Margaret the Queen (32 page)

It took them two days to reach that pleasant place, in the difficult, flood-water winter conditions; but they were in no hurry any more, all they saw and experienced holding a new significance for them. At Bothargask, a smiling house of moderate size set on a shelf of the birchwoods above Botharstone Loch, they settled in to the magic, intriguing, timeless business of learning more about each other, all about each other. The weather was consistently bad, cold, with gales, driving rain-squalls and sleet. But they cared nothing, more than content with what they had, blazing fires, a sufficiency of food and drink, a discreet housekeeper and her woodman husband, who kept largely out-of-sight — and themselves. To make love on skin rugs before an aromatic birch-log fire, listening to the distant howling of the wolves, the whine of the wind round the house and the blatter of rain, was something never to be forgotten.

With both hands and full hearts they grasped their happiness and felicity.

All too soon it was time to return to Dunfermline. The Queen expected to be delivered about the Feast of Candlemas and it was felt advisable for Magda to be available at least two weeks earlier.

They were back only just in time. The child came early, after a short but fierce labour — which Margaret bore a lot better than did her husband, who stamped the palace like a man distracted, and all but throtded a servant who was so injudicious as to grin in the royal presence. He had not behaved like this at Ingebiorg's two deliveries. An hour after midnight, on the Eve of St. Agnes, a lusty squalling boy was born — and by the hour of Lauds thereafter, Margaret was giving thanks in divine service at her bedside, attended by her mother, brother, sister and Magda. But not the happy father, who was quite drunk, for the first time for months. When the monk Oswald finished, the Queen announced that the child would be named Edward — although Malcolm had talked about calling him after himself if it was a boy. It would be the first time that a Scottish prince had borne a Saxon name.

Bells rang that day in every abbey, monastery and church possessing such, which the royal command could reach in time.

Margaret made a notably swift recovery, the child throve and the King doted on both in his rough and abrupt fashion. He was for ever taking the infant up out of its cradle and marching around the house with it, showing it to all he encountered, behaving like any youthful father with a first-born — which, considering he had the two princes, Donald and Duncan, bestowed away out of sight with his half-brother Donald Ban in remote Mamlorn, and had fathered innumerable bastards up and down the land, was unexpected to say the least. Margaret herself, although the fond mother, was entirely sensible about the matter, and indeed not infrequently requested the monarch to leave the child alone, in less than subservient tones.

Malcolm declared that this was the son who should one day succeed to his throne — a statement which raised eyebrows and caused sundry wise heads to shake.

Margaret, however, was not above making good and effective use of her curious husband's post-natal euphoria, as had many a wife before her. She impressed on him that thanksgiving should be practical as well as verbal, outgoing not self-centred. God had been markedly good to them, and there was much that they ought to do to demonstrate their gratitude in the way of thank-offerings. For instance, there was the matter of the Saxon slaves. Thanks to Maldred's efforts, she had been able to purchase the freedom of a great many. But there were as many more still held captive. It was surely unsuitable that with a Saxon queen and a half-Saxon prince, Scotland should hold Saxons as bondmen, like dumb beasts? Could he, the King, not decree their freedom from slavery, at least? If they could not be sent home, let them remain as honest servants, freed men?

Malcolm promised to think about it.

More fax-reaching, if less expensive, a suggestion concerned some reform in religious matters and observances, she pressed. The Columban Church was strong in some ways, sincere, with certain virtues. But it was inadequate for its task, mistaken in some respects, gravely erring in others. Detached from the rest of Christendom, it had ceased to grow and burgeon, like a branch torn from a great tree. It required to be grafted on anew — or in time it would wither and die. To Scotland's sore hurt and Almighty God's grief.

The King, who had little interest in the subject, found it easier to accede that this might possibly be so. But what could be done about it?

A conference, she declared. A great council of churchmen. And others. The Keledei in especial. To discuss the entire issue. To debate what reforms could and should be made, to establish the eternal verities, standards, excellencies. Malcolm was doubtful but did not say her nay. And that was sufficient for Margaret Atheling.

Maldred was quickly drawn into the business. He must help the Queen to arrange such a council. It should be held during Lent, before Easter — for the mistiming of Easter was one of the major errors of the Scots Church. It would be best if the assembly was called by the Primate rather than the King. Maldred must get his father to allow the summons to be sent out in his name. Supported by Bishop Fothad's. All abbots and bishops invited to attend, with representatives of the Keledei and priesthood. They would hold it here at Dunfermline, in the eating-hall of St. Ternan's — she called it the refectory.

Maldred was as doubtful as was Malcolm, more so probably. Where was the need, he wondered? The Church was none so ill. It could look after its own affairs, surely? Would the churchmen come, indeed?

They would come, she asserted confidently. Especially if the Earl Melmore asked them. The Church, reformed, could be endowed with broad lands.

* * *

The first Council of Dunfermline was held on St. Duthac's Day, 8th March 1072, well-attended as Margaret had prophesied. Earl Melmore of Atholl opened the proceedings formally in the presence of the King and Queen, but
Bishop Fothad presided. There were some dozen abbots attending, twice that number of bishops — for in the monastic Celtic Church abbots were the senior, some having as many as half-a-dozen bishops under them — although the bishops performed certain sacramental rites which the abbots did not. There were some thirty senior Keledei and an equal number of priests and monks of various categories. The Keledei or Friends of God were a special order within the Church, in theory more strict, more learned, more authoritative in matters of doctrine. Many of the abbots and bishops were of that order. As well as the clergy there were a few secular folk present, but apart from Margaret, only three women — her mother, sister and Magda. The Athelings' confessor, Oswald, sat behind the Queen, for consultation if need be. Oddly enough, Cospatrick of Dunbar had elected to attend, little of a churchman as he was.

After a brief prayer for God's guidance on their deliberations, Fothad the Chancellor made an opening speech explaining something of the reasons and need for this conference, and the benefits which could accrue to their land and people from certain reforms and adjustments in their ancient Church, even possible amendment of mistaken doctrines. He added that last rather hurriedly, and sat down.

All waited, then, for a fine-looking man of middle years, who sat inconspicuously amongst the others, dressed in the simple black robe with leather belt worn by all the Celtic clergy irrespective of position — the Abbot Dunchad of Iona, St. Columba's successor and true leader of the Church, as senior abbot, even though not the Primate. He had arrived only that morning, having had a long way to travel; but without him the council would have been to little effect.

"My friend," he said, deep-voiced. "It is right and proper that our humble and unworthy part of Christ's Body the Church should recognise its sins, shortcomings and backslidings. Likewise seek to improve itself in God's service. To this end, I say, all here ought to be agreed. But you speak of reforms and mistaken doctrines. Will you enlighten us on whether we are here to acknowledge failures in practice or to debate alleged mistaken doctrines? There is, you will agree, a distinct difference."

"I suggest both, Brother Dunchad," the Bishop answered carefully. "We should not limit ourselves, I think, in this council."

"To be sure. But that implies that there
are
mistaken doctrines, Brother Fothad. Doctrines common to us all, not only to individuals who may personally err. If that is your contention, we ought to know where you conceive these mistakes and errors to lie. It is a grave matter to accept that our Church is mistaken in its doctrines. I am only a humble and ignorant servant of the Church, and know not of these errors. But I am prepared to receive instruction."

There was a noticeable pause, with Fothad understandably hesitant. He was suddenly in a very difficult position, thus early. Although St. Andrews was the most prominent bishopric, as it was the wealthiest, and he was the Chancellor of the realm, he was in no position to instruct his senior, the Abbot of Iona, in doctrine or anything else — except perhaps finance — as all there realised very well. He coughed.

"The alleged errors are . . . various," he said, rather feebly. And glanced over at the Queen.

"So there are a number of them? Which we in our frailty have missed? Now, in God's providence, and in the fullness of time, revealed? To
you,
Brother?"

Holy mirth was discreetly manifested.

"There is the matter of Lent. And of Easter, Brother Dunchad, on which we differ from the rest of Christendom. For a start."

"Differ from the Romish communion, my
friend," the Abbot reminded gentl
y. "Which is
not
the rest of Christendom. Have you forgot the great Eastern Church in all its many branches? But. . . how are we mistaken in the observance of Lent?"

"It is suggested that we have always calculated the time of it awry."

"Who suggests it, friend? You? Only now? After you have been bishop for a score of years?"

Unhappily Fothad looked again at the Queen.

Margaret was only too eager to come to his rescue. She leaned forward in her throne-like chair. "My lord Abb
ot," she said. "If I said that I
suggested it, that would be but vanity, presumptuousness, unsuitable in a mere woman. But when I remind you that a thousand bishops and archbishops of Holy Church assert it, led by the Holy Father,

St. Peter's successor in Rome, himself, then the matter calls for some consideration, does it not?" She spoke simply, clearly, modestly.

Dunchad bowed towards her. "Highness — you are right to remind us whence come these assertions of error. Rome we all respect. But do not seek slavishly to emulate."

"Not even when Rome is demonstrably right, my lord?"

"Lady — of your forbearance, lord is a title we in our Church reserve only for One. In matters secular it is different. The Primate here, is the lord Earl or Mormaor. But as Abbot of Dunkeld he is but our brother in Christ. Forgive us, of your charity,
our
little foibles and distinctions. But . . . you said
demonstrably
right, Highness?"

"Yes, Abbot Dunchad — and I regret my error over the honorific. I do applaud your distinction in that respect. As to Lent. It is a simple calculation, is it not? Lent is the forty days fast of Our Lord. You commence your Lent, not on Ash Wednesday as do others, but on the Monday after the following Sunday?"

"From that Monday to Easter Sunday is forty days, is it not?"

"Forty days, less six Sundays. Which are not fast-days, never fast-days. So you fast only thirty-four days."

'Did Our Lord's forty days in the wilderness not include Sundays? Or Sabbaths, lady?"

"Perhaps. But the injunction put upon us as Christians, by the holy apostles, is to fast
forty
days. Your Church fails in that."

"Is Almighty God so concerned with such calculations, Highness?"

"He has given us, made in His own image, the wits to calculate
aright,
Abbot. If we are going to obey the injunction to fast forty days, we should surely do it accurately."

"As I see it, the issue is unimportant, depending upon whether forty days' fasting means a period of six weeks less two days, or forty different and distinct days, not necessarily consecutive. Scarcely a sufficient issue to divide Christendom!"

"So say I, Abbot Dunchad — so say I! Not sufficient. But since it is you, the small Columban Church, which calculates differently from all the rest, for the sake of the unity of Christ's Body, should you not accept the alteration?"

"If that was all that divided us, I might say yes, lady. But — how say others?"

Most there clearly esteemed the matter of too little importance to argue over.

"The next issue I have noted," Bishop Fothad announced, "is that of the Holy Eucharist on Easter Sunday. It is our custom not to celebrate it on that day. As a sign of our penitence. Acknowledgement that we are all guilty of the shameful death of our risen Lord. The Queen considers this in error
..."