Page 23 of Summer Warrior

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.