Page 43 of Bound By Honor
And so it was that Angus’ brother, Alex, appealed to King Edward the MacDougalls’ refusal to convey Juliana’s dower lands at Lismore. Edward, surely happy to be overruling his puppet, agreed that Alexander Macdonald should have the dower lands on Lismore. Balliol unwisely ignored Edward’s judgment.
CHAPTER 8
Dunaverty Castle, Kintyre Peninsula, late February 1293
IN EARLY FEBRUARY, John Balliol held his first parliament at Scone. Like the Bruces, the Macdonalds avoided the meeting they would otherwise attend.
Angus’ father was busy building a stone kirk at Kilchoman on the west coast of Islay, and Angus was consumed with affairs at Dunaverty. As a result, when Alex’s news reached Angus on a cold and dreary morning, it came as a shock.
Angus,
There is no way to soften the blow. Father was suddenly taken ill and died. By God’s grace, Mother was here on Islay with him until the last and was comforted that he had the good death.
His chaplain, Michael Dominici, performed the last rite sacraments and his physician, Macbeathadh, and the priests prepared his body for burial.
Tomorrow, I sail with Mother, the chaplain and some of the household to Ardtornish to get John and thence to Iona for the burial.
Bring Uncle Alasdair and such of his family as may be able to come to Iona. I have sent messengers to the chiefs and others who will want to attend. I expect the burial to take place within a fortnight.
Alex
For a moment Angus stared at the parchment, unable to move. His hand went to his chest where a heavy weight had settled.It cannot be!
Tears welled in his eyes. There had been no warning, no impending battle, no treachery. His father was still a virile man. Yet, in Angus’ mind, he saw his father as he was the last time they were together, his red hair salted with gray as he spoke to the Council, the lines of worry in his face that had come with the seer’s predictions and his pale countenance when word reached him that John Balliol had been chosen king.
“When did my brother give this to you?” he asked the messenger who stood waiting.
“Last evening, my lord. He told me to sail at first light, that it would take time for the chiefs to arrive, and to let you know he will await you at Iona.”
“Aye, there is time.”
The messenger turned to go, then paused and turned back. “All Islay mourns his passing, my lord.”
“Thank you.”
Pushing away his grief, Angus found his captain and issued orders to make ready to sail the next day to Saddell, halfway up the Kintyre coast. To his seneschal, he said, “Have several casks of wine and rounds of cheese loaded on my ship for the Iona monks will be housing many they did not expect.” Others, too, would bring food and there were cattle on the isle but Angus wanted to contribute. To do something.
There was much weeping at Saddell Castle when Angus conveyed the news of his father’s passing. His frail uncle, Alasdair Mor Macdonald, remained stoic, though his red-rimmed hazel eyes betrayed his deep sadness as he comforted his wife. “Only Donald and Duncan are with us,” he told Angus, acknowledging the two standing before him. “Hector is in Ireland. Duncan may go with us to Iona but I need Donald to remain here to guard the castle and manage my affairs.”
Angus turned to his cousins and greeted them in somber manner. Then, drawing Duncan aside, he said, “I did not anticipate this, not so soon.”
“’Tis a sad truth,” said Duncan, his face lined with grief, “the great ones will not always be with us.”
“’Aye,” agreed Angus, still feeling the shock of his father’s death. “I cannot believe he is gone. Already, I miss him.”
“This means your brother, Alexander, is now—or soon will be—The Macdonald, Lord of the Isles.”
Angus nodded. “As it should be. Alex will be a worthy chief of the Macdonalds and a wise leader of the lordship. He is well respected by all and his loyalties are those of our father and the chiefs who met in Council last autumn. He has proven himself in combat, most valiantly and skillfully. And he stood strong against the MacDougalls, who assert their new power over lordship lands.”
The next day, they left Saddell for Iona, the air cold but the sea calm beneath a cloud-filled sky. The crew took to the oars with vigorous strokes, there being insufficient wind to raise the sail until they rounded the tip of Kintyre.
As they proceeded north toward Islay, the wind picked up and the men shipped the oars and set the sail. Duncan and his parents drew their woolen cloaks tightly around them against the chill. Angus had donned trews beneath his tunic and wrapped himself in a fur cloak as the winter day was very cold. Though he was going to bury his father, he still carried his sword and dagger.
The voyage was a somber one, the mood of all matching the weather. The crew wore long faces as many of them or their fathers knew Angus Mor. Their chant this day was a dirge.
Angus was glad they’d not encountered a storm, for it would have made things worse for his passengers. Still, there had been rain and rough water so that all were soaked despite their cloaks. He was glad they were stopping for the night at Claig Castle at the head of the Sound of Islay. With the shortened days, it was gloaming when they finally beached the ship.
The castle sat on the flat summit ofAm Fraoch Eilean, the Heather Isle. Once inside the great hall, Angus shed his cloak and warmed himself by the great fire as he conveyed the news of his father’s death to those who kept the castle for the Macdonalds.
