Page 43 of Summer Warrior

They had known each other since they were youths and “Hilde” had been his name for her when they played games, their favorite being hoodman-blind. While Ragnhild was not overly fond of the nickname, she liked Uchtred and knew it was spoken with affection for she was like a sister to him.

One summer, they had learned archery and chess together. Affraic, then only Lord Fergus’ daughter, had been a few years older than they were but she never participated in their childhood games and cared not for archery. Even then, she looked nothing like her beautiful mother.

Refreshments awaited them in the hall. As the others accepted mugs of hot spiced wine and platters of bread, cheese and apples, Ragnhild spoke to the servants to assure herself the guests’ chambers were ready. When that was done, she spoke to Fergus’ chief guard. “I have a chamber reserved for you and the two men with you. It is close to Lord Fergus’ rooms.”

The guard, more reserved than Galloway’s kerns, inclined his head. “Thank you, my lady.”

The rain fell in torrents that night, so loud she could hear it beating against the castle from her chamber where she huddled under the furs. Worse, it continued for days thereafter. As a result, there were no long walks along the cliffs, no riding across the hills. Instead, during the day, while Affraic and Elizabeth embroidered and Ragnhild’s father and Fergus sat drinking and talking, she and Uchtred kept each other company with games of chess and reading aloud by the fire.

On this afternoon, with the deerhounds at her feet, she read The Song of Roland. The story told of Charlemagne’s honorable nephew, who died a martyr’s death through the treachery of his stepfather. Assigned the rear guard in a march to battle, Roland died when the enemy was told how he could be ambushed. The slaughter of Roland and his men made Ragnhild worry for another valiant warrior who might be fighting the Norse pirates this very moment.

Somerled said he was going to Islay but she had received no letters from him and desperately wanted to know if he was well.

“I have no interest in becoming like one of my father’s men,” Uchtred said, commenting on the final scene of the story. “Always lusting for battle. My inclinations go the other way. Did you know that my father intends to build an abbey at Dundrennan?”

When she shook her head, he said, “I would oversee not only the abbey’s building but become the abbot, should that be possible.”

“But Uchtred, you are your father’s heir. He will expect you to become Lord of Galloway when he dies.”

“Alas, I know it,” said Uchtred, his expression downcast. “I fear I shall have to content myself with building abbeys.”

“That is not a bad thing,” she encouraged. Silently, she thought if Galloway built more abbeys and brought more abbots like Abbot Bernard to its shores, perhaps its men would not have the reputation as violent Picts.

Rising from her seat, she listened and, hearing no sound of rain, said, “Come, I believe we have been favored with a break in the weather. I will take you to meet Abbot Bernard. The monks are busy making ale just now and I’m sure he would be happy to share some.”

OLAF DOWNED THE LAST of his second goblet of wine and watched his daughter leave the castle with Fergus’ son. “It seems our children have found each other most companionable.”

“Aye, I have observed that they often seek each other’s company.” Running his hand over his scant1 beard, Fergus appeared to contemplate. “As I recall, the princess is of marriageable age. Some might say well past it.”

“She is not yet twenty,” replied Olaf, defensively. “I know maidens are often wed at a younger age, but I have been loath to give her to one of her many suitors, though I know, one day, I must.”

“What say you to adding Uchtred to that list of suitors? He is young, aye. But one day, he will be Lord of Galloway. Only think, Olaf! He could provide support for your young heir, an ally he can trust close to hand.”

“As I trust he will be in any event.” Olaf was already allied with Galloway through Affraic. He hoped to gain more than that from the marriage of the princess. In any event, Uchtred would likely be available for some years. “We will see.”

Fergus said, “Word has it that David’s troubles in England grow with his niece, Empress Maud’s defeats and Stephen’s rising power. I expect he may call upon us should he venture into England again on her behalf.”

Olaf heaved a sigh. “That treaty David agreed to at Durham will not hold. But I have told him I will have no part in any battle in England.”

“I would like to have told him the same, but I am sworn. Ah well, the warriors of Galloway love a good fight.”

Olaf gave no reply but he wondered what havoc the men of Galloway could wreak on England based upon the stories his garrison commander had told him of the lengths to which he had gone to keep order among Fergus’ soldiers.

Loch Findlugan, The Isle of Islay, November 1137 A.D.

THWACK!SOMERLED POUNDED another nail into the beam, satisfied he had hit the mark. The sound of other hammers and the sawing of boards could be heard all around him.

Three weeks had passed and, notwithstanding the occasional rain, the causeway had been constructed from the loch’s shore to the large island where a great hall was rising.

The villagers, who brought them bread, gruel and ale to add to their stores of fresh meat and fish, seemed to take great pride in their lord’s having selected Islay as the site for his headquarters.

Maurice wiped his brow with his sleeve, dipping a cup into the water barrel next to where Somerled worked. “The building goes well.”

Taking the nails from his mouth, Somerled looked around at the work that had been accomplished thus far and nodded. Work had begun on the building that would be the lord’s house and, beyond it, lodgings for others were under construction. On the banks of the loch a stockpile of wood and supplies had accumulated. “Aye, it does.”

“The men should have no trouble meeting your goal. So, I have been thinking. What say you to letting me take a galley to Ireland? ’Tis only a half day’s sail. I would see my family ere we leave on our next voyage.”

Somerled thought for a moment. “Would you take a message for me to the Isle of Man on your way back? It would mean sailing farther south before turning north but I’d be most grateful.”