This expedition against the island kings had been attended with small
enough success. Many of the islands had indeed been invaded and some of
the smaller ones conquered. Several of the kings, wavering between
service of two masters, had quietly yielded to the persuasions of King
Alexander's ambassadors. But it must be said that, despite their seeming
compliance, they were ready to turn the other way again with equal ease,
or even to evade their duties to either monarch and assume the dignity
of independent rulers. In a political sense the result of the expedition
was a failure, the conquests being incomplete, and the compliance of the
less warlike kings being of the very shortest duration.
The misfortunes that had attended Kenric of Bute and Sir Piers de Currie
were due almost entirely to the bad work of the wild men of Galloway,
whose lust for slaughter and pillage, whose wanton plunderings of
churches and slaying of women and children brought down upon the Scots
the hatred of the Norsemen in whose lands these depredations had been made.
It was not long ere the word had travelled far and wide among the
Western Isles that the barbarities committed by the Gallwegians were the
work of young Kenric of Bute. It was said that Kenric of Bute alone had
ordered the massacre of the children of Colonsay. It was said that he
had wantonly ordered similar atrocities in Jura, in Barra, and indeed in
all those isles which the unruly men of Galloway had invaded. Upon
Kenric and his people, therefore, the sons of the vikings swore deadly
vengeance, calling upon their patron saint to aid them.
The Norsemen of the Western Isles lost little time in sending messengers
to Norway, telling how the King of Scots had attempted to force their
allegiance to his crown.
Hakon, the Norwegian king, was roused to anger. He determined to revenge
the injuries offered to his vassals, and at once issued orders for the
assembling of a vast fleet and army, whilst he repaired in person to his
great seaport of Bergen to make ready for an expedition which should not
only restore his vassals to their lands and rights, but which should
also sweep away every kilted Scot from the isles, and convert the great
kingdom of Scotland itself into a dependency of Norway.
These great preparations for war commenced in the autumn of 1262. It was
not until eight months afterwards that they were completed.
When Allan Redmain, with Earl Kenric and Duncan Graham lying ill in his
cabin, rejoined the combined forces of Sir Piers de Currie and the Earl
of Ross, he found these two chiefs on the point of separating. The Earl
of Ross left the sound of Iona and sailed northward again, while Sir
Piers, with the eight galleys of Bute and Arran, bent his course south
to Colonsay, there to pick up the vessel that Kenric had left in guard
over that island. These nine vessels thereupon returned to the Clyde,
and Sir Piers made a journey into Scotland to make his report to the King.
For many weary weeks Kenric remained a helpless invalid in his castle,
tended by his gentle mother and by old Janet the nurse. His wounds were
of small account; but the six days spent in the noisome dungeon of
Breacacha had weakened him and given him a fever, which was slow to
leave him. His mind was strangely disturbed, and he talked wildly, and
at random, fancying he was fighting against countless hosts of pirate
Norsemen, and declaring deliriously that his Thirsty Sword would give
him no rest, so great was its lust for blood. And once when Ailsa
Redmain had come over with Allan from Kilmory, the young king began to
laugh wildly, and to say how he had just been over to Colonsay to
massacre many hundreds of children, and how the good men of Galloway had
tried to stop him, and that for their interference he had thrown them
all into dark dungeons, giving each of them a skeleton for a plaything.
But later, when his reason had returned, Ailsa came more often, and the
two would sit for hours together, talking of the boats that could be
seen from the window sailing on the blue waters of Rothesay Bay, of the
dark hills of Loch Striven beyond, and of the trees across in the forest
of Toward that were brown and gold in the autumn sunlight. Of all his
nurses, Kenric loved best that Ailsa should thus come to him, for she
was as a very gentle and sweet sister, and never did the Gaelic words
sound so musical as when spoken by her rosy lips; never did sunlight
shine more brightly than the light that shone in her beautiful eyes.
So the weeks went on; the autumn passed into winter, and soon all the
land was white with deep snow.
On a cold wintry day Allan Redmain rode over to Rothesay on his shaggy
mountain pony.
"My lord," said he to Kenric, who was sitting in the great hall with the
abbot Godfrey Thurstan, "I have a strange thing to tell of an adventure
that befell me yestereve."
"Come, then, to the fire, Allan," said Kenric, "for on these cold days,
when one cannot get out and about, a story is ever welcome. What says
your reverence?"
"Even so," said the abbot, rising; "and methinks the sound of Allan's
young voice, whatever his adventure be, will cheer you better than the
croaking of an old man, so I will leave you together, my sons."
Then the two lads sat side by side before the great fire of pine logs,
and each with his arm twined about the neck of one of the deer hounds
that sat beside him.
"And now, Allan, what is your adventure?"
"Why, 'twas a wolf hunt we had, I and some of our men of Kilmory. The
wolves, as you know, have been numerous in the island since the snow and
frost came. We tracked a goodly pack of them into Glen More, and,
running them to a corrie in the hill of Kilbride, we there slew three of
them with our spears. But there was one dog wolf -- a great gray fellow
that we came upon at the head of the glen. He had a patch of white hair
about his neck, and by that I knew that it was the same that had so
frightened the widow Campbell; and being on my pony, I gave chase. He
doubled, and ran south, leading me even to Kilmory. There I lost him.
But I traced his steps in the snow, and where think you they led me?"
"Nay, how could I know?" said Kenric.
"Why, to the cottage door of Elspeth Blackfell.
"There I dismounted, and, pushing open the door, what should I see but
the same wolf lying down at his ease before the fire that burned in the
middle of the room! His long tongue was hanging out, and I could see his
great white teeth. At his side was the old woman's black cat. At the
other side of the fire sat Elspeth herself, calmly eating of a dish of
brose. Even as I stood there, the old witch bent down and laid the dish
before the wolf that he might finish the brose. When I leapt forward
with spear upraised to slay the wolf, Elspeth stepped in between and
roughly bade me put away my weapon. 'For,' said she, 'know you this,
Allan Redmain, that he is not as other wolves, and I would not have you
harm him by any manner of means;' and so I went away, marvelling much."
"Well," said Kenric, "and what make you of this adventure?"
"Why this: that Aasta the wolf maid, who was wont to prowl about in her
wolf's guise only at dead of night, has now taken to her fancies by
daytime also."
"If this be so indeed," said Kenric thoughtfully, never doubting that
the explanation was the truth of the matter, "then I would have you be
very careful in your adventures, Allan. Spare that white-breasted wolf;
for we know not what strange ill would befall you were you to slay Aasta
by mistake. Say naught of this to any man. Duncan Graham, who knows more
than others of Aasta the Fair, shall one day tell us what all this
mystery means."
But for the rest of that winter, no more was heard of the wolf maid's
wanderings, either by day or by night, and when the glad springtime
came, there was no more thought of wolves.
In that springtime Earl Kenric, now well able to get about, busied
himself upon his farm lands, and did all manner of hard and manly toil,
so that by healthy exercise of his limbs he might regain his strength.
In the early mornings he would sally out to the fields of Ardbeg, and
there with the ponderous plough of those times, that was drawn by twelve
shaggy, long-horned oxen -- each with a wreath of rowan leaves round its
neck as a charm against the spells of witchcraft -- he would plough the
stubborn ground for many hours together until the sweat bedewed his
brow. And from the fields he would perhaps walk over to Ascog to sit in
his seat of assize, and there, with the clods of earth yet upon his feet
and his arms yet tingling from their work at the heavy plough, he would
administer the simple laws before his people. Also he would often engage
with Duncan his henchman -- now recovered from his wounds -- in the
exercise of arms, or with Allan Redmain sail over to Arran to have a
day's hunting among the fells. Every morning before he broke fast he was
wont to undertake a curious exercise, which was that he took a young
bull calf over his shoulders and carried it to the top of the hill of
Barone; and each day as the calf grew older, so did its weight increase,
and the burden become greater to bear. Thus did Kenric make himself
strong, until, at the end of that summer of 1263, there was no man in
all Bute who could excel him in the use of arms or overcome him in feats
of bodily exercise.
Meanwhile, unknown as yet to the people of Bute, King Hakon of Norway
had been busily preparing his forces for the projected invasion of
Scotland. The extent of these preparations soon spread alarm even on the
coasts of England. It was said that an overwhelming fleet of ships had
bent their course against the Scottish islands, and the final
destination of so vast an armament was conjectured with consternation.
It was on the 7th of July that the fleet set sail from Herlover. King
Hakon commanded in person. His flagship was of great dimensions, having
seven-and-twenty banks of oars. Countless banners, pennons, and
gonfalons flaunted in the breeze from the masts and riggings of his many
galleys. The decks were crowded with knights and soldiers, whose armour
glittered in the sun. It was the most powerful and splendid armament
that had ever set out from the fords of Scandinavia, and it bore proudly
away with a light wind for Shetland and Orkney, where additional forces
enlisted under the Norse banner.
Bearing down among the Western Isles, levying contribution of men and
stores from all the chiefs who owed him tribute, Hakon was joined at the
isle of Skye by the forces of Magnus, king of the island of Man. The
combined fleet now amounted to a hundred and sixty dragon ships, with
over twenty thousand fighting men.
Now, on the ship of King Magnus of Man there was a mighty warrior, whom
men called Rudri, and he was the most terrible pirate that ever roved
upon the western seas, and all men feared him. There was not a vic or
sound that he had not sailed into, nor an island upon which he had not
drawn his sword.
He was the one man in all that host who could best instruct the Norse
king concerning the invasion. So, taking many ships with him, Rudri went
among the island earls and compelled them one and all to remember their
duty, and to follow under the banner of their Norse master. Many of
those who had taken oaths of loyalty before King Alexander's ambassadors
demurred. But the power of the King of Scots was remote, the vengeance
of piratical warfare was near at hand, and the islanders submitted,
agreeing to pay fine of so many hundred head of cattle as punishment for
their former desertion of Norway. And so, like an avalanche that gathers
added weight as it descends, the invading forces drew rearer and nearer
to their goal.