Page 69 of Summer Warrior

Before Somerled could respond, the Galwegian chiefs took great offense at the lines of battle the king had proposed. “We fight better than any Frenchman!” shouted Ulric. His reference to Frenchmen was how many described the Normans but, spoken by Ulric, it sounded more like a curse.

While Lord Fergus remained silent, Malise, Earl of Strathearn, joined in the Galwegian chiefs’ objection. “Whence comes the king’s confidence in the Normans? I wear no armor but there is not one among them in Stephen’s army who will advance beyond me.”

“Rude earl!” exclaimed Alan de Percy, baseborn son of the great Alan, and a distinguished Norman knight. “You boast of what you dare not do.” Turning to David, he said, “Sire, if the Galwegians fail, the rest of the army will lose heart. ’Twould be a fatal error.”

“We will not fail!” cried Donald, the other Galwegian chief. “Remember Clitheroe where Fitz Duncan prevailed because of us.”

“Why, my king,” pleaded the Earl of Strathearn, “do you listen to foreigners when none of those with armor would outdo the earl who wears none?” He meant himself, of course, an arrogant man Somerled did not trust.

“Enough!” shouted David. The king appeared to be wavering, mayhap worried lest his fragile alliance of commanders might falter. “The Galwegians may lead the attack under their own commanders with the mailed knights in the second line.”

Somerled bit back a curse.

Prince Henry averted his eyes but, before he did, Somerled glimpsed a look of disapproval on his face.

“That puts you, Somerled,” said David, “in the third line.”

Though he disagreed, and knew his chiefs would like it not, Somerled did not argue with the king, who was obviously trying to keep the Galwegian wolves at bay. “As you wish, Your Grace.”

The meeting ended with some of the Scottish lords grumbling under their breaths as they departed the king’s tent.

Somerled was about to leave when he heard Henry tell his father, “With your permission, I will add the Cumbrians and men of Teviotdale to my numbers.”

The king nodded. “Probably wise.” Then to Somerled, “I will add the men of Lothian to your numbers in the third line.”

Somerled nodded. Though he would have aligned the warriors differently, he did not question further David’s orders. At least his Islesmen would not have to rush the English knights in the company of the overly confident and wild Galwegians. He much preferred to follow Henry who appeared well-trained and in full command of his mailed cavalry.

Derlinton, North East England, August 1138 A.D.

IT HAD TAKEN THEM weeks to cover the nearly fifty miles between Hexham and Derlinton, which lay twenty miles south of Durham, close to the River Tees. The delay was owed not only to the army’s unwieldy size but to the stop at Durham. While the king paid a visit to the castle, the Galwegians plundered the surrounding towns, enraging Somerled.

“’Tis unseemly for a Christian king to allow the wild Picts to prey upon innocent villagers,” he spit out when reports reached him of their savage acts. He and his companions were discussing the recent events in the tent erected for them. He thought of Gillecolum and Liadan, left behind on Islay, relieved they were safe. “I will speak with Lord Fergus.”

He was not the only commander to refer to the Galwegians as wild Picts, for that was their reputation, much deserved. It rankled that the Lord of Galloway permitted his men to behave in such a manner when Somerled would not allow such actions to be named among his own warriors.

“I doubt you will find a receptive audience with that one,” said Maurice.

“Still, I must try,” said Somerled. “Failing there, I will speak to David.”

Somerled found Fergus lounging in his tent with the two Galwegian commanders imbibing the wine they had brought with them from Galloway. “My lord, a word if I might.”

With a jerk of his head, Fergus sent Ulric and Donald out of his tent. “What is it, Lord Somerled?”

“Tales have reached me of your men ravaging the countryside, burning, raping and pillaging. Such actions bring dishonor to the Scots king and are beneath those of us from the western shores. Innocents are not our enemies; they are not even King David’s enemies.”

Fergus pursed his lips and stared at his goblet. “Aye, mayhap ’tis something your Islesmen disdain, but my Galwegians are not of your ilk. That is why they make good warriors. They even drink blood when they think it improves their ability to conquer.”

Somerled realized he would get nowhere with such a man. “I see.” He would waste no further words. Inclining his head, he said, “Then I will ask no more of your time.” As he slipped through the tent’s opening, the sound of Fergus’ laughter rang in his ears.

In David’s tent, he found a worried king, for his spies had returned with sour news. “Sit, Somerled,” said David. “You might as well hear this, too. Soon, the entire camp will know of it.”

The spy, a Norman from the look of him, was bedraggled and dirt-covered but no less eager to convey his news. “The English morale, being low and some unwilling to fight, Thurstan, Archbishop of York, who has the defense of the north in the absence of Stephen who is engaged in the south, has devised a clever plan.”

David’s eyes narrowed. “Say on.”

“He has assured the northern barons of victory and offers absolution and Heaven to all who fight. To rally the men, he has designed a standard the Normans will carry into battle with the clergy in every parish appearing in procession with their crosses, banners and relics.”

“It sounds like a crusade,” remarked David.