Archive for March, 2010

Christina MacRuairi is one of those fascinating characters of whom history records far too little.  Maybe it is only that my first ‘sight’ of her was through the eyes of Nigel Tranter, in his Bruce Trilogy, who portrayed her as standing cool as Scottish mist on her ship while enemies attacked and her men fought around her, a woman who stepped easily into the life of heiress of vast holdings and clan chief in her own right  in a day when men typically ruled, a woman who commanded,  made bold decisions in the face of dramatic consequences, consorted with kings, and very clearly marched to her own drummer.  (Actually, the MacRuairi family is better known for its pipers than drummers.)  The beautiful Castle Tioram, on a spit in Moidart that leaves the castle on an island except at low tide, was her home.

Castle Tioram, home of Christina MacRuari

Sadly, little is really known about Christina, sometimes called Christian or Christiana, Christina of Garmoran, or Christina of Mar.  The daughter and only (legitimate) child of Alan MacRuairi, she inherited vast portions of the western isles: Knoydart, Rum, Eigg, Moidart, Barra, Uist, and Gigha, in the early 14th Century.  She married Duncan, second son of the Earl of Mar, and brother to Robert Bruce’s first wife.  She was, therefore, a sister-in-law to the woman who would have been queen, had she lived, and related by marriage to Bruce himself.

While Nigel Tranter portrays Christina and Bruce meeting at sea when Bruce comes unexpectedly upon her ships being attacked and sails to her aid, Clan Donald by Donald J. MacDonald says that they met in Carrick, on Bruce’s land (not at sea at all), when she brought fifteen men to join him.  Ronald McNair Scott, in his book Robert the Bruce: King of Scots, says that Bruce went to Christina seeking her aid. 

Says Barbour:  A lady of that country [Carrick], who was his near kinswoman, was wondrous glad at his arrival and made haste to join him, bringing fifteen men whom she gave the king to help him in his warfare.  Fordun says: “the lady was a certain noblewoman, Christian of the Isles and it was by her help and power and goodwill that Bruce was able to return to Carrick.” 

A modern historian, Dr. Louise Yeoman, makes the case much more strongly, stating that it was not a spider (as per the legend), but a woman, Christina MacRuairi, who really inspired Bruce to keep fighting, by backing him with ships and hundreds of men.

At the time, living as a fugitive from Edward I of England, with very few at his side, even resorting to caves for shelter at times, Bruce would have been grateful regardless of where they met, regardless of whether it was fifteen men or hundreds, and this would indeed have made her a brave woman, following in the footsteps of Isobel MacDuff, to stand at his side at a time when few others had.

  She is believed to have sheltered Robert Bruce in the months between his loss at the Battle of Methven in June 1306 until his return to Carrick on the mainland in February 1307, according to Fordun.  Others go further and say that she not only sheltered him, but helped organize his armed return to his lands.  We do know that she was a consistent and loyal supporter and did at various times support him with food and shelter, in addition to ships and men.

Beyond this little bit, most scholarly reports of Christina concern her brother Roderick, Alan’s illegitimate son, to whom both she and Bruce gave land, or the mention of her in connection with her niece Amie. 

Less academic sources mention Christina’s strong friendship, and possible affair with Bruce during the eight years his wife, Elizabeth, was imprisoned by the English; yet she became fast friends withElizabeth in the years after her release.  James MacFarlane and Nigel Tranter both portray Christina and Bruce’s relationship in this light.  MacFarlane says, through Bruce, that Christina was first and foremost a warrior and clan chief.

I have been lucky to find a series on James Douglas, written in story form, but based on two or more years of on-site research with primary sources in Scotland and England.  It is my hope that some day someone will do as thorough a job researching Christina of Garmoran, and perhaps tell the world a great deal more about the life of this remarkable and fascinating woman.

How do the Davids of history fight the ever-present Goliaths?  Sometimes, a well-aimed stone and a bit of luck (or God’s help) does the job.  In the case of Robert the Bruce and the small country of Scotland, standing up to the might of England, with a much larger population, bigger horses, better-equipped knights, stones might not quite do the job.

Bruce did have one piece of luck on his side: Edward I was not his father.  He was not the knight, king, or commander his father had been.  He was not liked or respected by his people.  Some sources, not worrying about his feelings overly, say he ‘lacked the dignity’ of his father, and ‘failed miserably’ as a king.  His lavish spending, including on male favorites such as Piers Gaveston, made him unpopular with the lords.  This, and other issues led to the baronial revolt, and of course, it was easier for Bruce to re-take his country with the invaders pre-occupied with fighting amongst themselves.

Despite this, Bannockburn was still a pitched battle–something the Bruce had done his best to avoid throughout his years fighting England, and for good reason.  The English routinely had much larger forces, and guerrilla warfare gave the Scots a fighting chance (no pun intended–well, maybe not).   But faced with two forces meeting face to face on open field, Bruce found other methods.

The first of his strategies in defeating an army rumored to be anywhere from three to five times larger than his own, was to get there first and choose his ground.  Bruce had long been a master of this, in battles which will be discussed later.  Bannockburn was no exception.  He knew the road the English must take to reach Stirling Castle.  Remember, Bannockburn stemmed from the agreement between de Mowbray, the commander of Stirling Castle, and Edward Bruce, that de Mowbray would turn Stirling over to the Scots if Edward II did not send reinforcements by Midsummer’s Day.  This is what Edward II was attempting to do, and what Robert Bruce and the Scots were trying to prevent.  With that destination in mind, Edward’s mighty army, his 2,500 warhorses, 500 light cavalry, 2,000 Welsh bowmen, and tens of thousands of foot soldiers, marched up the old Roman road.

 The Roman road ran, at one point, between woods (The New Park) on the west and a bog (the Carse) on the east.  The deadliest part of England’s army was its cavalry.  But everybody has their Achille’s heel.  Even a highly trained knight armed with deadly weapons, atop a charging warhorse.  The one thing such a knight on his warhorse really needs is firm ground to support the weight.  And at this stretch of the old Roman road, there was very little of that.  By arriving first and staking out this section, Bruce created a situation in which 1) only a small part of the 20 mile long army could come through at any given time and 2) those that strayed from the solid path, or were forced to fight beyond it, would have one of their greatest assets–size and weight–turned against them, as they found themselves mired in the boggy ground.

Bruce did not rise to power in Scotland, however, by relying only on what the landscape gave him.  He came early, and did not sit idle while he waited.  In the weeks before England arrived, he set his men to digging ‘murder pits’ all over the carse across which the English would charge.  These pits were deep, and filled with spikes sticking straight up.  The pits were covered over with a camouflage layer of branches and leaves culled from the New Park wood.  Normally, I’d have to say that’s not very nice.  But then again, if I knew a knight was going to be charging at me swinging a mace and sword to crush in my skull, I think I’d do the same thing. 

Bruce had used this strategy in previous battles.  Nigel Tranter novelized the results in The Path of the Hero King.  The first wave of cavalry hit the first row of murder pits and went down.  The knights behind them were unable to stop, their horses simply not being so agile.  Eventually, enough horses had gone down in these pits that further waves were able to simply ride over the bodies.  They did not count on there being a second row of murder pits.  Or a third.

For those horses who escaped the murder pits, Bruce had another surprise: caltrops.  A caltrop is a giant, four-armed jack.  No matter which way it lands on the ground, a spike is sticking straight up, waiting to pierce a hoof.  If your name is Drummond, they may be part of your family history, as Sir Malcolm de Drymen is credited with strewing them on the ground that day.  It is said that the caltrop on the Drummond arms, and the motto Gang warily stem from this moment in history.

For those cavalry who survived both murder pits and caltrops, Bruce had his schiltrons waiting.  Those who saw Braveheart will likely remember the scene in which the Scots wait, with 15 foot pikes flat on the ground, until it is too late for the charging English cavalry to stop.  The pikes come up, and the charging horses impale themselves, and sometimes their riders, on the pikes. 

The drawback to this method was that it was purely defensive.  Bruce shortened the pikes to a more manageable length and trained his men to march together, hundreds together, with pikes pointed outward, thus making the schiltron a mobile, offensive force, the only power in the world that could take on mounted cavalry.  Bruce had six schiltrons at Bannockburn. 

One of the more famous stories to come out of the battle is that of Sir Robert Clifford and his 700 English cavalry attacking a schiltron.  He succeeded in getting himself and a large number of his knights killed or captured.  (One of these was Sir Thomas Gray, whose son later gave us one of the few written records of the battle based on first hand accounts.)  The rest scattered, realizing the futility of the attempt.

Knowing from past experience that the archers were a danger to his strongest weapon, the schiltrons, Bruce dispatched Keith’s cavalry to deal with them.

Bruce’s plans and choice of battleground not only destroyed much of the English cavalry before they could even begin to fight, but prevented tens of thousands of footmen from ever fighting at all.  Because of the narrow entry through which they must come, these soldiers were trapped behind the knights, and unable to fight. 

Finally, there is the storming from Coxet Hill (or Gillies, according to some).  Some say it was the Knights Templar.  Others say it was Bruce’s reserve army, and still others that it was the ‘wee folk,’ or townfolk, racing to battle with their homemade weapons and farming tools, waving blankets and homemade banners on poles, and thus appearing to the English to be another army. 

 The English had gone into the main battle already demoralized.  The destruction of their archers by Keith’s light cavalry and the apparent appearance of a fresh army were the final blows.  Edward II, with a host of his followers, turned and ran.  In the chaos that followed, many of the English drowned trying to cross back over the many waterways–the River Forth, the Pelstream, and the Bannock Burn–which hemmed them in.

Sources contradict one another, and arguments rage as to how many fought on each side at the battle of Bannockburn.  (The number I’ve given above are only one source, and vary widely in others.)  But what is undeniably true is that the Scottish forces were heavily outnumbered, at least three to one, and some say as much as five to one.  And yet, with the foresight of Robert the Bruce and his years of creative warfare against a much stronger army, they were able to not only win, but completely rout their Goliath.

My  game plan is to stick with reviewing books with some similarities to mine: medieval Europe, time travel, or music.  The Historianby Elizabeth Kostovatakes place in 1972, but it is a story within a story within a story, as various characters pursue the historical truth of Vlad Tepes, 15th Century prince of Wallachia. He has come down in history better known as Vlad the Impaler, or Vlad Dracula (Vlad, Son of the Dragon).

I am currently only a small way through this 704 page book, but I’m in love. Take it as a comment on her writing that I, who have never had the least interest in, or intention of reading, any vampire books, am engrossed in this novel. It is partly that it is a fascinating human interest story, combined with history and mystery, delving so far more into the search, the questions, and the hunt for the real story, than in vampires per se.

But it’s also the quality of the writing itself. The more I write, the more I find myself looking at the structure of stories, and, much like The Keep by Jennifer Egan, this one is fascinating.  There are three stories, all masterfully woven together, all pointing back to the story of Vlad himself.   Like a Chinese puzzle box, it draws the reader in, deeper and deeper, farther and farther back in history. 

The book opens with a Note to the Reader,purportedly by the 52 year old historian, and goes from there quickly back to the woman’s days as a 16 year old, traveling Europe with her diplomat father.  As we read her story of the events of 1972, her father gradually reveals to her his story of the events in the 1950′s, which in turn gradually reveals the mysterious events of 1930 which were gradually revealed to him by his mentor and professor who lived them.  And piece by piece, we learn the story of Vlad Tepes himself, prince of Wallachia, better known as Vlad the Impaler or Vlad Dracula, Son of the Dragon.

This is a complex structure, yet Ms. Kostova handles it masterfully.  I find myself flowing from one story to the other seamlessly, always knowing where we are, feeling as if more layers and intricacies and mysteries are constantly being revealed by one or the other.  This may not be to everyone’s taste.  Some may prefer a more straight-forward storyline, but I enjoy it very much.

Also in the quality of writing department, I am savoring Ms. Kostova’s prose.  She has a beautiful way with words, unique turns of phrases, and beautiful imagery.  I find myself wanting to stop and re-read just for the lyrical sound and the images the words evoke.  I find myself wanting to mark certain sentences just so I can find them later and re-read them.  Generally, I charge through books, eager to find out What Happens!  I’d rather spin this book out over days, enjoying every locale and scene she conjures.  Even now, I feel as if I actually experienced the cloistered monastery and enchanting music of the fountain there, high in the Pyrenees-Orientales.  I feel as if I sat on the wall myself, looking down on the waterfall that poured down so far the character could only see mist shimmering back up; I feel as if I watched the eagle circling below.  I do not often have this feeling with books.

The characters are well-drawn, interesting.  They are real and believable, in how their curiosity and disbelief propels them on to look for answers until shocking events create the fear that pulls them back.  Like all of us, they are a mix of qualities, better and worse, one moment vowing with selfless courage to find the killer of dear friends, and at another, vowing to live their lives peacefully after all and hope to be left alone.

I am also enjoying the history of this book, as I learn steadily more about the real Vlad Dracula and his wars with Sultan Mehmed II of the Ottoman Empire.

Will I enjoy the book as much as the book plunges deeper into encounters with the undead?  It’s not my usual fare, but then, I suspect this is not a typical vampire story, either.  I am very much looking forward to the rest of the book.

Read more reviews at: Cym Lowell’s Review Party

While King Herla is an interesting story in and of himself, I found it even more interesting reading about the many variations on the story, tie-ins to it, extensions on it, and suggestions of who King Herla really was.

The basic story of King Herla, told in last week’s post, is of a king who attends a dwarf king’s wedding, in a deep cavern, and emerges after three days of celebration to find that two hundred years have passed in his own world.

Odin's Wild Hunt

In more detailed accounts, we find out that King Herla goes on to be the leader of the Wild Hunt.  The Wild Hunt is only one name for a concept that seems to be found all over Europe and North America.  The Germans speak of the Wilde Jagd (Wild Chase) and the Wildes Heer (Wild Host).  In Old English, there is the Herlaþing (Herla’s Assembly). Oskoreia or Åsgårdsreia is the Norwegian’s Ride of Asgard, and the Mesnée d’Hellequin (Household of Hellequin) was written of in Old French.  The Welsh told tales of  C?n Annwn, the Hounds of Annwn. 

Even in English, the concept is known by various names: Gabriel’s Hounds, Woden’s Hunt, Devil’s Dandy Dogs, Herod’s Hunt, Cain’s Hunt, and the Ghostriders.

The story, of course, is fairly obvious from the name.  A group of ghostly huntsmen rides forever.  While various tales say they are fairies, the ghosts of the dead, the hounds of hell chasing sinners to the underworld, lost souls, or various historical and mythical figures, seeing them, whoever they are, usually means disaster is on its way, in the form of plaque, famine, war, or the death of the unlucky observer.  If you hear them storming down your suburban street tonight (or any night for that matter), follow the advice in one tale: put your apron over your head and do not look! 

Of course, that’s the usual early medieval interpretation.  Later medieval interpretations tend toward the more romantic view of the night riders (not to be confused with my own Night Writers, please) as fairies.  Still, I don’t necessarily recommend looking closely enough to determine whether the Wild Hunt coming down your street appears to be early or late medieval.

As to who is credited as leader of the wild hunt, there are as many leaders as names for the group itself.  In Scotland, the people of the Blue Bells Trilogywould have known it as King Herla, king of the Britons.  The story dates back at least to Walter Map’s telling of the story in De Nugis Curialumin the late 1100′s.  Other stories, however, tell of the huntsmen being led by Odin in Sweden; Fionn mac Cumhaill in Ireland; Knecht Ruprecht, Perchta or Berchtold in 16th Century Germany, or Frau Holda; in England, St. Guthlac,  Hereward the Wake,  and Woden (he’s a story in himself, being regarded as everything from a god of Anglo-Saxon paganism to a historical king to the prototype of Father Christmas, but that will have to wait).  The most familiar names on this list to modern readers would be King Arthur and the devil, also at variously times named as the leaders of the pack. 

 This is only a partial list.  The full one is quite long.  What I found interesting in researching was that one of the leaders are the ultimate evil (the devil) while several others are associated with Christmas.  Knecht Ruprecht, for example, was said to be the helper of St. Nicholas.  Perchtaroamed the country in winter and during the twelve days of Christmas would enter homes to leave a small silver coin in the shoes of children or servants who had been good.  (Unlike the St. Nicholas who she sounds so very much like, however, if the children or servants were bad, she would slit their bellies, remove their guts, and fill them instead with straw and pebbles.  That’s the Christmas spirit!  (Actually, Perchta herself ranges from benevolent to malevolent in various incarnations of her story.)  As mentioned earlier, Woden is considered by some to be an early forerunner of Father Christmas.

On an interesting sidenote, while Hereward the Wake makes no such claims to Santa Claus-hood, some do argue that his parents were the infamous Leofric of Mercia and his better known wife, Lady Godiva.  In addition with being credited as the leader of the Wild Hunt, some of the legends that grew up around him have also gone on to be retold as adventures in Sherwood, thus making him a bit of a prototype for Robin Hood.

Of great interest to me in studying King Herlawas how many of the stories are very specific withdates, locations, and names.  Although I’m no scholar of legends, I am not familiar with myths and legends typically being so specific, especially in regards to dates.

The story of Herla himself, for instance, is very precise in the shepherd’s dates.  He tells Herla there is a story of a king of the Britons, but the Saxons (of which the shepherd is one) have ruled the land for two hundred years.  It is even more specific in when and where Herla and his wild huntsmen were last seen (or scene, if we want to make a movie of it).  They largely disappeared from England in ‘the first year of the coronation of our King Henry’ (that’s the II), moving on to Wales, and soon after were seen by many witnesses to sink into the River Wye, at Hereford in the year 1133.

Herne the Hunter, another leader, is stated specifically to be a huntsman of King Richard II in the last quarter of the 14thCentury.  He is said to roam Windsor Forest, and very specifically, the Great Park within it.  Ordnance maps have placed the location of the tree from which he was hanged after falling out of favor with King Richard.  Herne makes his first appearance in Shakespeare’s Merry Wives of Windsor and much later, interestingly, also shows up in the 1984 series Robin of Sherwood.  It is fair to say here, of course, that whether he was an actual historical figure is debatable.  The story places him very specifically in history, and yet goes on to tell stories which could hardly be true, of his revival from fatal goring being accomplished by a wizard attaching stag horns to his head.  You can find more details here. 

The Peterborough Chroniclegives a very specific report of a sighting of the Wild Hunt.  For this to have any meaning, it is important to know that the Peterborough Chronicle is one of 9 surviving documents that make up the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle, which is regarded as ‘the single most important historical source of its era.  The Peterborough Chronicle reports:

 …many men both saw and heard a great number of huntsmen hunting. The huntsmen were black, huge, and hideous, and rode on black horses and on black he-goats, and their hounds were jet black, with eyes like saucers, and horrible. This was seen in the very deer park of the town of Peterborough, and in all the woods that stretch from that same town to Stamford, and in the night the monks heard them sounding and winding their horns…

A collection of very brief re-tellings of many Wild Hunt stories can be found here.  Happy reading, and keep that apron handy to pull over your face in case you hear any of the many Wild Hunts with any of their many leaders!

The first edition of Blue Bells of Scotland was officially retired today.  Copies are still available at amazon through a couple of sellers, and signed copies through my website www.bluebellstrilogy.com.  The second edition will be available in approximately a week. 

Many thanks to all who are stopping by!

In a galaxy long ago and far away…well, make that this galaxy, in fact, this planet, but the long ago part is pretty accurate.  In fact, it was so long ago, that it was long ago even to the people of long ago.  It was that long ago that King Herla lived.

Like all enduring myths and legends, there are variations on the story of King Herla, but the gist of it is this:

 Herla was the king of the Britons more than a thousand years ago.  One day, while hunting in an ancient forest with his men, he met a dwarf with a great red beard, and cloven hooves, riding a huge goat.  “I am a king of many kings and chiefs,” the dwarf told Herla and his men.  “But I have heard of your fame and great deeds, even in my world.  You are worthy to attend my wedding.  We’ll make a compact: even now, the ambassadors of France are arriving at your palace to arrange your marriage to their princess.  I’ll attend your wedding, and a year to the day later, you’ll attend mine.”

It was as the dwarf king had said.  Herla and his men arrived back at his palace to see the ambassadors awaiting him.  The wedding was arranged, and in the midst of the celebrations and feasting, the dwarf king and his people arrived, great crowds of them.  They provided food and drink in vessels of gold and crystal in such abundance that King Herla’s provisions went untouched.  At cock-crow the next morning, he and his people disappeared back to their own world.

A year to the day later, the dwarf king appeared to remind Herla of their pact.  Being a man of honor, Herla and his men selected gifts worthy of a fellow monarch and rode into the ancient forest.  There, a cliff opened before them.  They traveled into a dark tunnel, but soon enough, it opened up into a great cavern of light, seemingly lit by thousands of lamps.  There, Herla and his men celebrated for three days with the dwarf king and his people.

Finally, on preparing to leave, the dwarf showered them with gifts of horses, dogs, and hawks.  In particular, the dwarf lifted up a small hound to ride with Herla on his horse.  “Do not get down from your horses until this dog jumps down,” the dwarf warned.  “Only then will it be safe for you to dismount.”

Herla and his men rode back out of the dwarf’s realm.  Coming out into the forest, they found their world did not look quite as they’d left it three days before.  Disturbed, they rode on, till they found an old shepherd.  “Tell me news of my queen, wife of Herla,” Herla demanded.

The old man looked at him strangely, and finally said, “I scarce understand you, for you are a Briton, and I am a Saxon.”  After some thought, he added, “I have heard such a name.  But it is a very old story, of the wife of Herla.  Her husband rode into the forest to celebrate the marriage of a dwarf king, and was never seen again.  She died of a broken heart.  But that was in the days of the Britons, and the Saxons have ruled England for two hundred years now.”

One of Herla’s men, upset, leapt from his saddle.  He instantly turned to dust, and Herla understood that what the shepherd said was true.  He ordered his men to stay on their horses.  And so they were doomed to ride endlessly, and became the Wild Hunt, roaming the earth forever in their saddles without rest.

Until the first year of King Henry, in 1133, men reported sightings of the Wild Hunt.  In that year, the sightings occured in Wales, until shortly after, many Welsh reported seeing King Herla’s men sinking into the River Wye.  From then, they were never seen again.

The story of King Herla warns us against the trickery of the elder races, such as the dwarves, and the dangers their kingdoms hold even for the greatest among us.

In short, do not go to a dwarf king’s wedding, no matter how much food and drink he brings to yours.