Margaret the Queen (22 page)

"Your Highness's doubts are well founded," he said, clearly. "For all this is but an old contrived tale. There was no St. Regulus. Or if there was, he did not come to Kilrymont. That story was concocted three centuries ago, about the year of our Lord 750, in order to make the bishopric of St. Andrews seem to pre-date the blessed Columba's coming to Iona. And so to deny Iona's superiority."

Maldred broke into the Abbot Nechtan's angry intake of breath. "That is how my father explained the matter to me," he agreed.

"Wrong!" the Abbot cried. "All wrong. Lies! Do not heed them, Highness."

"The good Abbot cannot dispute the facts of history," the Keledei insisted. "The Emperor Constantine lived in the fourth century. This Regulus is said to have come to Scotland, or Pictland, in the reign of Hungus, or Angus mac Fergus, King of Picts. And he reigned in the eighth century! The large lands around Kilrymont owned by the Abbey were gifted by Hungus. Each year the Abbot thanks God for his gifts."

Nechtan puffed and waved a dismissive hand.

Margaret looked from one to another thoughtfully. "And the relics?"

"Sadly they have been amissing for long," the Abbot said. "Some evil men stole them. Probably Norsemen, Vikings. They made many raids on this coast."

It was the Keledei's turn to snort.

"And St. Regulus himself? Surely it is possible to learn just when he lived? If he was indeed Bishop of Patras."

"He came in the year 347, Highness," the Abbot declared flatly.

"Then, unless he was over four hundred years old, he never met Hungus, and you have been praising God for the wrong king and your lands!" the younger man asserted. "I say that St. Regulus of Patras never came here. But in the sixth century the Irish missionary St. Caineath did. From Iona, one of the Brethren of Columba. And he founded the first church here, and dedicated it to his old abbot in Ireland, St. Riagull of Muckinsh. That is where the name Rule comes from, not Regulus. The names are spoken much alike, Riagull and Rule — but never Regulus."

"From all such scoffers and unbelievers, God in His mercy deliver us!" the Abbot announced piously. "You disgrace your Order and calling, young man."

"I was taught by the Keledei to seek and discern truth . . ."

"This matter much interests me," the Queen said soothingly, and looked kindly on them both. "I am sorry to hear that the blessed Andrew's relics are lost. . ."

Further discussion was cut short by the noisy entry of the King and his companions, conference adjourned. Malcolm appeared to be in a good humour, so presumably the decisions had gone as he desired. It had been a debate to try to thrash out the conflicting interests of the bishopric, the earldom of Fife and the Crown, in this East Neuk of Fife. That the King had agreed to come here at all, to hear it, instead of summoning all concerned to Dunfermline, said a lot for the famous boar-hunting facilities of this area — the name Muckross of course, meant the promontory of the boar, and these scrub-covered moorlands had always been notable for the creatures. In the morning, Malcolm would be able to indulge in what had really brought him here, his favourite activity after raiding.

He greeted his wife with a sort of grim joviality, ponderously pretending to be surprised to see her having got this far, with so much to delay her, and wondering how much more of her wardrobe she had parted with on the way.

Margaret kissed his cheek and assured him that she had profitably drawn not a few of his subjects closer to his person and Crown that day.

The Benedictine chaplain looked agitated.

Malcolm sat down, calling for drink. Bishop Fothad came, as host, to greet the Queen. He seemed less cheerful than either the King or MacDuff, so it might be inferred that he had come least well out of the conference.

"How good to see you, my very good friend — whom I have not seen to thank sufficiently since you wed us," Margaret said. "I do thank you. And much admire your house. I could wish that we had as good at Dunfermline."

The Bishop looked somewhat wary at that, despite the warm tone. "It is none so fine a place — but all at your service and disposal, Highness."

"How kind! We have already dined well of your excellent provision. We must consider well how best to show our approval and appreciation, Bishop."

Fothad's look changed from the wary to the sceptical, but he murmured civilities.

"Do I take it, my friend, that your talking today has not been entirely to your advantage?"

"In some respects, perhaps not, lady."

At her other side, Malcolm hooted. "What Fothad lost as Bishop he gained as Chancellor, it might be said! Should churchmen be so concerned with lands and worldly gear?"

"We require goods in order that we may
do
good with them, Highness."

"Well said, Bishop! So say I," Margaret supported. "That is the only destination for Holy Church's worldly riches." She looked down the table at the Benedictine. "Oswald — bring Bishop Fothad what remains of the Maundy gold. I distributed some small portion of it on our way here, Bishop, to your monasteries and hospices and poor sorry folk. But there is still some left."

At her left Malcolm gulped over his ale. "You did what?" he demanded.

"Used some of the gold pieces you minted, my lord, for their proper purpose — God's work and the relief of need."

"You did? That gold was mine. Stamped with my seal."

"To be sure. So I esteemed. And gave it the more gladly. That my husband's name should be the more blessed, also. Better than it lying in some coffer here waiting until next Eastertide, is it not? Bishop Fothad would have preferred so to use it, anyway — would you not, my friend?"

Fothad began to speak, then thought better of it. He turned to take the leather bag Oswald was holding out, weighed it in his hand, pursed his lips, and laying it unopened on the table, said nothing.

"I am very happy," the Queen informed them. "So much Christian charity and caring. I was saying, my lord Malcolm, that we must take thought how to assist the good Bishop in his important work, in the Church and realm both. Much could be done, I am certain."

Neither of her neighbours made encouraging noises.

"I think that I see opportunity," she went on, undeterred. "I have been talking with the excellent Abbot of St. Regulus, and the young priest there, whose name I have not heard. From them I learned much. Which could, I think, be important. It seems that there are grave doubts as to the beginnings of this St. Andrews bishopric, doubts of age and founding. Which can only be to the detriment of its authority."

"Ha!" Fothad exclaimed. "So you have been listening to our Brother Ciaran, Highness? That young man is very earnest, godly — but perhaps suffers, like many of our Keledei Order, from presumption of the mind. Overmuch learning, it may be, and too liule simple faith."

"Could it be that, Bishop? Perhaps. But he appears to know his history. And it is in the history, is it not, that your St. Andrews is . . . doubtful? And it seems, from the Lord Maldred here, that the Primate his father agrees with the young man's doubts."

Maldred, across the table, was no more eager to be brought into whatever Margaret was up to than was Fothad to welcome him.

"My uncle Melmore is an ass!" the King observed, yawning. "He lives in books and papers — I swear he eats them! I never trust such folk. The past is the past — leave it so."

"It is the future I am more concerned with here, my lord," his bride suggested, with due modesty. "Does there not appear to be a notable gap in this Church in your realm? Between authorities — Iona, Dunkeld and this St. Andrews. Is there not — or do I mistake, in my ignorance? With Iona claiming the supremacy. As perhaps is right and proper. But Iona is far away, in the distant Hebrides, and authority should surely be where the people are? Lest error grows."

She had at least Fothad's attention now. Malcolm refilled his beaker from a flagon.

"The Bishop here is also Chancellor," she went on. "He knows what is necessary for the Church's better witness and service, as well as for the realm's good. In such way as the Abbot of Iona cannot know, on his island in the sea. Would it not be wise, therefore, to seek to increase the authority and influence of St. Andrews in matters spiritual? To no hurt of Iona."

"How could this be achieved, Highness?" the Bishop asked.

"What are you at?" Malcolm said, more blundy.

"It came to me while we were discussing the matter of the missing relics of St. Andrew. That they
are
missing is a weakness, none can deny. And since we shall not find them now, it might be wise to forget them. And to erect some different shrine of veneration. Which could turn all eyes to St. Andrews."

"All
eyes? And shrines!" the King asked, grinning.

"In time, yes. For men and women all, at some time, require to think on things eternal. If only when in trouble, or death approaches. Let them turn their eyes, then, to St. Andrews here. Rather than to far-away Iona which they do not know and will never see."

"There is much wisdom in what Her Highness says," Fothad acceded. "But how is such advantage to be achieved?"

"Replace the emptied shrine of St. Andrew," she replied. "Since we have no sufficiently important other relics that I know of, build not on such but on faith itself. The simple, essential, every-day faith of ordinary men and women. At Corn Ceres there was a lesson taught us. Wells. There they cherish five wells, no less. Healing wells, each for its own ill. You must have wells here at St. Andrews? And who is, above all saints, beloved of ordinary folk? Not Andrew. Not even the blessed Peter his brother. But Mary, the Mother of God Himself. Replace Andrew with Mary, then, my friend. Your own bishop's church here is St. Mary's on the Rock, I am told? Make it what St. Regulus has ceased to be, a place of pilgrimage, to which all eyes turn. Many more will turn to the Blessed Virgin than ever would to poor Andrew and his sad cross, however deserving. Women in especial. You need no bones and teeth, relics, for the Virgin Mary. Only a shrine, a stable, a manger. Beside a well."

"Yes. Yes — it could be. I see it. But
...
it would be difficult to establish. The pilgrimages. For folk to come, to make the journey. If it was to be, shall we say efficacious, many must come. From near and far."

"To be sure. I would help," she told him simply. "I would rejoice to do so. For I venerate the Mother of God with all my heart. Almost I intended . . ." She let that go. "I will make the pilgrimage. Each year. And bring many with me. Perhaps even my lord the King will accompany mc, on occasion?" She did not wait for Malcolm's reaction. "There ought, surely, to be a shrine for Mary, here in Scotland? An especial shrine."

"Some might think that a Romish notion," Maldred spoke up, from across the board.

"Does our Lord's Mother belong only to Rome?"

"No. But. . ."

"What service will all this do Fothad? Or my kingdom?" Malcolm demanded yawning again.

"If your people turn towards St. Andrews, in times of doubt or peril, then the Bishop of St. Andrews must greatly gain, in esteem, in spiritual authority. Fill a gap which Iona fails to do. You must see it, my lord? And the whole kingdom gains, if King and Church are seen to be at one and the stronger."

"This is greatly to be thought on," Fothad nodded. "Your Highness gives me, gives us all, food for deep thought. There could be great advancement here — which I confess I have never considered
..."

"Then consider it at some other time, man!" the King declared. "Enough of such chatter, in God's good name! If we are to be up at cock-crow in the morning, to seek out those boars of yours, time it is we sought our couches." He rose, and stooped to raise Margaret with him, less than gently. "Come, lass — there is more than religion and holy talk to living — as I shall prove to you! Come — and a good night to you all! We ride for Boarhills so soon after sun-up as we may."

They all rose. Magda went hurrying after the departing royal pair. Maldred scratched his chin, and frowned.

Part Two

9

It was a
summer of alarms and rumours and questions, mainly emanating from England, which kept Scotland in a ferment and the armies mustered — or at least their nuclei, since the hosts consisted of the levies, tenants and clansmen of the earls, thanes and chiefs, and these could by no means afford to keep them standing idle for long, with the hay to cut, the sheep to shear, the peats to dig and the harvest to win. William the Norman, they heard, was doing this, doing that, threatening the other. Some tidings were more reliable than others. For instance, it seemed fairly certain that he had given his niece Judith to the Earl Waldeve of Deira, as wife, bringing him her earldom of Northampton and confirming him also in that of Northumbria, no
doubt to bind him to him indis
solubly — this news coming from other sources besides the outraged Waltheof of Cumbria. Likewise, it seemed to be accepted that he had promised his ten-year-old daughter Gundred to Edwin, Earl of Mercia, another Saxon, when she should be old enough to marry. Again, there seemed no good reason to doubt that the usurper had put down the latest Welsh rising with his usual bloody ruthlessness and appointed his second son, William the Red, or Rufus, to be viceroy there and to institute a reign of terror which ought to ensure no further risings. And it seemed to be verified that the Conqueror had brought over the Channel his other son, Robert, now being named Duke of Normandy in his stead, with a further host of Norman knights and foreign adventurers from all over Christendom, and was giving these incomers Saxon heiresses to wed, there being many such available after the dire slaughters of Stamford and Hastings and the subsequent campaigns of extermination. And with these he had brought a Cluniac monk, Lanfranc, whom he had persuaded the Pope to appoint as Archbishop of Canterbury, displacing old Saxon Stigand. Less well authenticated stories were legion, but all tended to lead to the same conclusion, that the self-styled Conqueror was