Chapter IV
Part Six
The Arms of Cóelub of Moray, Regent of Scotland
Cóelub the Kingmaker, Mormaer of Moray - High Marshal and Regent of Scotland (c.970)
Let us turn our minds back to Scotland….
Once King Griogair had departed for the Holy Land in the Autumn of 969, Mormaer Cóelub, famed warrior and skilled diplomat, now ruled Scotland. He was the first Gael to wield such power in Scotland, since Cyneric the Fox had overthrown Caustantin, last King of Alba, in 891. Moreover, he had risen swiftly from a lowly Gaelic noble family, through the friendship and patronage of King Alasdair I. First he had been made Lord of Dunnottar, then Mormaer of Moray. On Alasdair’s death he had become Regent of Albany too, and now he ruled all Scotland.
In Moray and Albany, he was loved by the majority Gaelic population. And his close familial alliance with the Lords of the Isles and their Gaelic subjects, meant that the North was firmly under his control.
The Isles of Brittannia in 971:
Whilst the Norsemen have been driven from Scotland by the McCynerics, the Gaels of Hibernia now live totally under the the yoke of the Norsemen. The Britons of Cambria, too, have been subsumed by the avaricious Norsemen. Resurgent Wessex, under young King Aethelraed, having united the Saxons of Mercia and Wessex, has pushed the Norsemen back as far as East Anglia. But the vengeful Norsemen will soon return in the great invasion of the 970s.
Earl Fearghas II of Westoraland, and Regent of Eoforwic, was suspicious of the over-mighty Gael, but he had bound his fortunes to him in Griogair’s War (967-968) and dared not oppose him. Of course, he was also no friend of Lothian.
Fearghas II, Earl of Westoraland (c.971)
Eochaid III, Earl of Northumbria detested the Mormaer, but
his power was now weak, his lands diminished only to Cumberland, and having betrayed the House of Lothian during Griogair’s War (867-868), he now had little choice but to seek the favour of the Regent. Prince Cyneric One-Eye, third Earl of Lothian and son of king Cyneric II, had sworn vengeance against him. In his hillfort at Carleole, Eochaid looked eastwards, ever fearing the revenge of Lothian.
Eochaid III, Earl of Northumbria (c.971)
Lothian festered. Prince Cyneric One-Eye loathed the Gaels, and hated Mormaer Cóelub with all of his heart.
In his view, it was this Gaelic
dog, not that
boy Griogair of Albany, who had brought low his esteemed father. Indeed, that barbarian Gael had
used his control of Prince Griogair, little more than a pawn, to lurch the Kingdom towards its backward Gaelic past, and to shift the centre of the Kingdom’s gravity northwards. The Gaels were a defeated people. The Scots, based in the lowlands and the ancient Kingdom of Northumbria, had shown their mastery. Lothian, not Albany was rightfully the heart of the Scots Kingdom.
But for this filthy dog, Cóelub ‘the Kingmaker’, Prince Cyneric’s famous father would yet live and wear his mighty crown. Prince Cyneric would be the rightful heir to his father’s glorious legacy, which wicked Cóelub had so poisoned with his mocking words. How dare he name, great Cyneric II, ‘the late’! Cyneric II had been a brave and skilled warrior who himself had nearly been killed at the Battle of Calder as he dutifully raced to aid the foolish Alasdair I, who had lunged heedlessly into the trap laid by Eilif of Groningen. The disaster at the Heights of Brae should fall at the feet of hasty Alasdair, not wise and loyal Cyneric.
But even so, Prince Cyneric feared Cóelub, for the Mormaer of Moray was a mighty warrior and a brilliant military and political strategist. It was true that with his lapdog, Griogair of Albany, and his renowned friend, Donncuan, Lord of the Isles, in the Holy Land, Cóelub was weaker than he might be. Yet, he was still unassailable in the North, and the southern Earls were unwilling to move against him. Earl Fearghas II of Westoraland would never support Prince Cyneric after their bitter clash at the Battle of Morthpaeth (16 April 968) during Griogair’s War. And besides, Prince Cyneric, who had lost an eye at Morthpaeth did not greatly desire the friendship of the man whose armies had taken it.
Therefore, since Cóelub still stood in his way, Prince Cyneric would bide his time. He understood well that if Griogair should fall in the Holy Land, the crown would be his without a great struggle. He would build up his forces then and foster his own strength carefully and quietly. He was only 29 years old. He had time. He would know when the time was ripe to strike.
Prince Cyneric One-Eye, Third Earl of Lothian (c.971)
For two years, Mormaer Cóelub ruled with great wisdom, sensitivity and strength. He defended the coasts from Norse raiders and maintained the peace of the Kingdom admirably. He secured tribute and homage in the name of Griogair from all the Gaelic clans of the North, and ensured that the power of the King was well known in every hill and Glen of the Highlands.
He kept Earl Fearghas II of Westoraland close and had soon won his genuine friendship.
Cóelub also sent ambassadors to the court of the young King Aethelred Copsigeson of Wessex to begin negotiations for a potential alliance. Cóelub had heard how the young King united the Anglo-Saxons against the Norse settlements and believed that this young man would be a great help in the struggle to rid Britain of the Norsemen. To this end, he had initiated diplomatic links and his agents had helped to mediate the negotiations for the marriage between King Aethelred and Aelflaeda, Lady of Hwicce. Cóelub also believed that an alliance with Wessex might discourage the pride of haughty Lothian.
Ever he watched Lothian.
Aethelraed Copisgeson, King of Wessex (c.971)
All the time, Cóelub anxiously awaited news of King Griogair. He, like Prince Cyneric, knew well that were Griogair to fall, even
he could not maintain his grip on power. The obvious successor to the crown was Prince Cyneric, Earl of Lothian, for there was nobody else with a like claim to the throne.
Then, at Christmas 970, news of the Second Battle of Damascus arrived at Cóelub’s court in Dun Cyneric. When he learned of the manner of the death of Lord Donncuan, he, like all Scotland, wept.
“Never has a more noble man drawn breath!”, he declared to all those at the Christmas court. Then he embraced Eochu MacDonncuan, son of the Lord of the Isles and said, “Take solace, dear son-in-law, for your father died admirably in defence of God and his King, and for this, I tell you, that even now he with the Father in paradise. Take now the Lordship of the Isles which is your right and let men forever sing of Lord Donncuan, to the honour of your House.”
Eochu II MacDonncuan, Lord of the Isles (c.970)
On 20 March 971, even as King Griogair besieged the city of Aleppo, word came to the court at Dun Cyneric in Galloway, of a most despicable crime. Fearghas of Lonceastre, the 14-year-old son and heir of Earl Fearghas II of Westoraland, had been murdered. On 4 March he had been discovered lying face down in the straw of the stables, pierced by many dagger wounds.
Immediately, there was uproar in the court at this outrage. Yet nobody could learn who had done this, nor why that had done it. Overcome with grief, Earl Fearghas II returned at once to Lonceastre in Westoraland to mourn and to bury his son.
But now Cóelub was without his skilled intelligencer and spymaster, and was suddenly unusually exposed to intrigue. He was wise enough to suspect that this may have been the intent of the person responsible for the callous assassination of Earl Fearghas’ son. He ordered the watch on Lothian to be doubled.
In June 971, Cóelub joyfully received word that the Third Crusade had successfully reconquered the lands of Syria from the three Emirs and that Griogair was alive and on his way home to Scotland. He was also delighted to learn of the births of his grandchildren, Prince Alasdair and Princess Caitilin. This news spread quickly, and soon it was well known throughout the realm that the King was returning.
At Eadinburgh in Lothian, Prince Cyneric also learned of Griogair’s imminent return. His heart told him that that he must act now, decisively, before Griogair could arrive in Scotland.
On 15 July 971, Cóelub was at the small village of Lanark. He was travelling from Dun Cyneric to Scuin – a journey that he was called to make very regularly as part of his duties administering the King’s lands. Therefore, as he had done many times before, he had broken his journey at the wooden fort at Lanark, in the lands of the Earl of Lothian. He was the guest of Osgar, Lord of Lanark, vassal of the Earl of Lothian. Cóelub knew Osgar well, for Osgar had been a close friend of Eadwin Earl of Lanark (d.944) and Eadgar of Lothian (d.942) (eldest son of King Cyneric II), and had served in King Alasdair I’s armies during the Great Highlands War. Osgar had defended the body of Eadgar after his death at the siege of Eilean in 942, for which he won the favour of King Cyneric II, then the Earl of Lothian. At the Heights of Brae, he had been amongst the last of Earl Eadwin’s men to retreat from the Ablaith nam Braithrean that day Earl Eadwin was slain.
He had been given the wooden fort at Lanark after Lothian had seized Lanark from Earl Eadwin’s son, for Osgar was favoured by the House of Lothian and hailed from Lanark himself. He was a man of honour though and was liked and trusted by Lothian and Albany alike. Therefore, knowing him well, Cóelub trusted Osgar. And for this reason alone, always stayed in Lanark on his travels across the Lands of Lothian. Prince Cyneric knew this...
As was customary, the majority of Cóelub’s men were camped in the outer Bailey of Lanark, where they enjoyed feasting and drinking. In the Keep itself, Cóelub had with him only six of his most trusted retainers.
That night he feasted with Osgar and Osgar’s close retainers. They drank heartily and traded stories of the glories of the Great Highlands War. They laughed and caroused for many hours, but shortly after midnight, Cóelub and his men bade good night to the Lord of Lanark.
Yet soon after he had retired to his chambers, Cóelub suddenly heard a great clamour outside at the base of the wooden keep, and the sound of raised voices. The glow of torches could be seen, and then there came the sound of clashing swords. He was not wearing his mail, but his sword was close at hand.
Three of his Huscarls then burst into the room, crying “My Lord, there is treason. We must bolt this door at once”. One of the men went to the door to lock it and then turned to Cóelub, his face white, “this door has been tampered with, my Lord, the locks are broken.”
“Dishonourable villains indeed. How many are they?”, asked Cóelub calmly.
“I counted at least thirty”, replied Faelan, Cóelub’s most trusted retainer, “but, my Lord, they appeared as if from nowhere and already Cormac, Sionnach and Muirtach have fallen. The enemy now hold the Motte against our men in the Bailey.”
“Where is Osgar of Lanark?”, demanded Cóelub, “Is this his doing?”
“Alas, the Lord Osgar and his retainers are dead, but I saw not who killed them”, Faelan was speaking quickly, and now looked downwards. “I ran to his chambers soon after I became aware of our peril - for his aid or to revenge myself upon him I knew not. But the sight I witnessed when I came upon him and his men, I cannot describe...”
“That is evil news indeed, Faelan my friend”, said Cóelub, putting his hand reassuringly on Faelan’s shoulder.
Cernach, now stood, pressing his weight against the wooden door, his axe clutched tightly. The youngest of the company, Imchad, no more than 16 years old, rushed to the far end of the chamber and with his axe, began chopping at the floorboards. There were loud voices outside the chamber now and the crashing of blows raining upon the wooden door from the outside.
Imchad, who had been hacking through the floorboards now called out, “come quickly, My Lord. below here is the privy drain, through which we might escape”.
“Imchad, my lad,” exclaimed Cóelub as he drew his sword, “I tell you Cóelub of Moray will
not live nor die crawling through a privy. If foul treason is to flourish over
me, I shall meet it face to face and man to man. Were there ten times thirty men here for my blood, I would not look to ignominious flight. Whilst in my hand is this sword, which Alasdair King gave to me, and whilst in my care is this Kingdom, which my Lord Griogair entrusted to me, I shall not be daunted. Therefore, my brothers, my dear Faelan, Cernach and Imchad - speak to me no more of flight.”
“My Lord?”, spoke Imchad doubtfully, fear in his voice.
“I shall stand and fight, I say!”, shouted the Regent of Scotland. His Huscarls looked at him for a moment and saw the severity of his hard-grey eyes. Then they steeled themselves to face whatever would come through the wooden door.
As the broken door swung open, several warriors in bright mail burst through shouting, “Death to the Gael! Death to Cóelub!”
“I see you have
not brought your colours of Lothian. But you fool me not!” mocked Cóelub as he stepped forward to meet them. The first man lunged wildly at Cóelub, but the old Mormaer darted nimbly to the side and thrust his sword into the man’s exposed throat. The second man now swung his sword but pressed closely to the Mormaer in the small chamber, he could not swing with effect. Cóelub lunged with his left hand and struck the man’s neck. The man stepped back and then fell to the ground as Cóelub ran him through.
But more assailants were now surging into the chamber. Cóelub’s three retainers hurled themselves forward like ravenous wolves, screaming fearlessly in the Gaelic tongue. With little room to spare, the assailants and Cóelub’s men were punching and gouging with their hands. Young Imchad, now screamed out in agony as he lay on the floor, an enemy warrior on top of him repeatedly driving a dagger into his chest. This man looked up as the boy died beneath his blows. But he saw only the tip of Cernach’s axe which brought swift vengeance upon him.
Now Cóelub struck another in the face with the pommel of his sword and as the man’s head fell back, his nose broken, Cóelub reached for his dagger, pushed its blade forward with his left hand and the man plummeted, wheezing, to the wooden floorboards. As he hit the floor, the downward point of Coelub’s sword finished him.
Horns now rang outside as Cóelub’s warriors, sallying from the outer bailey, gained the Motte and now poured into the wooden keep. The remaining assailants, in panic now, tried to escape, but there was none to be found.
“Do not kill them!” called Cóelub as his own soldiers came into his chamber, “We must discover who sent them!”
“My Lord you are hurt!”, gasped Faelan as he looked upon the weary Mormaer. Cóelub looked down and saw his shirt was stained with blood. He felt with his hand and a shot of pain twisted deep inside his stomach. Slowly, he sat down on the bed; his legs suddenly weak.
“I felt it not”, he chuckled deliberately - painfully.
The Wounding of Cóelub the Kingmaker at Lanark (15 July 971)
It became clear that Cóelub had suffered a deep stab wound to the abdomen. By good fortune, it had missed his vital organs. But the pain was very great, and the wound was grievously deep. It was washed as best as may be. However, he insisted that they must move at once and leave the lands of the Earl of Lothian. Therefore, that very night he departed from Lanark, borne on a litter, towards Scuin.
Yet, in the days and weeks that followed his arrival at Scuin, Cóelub’s wound reddened and became swollen. The wound seemed to deepen and widen, and the Gael became feverish and regularly shook with violent chills. By the end of July, the wound tissue, which had previously turned yellow and white was now blackening. A foul odour emanated from the wound and pus drained from it constantly. This was kept secret from all but Cóelub’s closest Huscarls. Even Cóelub’s son, in Inverness, was not informed, lest the word get out.
“It must not be known that I am so weakened”, Cóelub had ordered. “For we cannot embolden Lothian to rise. Should I die before the King’s return, you must tell no-one for I perceive that if it is known that I am dead, and the King remains abroad, nothing will stop Lothian from seizing noble Griogair’s crown.”
“Noble Moray,” his retainers had protested, “How can we maintain such secrecy?”
“We must try…”, had been the response of the Regent of Scotland. “Make it known that there has been an attempt on my life that has
failed. That, I pray, will give Prince Cyneric pause. He is prone to hesitation, and I fervently hope such news will delay his plans. Faelan, ride to Dun Cyneric. You must inform the King of what has occurred as soon as he arrives in Scotland – we cannot allow Lothian to learn of this before King Griogair”.
On 3 August, King Griogair arrived in Galloway, and rode, with his victorious troops, to Dun Cyneric. “Where is noble Moray, for I long to see him?”, asked the King.
“My Lord, it is well you have come”, spoke Faelan, whom Griogair had known all his life, “I must speak to you to in private as soon as maybe.”
Griogair immediately went to speak to the trusted man. As soon as they were alone, Faelan turned to the King saying, “The Lord of Moray is grievous sick!”
“What?” cried the King, horrified, “Where lies he and what is the cause?”
“He is at Scuin, my Lord. An attempt on his life was made at Lanark several weeks ago. We were able to drive off the assailants, but brave Cóelub was gravely injured in the attack, and Lord Osgar was killed. My King, when I left him, honourable Moray yet lived, but I cannot promise we can come to him before he perishes.”
“God’s blood! Then I must ride there at once!” Griogair exclaimed, fury and anguish intermingled in his voice, “Tell me, is this work of Lothian?”
“I cannot be certain, my Lord”, said steadfast Faelan, “but I say to you, ride not through Lothian! And ensure the Queen and your children are well guarded by those you trust completely.”
Heeding these words, Griogair rode northwards, with Faelan, to the lands his stepfather Earl Eadwin of Lennox and from there travelled to Scuin through the lands of Eochu II Macdonncuan, the Lord of the Isles. His wife and children remained under strong guard at Dun Cyneric in Galloway.
Griogair arrived at Scuin on 10 August. “God be praised!”, muttered Mormaer Cóelub as the King entered the dim chamber where the great man lay, “How I have longed to look upon your face. How I have prayed that I might see you before I leave this earth behind me. I have heard of your famous deeds in the Holy Land. My boy, your father, the great crusader, would weep with joy and pride to see you now – as I have the honour so to do…”
“Cóelub, father in all but name. Thank the Lord I have come in time”, the King quickly approached the bed and held the Mormaer’s hands in his. “Know you who did this? For the fury of my heart shall never be quenched until I have revenged you upon him!”
“I
know not,” spoke Cóelub, “But I feel in my heart that this is the work of Lothian, just as with the death of the son of Earl Fearghas. But listen to me now, my dear, dear Griogair for God knows there is little time… When I am gone…”
“Speak not of such things. I pray God you will be well...”, interrupted the King, his voice breaking as the grief quite overcame him.
“I beg you, my boy. Hear me, now, and pray not for the impossible. This is a slow and demeaning end and the agony is great, but it has been worth it to see you one last time, my dear boy” spoke the Mormaer in a soothing and kindly tone, his voice strengthening. Griogair looked up, his blue eyes reddening from the tears he now strove to keep at bay, and he nodded slowly. “When I am gone, do not underestimate the venom of Lothian. The grasses of that land are full of snakes. Cyneric One-Eye will think you weak without me and valiant Donncuan. I know that he is wrong! You must show him so….” Cóelub closed his eyes and paused. "Listen well I beg you. I tell you my son is weak and foolish, and Eochu of the Isles is not at all like great Donncuan, his father. You cannot therefore trust in the former strength of Moray and the Isles. You must look southwards to Earl Fearghas, for he is a wise and trusty man. Look also to the West Saxons, for I believe that friendship with Aethelraed King is crucial to defend against the ambitions of Lothian. Do you understand me, my boy".
“I understand you and will remember well your words. But whilst I trust not the Earl of Lothian, dear Cóelub, I have not the means to move against him. After the crusade, my armies are weakened, and my treasury is nearly empty. This you know. The men of the Isles, Albany and Moray are not ready for a fight with Lothian who has rested these two years. And I do not know Earl Fearghas well. How can I go on without you? I know nothing of ruling …”
“Lothian will only grow bolder…”, Cóelub said, “But I say to you, you have in you a greatness that even your father had not. I see in your eyes the spirit of Kings. I leave you firm in the faith that Scotland is safe in your hands. I fear only the wickedness of Lothian…”, a shot of pain stopped Cóelub as he spoke, and his head fell back onto the bed. He was utterly exhausted.
“Cóelub you must rest. These exertions help you not.” Physicians and young nursemaid women came to encourage Cóelub to sleep. Among these women was fair Etain Donchaidd herself. King Griogair retreated to the corner of the room and sat down, weeping, his head in his hands.
For more than a week, King Griogair sat by Cóelub’s bedside, hoping, and praying that he would recover. But to Griogair’s dismay, the Mormaer grew weaker with every day. By 18 August, the Mormaer was barely conscious for much of the day and would take no food or water.
Suddenly, on 20 August, as Griogair sat despairingly watching over the Lord Cóelub, the great man stirred. His eyes opened widely, and a terrible gasp lurched from his lungs. Griogair rushed towards him and held his hands once more. Then Cóelub seemed to calm, his breathing seemed to ease, and he smiled as he looked into Griogair’s eyes.
“My dear boy,” he whispered as he closed his eyes peacefully and gently patted the King’s hand, “My dear, dear boy…”. And with that, Cóelub the Spearmaster, Mormaer of Moray, High Marshal, and sometime Regent of Scotland, breathed his last. He was 57 years old.
Thus passed Cóelub the Kingmaker, greatest of warriors and wisest of men.
“Cóelub?”, Griogair wept, hoping desperately for a reply. When none came, he began to shake uncontrollably. “Leave me!” he roared like a wounded lion to the retainers and physicians in the chamber, who quickly departed. Griogair embraced Cóelub, buried his face into the Mormaer’s motionless chest and wept as he had never wept before. He howled with fear, uncertainty, and anguish. “What shall I do without you?”
As he wept, Etain Donchaidd silently entered the room. She knelt next to him on the wooden floor, and putting her arms around him, she comforted him. In his grief he embraced the young woman and wept into her bodice as she ran her fingers through his auburn hair.
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