Read Online The Renegade: A Tale of Robert the Bruce by Jack Whyte - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Jack Whyte
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bishops.”
She met Murdo’s eye when he turned to look at her curiously. Murdo, she knew, had no interest in the protocols governing visitingdignitaries. To him, kings were merely men of a different rank, and left to his own devices, he would, in his dour Scots manner, treat them as almost equals. That thought brought a tic of a smile to her lips as she envisioned Edward Plantagenet’s reaction to being spoken to bluntly by her factor. Alexander, a Scot himself, might deal easily enough with it, accustomed as he was to the Scots lack of deference, but Edward’s majesty would be severely challenged were he addressed truculently by a menial.
“Ye’d better go down and assemble the folk, Murdo. Make sure they’re clean and presentable to welcome our guests, then line them up in front o’ the gates. I’ll go and tidy mysel’ up while ye’re at that, and then I’ll come down and wait wi’ ye.”
“Aye … ” Murdo’s hesitation was almost unnoticeable. “Angus Mohr has two pipers wi’ him. D’ye think it might be fitting to hae them playin’ as the King arrives?”
Marjorie of Carrick grinned mischievously. “A Gaelic welcome for the King of Scots? And why no’? It was Alexander’s idea to invite Angus Mohr to the mainland, and I know he likes the sound o’ the pipes, for I’ve heard them played in his own great hall in Dunfermline. So be it the pipers are willing, then let them blow away. But be sure ye ask them properly. We canna let them think we expect it o’ them. It must be their choice.”
As soon as Murdo had hurried away she turned back towards the approaching cavalcade and narrowed her eyes. The party was close enough by then that she could see the flashing colours carried by the standard-bearers, and the distant sound of a trumpet indicated that the approaching party considered themselves close enough to Turnberry to be heard. She became aware of the size of the group and noted its composition, with kings and armoured courtiers in the forefront, bishops and priests in upholstered carriages behind them, and the mounted men-at-arms of the King’s Guard preceding the motley array of baggage carts and wagons and extra horses that brought up the rear.
She drew in a sharp breath. Time was flying past her. She turned away and hurried down the narrow spiral staircase to her own quartersin the corner tower. Quickly as she moved, though, she was
unable to stop her mind from pursuing a perplexing train of thought.
Edward Plantagenet had introduced an entirely new element into the situation she had been thinking about for weeks. The two original principals, King Alexander and Angus Mohr, might have been governable enough, sufficiently intent upon their own interests to overcome any strangeness between them. But the unforeseen addition of the English King had added a very different element. Edward spoke no Gaelic. Angus Mohr spoke neither English nor French. Every word that passed between them, then, would have to be translated by an interpreter. Her own husband spoke but little Gaelic, having come to learn the language as an adult and finding that it was not an easy tongue to master. Thus Robert might speak to either King easily, and with difficulty to Angus Mohr. Angus Mohr, in his turn, would speak easily with Alexander, and Alexander effortlessly to his brother-in-law Edward. But the gulf between the Gaelic Lord of Islay and the King of England might be unbridgeable, since neither one knew the other at all, engendering a fundamental lack of trust aggravated by Angus Mohr’s well-known disdain for all things English. She wondered if the Ulster earl spoke Gaelic—it seemed likely that he might, and if he did, she thought, he might serve as a translator between the two.
Her thoughts were cut short when she reached her chambers and found her three women waiting for her, anxious to begin transforming her into a regal hostess. She looked wryly at them. “We have little time to transform me,” she
She met Murdo’s eye when he turned to look at her curiously. Murdo, she knew, had no interest in the protocols governing visitingdignitaries. To him, kings were merely men of a different rank, and left to his own devices, he would, in his dour Scots manner, treat them as almost equals. That thought brought a tic of a smile to her lips as she envisioned Edward Plantagenet’s reaction to being spoken to bluntly by her factor. Alexander, a Scot himself, might deal easily enough with it, accustomed as he was to the Scots lack of deference, but Edward’s majesty would be severely challenged were he addressed truculently by a menial.
“Ye’d better go down and assemble the folk, Murdo. Make sure they’re clean and presentable to welcome our guests, then line them up in front o’ the gates. I’ll go and tidy mysel’ up while ye’re at that, and then I’ll come down and wait wi’ ye.”
“Aye … ” Murdo’s hesitation was almost unnoticeable. “Angus Mohr has two pipers wi’ him. D’ye think it might be fitting to hae them playin’ as the King arrives?”
Marjorie of Carrick grinned mischievously. “A Gaelic welcome for the King of Scots? And why no’? It was Alexander’s idea to invite Angus Mohr to the mainland, and I know he likes the sound o’ the pipes, for I’ve heard them played in his own great hall in Dunfermline. So be it the pipers are willing, then let them blow away. But be sure ye ask them properly. We canna let them think we expect it o’ them. It must be their choice.”
As soon as Murdo had hurried away she turned back towards the approaching cavalcade and narrowed her eyes. The party was close enough by then that she could see the flashing colours carried by the standard-bearers, and the distant sound of a trumpet indicated that the approaching party considered themselves close enough to Turnberry to be heard. She became aware of the size of the group and noted its composition, with kings and armoured courtiers in the forefront, bishops and priests in upholstered carriages behind them, and the mounted men-at-arms of the King’s Guard preceding the motley array of baggage carts and wagons and extra horses that brought up the rear.
She drew in a sharp breath. Time was flying past her. She turned away and hurried down the narrow spiral staircase to her own quartersin the corner tower. Quickly as she moved, though, she was
unable to stop her mind from pursuing a perplexing train of thought.
Edward Plantagenet had introduced an entirely new element into the situation she had been thinking about for weeks. The two original principals, King Alexander and Angus Mohr, might have been governable enough, sufficiently intent upon their own interests to overcome any strangeness between them. But the unforeseen addition of the English King had added a very different element. Edward spoke no Gaelic. Angus Mohr spoke neither English nor French. Every word that passed between them, then, would have to be translated by an interpreter. Her own husband spoke but little Gaelic, having come to learn the language as an adult and finding that it was not an easy tongue to master. Thus Robert might speak to either King easily, and with difficulty to Angus Mohr. Angus Mohr, in his turn, would speak easily with Alexander, and Alexander effortlessly to his brother-in-law Edward. But the gulf between the Gaelic Lord of Islay and the King of England might be unbridgeable, since neither one knew the other at all, engendering a fundamental lack of trust aggravated by Angus Mohr’s well-known disdain for all things English. She wondered if the Ulster earl spoke Gaelic—it seemed likely that he might, and if he did, she thought, he might serve as a translator between the two.
Her thoughts were cut short when she reached her chambers and found her three women waiting for her, anxious to begin transforming her into a regal hostess. She looked wryly at them. “We have little time to transform me,” she
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