David the Prince - Scotland 03 (45 page)

Like a flood released, the pent-up emotion of the crowds erupted into shouting. "God save the King! God save the King! God save the King!" On and on it went until the very hills surrounding seemed to shake. There was much more to be done, but this was what the thousands had come to see. David sat silent, watching, waiting, his mind as much in a turmoil as on his wedding-day at Northampton.

Then at last a trumpeter blew for quiet. Constantine of Fife came forward with his son Gillimichael, who bore the crown of Scotland on a cushion. The Earl picked this up and bowing, placed it around David's brows. Madach of Atholl came with the sword of state, to lay across David's thighs. Ruari of Mar brought the sceptre, Malise of Statherarn the Book of Laws, other
ri
the remaining symbols of rule and governance. Finally Matilda was led to stand behind the Stone, with Henry mac David, undoubted heir to the throne.

David had no hand to spare to clasp his Queen's, but she gripped his shoulder proudly, in support. He needed support then.

He rose, burdened, and one by one, save for the crown which he kept on his head, he handed the other symbols to the Abbot and Sennachie to be laid on the Stone. Then he moved over to the other lesser stone. This was merely a simple granite boulder half-imbedded in the ground. But on it was carved the imprint of a man's right foot, cut to perhaps an inch of depth. This also had been brought from Dunadd. Here each of the
ri
,
but they only, drew from pocket or pouch a small bag. From these each poured a little earth into the carved footprint. Then kicking off his right sandal, David placed his bare foot on top, pressing down the symbolic soil under his sole, in token of/tw authority.

There remained only the fealty-giving. But since this involved many hundreds of land-holders, in their due order of precedence, names read out by a team of sennachies, not to mention the formal soil-emptying thereafter, it took as long as all the rest together. Throughout David had to sit on the Stone again, crowned, and take each man's hands within his own and repeat his name and style after the High Sennachie. Before that was finished he was weary and stiff indeed and Matilda beside him pale with her long standing.

But the thing was done at last, and need not be done again, God willing, until it was young Henry's turn. Now, only refreshment, feasting, for all, there on the riverside grassland. They had still to play host, the gracious king and queen, to greet and smile and listen. But that would not tax them too greatly. And tomorrow, whatever anyone wanted him to do, whatever else was planned, David would say them nay and take Matilda off into those Highland mountains which beckoned her, to be just themselves. That was a promise.

Even monarch and consort were entitled to that, surely?

21

R
ook's
B
urgh was
perhaps not the most convenient position for a royal palace - as David's ministers and officers were apt to tell him. Situated on the very southern edge of the kingdom, it was highly difficult of access from most of the rest, and a long way for official folk to travel from central parts. Moreover, the King's normal residence, as well as being reasonably central, ought surely to be in Scotland proper, ancient Alba, the heartland, not down here o
n the rim of the Me
rse, territory which was incorporated in the realm only a century or so before. David mildly accepted that, but stubbornly continued to make Rook's Burgh his main home. He pointed out that he was quite prepared to call Stirling his capital, as Alexander had done; or his father's Dunfermline, if that was preferred; or Scone or Dunsinane or Forteviot, even Edinburgh, or any other of the more central places favoured by his predecessors. He would go thereto for all necessary duties, councils, ceremonial and so on. But the March Mount of Rook's Burgh was his own house chosen and built by himself, in country of which he and his wife and family were fond. After all, other monarchs had had their favourite seats, often far from their capitals - Alexander at Invergowrie, MacBeth far away up in Moray, Kenneth at Kincardine in the Mearns. But as well as all this, there was an excellent reason why the royal presence should be made very evident here in the border lands. For this was the most vulnerable part of his kingdom. The fact that it was the latest addition, not part of the old Alba, meant that it could be most easily detached again. And the English nearby were ever ready to detach it - as they had done fairly recently to the Cumbrian part of Strathclyde. Nothing would be more likely to deter any such attempts, he asserted, than the frequent residence of the King of Scots therein.

It was a telling argument - whether or not he really believed it himself.

But Rook's Burgh had another disadvantage even more frequently pointed out, also concerned with accessibility - but on a different level. Built as a strength, a fortress, at the
junction of two rivers, it was damnably difficult to get at. Both rivers were wide and the peninsula between steep and rock-bound. Access had to be gained by going half-a-mile up Teviotdale, to the nearest fording-place, and there crossing and approaching the castle from the west, climbing on to its spine, a most round-about route for all visitors save from the west itself. In fact, from the north, it required a ford of Tweed first, at Kelshaugh; from the Merse likewise. This David could by no means deny - although he pointed out that it did give the occupants the advantage of warning of all approachers, which could be helpful. After all, Stirling Castle, and Dunedin likewise, on their lofty rocks, were scarcely easy of access either.

This disadvantage of the site was in fact rather self-evident this June afternoon of 1125, when David had been on his throne for thirteen months - yet he had deliberately chosen this venue for what was certainly the first really important essay in statecraft of the reign. As he saw it, the meeting had to take place somewhere in Bishop John of Glasgow's see, since this was the only one with papal recognition in Scotland, as yet.

Bishop John, his old tutor, rode with him now as he splashed across the Rook's Burgh ford, with others, to climb to the higher ground beyond and rein up, facing eastwards. Some, including the Chancellor, Robert - who was inclined to be stuffy - suggested that even this was unsuitable, that the King should actually go out to meet his guests instead of letting them come to him; all right for lesser men, but. . . To which David had pointed out that this was no ordinary guest - and had gone.

"A large company," he commented to John, peering into the middle distance. "Hugo would not have sufficient horses. He would have to hire more at Berwick. Do princes of the Church usually travel in such state?"

"In Rome, yes, Sire. But for a sea voyage, I would not have looked for it."

"Holy Church proving that there is more to holiness than meek looks!" Hervcy de Warenne, Lord of Keith, the new Knight Marischal of Scotland, growled. He had ever been the least religiously inclined of John's pupils.

The approaching cavalcade was almost a mile off still, coming along at a suitably dignified pace after fording Tweed, all banners and glitter, the music of instrumentalists, which David had sent with Hugo, wafted faintly on the easterly air-stream. The watchers, however, perceived that a single rider spurred ahead of the main body, towards them.

This proved to be young Thomas de Mautelent, esquire to Hugo, from the de Morville manor in Huntingdon. "Sire," he cried, "the Lord Hugo sends me. To tell you that all is well. With the Cardinal. But he says to tell you also that the Lord Fergus is here. With his lady. They came in the cardinal's ship, from London. To Berwick ..."

"Fergus!
Fergus,
you say? Of Galloway?"

"Yes, my lord. With a large train."

"That viper . . . !" Hervey snorted - he who had been Sweenie Mac Sween's closest friend once. "What does
he
want?"

"I know not, lord . . ."

"Forget Fergus for the present," David said. "What is important is the Cardinal. How does he seem, Thomas?" "A dark-avised man, Sire. But softly-spoken. Smiling little

When the company of perhaps five-score came up, gorgeously-dressed and decked-about, Hugo silenced the musicians.

"My lord King - it is my honour to present to you the Most Illustrious lord Cardinal John of Crema, papal legate of His Holiness at Rome."

David had dismounted. "I rejoice to hail the illustrious lord Cardinal, and welcome him most warmly to my realm," he declared. "This is a notable day, the Eve of St. Columba - the first visit of a papal legate to Scotland. My lord Cardinal - have you a blessing for me - who need it?" And King though he was, he sank to his knees there on the grass - as so perforce must all the waiting group, however much Hervey muttered.

"The Holy Father sends his warm greetings, my son David," the other said, in a mildly sibilant voice in contrast to his stern, almost cadaverous appearance, a younger man than David had looked for, younger than himself. "And gives his Pontifical Benediction," he added, and raised two fingers to make the sign of the cross.

"I thank His Holiness. And yourself, my lord," David rose. "Here is the Bishop John of Glasgow."

"Ah, yes. I have, to be sure, heard much of this Bishop. Although I did not meet him when he was in Rome. Or in Jerusalem! His Holiness sends him greetings also." The Bishop was given something between a cross and a flick.

John bowed over the Cardinal's ring. "I am much honoured that the Holy Father remembered my unworthy self," he said -although David recognised well that it was only because Pope Honorius had remembered John of Glasgow that this momentous visit had come about.

"Sir Hervey of Keith, Knight Marischal of my realm . . ."

David turned to look at the other and larger party behind the Cardinal-Legate's group. Fergus Mac Sween grinned at him boldly enough. They had not seen each other, these two, for long. Fergus had kept out of the King's way ever since his surprising marriage to Henry's daughter, indeed spending much of his time in the South, with that young woman's brother, Robert the new Earl of Gloucester, and leaving Galloway in the care of his kinsman Dunegal of Nithsdale.

"Here's a happy occasion, my lo
rd David!" he cried. "You
King, and myself in wedded bliss! Here is the Lady Elizabeth -
who has heard much of Your Grace."

David was not a man to harbour resentment, but it demanded some effort to greet Fergus and his wife with civility, his old school-fellow had not in fact, committed any major offence against him, nothing that he could be charged with — only entered into negotiations with King Henry secretly, without informing his superior and friend, to the extent of marrying the daughter. Was that so ill? Only, Henry always had sufficient reason for all he did; and to give this Elizabeth to anyone so remotely situated and comparatively unimportant as the Lord of Galloway, not even a subject of his, he must have gained something substantial in return. That was what worried David.

"I wondered when I would see you — and this lady," he said, stiffly for him. "But I welcome you back to my kingdom, Fergus - for there are matters in Galloway requiring attention. As to your wife, I wish her well. For her own sake, and as her father's daughter." That was the best he could do.

The new Lady of Galloway was a thick-built, pale but pert young woman, who reminded him of the late Sybilla, but with a less calculating eye. The Conqueror's line did .not breed good looks. She curtsied and smirked. David wondered what Fergus would get out of this match, as well as Henry.

It seemed that the Cardinal's ship, from Italy had put in at London on its way north, for the Legate to have some discussion with William, the new Archbishop of Canterbury; and whilst there, Fergus had heard that the vessel was bound for Berwick-on-Tweed and had sought passage. As the King's son-in-law, the Cardinal could scarcely refuse. There appeared to be no more to it than that.

They remounted and rode down to the ford.

If Fergus's arrival was a surprise, a further surprise awaited the King, for after refreshment and settling in, with introduction of the others who would take part in the discussions, when David, who was seldom one for delay, suggested in early evening that they might make a start on preliminary matters, it was to be told by the Cardinal that it might be better to wait a little to allow the Archbishop Thurstan time to arrive.

"Thurstan? The Archbishop of York!" David exclaimed. "Do I hear you aright, sir? Thurstan - coming here?"

"Indeed, yes, my son," the other said calmly. "Did you not know? Not realise that he must be here? We can scarcely enquire fully into this matter lacking his point-of-view, can we?"

"He agreed to come? Himself? To Scotland? Into my house?"

"I required him to do so, in His Holiness's name," the other said simply.

So they had to wait, David now in some disquiet. When he had written to the Pope, as one of the monarchs of Christendom, requesting
a papal pronouncement on the un
doubted independence of the Scottish Church and a decision on the vexed matter of the consecration of Robert to the see of St. Andrews, making use of Bishop John's new-forged links with the Vatican as lever; and had been rewarded by the announcement that a special papal legate would be sent to resolve the matter, he had been elated. But this bringing in of Thurstan might well put a very different complexion on the business, for of course Scotland had no churchman to speak with the authority of an archbishop. Clearly the debate was not going to amount to any mere formal pronunciamento, as David had hoped.