Page 67 of Summer Warrior

CHAPTER 16

Carlisle, Cumbria, Scotland, July 1138 A.D.

GRAY CLOUDS HOVERED over Cumbria as Somerled and his army of Highlanders and Islesmen secured their ships on the banks of the River Eden and climbed the hill to David’s castle at Carlisle. Even before Somerled reached the keep, rising from a grass-covered hill, he marveled at the great number of men-at-arms camped on the wide green banks of the river. Yet, the number of tents was not as great as he had expected.

And then he recalled the king’s main army was not here but with him marching south from Roxburgh.

The stone tower, built in Norman fashion, was just seven miles from the English border, a strategic position that had determined its history. Somerled learned from Maurice that the first castle, constructed by William Rufus, son of the Conqueror, was built over an old Roman fort. Both had been of timber. King Henry had ordered the site to be fortified with a castle and towers but they were not completed when he died five years ago, allowing King David to reclaim Cumbria and finish the stone castle at Carlisle, now secure behind a surrounding stone wall. The adjacent rivers provided the moat’s water.

As Somerled watched the tents before him, Angus, Domnall and Maurice approached. “We will be hard pressed to find a place for our own tents,” said Angus.

“Any place away from the Galwegians would be best,” offered Maurice.

“Aye,” said Somerled, crossing his arms over his chest and remembering Ragnhild’s words about them being like Picts. “But they won’t be here. Edward Siwardsson told me they are already with King David’s men.” Then facing Maurice, he said, “While Angus and I go to the castle to meet with Siwardsson, scout out a place for us to camp. We may only be here a few days.”

“As you wish,” said Maurice and he turned to go.

To Domnall, Somerled said, “Speak to the chiefs and let them know we rest here for only a short while. They can fill their skins with water but should not wander far until we set up camp.”

“Aye, Cousin,” said Domnall. “I will keep them together until you return.”

Somerled dipped his head in acknowledgement and set off for the castle with Angus at his side.

“Who are all these men?” Angus asked as they wended their way through the myriad of tents and men.

Somerled eyed the mixed throng, so very different in clothing and armor. “Those with horses and swords and more elaborate tents with pennons flying are likely mail-clad knights or Norman barons aligned with David. However, I do not see many knights among this crowd. I assume they are with the king.” He gestured to a large gathering of men with no armor save the padded vests worn by Somerled’s warriors. “Some Scots dress as Gaels with no armor other than what we ourselves wear. They carry targes, the same round leather shields borne by our archers. Many will have spears and silvered axes if not swords.”

“What of Prince Henry, David’s son?”

“He will be clad in a knight’s attire, fighting at his father’s side.”

That the king’s son fought with him told Somerled that should he survive the coming battle, one day Gillecolum would be fighting by his side. He vowed to train the lad well so he would be a force to be reckoned with.

They had crossed the moat and arrived at the castle gate. “Lord Somerled of Argyll and the Isles to see Edward Siwardsson, the king’s Lord High Constable,” announced Angus.

“Ah, the Islesmen. You are expected.” He turned and preceded them into the great hall, cool even on a July day, for while the windows in the stone edifice allowed in sunlight, the stone remained cold.

Siwardsson was standing at a wooden table, looking down at a map. As they walked toward him, he looked up. “Lord Somerled! You arrive at last!”

“You remember my brother, Angus, from Irvine,” said Somerled. “When you came to Ardtornish, he was on Kintyre.”

“Aye,” said the high constable, shaking Angus’ hand. “I recall the resemblance. Would you have some ale?”

“Ale would be most welcome,” said Somerled. Angus nodded and a servant poured the three of them full tankards.

Somerled was parched and thankful for the drink. “Does the map signify our destination?”

Siwardsson again bent over the parchment. “Mayhap. Word has come that with the Earl of Gloucester again rebelling against Stephen, David means to seize his chance to gain ground for his niece. He is marching south toward Durham. In two days, we can meet him at Hexham in Northumberland.”

“Do we leave on the morrow?” asked Somerled, thinking of his men who would profit from a short rest.

“We can leave the day after and still arrive at Hexham before the king. Those camped here at Carlisle will be following after us to join David.”

On the day appointed, Somerled’s more than one thousand men and those that had been camped on the riverbanks set out for Northumberland. As they marched eastward, the men of Argyll and the Isles, unused to so much travel by land, expressed their longing for the sea and fresh fish.

At the end of each day, they set down their weapons and bundles to cool their aching feet in a nearby burn and, with the coming dusk, pulled their blankets over their faces to keep the midges away. They carried enough food for the present but, eventually, they would have to hunt.

Siwardsson had timed their arrival well, for they had but a few days wait at Hexham until David, riding south, came upon them. Prince Henry was at his side, looking much like a Norman knight, a pennon fluttering from his lance.