Page 64 of King’s Knight

On the king’s other side rode Edgar Ætheling, the fair-haired brother of Malcolm’s Saxon queen, who Alex knew from his time in Normandy. He had been correct in thinking Edgar had gone home to Scotland.

“Robert, my old friend,” said Malcolm, his gaze briefly resting on the duke and then Alex before alighting on Duncan. “You bring my son to me?”

Robert smiled graciously and Alex understood the wisdom of sending the duke to bargain with Malcolm. “The King of Scots knows well why I am here. It is true your son, Duncan, has come with me. I also bring the nephew of your chief, Steinar.” He gestured to Alex. “Sir Alexander of Talisand. For what we have to discuss, ’tis best we are among those we trust, no?”

Steinar dipped his head to Alex, acknowledging his presence, and Alex nodded in return.

“Welcome to Scotland, nephew of my mormaer,” said Malcolm to Alex. Then facing Duncan, the king smiled. “It has been long since my eyes have seen you, my son. I trust you have remembered all we spoke of when last we parted.”

“I have, Father.” Duncan’s words brought to Alex’s mind his conversation with Duncan in which he had said his father expected him one day to reign over the Scots.

“Well,” said Robert, “now that we have made the necessary introductions, is there somewhere we can share a cup of wine and talk? My mission is to avoid war, if ’tis possible.”

“My tent is not far,” said Malcolm. “We can talk there. You have my word you will be unharmed.”

Duke Robert rode beside King Malcolm and Duncan paired with Edgar, who he apparently knew, leaving Alex to ride beside his uncle.

They followed the others until they came to a wide glen. Well protected on a rise, Malcolm’s army stretched as far as the eye could see. Alex took in the field of white tents and many horses. As they rode into the Scots’ camp, fierce-looking mail-clad warriors with long hair and beards stared at them with narrowed eyes. At their waists were belted swords but many knives and a few axes were visible, as well.

The threat of violence lay thick in the air.

One of the Scots, a rough bearded warrior, wore across his chest two thick leather straps bearing two knives. He waited until his king passed, then he spit on the ground as Alex crossed in front of him as if the very dirt was tainted by a Norman’s presence. Others jutted out their chests, as if begging for a fight. Alex had been right in thinking the Scots had time to prepare. They were armed, confident and, no doubt, well-fed, whereas William’s men were weary and hungry.

Alex did not shy from their hostile looks but turned his face ahead. Unlike William, Malcolm was a man of his word. They would not be attacked in the Scots’ camp.

“You have the look of your father,” said Steinar, drawing his attention from the warriors around him.

“I have been told that since I was young,” Alex replied.

Steinar chuckled. “You are still young.”

Alex gave his uncle a sidelong glance. By now, Steinar was in his fourth decade, a proven warrior trusted by the Scottish king and a member of the Scottish nobility, the rank of mormaer being the same as an English earl.

“Scotland has been good to you,” Alex remarked.

“Aye, it has. My sister, Serena, how does she fare?”

“She is well, the Lady of Talisand, mother of four sons and loved by her Norman husband.”

“I saw that for myself before I left. You were just a wee babe then. Rhodri has brought me news over the years so I knew of my other nephews. Do you know the Welshman I call friend?”

“Aye, but since the trouble between England and Wales, Rhodri comes less often to Talisand.”

Steinar stared off into the distance as if contemplating the past.

“Do you miss your home?” Alex asked him.

“I miss my sister and the people I knew there, but I no longer think of Talisand as home. Scotland has been my home for more than a score of years. It was here I gained lands of my own, here I met my wife, Catrìona, and here my children were born.”

“Do I have many cousins?”

He laughed. “Aye. We adopted an orphan to begin. Then, like my sister, we lost a girl child at birth, but after that, God gave us five sons.”

“A large family. I wish I could meet them.” In truth, Alex would never know them, at least not as long as their kings chose war over peace.

They reached the center of the Scots’ camp. Malcolm’s army bowed their heads as their king passed. Reining in his white charger in front of the largest tent, Malcolm dismounted and handed the reins to a squire. A guard held open the tent flap for the king to enter.

Once inside, Alex was struck by how sparsely it was furnished: two pallets on one side of the tent and a table with benches on each of its four sides in the center. But then, a warrior king prepared for battle would not indulge in opulence.