"No, I am not well, Davie-not well. But whether I am sick, who knows? God, perhaps — or the Devil!"
"But — Edgar, you are thin, poor-seeming. And, lying here? What is wrong . . . ?"
"I am accursed - that is what is wrong, Davie."
"Accursed? But . . . ?" Helplessly, David looked at his brother.
"Accursed, yes. Rejected of God and His saints. Lost, man-lost!" Edgar gripped the other's arm and shook it. "I tell you, I am forsaken. For my sin."
"What sin? Edgar - what are you saying?"
"I say that I am abandoned to the Evil One. For the great sin I committed. As our mother was abandoned. God is hard, hard
"Lord - what sin did our mother ever commit? She was a saint!"
"She sinned, yes - and grieved for it. But that did not save her from God's wrath. She wed our father, after he had got rid of Ingebiorg, his first wife. And then she allowed the boy Duncan, our half-brother, to be taken as hostage by the Conqueror, in place of one of
her
sons. She never forgave herself. Nor did Almighty God. She faded away and died, His hand upon her. As do I! There is a curse upon our house, man!"
David shook his head. "This is folly, brother. You are chasing shadows. Our mother scourged herself without mercy, yes. None other did - not God, assuredly. And you - what sin have you committed to deserve this?"
"Sin of the same sort, Davie. Against our own kin. Our Uncle Donald. I, I put out his eyes and sent him to the kitchens as a scullion! Our father's brother. He had been crowned in the Stone, at Scone. Now he has died. I killed him. His blood is required of me."
David was silenced. He had not heard of Donald Ban's death; but he had been deeply shocked those years ago when he had learned what Edgar had done to their uncle, after he had unseated him. He could not deny that.
"He usurped the throne," he said at length, without conviction.
"He had more right to it than had our father - who was born out-of-wedlock. He was younger, but legitimate."
"It may be so . . . but, Edgar - that is an old story. Done with. No cause for this, this despair."
"What do you know of that? Am I not the better judge? I tell you, I
know
that God has rejected me. I have become an empty husk - no more than that."
"More than that, yes. You are King of Scots, Edgar, with a realm to rule."
His brother turned his back on him, on the bed.
David sat, at a loss, not knowing what to do or think or say. He was tired, with the long journey, and hungry. Perhaps in the morning he would be able to do better.
"Leave me now, Davie," the King muttered. "I am weary
”
"Yes. Tomorrow, then ..."
At least, as he went, leaden-hearted, he already had the answer to one part of the quest Henry had laid upon him. Edgar mac Malcolm was not likely to look favourably on any marriage proposal.
* * *
After two depressing days at Edinburgh they rode northwards again, in search of Alexander, Earl of Gowrie. Edgar had proved little or no more encouraging in the interim, a man deeply immersed in his own sorrows and apprehensions, making no more attempt to welcome and entertain his brother and visitors than he apparently did to manage the affairs of his kingdom. David had sought to explain to him Henry's desire further to link their royal houses in marriage; but Edgar had shown no least interest. Indeed his attitude was that he was as good as dead and that Alexander would soon be ruling Scotland anyway. Only the one spasm of anything like animation had come to him during those gloomy days. When, speaking of Alexander, Edgar had declared that he feared for the realm's unity when he was gone. Alex would not hold it together. He was interested only in the North, the old Alba, the ancient Celtic kingdom north of the Scotwater and Forth. For the South, for this Lothian and the Merse, Teviotd
ale and Strath
clyde, he had no concern, never coming near it, the best and civilised part of the whole. So he, Edgar, was going to leave all the South to David. Alexander could keep Alba and be King of Scots; David should be Prince of Strathclyde - the title of the heir to the throne, which he had never given to Alexander - and rule all south of Forth. Uncertain what to make of this, David had let the matter lie, and Edgar had not referred to it again.
If the three young men had felt released on leaving Winchester two weeks before, they felt still more so to get away from the grim and distressing atmosphere of Dunedin, where all was neglect, lethargy, foreboding. Apparently, in so far as Scotland was being governed at all, other than locally by its
ri
or lesser kings, the mormaors and earls of the great provinces, it was being governed from the old
Celtic capital of Scone, in For
trenn. An able Norman churchman, Robert, was Prior of Scone, and he had been appointed Chancellor or chief minister. There was a certain convenience in this as far as the Celtic part of the kingdom was concerned, for Alexander resided mainly only a few miles to the north, at Malcolm Canmore's former summer palace of the Ward of the Stormounth; their older brother, Ethelred, Abbot of Dunkeld in the Celtic Church and now Earl of Moray, lived at Forteviot to the south a short distance; their cousin Madach, Earl of Atholl, had his seat at Dunkeld, not a great deal further north; and Maldred mac Melmore, Madach's brother and one of the most useful men in the land, lived at Bothar Gask, midway between Dunkeld and the Ward. So there was something of a concentration of authority in Fortrenn, the heart of the Celtic realm; and Edgar's withdrawal and near-abdication at Edinburgh, was the less disastrous - although it was still a sorry situation.
So the travellers journeyed on north by west, crossed saltwater where the Scottish Sea became the Firth of Forth, by the ferry established by Queen Margaret. They spent the first night at David's old home of Dunfermline Palace, now in the hands only of a steward, and a sad disappointment to the returned exile who had remembered a place vastly different, all life and stir and even splendour. It was now seen to be little more than a rather bare and overgrown hallhouse attached to a stark stone tower, all echoing with emptiness. The great minster to the Holy Trinity, which Queen Margaret had erected nearby, however, was sufficiently impressive, so that Hervey and Hugo could at least find something to admire there. So far they had found Scotland just what they had expected - backward, unpolished; they did not hesitate to say so.
By riding hard and long next day, they managed to reach the Ward of the Stormounth, on the skirts of the Highland mountains, by evening, only to find tha
t Alexander was absent. Apparentl
y there was a great wedding at Dunkeld, where Madach, Earl of Atholl was belatedly taking a wife, at the age of fifty-five, and the prince was attending.
The Ward was a pleasant place, its memories happy ones for David, of long summer days hunting and hawking in the hills, fishing in the rivers, swimming in Loch Clunie and making great expeditions with his older brothers into the mountains, to climb and clamber and explore. It was certainly a much more desirable place to live than Dunedin's fortress, and the three friends would gladly have lingered. But there was no knowing for how long Alexander might remain away; and Dunkeld was only eight miles to the west. So the following morning they rode on into South Atholl.
Dunkeld, set dramatically within the jaws of a narrow pass where the great River Tay emerged through the Highland Line into the green leafiness of Birnam Wood, was astir with lively activity, the rath on the top of its thrusting pinnacle of rock, the Abbey directly below at the riverside, and the quite large township nearby, all full of visitors and their hangers-on. The actual wedding ceremony had been two days previously, but the festivities were still very much going on, a great many of Celtic Scotland's notables having gathered for this unexpected occasion. Madach was popular, and it was not often that one of the great earls of Scotland waited until his mid-fifties to marry and then to wed a girl exactly forty years his junior — in this case, the Lady Margaret Hakonsdotter of Orkney. Although the celebrations had been going on for days, everybody seemed to be in high good spirits still — including the new fifteen-year-old Countess, a large, flaxen-haired, tomboyish creature of the true Nordic breed, with nothing of the blushing bride about her. Madach of Atholl, it seemed, was likely to pass the evening of his days less than restfully.
When they arrived, sporting contests were in progress in the level haughland of the river, near the Abbey, amidst much hilarity — racing, on horse and afoot, and swimming in the Tay, jumping, vaulting and wrestling, archery, sword-fighting, javelin-throwing, caber-tossing and stone-putting. Pipers strutted and blew, dancers demonstrated, performing bears were paraded, and food and drink was laid out in lavish profusion for all-comers.
In all the crowd and turmoil the newcomers, as well as being unnoticed, were at something of a loss as to whom to present themselves; but presently David saw one familiar face. At least, the features were sufficiently like his own, although much older-seeming, and the gingery-red hair was as he thought to remember it. He led the way over to where this individual, a tall man in his early thirties, dressed in Highland fashion, saffron kilted tunic, belted with a golden earl's belt and wearing a shoulder-plaid of vivid colours, fed lumps of cold meat to a couple of long-legged shaggy deerhounds.
"Eth!" he exclaimed. "It
is
Eth, is it not? Greetings, brother."
"Eh . . . ?" The other man looked startled, "Do I know you, friend? I am seldom called brother - seldom even called Abbot now. And not Eth but Hugh."
It was David's turn to look perplexed. "Hugh . . . ? But—you
are
Eth, are you not? Ethelred mac Malcolm?"
"To be sure. But here, in the Highlands, Ethelred is a foreign name. And Eth is Aodh or Hugh. So
...
! But, your face is familiar . . . ?"
"It should be - since we are brothers, my lord! I am David mac Malcolm."
"God in His Heaven!" the other cried, and came forward to clasp the younger man to him. "Davie! By all the powers -
Davie! Young Davie - a man grown! Sakes - I have not seen you since you were . . . when wo
uld it be? Ten years old? Or mo
r
e”
"Nine, yes. 1093, when I was taken to England. Twelve years ago, Eth - Hugh. A long time
..."
"But how come you here, lad? Are you released? Come home, at last?"
"Scarce that. I am not a hostage now - at least, I think not! Now that our sister is Queen of England. I am here on a mission for King Henry." He recollected the courtesies. "These, my lord, are my friends - Hugo de Morville and Hervey de Warenne. And this is the Prince Ethelred, Abbot of Dunkeld and Earl of Moray. Although it was Earl
of Fife
before, was it not?"
"Aye
— but young Constantine MacDuff
came of age and got his earldom back. So I was given Moray, which had been forfeited by Malsnechtan mac Lulach. I am married to Lulach's daughter, so it was thought apt." He nodded to the two young men. "Both of your names are namely — but sorely Norman!" However, he grinned as he said that. "Friends of David's are friends of mine, forby. What is your mission, lad?"
"Well
...
it is with Alexander. Henry has word for him. We have been to Dunedin and seen Edgar . . ."
"Ah. I fear that you would have little joy in that. It is a sorry pass."
"Yes. I was grieved, much grieved. He seems to be almost out of his mind. What is to be done?"
"What
can
be done? We have all tried. But he will hear nothing. He is eaten up with guilt. He has turned his face to the wall."
"He thinks himself accursed. Yet - he is the King . . ."
"He does not act the King. Never has done, in truth. Alex at least will do better, I think."
David considered his brother thoughtfully. But for this Celtic Church abbacy and primacy, which now apparently meant little or nothing, with the Roman Church triumphing, Ethelred would have been the King, not Edgar, for he was the third of the Margaretsons. Edward, Prince of Strathclyde, had been slain with his father. Edmund, the second son and black sheep, had supported their uncle, Donald Ban, paid for it by being condemned to perpetual imprisonment — but this was commuted on his taking holy orders in the Romish Church, which barred him from the succession. Edgar had been only the fourth son, as David was the sixth and youngest.
Perhaps his face showed something of these thoughts, for Ethelred clapped him on the shoulder.
"Our fates are in the hands of the good God, not for curse and evil but for the best, lad," he said. "Doubts and fears and repinings are not for princes. Alex, see you, suffers none of these! He is yonder, at the caber-tossing. Hoping to win, as always - although he will not, for there are better men than he, here. Come."