see you,” said Domnall, standing at his side.
“And I them.” He waved his hand to the men gathering to welcome him.
Those onshore stared at the longship that had no stern rudder but only a steering board and carved dragons on the stem posts.
Ruairi MacInnes stepped from the crowd. “I see you have gained another ship!”
Somerled swung down from the deck to the sand. “Aye, from Sweyn Asleifsson at Islay.”
“Did you kill the thieving bastard?” asked Ruairi, running a hand through his long brown hair. His face, tanned from the sun, had only a few wrinkles and most of those around his eyes.
“Nay,” said Somerled. “He has a purpose yet to serve.”
“And the lass?” Ruairi asked, glancing behind Somerled to Liadan standing in the stern.
“Liadan!” Somerled shouted to the young woman. “Join me.” To Ruairi, he said, “She is the sister of Brian MacGilleain, a hero who died fighting the Norse pirates at Keills.”
“The lass insists on guarding our lord’s back,” said Angus with a wry smile as he came to stand beside them.
Somerled nodded his agreement, still amused at his new guard. Facing Ruairi, he said, “She has another brother who yet lives, Diarmad MacGilleain, one of our galley captains. Know him?”
“I do,” said Ruairi. “Diarmad is a good man and a worthy captain of his own galley. He is among those I sent north to fortify Ardtornish Point in Morvern.”
Somerled introduced Liadan to his small group. The men onshore sent her curious gazes, taking in her warrior’s garb, before returning to their tasks. He would have to do something about her clothing if she were to accompany him to King David’s court at Irvine. Meanwhile, he must see to his men.
He looked back over his shoulder. His warriors, who had done some hard rowing to Kintyre, climbed down from the beached ships. Somerled turned back to Ruairi. “The men are tired. Do you have shelter for them and an evening meal you can share?”
“Aye, Lord. We have built many new cottages and made use of the stone houses the Norse left. As for food, there will be both fish and venison for tonight’s dinner. Liadan, you can lodge with my wife and me.”
Somerled nodded. Glancing at Liadan’s male attire, he said, “She’ll be coming with me to Irvine to meet with King David so she’ll need a lady’s gown.”
Ruairi smiled at the lass. “My wife will see to it.”
“Though I have never been to a king’s court, I have a gown that might be suitable,” offered Liadan.
Somerled thought she likely brought the best one she possessed. “I leave it to you and Ruairi’s wife.”
Somerled dined with some of his men in the house that Ruairi had built for him and his wife and their two children, Bran and Ceana, eight and ten. He asked Liadan to join them so he could keep an eye on her.
Ruairi’s wife, an attractive woman in her late twenties, had always impressed Somerled with her kindness.
“I will take one longship to Irvine,” he told the small group. “I would ask Angus, Domnall and Maurice to accompany me.” He looked at the three men named. “The rest of the men and ships I leave with you, Ruairi. Should David permit it, I hope to return with a stone mason who can supervise the building of the castle.”
The next morning, shortly after sunrise, Somerled took the winding path to the top of Dunaverty Rock. He went alone, conscious of the fact his feet trod the same ground as Columba centuries before. Somerled felt a kinship to the Irish monk who founded the abbey on Iona, for they had a common ancestor, however distant, the great Ard Ri, the High King of Ireland. And both cared deeply for those they served.
With so much at stake, Somerled felt the need to meet with his God before going on to meet the Scots king.
At the summit, he gazed south, beyond the stone curtain wall that formed the remains of an ancient fortification, to the deep blue waters reflecting the golden rays of the sun rising in the east. Above him, gilded white clouds drifted across the azure sky. On three sides of the headland were the waters of Sruth na Maoile, the narrow expanse connecting the Irish Sea with the Atlantic Ocean. Twelve miles south of where he stood lay Ireland, the land of his birth, just visible on the horizon.
These sea lanes were critical to his kingdom, for any ship had to pass through this channel to sail from the Isle of Man north to Argyll and the Southern Isles.
Somerled took a deep breath, inhaling the familiar salted air that was his lifeblood. He spoke to God as his liege Lord. “Father, you have given me this great task to set the people free. Grant me wisdom to lead them and give me favor with King David. May I honor you in all things.”
He did not linger overlong but, by the time he turned to retrace his steps, he had peace about his meeting with the King of Scots and his intention to build castles, not just here in Kintyre, but at all points necessary to keep the sea lanes free.
He descended the headland to find his brother Angus waiting with his cousin, Domnall, and Maurice. “Well, was it worth the climb?” asked Angus.
“Aye, it was,” he said, experiencing again the peace he had gained atop the great rock. “I believe it is right to build a castle here. But, for that, and the others I see in my dreams, I must gain David’s agreement. I would have no challenge from that quarter.”
“It sounds like our trip to Irvine is timely,” said Maurice.
“We have only to bid Ruairi good day and we can depart,” said Angus.
“His wife is eager to show you what she has done with your guard,” put in Domnall.
Maurice smiled, shaking his head.
Somerled raised a brow but his companions declined to say more. “Very well, lead the way. I am anxious to reach Scotland’s coast in time to secure lodgings for the night.”
Aileas, Ruairi’s wife, appeared in the doorway as they neared the cottage where they had dined the night before. Her hair was a lighter brown than her husband’s and her eyes were blue, whereas Ruairi’s were hazel. For all that, they made a handsome pair. More importantly, the men respected Ruairi.
Aileas stepped forward to greet them and Liadan came out from behind her.
“What think you, Somerled?” asked Ruairi’s wife, casting a glance at the young woman. “Will this do for her to greet the Scots king?”
No longer dressed in a warrior’s clothing, Liadan now wore a close-fitting bliaut of fine blue wool. Her hair hung long behind her in rippling auburn waves, the sides had been braided and confined at the back of her head. She looked the part of a noble lass, though he was well aware her eating knife, secured at her waist, could be deadly given her skills. “Aye, she’ll do,” he said.
Domnall stared open-mouthed at the girl’s altered appearance.
“I know I must change before we leave to cross the firth,” said Liadan. “I just wanted your approval.”
Somerled nodded. “You have it. And my thanks, Aileas, for what you have done for the lass.”
“I was happy to do it,” said Ruairi’s wife. Except for those who had lived in Kintyre before the Norsemen were driven away, there were few wives yet among his men. That she had been willing to leave Morvern told him much about her character. And her smile told him she had enjoyed taking the younger woman under her wing.
Ruairi joined them, stepping out of his cottage and wiping his mouth with a cloth. “Will you three break your fast with us?”
Somerled was anxious to leave but his men would row harder and without complaint if they were fed more than the meager fare available on his ship. “Aye, and thank you. Have my men been fed?”
“They are eating now,” Ruairi said, gesturing to a group of men sitting around a fire some distance away. “Come. Aileas has made porridge and there are eggs from our chickens as well as berries and bread. She has set aside smoked fish and apples for you to take with you.”
Somerled had not thought much about his stomach until n
ow but the offer of a hearty meal before sailing appealed. “As you wish. We are grateful for your hospitality.” He followed Ruairi and the others into the cottage where Ruairi’s two children sat eating.
An hour later, Somerled stood in the bow of his longship as his men rowed them past the waves to the open water, singing a Gaelic tune as they often did. Liadan, once again attired as a lad, stood in the stern, a picture of confidence as she spoke to the steersman.
Once the sail was raised, they aimed for the Isle of Arran. They would pass its southern end on their way to the coast of Scotland.
Somerled was delighted to see the deilf, dolphin, swimming alongside his ship, leaping from the water, providing escort, as if urging them on.
Destiny’s path lay just ahead.
CHAPTER 8
Irvine on the west coast of Scotland
AS THEY REACHED the Firth of Clyde, the wind billowed the sail and blew Somerled’s long hair behind him as he stared resolutely ahead. The deep firth formed a wide sea lane of great importance, sheltered from the Atlantic by Kintyre and Arran.
A few hours later, his men took to the oars as they entered the wide mouth of the River Irvine that would take them to where the King of Scots was holding court. The river made a great loop ere it reached the town’s center. Once there, they beached the longship inside the harbor.
With the shortened days of October, the sun was now low in the sky, putting on a glorious display, its golden shafts reflected in the scattered clouds, turning the water in the river a brilliant amber.
Leaving a half-dozen men to guard the ship, Somerled and the others set off for town, which was not far.
Domnall knew well the royal burgh, for he’d been there before, so he agreed to find them lodgings. “Since the king is here with his retinue, rooms will be in short supply but I know of an inn off Seagate that might have something available. Go on ahead. I will find you.”
As his cousin turned to go, Somerled said to Maurice, “Once we have secured lodgings, I would ask you to act as messenger to the king’s constable to advise him that I have come to see David.”
“Aye, I can do that. I once met Edward Siwardsson, the old Anglo-Saxon noble who is the Lord High Constable of Scotland. He will dwell here. Mayhap he can help us gain an audience with the king. I do not know the Deputy Constable, Hugh de Morville, but he is one you should meet. A Norman and the king’s good friend.”
They walked up to Seagate where a timber castle stood, its tall tower looking toward the harbor. Somerled stared up at it, surprised it was not stone.
“This is just one of the many places the Scots king visits in his travels across Scotland,” said Maurice, “so no stone castle here.”
“’Tis not so large as I would have expected either,” said Somerled. “Still, I imagine there is a great hall.”
“Yea, there will be that and tonight you will see it,” Maurice said with a grin.
The people on the street, some Scots, some Normans, cast them curious glances. Somerled supposed he looked more Norseman than Gael and his men, all day on the sea, were wind-tossed and dressed in all manner of clothing. As well, he carried a sword at his side and a nasty-looking dirk with a carved handle at his belt. It was the latter that drew the gazes of the clean-shaven Normans.
“I expect King David will be glad to greet the one who has sent the Norse raiders fleeing from Argyll and the Isles,” said Maurice. “He has no time to worry over them with his troubles in England. Now that Stephen of Blois has usurped the throne, David is bound by oath to support his niece, the Empress Maud, who vies for England’s crown promised to her by her father.”
That encouraged Somerled. Mayhap, given the king’s other distractions, Somerled could offer him something he needed—thousands of Islesmen to guard his back door, the western border of Scotland.
“His court will be more English than that of the Scots kings before him,” put in Angus, gazing up at the timber castle. “’Tis said he brought many Normans with him when he left Henry’s court to take the Scots crown at his brother’s death.”
Having been raised as one with noble parentage tutored by monks in Ireland, Somerled could speak Latin, English and French, as David must also. They would have no trouble understanding each other. But would the king see the Lord of Argyll, Kintyre and Lorne as a threat or an ally?
Domnall returned just as they were beginning to take in more of the town with its narrow streets and buildings standing close together. “We are in luck,” he said cheerfully. “They’ve a large room where the men can bed down and two smaller chambers, one for us and one for Liadan.”
“Aye,” said Somerled, “the lass needs her own chamber. I am glad you thought of it,” Domnall. Somerled dispatched some of the men to gather the things from the ship they had brought with them while he, Angus, Maurice and Liadan followed Domnall with the rest of the men to the inn.
Sometime later, Somerled was bathed and dressed for his visit with the king. His long flaxen hair was plaited on the sides and tied back from his face.
Maurice returned to advise they would be welcomed this eve. “We are invited to dine as the king’s guests,” said Maurice, “surely a good sign.”
They arrived at the castle at the hour stated in the king’s invitation and were allowed inside. Hundreds of candles lit the large hall giving the air the scent of honey. Though the walls were wooden, the floor was stone, covered in herbed rushes. The sounds of lute, lyre and pipe provided a pleasing background against which many voices rose in conversation.
Silence descended upon the crowd as Somerled and his four companions entered. The crowd parted and, before him, some ten feet away, stood an older man with a handsome bearded face, dark hair with gray at his temples and a welcoming smile. He wore no crown but, from his rich attire, including purple mantle and green silk tunic, and the deference paid him, Somerled knew this was the King of Scots.
He walked forward and bowed. Rising, he said, “Your Grace, I am Somerled, Lord of Argyll, Kintyre and Lorne.”
David’s gaze roved over Somerled’s clothing, the same he had worn to meet King Olaf, not quite Norse, not quite Gaelic, but a mixture of both, yet most adequate to meet a king. “I have heard much about you, Lord Somerled. They say you are King of Argyll. I am glad you are here.” Looking at those with Somerled, the king said, “Introduce me to your friends.”
Somerled gestured to the young woman who guarded his back. “This is Liadan of Islay, whose brother serves in Argyll as one of my warriors. I am returning her to him.” This Somerled had said so that the king did not think Liadan was his woman. “And this man,” he said, gesturing to his brother, “is Angus MacGillebride, my brother and chief of Clan MacInnes. And this Irishman is Maurice MacNeill, foster brother to King Olaf of Man when he still lived in Ireland.”
David seemed pleased. “Welcome. We were just about to dine. Come meet my son and sit by my side. Your companions will be the guests of the Lord High Constable, Edward Siwardsson, at his table.”
The Anglo-Saxon that Maurice had described earlier, a tall man whose fair hair was laced with silver, stepped forward. “It will be my pleasure, Sire.” He indicated one of the long trestle tables sitting at right angles to the head table. Somerled’s friends thanked him and followed.
Somerled fell into step behind the king as he walked to the dais and indicated Somerled should sit on his left. There was no queen to sit on the king’s right, for his much-loved English wife had died years before. But taking the place on the king’s right was a young man in his twenties, thin of body and handsome of face with a gentle demeanor. “My son and heir, Henry,” said David.
Somerled inclined his head to the prince who was only a few years younger than him.
On Somerled’s other side stood a Norman of an age with him, clean-shaven with dark hair and strong features, who the king introduced as Hugh de Morville. “My friend since we were lads at King Henry’s court. And his wife, Lady Beatrice.”
Somerled bowed t
o de Morville’s young wife, whose dark brown plaits hung long beneath her veil.
“I am delighted to be invited to sit with you and your guests,” he said. “I hope I shall always be considered one of those you accept at your table.”
Just then, King Olaf of Man appeared out of the crowd with Queen Affraic and Princess Ragnhild. Somerled drew a steadying breath, his eyes fixed on the princess, hungrily taking in the sight of her. She looked more like a queen than a princess with her golden bliaut and circlet. Her red-gold hair, falling free of her veil, reflected the light of the many candles.
King David must have detected his keen interest. “Do you know my guests from the Isle of Man?”
“Aye,” said Somerled. “I accepted Olaf’s invitation to visit him not long ago.”
The King of Man and his two ladies climbed onto the dais.
Somerled said, “Good day to you, King Olaf, and to your queen and daughter.”
“’Tis good to see you again, Lord Somerled,” replied Olaf. “And so soon.”
His queen sagely nodded but said nothing.
The princess cast him a quick glance and then averted her eyes as if suddenly shy.
With an amused look, King David said to Somerled, “So you have met Olaf’s daughter, the lovely Princess Ragnhild.”
She looked up then and, meeting Somerled’s gaze, blushed.
“Aye,” he said, “I have had that pleasure.” And then to her, “Princess, I did not realize you were here and it warms my heart to know of it.”
“I think we should have the princess sit between you and de Morville,” said David. “Olaf and his queen can sit on the other side of my son.”
Somerled was pleased with the arrangement that put Ragnhild at his side.
There was one seat left. David looked up as a Norseman approached the dais.
“Rognvald, Earl of Orkney,” said King David, “the last of my guests. Have you met?” he asked Somerled.
“We have not met, but I know Sweyn Asleifsson, one of his men.”
“So, you are Somerled,” said Rognvald, eyeing him with interest. “I must apologize for Sweyn’s behavior on Islay. It will not be repeated.”