Margaret the Queen (37 page)

Cospatrick himself had sailed from Dysart for Sluys, in company with the Athelings, mother, son and daughter, and most of the remaining Saxon refugees. Count Robert of Flanders, who had recendy succeeded his father Baldwin, although his sister was William's Queen Matilda, had little love for his brother-in-law — indeed Duke Robert of Normandy, the Conqueror's eldest son, whose re
volt his sire had been so recentl
y and bloodily putting down, was known to have taken refuge with his uncle Robert of Flanders. Cospatrick believed that he could sell his sword to the Count meantime — himself a notable warrior, with many private wars always in hand in the Low Countries. Nothing was more certain than that once he had deposited the Athelings in Flanders, Cospatrick would not be long in disengaging himself and leaving them to their own devices.

The departure of the Athelings occasioned little distress at Dunfermline, even Margaret accepting their loss with equanimity. They had made little attempt to adjust to the Scottish scene and ethos, and in the circumstances had overstayed their welcome. Where they would go from Flanders would depend on circumstances. Edgar had hopes of King Philip of France.

Malcolm, who was not of course an eloquent or talkative man, said little about his humiliation at the hands of William; but undoubtedly he brooded on it, felt it keenly. Save towards Margaret, he was ill-natured, cross-grained, moody, and wise men were concerned to keep their distance. He lashed out, on a larger scale, where he safely could — for instance, at the Orkney brothers who had been making their inroads into Strathclyde, and at the Earl Somerled in the Hebrides who was given to raiding into Lochaber in Dalar — these efforts more to salve the King's pride than anything else.

Margaret remained his consolation and joy — if so essentially stern and harsh a man could be said to know joy. With her he could forget his troubles, sink his pride and dominance in her beauty and goodness. He doted on her. Nothing was too good for her, nothing to be denied her. His humbling before William only made him the more determined to shine in her eyes.

Although there were stones for stumbling in even that marital path, as Maldred was witness on one of his brief spells at Court in high summer. The King came to his bedchamber one night, as he was preparing for sleep.

"You know Margaret passing well," he jerked, without preamble, almost accusingly. "Is she . . . has she . . . how true is she to me?"

"True? The Queen? Save us — you ask that? You jest, surely?"

"God's Blood, I do not jest! Answer me, man." "But
...
to be sure she is true, Highness. None could be truer. You know that. . ."

"I do not know it. I believe that she is deceiving me."

"No, no — I swear not! You misjudge. How could that be? In what would she ever deceive you?"

"With another man, it may be. Aye, another man. I am old enough to be her father, see you."

Maldred stared. "You, you cannot mean that, believe that! Margaret?"

"You, boy — I might have known! You are besotted on her, your own self! Despite being wed to that Magda. You are of no use to me!"

The younger man stiffened. "My lord King — you have no call to say that. I have always served you well, and honestly. Just as you have no call to think ill of the Queen, I vow."

"Why, then, does she steal out from my bed? Early in the morning. Seeking not to awake me. Does not tell me where she goes, who she has gone to?"

"She goes to her early devotions . . ."

"No. Earlier than that. This morning I rose after she had gone. She had not gone to the chapel. I went to that monk Oswald's chamber. He was still snoring in his bed. I could not find her in the house. She had slipped outside. Later, much later, I heard the chanting of the orisons from the chapel. Who had she gone to meet, earlier?"

"It would be some good works, some kindness to the poor.. ."

"At that hour? Before even the poorest are out of their beds?"

"I do not know, Highness. But — it can be nothing ill, amiss. That is certain."

"We shall see. In the morning," Malcolm said grimly. "You will rise, at the hour of four. No later. It is soon after that she goes. Go out, and hide you between the kitchen-door of this hall and the postern-gate. Amongst the apple-trees. She will not use the great door and the gate-house entrance, where guards are always on watch, day and night. Wait there, then follow her unseen. Discover where she goes. Then come tell me."

"But — a mercy, why me? I am her friend . . ."

"And are you not mine?"

"Yes. To be sure. But. . . why not your own self?"

"Fool! If I seem to be awake when she leaves, she will not go. I must let her go, then dress, before I can follow. By which time she has gone. Too late."

Maldred looked unhappy, but saw no way out. He wished that Magda was here with him, but he had left her at their new home of Bothargask, at her own urging. He could have done with her counsel now.

So, at an ungodly hour indeed next morning, he dragged himself out of bed and went glowering out, to station himself behind a tree on the dew-soaked grass of the orchard, feeling both fool and rogue. To be spying on Margaret like this was repugnant to him. But what could he do against a royal command?

It was chilly thus early, everything damp, the entire affair ridiculous. He was quite prepared for all to come to nothing, prove a mere figment of the King's imagination — although admittedly he was anything but an imaginative man — when the small rear door from the palace kitchens opened quietly, and was as quietly closed. The Queen, wrapped in a long, hooded cloak, had emerged and now hurried across the narrow belt of orchard to the postern-gate set in the high enclosing wall. She passed through, and closed it as quietly as the other.

Maldred gave her,a few moments. He moved over to the gate, and peered through, in time to see her disappearing down the palace-hill in a north-easterly direction into the wooded gut of the Pittencrieff Glen. Once she was over the brow of the slope, he could hurry after.

Further down, the trees gave him cover and he was able to keep her in sight. She went for about three hundred yards along the valley-floor, and then, where a little side-burn came cascading down to join the main stream, a rocky bluff rose within the angle. To the foot of this Margaret turned, and round its shoulder disappeared from sight.

Cautiously he moved after her — and was surprised to discover that under an overhang at the west side was the opening of a cave of sorts. It had been provided with a door, but this now stood open. He had never had occasion to be round here before, although it was not a quarter-mile from the palace, with nothing to bring him.

He paused, hesitant. He heard a faint murmuring from within. He did not go closer. The last thing that he desired was to have Margaret find him hanging about, eavesdropping. He turned and hurried back to the palace.

The King was just emerging from the kitchens door as he came up.

"You have her? You have not lost her?" Malcolm cried. "Where is she?"

"She, she went to a cave. A small cave, under a rock. Not far. . ."

"A cave? God's Name — a cave! Is she with a man? Meeting him there?"

"No, no. Not that, I swear. . ."

"What, then?"

"I do not know."

"Take me there, man. Quickly."

Hating himself, Maldred led the way back.

At the cave-mouth they halted. There was silence, but the door was still open. It seemed to be no large cavern, between six and seven feet high, perhaps eight feet wide, how deep was not to be seen, for there was a bend in it after a few feet.

The men eyed each other doubtfully. Then the murmuring sounded again, from within. With an oath, the King strode inside. Maldred paused, and then followed reluctantly.

Round the bend in the cave it took moments to see what was there, to accustom the eyes to the gloom. Maldred in fact bumped into his monarch's back. A single candle flickered ahead, and by its pale uncertain light Margaret was to be discerned crouching at the far end of the place — which seemed to be no more than some twelve feet deep. She had turned to gaze back in something like alarm. She appeared to be alone and on her knees. Behind the candle, the diamond-studded shape of the crucifix known as the Black Rood cast its shadow on the damp stone walling.

As vision improved, Maldred could distinguish that candle and cross stood on a stone shelf of the wall, natural or artificial. There was another shelf, bench-like, lower and to the side, on which lay parchment scrolls apparently. Apart from some kind of skin rug on the wet floor, that was all that the cave contained. Obviously the place was an improvised chapel or oratory. And, oddly enough, the improved vision revealed something else — what looked very like guilt sharing the alarm on the Queen's face.

Malcolm was gulping, swallowing audibly. "Lass!" he got out. "Margaret lass! I am sorry. I did not know. I thought. . . how could I know? Christ God — why? Why here?"

She rose from her knees. "Forgive me, Malcolm. It is folly, I know well. Only folly, I hope and pray — not grievous sin. But . . . but . . ." She spread her hands. "How can I tell you? And Maldred — is that Maldred too? I am sorry."

"But why, lass —
why?
Why this cave in the rock? Running with water. Is your chapel in the palace not good enough for you? It is a deal better than this, I swear!"

"It is not that, Malcolm. It, it is Oswald. Oh, I am sinful, I know — for he is a good man. And God's servant. But
...
I have come to find him trying. It is my fault, no doubt — but I am more and more at odds with him. He is stiff, correct, unyielding. Righteous, yes, but unyielding. He does not approve of what I seek to do. I have felt this for long. But, of late, it has become too much for me. . ."

"God's Blood, woman — then send him off! Away with him — like the other Saxons . . ."

"No, no, husband — not that. He is God's good minister. And must not suffer for
my
failure. Do not send him away."

"Highness — why come to this damp hole?" Maldred put in. "If your confessor displeases, why not worship in your own chapel without him?"

"Then he would know. That I was, was spurning him. This way he does not know. I go back, to hear Lauds with him, afterwards. In the palace."

"You mean that you worship
twice,
of a morning?"

"God forgive me if it is a deceit before Him — yes. I find that I cannot worship fully, properly, with my whole heart, while I have these wrong thoughts in my heart and mind, on Oswald. Can you not understand? It has come between me and my Saviour, in some evil fashion. So I have made this little oratory, set up the Black Rood in it. After an hour's confession and prayer here, with God's help, I can face Lauds with Oswald. Is it sin? Tell me, is it grievous sin?"

The men looked at each other helplessly.

"If this is sin," Maldred said, "then God and all His saints help the rest of us!"

"You will not tell Oswald. . . ?"

They left her there, for she had not finished her devotions, and would return to the chapel for Lauds later, anyway.

Two days later, without a word to the Queen, Malcolm despatched the monk Oswald off back to Wearmouth in a Flemish trader sailing from Culross. Announcing the fact thereafter, he told her that she could find another confessor of her choice; and that he, the King, would pay for all the cost of building her the finest church north of York, to replace her dripping cave, if she would forgive him for doubting her.

* * *

Maldred did not lack for activities and responsibilities that year of 1072, for in addition to his preoccupations with Dunbar and March and his establishing of their new home at Bothargask, Magda announced herself to be pregnant and that he should prepare himself to assume the duties of fatherhood in the early spring.

In these circumstances, Magda was not so often called to Dunfermline, and Maldred in turn was there less frequently, although they both remained part of the royal household. So that, when they were indeed both called to Court, for the Vigil of All Hallows, a Romish observance which Margaret was seeking to establish in place of the all-but-pagan celebrations of Nutcrack Night, it was to discover not a few developments. For one thing, the monk Turgot was back, and now Margaret's personal confessor, Malcolm having been cajoled to allow it, despite his suspicions. Turgot was a very different man from Oswald, strong but pliant, able, shrewd. Margaret had always thought the world of him — which perhaps was why Malcolm was less than enthusiastic. For that matter, Maldred himself found the man rather much. And undoubtedly he would much encourage the Queen in her Romanising endeavours.