Sisters of The Bruce 1292-1314 (Abridged Version )

Sisters of The Bruce: Part 2; Chapter 2.6

Norway

November 1308

For once, Isa was dumbstruck. Murchadh had brought her several bags of salt from the Solway near her home and a bale of fine Scottish wool for spinning, all from his latest trading venture across the North Sea. Seated by the hearth sharing a goblet of warmed wine, he imparted news garnered during his visit to Orkney and spoke of Mathilda's betrothal to Hugh, heir to the Earl of Ross. Frowning with irritation, Isa rose and began pacing around the solar, oblivious to her guest. A spray of sleet battered the windows of the dower apartments. All day, rain had obscured her view of Bergen. She shivered and nestled further into the fur lining of her cloak.

"It beggars belief Robert would sacrifice his own sister to such a family!" she said, forgetting her own betrothal to the Norse king only a few decades after the Battle of Largs. Murchadh nodded, but added he had met the man in question and he seemed a sound fellow. Perhaps her brother knew what he was about? Isa shook her head disconsolately. The accursed crown of Scotland! How much more pain and sorrow would their family have to endure in its pursuit?

Apart from this diabolical news, she was pleased to hear all was well with the rest of her kinfolk on Orkney and prodded Murchadh for a detailed description of their health and wellbeing, the quality of living conditions and the environment in which they flourished. For the past year or so, he had brought her news about the rebellion as well as that of her family, enduring this inquisition of questions at the end of each voyage. He enjoyed her grace's patronage; his loyalty, beyond question. Deep within his being, he knew he would go to the earth's end and beyond for this lovely woman, grappling the great sea serpent bare-handed if she asked it of him.

Realising their meeting had come to its natural conclusion, Murchadh moved towards the door. At the sound, Isa turned. Gracefully, she moved across the chamber, thanking the captain once more for his dedication and kindness; his efforts had saved her family, those now on Orkney, and for this, he deserved her undying gratitude. He bent his head and made ready to move through the low doorway. Isa placed her hand on his arm to slow his departure.

"I have another favour to ask of you." She spoke with some earnestness. "The queen requests my presence at the Yuletide festivities in Oslo. My vessel is in need of repairs, and Kettil has a swollen leg. He cannot sail until full healing has taken place." Of course, Murchadh agreed, changing his plans without a moment's hesitation. Their departure would take place after he traded his goods down at the Bryggen wharf. Despite the miserable weather, it was busy with preparations being made for the annual fair.

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A few days later, a small group – Isa and Inga and their maids – departed in Murchadh's trading galley. A cold mizzle fell, obscuring much of Bergen. Rather than spiraling up into the air, the resinous pine smoke from the many hearths lay in a flattened layer across the shingle and turf roofs. Within the cramped shelter, the women sat upon their trunks of clothing and gifts; damp cloaks pulled tight about huddled forms. Since hearing news of Mathilda's betrothal, Isa had felt out of sorts, in a dark place of old, painful memories. Overwhelmed by despair, she hoped the trip away and Effie's usual good spirits might cheer her. As well, she looked forward to seeing Akershus Festning, which had recently been completed. The fortress was situated on a headland overlooking the new royal capital: a small community by Bergen's standard, for the citizens numbered a mere three thousand. King Haakon preferred Oslo's strategic location from which to monitor the fractious royal families of Sweden and Denmark, who were often questing at each others' throats, causing much instability for Norway.

As they sailed into Oslo's harbour, the rain cleared. Billowing clouds rolled in from the northwest. Galleys with carved prows and furled woollen sails spread out across the choppy waters. Some sported royal emblems and flags. Isa looked up. There upon the headland stood a great hall. It was similar in design to the one in the Holmen in Bergen. By the time their goods were unloaded, Effie was waiting down by the wharf. She waved madly: her effervescent spirit, a great boon, lifting all those around her. Linking arms, the two women, followed by their entourage and a cart laden with belongings, began the climb to the castle. Having decided to go on to Denmark to trade the remnants of his Scottish goods, Murchadh would return in a week.

They passed through an archway in the stone walls which were still under construction. Isa was incredulous at the broad expanse of water and curving coastline which lay below her. Princess Ingeborg took Inga by the hand and the girls ran off to see her latest acquisition, a pet bear cub named Bruno. Much later, in a rug-strewn solar filled with comfortable settles and a trestle or two, the women sat by the fireplace. Flames licked at the pine logs. A resinous haze filled the chamber. As if enacting their own tale of drama and woe, fleeting shadows rose and fell across the wall tapestries and the vaulted stone ceiling. Outside, there were no sounds at all for it had begun to snow. Bringing her good sister up to date with her news, Isa relayed all she knew of proceedings in Scotland and Orkney. A cloud of emotion darkened her face. She touched upon Mathilda's betrothal to the son of the reviled Earl of Ross. Effie's astute blue eyes focused upon Isa's expressive face and she grasped her friend's hand. Exposed to the daily pragmatics of royal politics, she knew Isa would have to come to terms, painful as it was, with the actions of her brother.

They would soon have other things to consider for the great Yuletide festivities were to begin on the morrow. A massive banquet was to be held to celebrate the completion of the fortress and the queen hoped her good sister would be too caught up in the light hearted frivolities to be consumed by dark thoughts.