Margaret the Queen (29 page)

Malcolm switched his attack. "With the gold and siller you gained from that archbishop — who is now dead, I learn — you ought to have been able to buy half the men in England, man!"

"Men gold will buy — but not wits, leadership, in their masters."

"Who got the moneys?"

"Many. But chiefly the Earl Edwin, now slain. And his brother Morkar." "And what is left?"

"That." Cospatrick whipped a single gold crucifix on a chain out from within his tunic and tossed it over the table in front of the King. "It will serve for your lady-wife, the Queen, perhaps." He spoke casually, but his glance caught Maldred's in the by-going, with its message.

That young man swallowed. Was his silence being bought? Blatantly? A contribution to the Queen's cause, which he had made so much his own. And in return he was not to reveal that he knew that there was a great deal more treasure left than that. Edgar would not know of it, never having been informed of the extent of the hoard. Cospatrick, it seemed, was aiming to keep the gold.

Malcolm picked up the handsome crucifix, shrugged, and set it down on the table again. "She shall have it, when she returns. And no doubt will thank you. A pity that there was not more." But that was as casually said. To do him justice, the King had never been greatly concerned with money and material wealth.

Maldred did not speak.

"It was Saxon gold. Given for the Saxon cause," Edgar mentioned — and was ignored.

"Tell me of this battle. Of Ely?" Malcolm said. "How it went. The Norman's methods for victory."

"It was no battle, cousin. The Normans used their forces skilfully, yes. But the Saxons defeated themselves. Would not heed us. That was at this Pymore Fen. A slaughter. Later, what happened at Ely itself, after Hereward won some of us clear, we know not
..."

"I
know. Morkar, your brother Waltheof, and the other fools attempted a fight of sorts. Then yielded to the man Odo, the Bastard's bastard brother. On terms. Whereafter, he hanged some of them and sent the others marching in chains, at horses' tails, to William at Winchester!"

"In chains? Hanged? Who? Which? Do you know?"

"Morkar and Waltheof, the earls — that I know. In the chains. Siward Biorn. Even Bishop Ethelwin — another churchman
..."

"Ethelwin! The good Ethelwin!" Edgar wrung his hands.

"Waltheof would rather have died, I say, than walk in chains," Cospatrick said harshly.

"And Thurstan? The Abbot Thurstan?" Maldred demanded.

"I know not. No abbot was named to me. I had the word through a ship-master two days back. Into Dysart. From the Humber. Who travelled more quickly than you, it seems."

"We were much delayed. Had no little difficulty," Edgar said. "At the hands of rogues and scoundrels."

"Your Saxon subjects!" Malcolm observed unkindly.

"So that is Odo of Bayeux!" Cospatrick exclaimed. "Chief Justice of" England! My foolish brother! At least they were warned. Hereward told them how it would be. I urged Wattie to come with us . . ."

"These are weak men. They will talk," the King interrupted, almost accusingly. "When William questions, they will talk — nothing surer. They will tell him of
you,
Cospatrick. And the Scots part in this mismanagement folly. So — we may look for trouble, in due course. From William. He will not forget it." "Are you blaming that on me?"

"If it had been a victory, you would have taken the credit, would you not?"

The cousins stared at each other.

"So I am to be the scapegoat? I will not thole it, Malcolm, I tell you -— I will not thole it!"

"You will thole whatever I put upon you, cousin. You are one of my earls, now. Remember it, always. And now — begone. All of you. Out of my presence. God help me, I have sufficient to trouble me . . . !"

Thankfully Maldred made his escape.

He discovered that the Queen was not presently at Dunfermline. She was, in fact, at Malcolm's summer palace, the Ward of the Stormounth, up between Gowrie and Atholl. She was pregnant, now six months gone, it seemed; and the palace gossip was that since she would no longer allow the King to lie with her, he found it more tolerable to have her out of his sight. So he had sent her to the Ward for the interim. Another version was that he had found himself to be so badly in need of a rest from religious devotions and family piety that some such device had been essential. Also he could no longer stand the presence of the Princesses Agatha and Christina, and all had been packed off. Magda, of course, had gone with them.

Maldred, next morning, sought permission to go visit the Queen, and received curt dispensation.

* * *

The Ward of the Stormounth was a pleasant smiling place, even for almost November — for it was as late as that in the year, the fugitives from Ely having taken over a month to win their way back to Scotland. The Ward, just over thirty miles due north of Dunfermline, as the crow flies, was almost twenty more by the shortest road Maldred could ride, round the Cleish Hills, past Loch Leven, through the Ochils, across Tay at St. John's Town of Perth, and up to the junction of Tay and Isla thereafter, into the fair land of the Stormounth, which comprised the foothill country of the Highland Line between Blair-in-Gowrie and Dunkeld. Maldred covered it in seven hours of hard riding however, thankful to be off on his own, free of difficult companions, outwith the oppressive atmosphere of Malcolm's palace — and feminine company ahead. Occasionally he sang as he rode, albeit tunelessly.

The sight of the great rock-and-heather mountains ahead of him always gave him a lift of the heart, anyway — he was, after all, an Athollman and these were the hills of home to him. They drew him on now, blue slashed with deep purple shadow, above the russets and sepias of the autumn woodlands. The Ward was set amongst those coloured woodlands, on the crest of a grassy ridge of the rolling foothills to the west of the Loch of Clunie. Although called a palace it was nothing of the sort, no more than one more extensive hall-house, with clustered outbuildings, set like so many another within the circular turf-and-stone ramparts of an early Pictish fort. The Picts had always an eye for a fine site, with scenic as well as defensive advantages, for they were an artistic people with a great sense of beauty and form. This site was particularly lovely, not grand or impressive but gentle, sylvan, retired, really now a hunting-lodge in the lap of the mountains yet not difficult of access, lying between Dunsinane and Dunkeld.

The sun was sinking behind the forested Birnam hills to the west when Maldred rode up and into the courtyard. He was hardly dismounted, and shouting for a groom, when Margaret herself came running out to greet him, Queen, pregnant or none, laughing, calling out, arms wide. And she was heart-breakingly lovely, despite her prominent belly, flushed, sparkling-eyed, the picture of health, like some harvest-goddess indeed, rather than any demure Bride of Christ.

"Maldred — my good and dear Maldred!" she cried, clasping him to her and kissing him on one cheek and then the other. "You are safe back. Thank God! It has been long, long. Oh, it is good to see you. We feared for you — for you all."

Somewhat overwhelmed, and very aware of that belly pressing against him, he made incoherent noises and stirred a little within her grasp. He was, after all, in only his twentieth year and had never before been embraced by another man's pregnant wife, much less that of his dread monarch — greatly as he admired the embracer.

Perhaps she perceived his slight embarrassment. She drew back, but still held him, at arm's length now, to examine him frankly.

"Are you well?" she dema
nded. "You look more thin — as I
do not! But . . . none so ill. I praise the dear Lord." She recollected. "And Edgar? Is my brother well? Returned also?"

"Well," he nodded. "Scarce content, but well enough."

"You were not successful, then?"

"No. Leastways, not in the main. In the prince's business, it was a sore disappointment. But
...
in other matters we did none so ill." He turned to his horse, which a groom was now beginning to lead away, and from the saddlebag extracted an obviously heavy leather satchel. He held it out to her. "You laid a mission upon me, lady. Here is the result. See — you will require both hands, for it is weighty."

"Maldred — you did not forget! Oh, my dear, I thank you. So good, so kind." She tried to open the bag but could not, finding that it took her all her strength to hold it. She set it down on the courtyard cobblestones then found that she could not stoop to open it because of her great stomach.

Smiling, he opened it for her.

Margaret gasped, her eyes widening at what she saw. For moments she could not find words. With trembling fingers she picked out the large gold-and-ruby cross which lay on top. Speechless, she held it out between them.

"That will ransom many Saxon slaves," he said. "It came, like much of the rest, from the Archbishop Eldred. With his blessing. Many others gave also."

She flung her arms around him again, and actually shed a tear or two, so moved was she.

This time it was the sight of the Princess Agatha, watching them disapprovingly from the hall-house doorway, which made the man release himself.

Margaret cared nothing. "Mother — I am so happy," she exclaimed. "See — look what Maldred has brought me. From the good Archbishop. And other kind friends. For my slaves. All this. See this splendid crucifix. . ."

Her mother came over, to take the extended cross, her brows clearing. She had a healthy judgement in matters of this sort.

"This is quite magnificent," she pronounced. "Far too good for ransom-money. You must keep this, Margaret. Is there more as fine as this?"

"Maldred did not bring this treasure for
me,
Mother. He besought it, on my behalf, for our Saxon people in distress. Besides, I do not need it. I have the Black Rood. More than sufficient."

"Nevertheless, child, this is not for handing over to hucksters or whoever will pay the most. It is a superb symbol of our Blessed Lord's sacrifice
..."

"Our Blessed Lord sacrificed Himself, His very life, for the poo
r and needy, did He not? Shall I
hold back gold and rubies, in His name?" That was no question but a stated decision, and sufficiently queenly. She took back the crucifix and returned it to the bag. "Bring it all within, Maldred and we shall see what there is. And I thank Almighty God, and all who enabled you to bring it. . ."

It was not long before Maldred asked for Magdalen, since she was nowhere to be seen.

"She has gone on an errand for me," the Queen said. "There is an aged hermit, one of your Keledei from Dunkeld they say, who dwells in a cave in the hills to the north. Custodian of a sacred well, the water a specific against blindness. Or so it is claimed . . ."

"The blindness of superstition!" her mother interjected.

"No doubt. But the common folk here believe it. And some waters do have healing qualities. There is a child in the village going blind. She is a poor sorry thing, crippled from birth also — but with a quick mind. Her mother, a widow, believes that this water will save her sight. It may be folly, but she longs for it. The child is too weakly to travel to the well. They think that if I, the Queen, send to this hermit, he will send some of the water to her, with his blessing. It seems that he will not leave the well. I cannot now ride far in my present state. So Magda has gone, with a message from me to the holy man. I had expected her back before this."

"Where is this cave and well? She has not gone alone?"

"No. One of the men here, a shepherd, has gone with her. The place is some miles into the hills. Across a waste called Gormack
..."

"I know it, the Muir of Gormack. I have hunted there,
from Dunkeld. A wild place. This side of the Lomty's glen."

"That is the name, the Lornty Burn. The hermit lives there, beyond this valley. Near some dykes or walls, they say. . ."

"The Buzzart Dykes. It is a deer-dyke. As they have at Kincardine. The King Kenneth MacAlpine, who built this, hunting-palace, made it. For driving the deer. It is a sunk-fence, very long, and angled. Once the deer are driven in behind it, they cannot leap out again. More readily hunted."

"No doubt. That is where this cave and well are. I had thought that Magda would have been back by this. It is dusk now." The candles being lit in the hall set all the treasure gleaming and glittering. There was just the hint of anxiety in Margaret's voice.

"She will be well enough," the Princess Agatha said. "That Magdalen is well able to look after herself."

"Yes. And she has this shepherd with her. But I do not like to think of her out there, in the darkening hills
..."