They crossed to a corner of the haugh where men vied with each other as to who could toss a tall, trimmed tree-trunk the farthest, amidst much grunting and puffing and bulging of biceps. Most of the contestants, mainly stripped to the waist above short kilts, were big burly men; but one most noticeably was not, a fair-headed, well-built but fairly lean individual, seeming almost slight compared with the others, but at second glance his wiry body seen to be toughly muscular and in excellent condition. He had sharp, almost foxy features and a notable air of concentration and determination. He was flexing his arms and knees as he stood watching one giant, who balanced his caber high, preparing to toss.
"Alex," Ethelred called. "A truce to your stick-throwing! See whom we have here."
The other barely glanced in their direction. "Wait," he jerked, and continued with his exercises whilst closely eyeing the competitor with the swaying tree.
With a groan ending in a single explosive snort, the man heaved his enormous burden up and over, and staggered back. The thing did not seem to go very far - but the wonder was that any man could actually lift it up off the ground, much less throw it for even a few feet. The earth shook to its fall.
"Ha - not so good as your last toss, Fergus," Alexander exclaimed. "I can beat that I swear!"
Another man was already unrolling a string to measure the distance from the tossing-line to the dunt in the grass made by the butt, amongst the number of small pegs which marked the limits of other throws.
Alexander, Earl of Gowrie, turned. "So it is Davie!" he said, without evident surprise or pronounced pleasure. "Grown a man, but still . . . Davie."
"Why, yes. Would you have expected otherwise, Alex? Greetings to you, brother."
"Aye - and to you. What brings you here, so far from your English friends?"
"You do, Alex. I have word for you. But it is my pleasure to see my own kin again, likewise."
"Oh, yes. To be sure." The other looked him up and down. There was some five years' difference in their ages, but the elder seemed much the senior. He nodded briefly. "Aye, then — I shall see you later." And he turned back to the caber-tossing.
"That is Alex!" Ethelred murmured, as he took David's arm and led him away. "He has time only for the business on hand, always. But he is none so ill
if
you
are the business on hand! Come and eat lad. You and your friends will be hungry. And we shall find Madach
..."
The Earl Madach, when he was found and brought, proved to be a solid stocky but amiable man, ageing but strong-bodied, son of their father's uncle. He gave no impression of being a besotted bridegroom, but made a good if undemonstrative host. He was clearly much interested to see David, and when they had eaten, took him in search of his new wife. Before they found her, they encountered his brother Maldred, Lord of Dowally, a quietly competent-seeming man, greying but of a notably alert bearing, who had been an especial friend of Queen Margaret. With him was his handsome wife, the Lady Magda, a Saxon, both of whom David remembered vaguely from childhood.
The bride, when run to earth by the riverside, watching swimmers amongst a laughing group of young men, was all glowing health, high spirits and bodily awareness, a lusty young woman, natural and uninhibited. When Madach told her that the Prince David was a sort of cousin, she kissed him' heartily — and his two companions for good measure. She was, indeed, in kinship not only by her marriage, distantly as it might be, for her father the Earl Hakon of Orkney was son to the Earl Paul, eldest son of the famous Thorfinn Raven-Feeder, whose own mother had been the Princess Donada, sister to David's own great-grandmother. Madach recited this solemnly, such descents meaning a great deal to the lineage-conscious Scots.
Thereafter, David went off with Madach and Ethelred, on a tour of the festivities, and to meet the other principal guests; but Hugo and Hervey elected to remain with the new Countess Margaret, like most of the other young men. Alexander was now involved in a pole-vaulting contest. It was obviously no time to seek a conference with him on matrimonial prospects.
It was evening, and late evening at that, after the feasting up in the hall of the rock-top rath, before Alexander indicated that he was prepared to give his younger brother some private and undivided attention. That this was not to be of long duration was made clear by his distinctly reluctant leaving behind of a lady of bountiful charms and evident promise, whom he assured he would rejoin before long.
In a small chamber off the hall, the brothers considered each other assessingly. Alexander went into what was almost the attack, right away.
"You have seen Edgar, Davie?" he asked. "Our broken reed of a brother! What did he say? About me?"
David was wary. "Little — little about you. Or about anything. Save his sore hurt of mind, his fears and despair."
"Aye, we all get that. But. . .
of the future? What did he say,
man? He is intent on dying! What of the future? Of the realm?"
"You will be King of course. H
e does not question that. But…”
"Aye - but, Davie? But what?"
"He
...
he believes that you, Alex, are not greatly interested in the south of the kingdom. In Lothian and Strathclyde. He is concerned for these parts - which he has always held dear."
"Oh, yes. He has lived in Lothian. Takes no care for his ancient kingdom north of Forth and Clyde. These new lands in the south - they are not the
real
Scotland. I swear Edgar is more Saxon than Scot!"
"Perhaps. He believes that you are the other way. It sounds as though you are, Alex?"
"I would cherish Alba, our ancient heritage - yes. But not throw away Lothian and Strathclyde - as he has thrown away the Hebrides, to Norway." Alexander fixed his brother with those piercing eyes. "Edgar told me once that he thought to give them to
you!
Has he told you that?"
David stirred uncomfortably. "He said something to that end. But
...
he was all but wandering in his mind . . ."
"He cannot do it, man — cannot, I say! He cannot give away parts of the kingdom. He has kept me from being Prince of Strathclyde all these years, as is my right, he being unwed. As heir to the throne. Given me only Gowrie, a mere thanedom. He hates me, I think - and you he dotes on! But he cannot divide the kingdom, when he is gone. You hear?"
"Yes. But Edgar is not gone yet - that is not to be thought on, either. He is only thirty. This sorrow of mind he could throw off, in time, Alex. And it can scarcely kill him. He could, and should, be King for many years still."
Alexander muttered something inaudible. "We shall see," he added. "But - take heed what I have said, Davie. I shall not see the realm divided."
"I do not wish that, either Alex. But
...
I could wish for some stake some small stake in the realm. Scotland is my land also, brother. My roots are here."
"Aye. No doubt. We shall see." The other sat back, as though anything of import was now disposed of. "What is this word you have for me? From Matilda, is it? Our sister?"
"She sends warm greetings, yes. Mary also. But the message is from King Henry. On, on a delicate matter."
"Delicate? That Norman! I never yet knew a delicate Norman! Out with it, man."
"It is about marriage, Alex. Henry has a daughter. Born out-of-wedlock, many years ago. Sybilla. She is sixteen years. He would link our two houses closer, in marriage. He thinks to marry this Sybilla to either Edgar or yourself. Edgar, it seems, is in no marrying state. So Henry sends me to you."
"Marriage! Henry would marry me to his bastard? Henry Beauclerc!"
"Yes."
"Why?"
"I tell you - to link our houses closer . . ." "Our realms, rather! It is Scotland he wants, not Alex mac Malcolm!"
"To be sure. But is that so ill? He would have the two kingdoms close. But not as Rufus and his father would have had it, by conquest, claiming to be Lords Paramount. Henry does not claim that. But to have an end to enmity, linked by marriage not by the power of the sword, in peace. It seems to me much to be preferred."
"M'mm. You spoke of this to Edgar?"
"No. He appeared to be in no state to talk of marriage. He will not wed - that is clear. Not in the near future. Henry told me to judge for myself."
"So-o-o! My younger brother adjudges me suitable and assigns me a wife!"
"Scarce that, Alex! Henry would have his daughter to wed either the King of Scots or the heir to the King of Scots. I am but his messenger."
"Very well."
"There are advantages in the matter, surely. To have the King of England as good-father and good-brother both . . ."
"To be sure. I
am not witless nor lost to reason, Davie."
"No - but such match could mean much to Scotland . . ."
"I have said very well. What more do you want, man?"
David stared. "You mean . . .? You mean that you agree? That you will indeed wed the Lady Sybilla? Just, just. . . so?"
"That is the object of your mission, is it not? What more need I say?"
"You, you do not wish to hear more? Of this young woman, Sybilla? Of Henry's proposals?"
"My terms for the marriage will be a matter between myself and Henry Beauclerc, Davie - spoken to by more seasoned envoy than my youngest brother! As for this Sybilla, I know nothing of her. But provided that she has two legs and what goes between them, and is the King of England's daughter, I shall wed her! I can seek my comforts and pleasures elsewhere— as no doubt does Henry!"
"Henry is devoted to our sister." David was indeed perceiving what sort of man was this brother. The pert and unmanageable Sybilla might well meet her match here. Ethelred had been right when he said that Alex had time only for the business on hand but that such business would receive his full attention and decision. He shrugged. "She, Sybilla, is . . . spirited. She is not beautiful. But she is not lacking in, in a woman's parts. Indeed she makes that plain, at times! She is French, of course. Her mother, Sybille Corbet, is sister to Renaud de Dunsterville. Henry spent his early manhood in Normandy . . ."
"No doubt. I did not suspect that Henry was a saint! I have a bastard or two of my own - and will be surprised not to have more! Which, Davie minds me - I have a lady awaiting me. I had her nicely warmed. A pity if she should cool off!" Alexander rose. "So, unless you have more of earth-shaking import for me, I shall bid you good night!"
David nodded. Apparently his mission
was completed. "If
there is more that you wish t
o hear, I can tell you tomorrow”
The morrow brought no particular questioning from Alexander, only the announcement that he was for off — and not back to the Ward of the Stormounth, where David had thought to accompany him for a brief spell before setting off southwards again, but north-east to the Mearns, to another palace, the hunting-seat of Kincardine, sixty miles away. It seemed that the lady he was presently interested in was the wife of the elderly Thane of Edzell nearby. There was no suggestion that his brother and friends should join him at Kincardine. As the wedding festivities appeared to be breaking up at Dunkeld, Ethelred proposed that David and his companions should return with him to Forteviot, for so long as they might wish, before commencing the long ride south to Winchester.
This they were glad to do. Alexander did not so much as bid them goodbye, in the end.
Forteviot, the ancient Pictish capital, lay some twenty-five miles to the south, in Strathearn, near where Earn joined Tay and Tay widened to its estuary. The old palace here had been the seat of a succession of Scots kings, from Kenneth the First, MacAlpin, for two hundred years until Duncan the First, David's grandfather, had deserted it for nearby Dunsinane; so it was apt enough that it should now be the home of the most true heiress of that venerable line, Ethelred's wife, Malvina. The first Duncan had been not exactly a usurper but with less right to the throne than the offspring of Kenneth the Third -that is Gruoch, who had married MacBeth, a granddaughter. Lulach had been her son, and he had heired the throne for six months after his stepfather's, MacBeth's death, before Duncan's son Malcolm Canmor
e slew him, as he had slain Mac
Beth, and took the crown. This, the Lady Malvina, was Lulach's daughter and had married Ethelred.
She proved to be a gentle creature, holding no evident grievances. There were two sons, Angus and Malcolm, still only boys. It did not fail to occur to David, although he did not mention it, that if all had their hereditary rights, and primogeniture meant anything, it should be this young Angus to whom Henry should seek to marry his daughter in due course, not Alexander, since he it was who was lineal heir both of his mother's and his father's lines.