Summer Warrior (The Clan Donald Saga Book 1) Page 20

  “Did you doubt they would come?” asked Angus, coming up the rise, the wind blowing his hair away from his face.

  “I did not know if they would, but I had hoped…and I prayed.”

  “They are not here for the Scots king, Brother. They are here for you.”

  Courage, loyalty, honor. These were the qualities Somerled prized in his men. If a kingdom could be forged by such men, would it not stand strong for hundreds of years? “I will let them make camp and enjoy the fellowship of their friends and fellows tonight. Make sure all the chieftains know that tomorrow at noon, I will address them in the great hall at Findlugan’s Loch.”

  “Aye, I will let them know. They will be keen to hear what you have to say.”

  Somerled walked down the hill, his brother at his side. “We must thank those who have come.”

  Once on the beach, Angus took off on his mission and Somerled wended his way through the small groups of warriors, greeting each one who raised his head. Some, sitting in front of tents sharpening their weapons, looked up and smiled as he passed.

  Somerled stopped to talk to those he had not seen for a while and those he had yet to meet. Some, he noted, were younger than he and some as old as his father would have been had he lived. He was glad Gillecolum was not yet old enough to go to war.

  A few practiced their archery and knife-tossing skills with targets erected for that purpose, preparing for the fight to come.

  He felt the heavy weight of command resting on his shoulders as one who loved his men and now must lead them into the largest battle they had ever faced. He asked God to direct his path and vowed he would not leave a generation of Gaelic warriors to be buried in English soil. Thus, he would be careful with his words to their chiefs.

  That night, he slept in a tent on the shores of Loch Indaal, wishing to be one of them. But the next morning, he rose with the golden dawn and, rousing his companions, took the path inland. Angus, Domnall and Maurice did not complain at sharing leadership in this critical hour. Ruairi he had asked to remain at Dunaverty, but Ewan MacSuibhne of Knapdale had brought a longship of forty warriors.

  In the great hall, Liadan was directing the women preparing the meal for the chieftains who would come later. “Lord,” she said, looking up at him, her gray eyes earnest, “all is nearly ready. Can I ask, why did you want to bring them here and not speak to them on the beach?”

  “You show insight at asking that question, Liadan. In truth, I could have addressed the chiefs there. But I wanted them to have the long walk back to the beach to reflect on what I will tell them, else they might quickly dismiss my words or have them questioned before they have owned them. Too, I wanted them to see the place we will gather in the future.”

  “Ah, I see. Yea, Lord, you are wise.”

  BY THE TIME THE SUN was high in the sky, the chieftains had arrived at Findlugan’s Loch. They expressed surprise at how quickly the settlement had been constructed and how pleased they were with the great hall. Somerled waited until they were seated with food and ale and then he rose to address them.

  “First, let me express my gratitude for your coming.” As an aside, he added, “’twould have been embarrassing for me to stand on the shores of Loch Indaal with nary a chief’s ship in sight.”

  The chieftains chuckled; a few smiled.

  “You may well ask why I called you to the great hall and did not speak to you on the beach.” They nodded, as he expected they would, for he had anticipated Liadan’s question. “I wanted you to see this honored place. We will gather here in future times to decide matters of importance, to choose a lord when I have gone. It will be the heart of the lordship. Thus, I welcome you to send your banners to decorate the walls, for it is your place as well.”

  Then looking at the face of each man, he said, “And I wanted you to have the long walk back to Loch Indaal to reflect upon my words. We respond to King David’s call, as we must, for it is the price of his favor. Those of you from Arran and Bute know your isles are now under my protection because of David’s gift.”

  There were nods all around. Satisfied, he continued, “I am mindful that we go to fight on foreign soil. David calls us to a civil war that is not of our making…not our war. We must take great care to spend no man’s life needlessly.”

  A few “Ayes” were muttered.

  “Lord, where do we go from here?” a chieftain from Mull inquired.

  “We sail southeast, to the Irish Sea and then to the Solway Firth. From there, we will sail up the River Esk to the River Eden that flows by our destination. David’s castle at Carlisle. But where we will engage the English after that, I do not know.”

  “All that traveling on land and ’tis the season for midges,” a chieftain from the Isle of Jura jested in a sarcastic tone.

  They did not face midges on the sea, so the small, biting creatures would be an added annoyance. The insects would be the least of their problems but he would not have his men complaining. “Aye,” Somerled agreed, “but think of this: at least we’ll not be contending with snow.”

  A boisterous discussion broke out between the gathered chiefs about weather and warfare.

  When they quieted, Somerled began to speak of what more concerned him. “We have thrown off the burdensome yoke of the Norse and driven their pirates—who rape and pillage and kill—from our shores. We must not appear to be like them. Hence, there will be no plundering of Scots villages or English towns. I know some warriors, even the Scots, will expect it; we must not indulge. We will follow David into England and then come home to our coast and our isles. See that your men obey this as I will hold you accountable for their actions.”

  He waited until the somber expressions of the men told him they had understood the gravity of his words. Then he asked, “How many of you have healers in your ranks?”

  Six hands went up.

  “Good. We may need them. Lastly, while I will give commands and expect you to heed them, I will also carry a hunting horn into battle. One blast for ‘Attack’; two blasts for ‘fall back’; and three for ‘retreat’.”

  “Retreat, my lord? How can you mean it?” inquired the youngest among them.

  Somerled fixed him with a steady gaze. “I do not know what we will find in England, whether David will prevail or the English will drive him back and engage in slaughter. I trust the horn will help us stay together, acting as one. I want to spare our warriors to grow old on our isles, on our soil. There will be mounted Norman knights on both sides, wearing hauberks and wielding swords. Those of you who have taken mail as spoils in our battles, can wear it. But mark my words, mail will be heavy on a long march. Most of us will have only leather or padded armor.”

  With that, the chieftains rose as one, shouting, “We are with you!”

  Somerled raised his sword high in the air. “For Argyll and the Isles! For home!”

  The sound of metal sliding from sheaths rang in the air as the chiefs raised their swords, echoing Somerled’s cry. “For home!”

  Somerled sheathed his sword and heaved a sigh of relief, his heart racing now that he’d delivered the message and they’d agreed. “We sail on the morrow!”

  The next morning, the wind was up and the weather fine as their forty galleys and longships sailed out of Loch Indaal, heading southeast toward the Irish Sea.

  Two days later, the great fleet rounded Galloway and reached the Solway Firth. Somerled stood at the starboard gunwale gazing south at the Isle of Man, a long gray silhouette against the blue sky and waters. He pulled the green riband from his waist and held to his lips, smelling the faint scent of roses. The Princess of Man was there on that isle. Could she see the sails of so many ships? Mayhap not as her father’s castle faced south.

  The Isle of Man

  IT BEING A GLORIOUS DAY, Ragnhild had ridden Fairhair to the northwest of the Isle of Man to visit a chieftain’s wife who had just given birth. It was as Ragnhild turned south to return home that she paused on a hill. Shielding her eyes, she gazed north
across the Solway Firth toward Galloway. Dozens of longships and smaller galleys were sailing east toward Scotland’s coast. A few had red sails. Could one of them be Somerled’s galley?

  She watched for a moment as the cloud-like sails passed by, then urged Fairhair into a gallop, racing back to Castle Rushen, determined to tell her father of what she had seen. Mayhap he or Abbot Bernard had heard of these ships heading toward Scotland’s coast and knew the reason for them.

  “Father!” she called out as she burst into the hall. “I have seen ships and galleys, mayhap as many as forty, heading toward Scotland’s coast.”

  Her father turned from one of his guards with whom he’d been speaking. “It must be Lord Somerled’s fleet,” said her father. “Both he and Fergus have been summoned by King David to join him as he prepares again for war with Stephen.”

  Ragnhild sank into the nearest chair. “War. I remember now. He spoke of it being likely.” Ragnhild did not worry for her friend, Fergus’ son, Uchtred, for he would not follow his father to David’s war in England. But she did worry for Somerled, the man who held her heart. He must survive the coming battle. He must return to her. Remembering her promise to him, she jumped up and headed for the door.

  “To where do you go in such haste, Daughter?”

  “To pray, Father, with Abbot Bernard.”

  CHAPTER 16

  Carlisle, Cumbria, Scotland, July 1138 A.D.

  GRAY CLOUDS HOVERED over Cumbria as Somerled and his army of Highlanders and Islesmen secured their ships on the banks of the River Eden and climbed the hill to David’s castle at Carlisle. Even before Somerled reached the keep, rising from a grass-covered hill, he marveled at the great number of men-at-arms camped on the wide green banks of the river. Yet, the number of tents was not as great as he had expected.

  And then he recalled the king’s main army was not here but with him marching south from Roxburgh.

  The stone tower, built in Norman fashion, was just seven miles from the English border, a strategic position that had determined its history. Somerled learned from Maurice that the first castle, constructed by William Rufus, son of the Conqueror, was built over an old Roman fort. Both had been of timber. King Henry had ordered the site to be fortified with a castle and towers but they were not completed when he died five years ago, allowing King David to reclaim Cumbria and finish the stone castle at Carlisle, now secure behind a surrounding stone wall. The adjacent rivers provided the moat’s water.

  As Somerled watched the tents before him, Angus, Domnall and Maurice approached. “We will be hard pressed to find a place for our own tents,” said Angus.

  “Any place away from the Galwegians would be best,” offered Maurice.

  “Aye,” said Somerled, crossing his arms over his chest and remembering Ragnhild’s words about them being like Picts. “But they won’t be here. Edward Siwardsson told me they are already with King David’s men.” Then facing Maurice, he said, “While Angus and I go to the castle to meet with Siwardsson, scout out a place for us to camp. We may only be here a few days.”

  “As you wish,” said Maurice and he turned to go.

  To Domnall, Somerled said, “Speak to the chiefs and let them know we rest here for only a short while. They can fill their skins with water but should not wander far until we set up camp.”

  “Aye, Cousin,” said Domnall. “I will keep them together until you return.”

  Somerled dipped his head in acknowledgement and set off for the castle with Angus at his side.

  “Who are all these men?” Angus asked as they wended their way through the myriad of tents and men.

  Somerled eyed the mixed throng, so very different in clothing and armor. “Those with horses and swords and more elaborate tents with pennons flying are likely mail-clad knights or Norman barons aligned with David. However, I do not see many knights among this crowd. I assume they are with the king.” He gestured to a large gathering of men with no armor save the padded vests worn by Somerled’s warriors. “Some Scots dress as Gaels with no armor other than what we ourselves wear. They carry targes, the same round leather shields borne by our archers. Many will have spears and silvered axes if not swords.”

  “What of Prince Henry, David’s son?”

  “He will be clad in a knight’s attire, fighting at his father’s side.”

  That the king’s son fought with him told Somerled that should he survive the coming battle, one day Gillecolum would be fighting by his side. He vowed to train the lad well so he would be a force to be reckoned with.

  They had crossed the moat and arrived at the castle gate. “Lord Somerled of Argyll and the Isles to see Edward Siwardsson, the king’s Lord High Constable,” announced Angus.

  “Ah, the Islesmen. You are expected.” He turned and preceded them into the great hall, cool even on a July day, for while the windows in the stone edifice allowed in sunlight, the stone remained cold.

  Siwardsson was standing at a wooden table, looking down at a map. As they walked toward him, he looked up. “Lord Somerled! You arrive at last!”

  “You remember my brother, Angus, from Irvine,” said Somerled. “When you came to Ardtornish, he was on Kintyre.”

  “Aye,” said the high constable, shaking Angus’ hand. “I recall the resemblance. Would you have some ale?”

  “Ale would be most welcome,” said Somerled. Angus nodded and a servant poured the three of them full tankards.

  Somerled was parched and thankful for the drink. “Does the map signify our destination?”

  Siwardsson again bent over the parchment. “Mayhap. Word has come that with the Earl of Gloucester again rebelling against Stephen, David means to seize his chance to gain ground for his niece. He is marching south toward Durham. In two days, we can meet him at Hexham in Northumberland.”

  “Do we leave on the morrow?” asked Somerled, thinking of his men who would profit from a short rest.

  “We can leave the day after and still arrive at Hexham before the king. Those camped here at Carlisle will be following after us to join David.”

  On the day appointed, Somerled’s more than one thousand men and those that had been camped on the riverbanks set out for Northumberland. As they marched eastward, the men of Argyll and the Isles, unused to so much travel by land, expressed their longing for the sea and fresh fish.

  At the end of each day, they set down their weapons and bundles to cool their aching feet in a nearby burn and, with the coming dusk, pulled their blankets over their faces to keep the midges away. They carried enough food for the present but, eventually, they would have to hunt.

  Siwardsson had timed their arrival well, for they had but a few days wait at Hexham until David, riding south, came upon them. Prince Henry was at his side, looking much like a Norman knight, a pennon fluttering from his lance.

  The army behind the Scots king and his son was a mixture of warriors from the kingdom of Scotland and Northern England. Some were mounted Norman knights in hauberks and silvered helms, carrying swords and long shields. These contrasted sharply with the fierce unarmored Galwegian spearmen and Lothian Scots, who carried short swords and axes. The latter, Siwardsson told him, were the descendants of the Anglo-Saxons who fled England after the Conquest to dwell in southeastern Scotland.

  He gazed at the vast array that composed the Scots king’s army and asked Siwardsson, “How many would you say have come to David’s call?”

  The aging Anglo-Saxon surveyed the throng of men. “Ten, mayhap fifteen thousand before adding your Highlanders and Islesmen.”

  “Never have I seen so many,” said Somerled. Taking his leave, he strode toward David, inclining his head as he arrived in front of the king. “Your Grace, Argyll and the Isles have answered your summons.”

  The king smiled. “Siwardsson sent me a message telling me you were coming, which pleased me greatly. If you can beat off the fierce Norsemen, for certes you will acquit yourselves well in the battle with Stephen’s army.” Then turning to his guard, David
said, “We’ll camp here tonight.”

  Though supply wagons trailed behind King David’s army, still, the men hunted, for fresh meat was preferred above salted pork. Once the camp was set up, they gathered around the night fires, some men roasting hares caught that day and some sharing a deer they had brought down.

  Somerled decided it was time he met David’s nobles and generals. With Angus by his side, he went from tent to tent, introducing himself. All were cordial and some, who had heard of him, expressed approval of what he had done, for the Norse pirates were feared by many.

  Somerled was amazed at the high rank of the generals who had responded to David’s call—every man a seasoned warrior.

  After that, he joined his men to eat, Domnall on one side, Angus on the other and Maurice and Ewan on the other side of the fire with Ruairi.

  Somerled had just finished his meal of roast venison when Siwardsson came. “We are called to the king’s tent.”

  Turning to his brother, Somerled said, “Let the chiefs know I will speak to them once I have heard what David has to say.”

  “Aye, I will tell them,” said Angus, who, along with Ruairi, Domnall and Maurice, had been acting as messengers to the chiefs.

  Somerled and the king’s high constable headed into the center of the camp where the king’s tent flew the Lion Rampant flag, the royal banner of Scotland. As he walked through the opening to David’s tent, the candles flickered in the breeze caused by their entry.

  King David stood behind a table, frowning as he stared down at a parchment. Peering at the object of David’s interest, Somerled realized it was not a map he recognized. There were only lines, vague shapes and arrows. A battle plan, he supposed.