How the three island kings fared in the dark dungeons of the castle of
Rothesay on that fatal night need not be told. Earl Roderic of Gigha had
doubtless in his sea rovings slept on many a less easy couch. But it may
be that in those dark hours of solitude his mind was more disturbed than
were his hardy limbs. He had come to Bute full of a guilty design, by
the fulfilment of which he had hoped to at last gain possession of the
rich dominions that he had coveted for twenty years. His own inheritance
of the small island of Gigha was not enough to satisfy his vaulting
ambition, and the growing power of the King of Norway, who was year by
year extending his territories in the west of Scotland, offered a
further inducement to Roderic, who believed that by slaying his brother
Hamish, and taking his place, he might bring the island of Bute under
the protection of the Norwegian crown.
His design was clumsily planned, for though subtle as a fox, Roderic was
yet an ignorant man, even for those uncultured times, and he had failed
to take into account the two sons of Earl Hamish, both of whom stood
between him and the coveted earldom, and who now appeared to him as an
obstacle not easy to overcome.
But for the unexpected appearance of Kenric, however, even this obstacle
in his path might have been cleared, for he had planned that in the
darkness and quiet of the night he would steal into the sleeping chamber
of Alpin and so deal with him that he would never again waken to claim
his dead father's lands. Roderic had learned from the Lady Adela that
her younger son, Kenric, was but a boy of sixteen, living with the
learned abbot of St. Blane's, and to the wicked earl of Gigha it seemed
that Kenric might be disposed of by very simple means.
But now, even after having slain his brother, he had failed in his
object. Instead of being king in Bute, he was a prisoner in the deepest
dungeon of Rothesay Castle.
The moor fowl had scarcely shaken the dew from off their wings ere the
two sons of the dead Earl Hamish were climbing the heathery heights
behind Rothesay. With them went the aged Dovenald, bearing in his arms a
young goat, white as the driven snow. When they were upon the topmost
knoll they stood a while. Dovenald laid down the bleating kid, whose
little feet were tethered one to the other, and he bade the two youths
go about and gather some dry twigs of heather and gorse that a fire
might be made.
A soft breeze from over the moorland played with the silvery locks of
the old man's bare head. He turned his face to the east and looked
across the gray waters of the Clyde, where above the hills of
Cunningham, the dawn was breaking into day. Southward then he gazed and
watched the giant mountains of Arran that were half shrouded in rosy
mists. Very soon the golden light of the rising sun kissed here and
there the jagged peaks of Goatfell, and Dovenald bent his head and
murmured a prayer, calling upon God to shed His light into the hearts of
men and to guide them in the solemn work they were called upon to fulfil
that day. Then he turned to Alpin.
"Now kindle me the fire," he said. "Here are flint and steel.
"And, Kenric, give me the arrow."
He took the arrow in his hand and waited till the fire was well alight.
With the arrow's point he stirred the flaming twigs, and the two youths
looked on.
"And now take your dirk, Alpin," said he, "and slay me the kid. Give as
little pain as may be, for it is not well that the innocent thing should
suffer."
Kenric held the animal while his brother drove his sharp dirk into its
white and throbbing throat. The kid turned its soft blue eyes upon him
and gave a plaintive bleat. Its warm breath rose visible in the morning
air and then died away.
"'Tis done!" said Kenric, and Dovenald brought the burning arrow and
extinguished it in the kid's blood. With the innocent blood he smeared
the arrow's shaft.
"Fly now as speedily as your feet can carry you to the castle of
Kilmory," said the old man to Alpin, giving him the arrow, "and you will
give this burnt arrow into the hands of Sir Oscar Redmain. No need have
you to tell him the meaning thereof. It is a summons ordained by ancient
custom, and well known to all the wise men of Bute. Sir Oscar will
despatch it to our good father the abbot of St. Blane's. The abbot will
in like manner send it to Ronald Gray of Scoulag. So, in turn, will it
pass round to each of the twelve wise ruthmen, calling them one and all
to hasten to the Seat of Law on the great plain beside Ascog mere, that
they may there in solemn assize pronounce judgment upon the traitor who
hath slain our king.
"Haste! haste! my son. Why do you tarry?"
"Have I not sworn an oath on my mother's blessing that I will have this
man Roderic's life? Why, then, should this assize be assembled?"
"Go, do my bidding, rash boy," said Dovenald sternly. "Seek not to
oppose the customs of your ancestors, and let not your thirst for
vengeance now blind you to the folly of violence. Go, I command you; and
believe me the earl of Gigha shall not escape just retribution."
Alpin, then, taking the arrow in his right hand, ran off at a brisk pace
down the hill. Kenric took up the dead kid and walked at Dovenald's side
towards Rothesay.
"Rash, rash that he is," murmured the old man. "Much do I fear that he
will make but a sorry king. He is over hasty, and his judgment is
ofttimes wrong. He will not rule as did his father. The Lady Adela hath
spoiled him with her caresses."
"You are over hard upon my brother," said Kenric. "There lives not a man
in the Western Isles better fitted than Alpin for the great office of
kingship. He is just, and noble, and trusty. No man in all Bute can say
that he ever broke a promise or told an untruth. Think you that because
he is hasty with his dirk he is therefore a thoughtless loon, who knows
not when a gentle word can do more service than a blow? When did he ever
draw dirk or sword without just cause? You do not know him as I do,
Dovenald, or you would not breathe a word in his dispraise. And if my
gentle mother loves him above all else next to my father, whom she has
now lost, who shall say that Alpin is not deserving of her great favour?"
The old retainer walked on in silence.
Presently he turned to Kenric and said: "What has your brother done with
the weapon wherewith my lord was slain? He tried in the dead of night to
gain entrance to the traitor Roderic that he might use that fatal knife
even as my lady so weakly charged him to do. Where is it, I say?"
"I know not," said Kenric. "But methinks 'tis a pity he did not drive it
into the villain's heart."
"My son! my son! let me not hear you utter such evil thoughts again. It
ill becomes a pupil of our holy abbot to speak thus. And yesternight you
were disposed to leave the guilty earl to whatever punishment the wise
men should appoint."
"Reflection has changed me, Dovenald; and were Roderic before me at this
moment I would willingly lay him dead at my feet. Should Alpin fail to
slay him, then will I fulfil my revenge. In fair fight or by stealth
Roderic shall surely die."
"Alas, that I should ever hear such words from one so young!" murmured
Dovenald.
And the old man continued his complaints until they had entered the
castle gates.