Margaret the Queen (51 page)

"Where did you learn that, on your travels? But, yes — young Melmore, a fine strong bairn. Magda took him and his sister to Bothargask a week past. I follow shortly. We have to spend
some
time in our own place . . ."

"To be sure. None say otherwise. And all is well at Ersildoune? I go there tomorrow."

"Yes. The young folk do very well. I like them greatly. But — they need their father. In especial, the lass Ethelreda. With no mother . . ."

"Would you have me bring her a new mother to Ersildoune? Friar Eadwulf!" Cospatrick grinned. "I thought of sending her to Court. To be one of the Queen's ladies. Margaret would mother her, I vow. They owe me something, there. And Ethelreda is kin to Malcolm."

"That might be best. She is turning into a young woman
..."

"Speak to Margaret on this. On your way north to Bothargask. How is she, that sainted Queen of ours?"

"Well. Busy. Most full of good works. You have heard of her ferries? Now she has built hospices also, on both sides of Forth. Where pilgrims and passengers may wait, feed, sleep, if the weather halts the scows or if they arrive after dark. All free, at her own charges."

"A remarkable woman. Mark you, I do not think that I would wish to be wed to her,-beauteous as she is! Though, to be sure,
you
feel differently, I jalouse? You always had a fancy for her, did you not?"

"Not so. Nothing of the sort. . ."

"Just so! Myself, I prefer less holy women. Yet Malcolm, whom I would have thought might feel the same, does not seem to be . . . incommoded! They have still another brat, I hear."

"Yes — they have had a fifth son — although the Queen much wanted a daughter. Prayed for one. This one she has named Alexander. Five boys
..."

"Aye, the Scots throne is well supported with sons. But
Saxon
sons! I wonder if they ever recollect that Malcolm has two older sons — and one still a hostage for his good behaviour, in England?"

"
You
hould have recollected that, when you urged the King to march into Northumbria!"

"I did, Maldred — I did. But I hear that young Cousin Duncan is well content. He is a great favourite of William's queen, Matilda of Flanders. William leaves her alone in England in all his warring in France. Her own sons grown and fled the nest, she consoles herself with Duncan, it seems. He will be seventeen years now, will he not? A useful squire for a lonely woman of middle years! He is safe there. Better off, I say, at Winchester than he would be in Scotland, unwanted. Like his brother Donald."

"Perhaps. His father never speaks of him. But Margaret does. I think that she has him on her conscience. Although it is not her fault
..."

"Fault? Perhaps not. But she has some responsibility, does she not?"

"They are the King's sons. His business . . ."

"And she can twist the King round her two fingers! As all the world knows. Has she had Malcolm bring young Donald back from his exile in the wild Highlands, with his uncle Donald Ban?"

"No. But. . ."

"No. She would have
her
sons to dispossess Ingebiorg's sons — that is certain-sure. So do not prate to me, cousin, of our sainted Queen's conscience!"

Maldred looked unhappy. They left it there.

"Now — give me some account of your stewardship here. Start with the Dunbar earldom
..."

* * *

For once, the well-informed and astute Cospatrick was wrong, and neither the Borderland nor Scotland itself was granted a year's peace. The Conqueror made a swift recovery — or perhaps it was merely that his conquering spirit was by no means wounded and drove him, unmindful of his body's weakness. At any rate, he insisted on being conveyed back to England in the late spring, and brought the touchingly reconciled Duke Robert with him. And there, swiftly taking the reins of government out of Odo's hands into his own, couch-borne as he might be, he made it clear that England had her king back. Amongst other things he created Aubrey de Coucy Earl of Northumbria, and ordered him immediately to muster all available arms. And he put his son Robert, willingly or otherwise, at the head of a large force and sent him north to teach Malcolm of Scots a lesson in allegiance.

The news came, as usual, from Cospatrick. But not in person, this time. Patie's Dod arrived at Dunbar from somewhere on the Northumbrian-Cumbrian border, weary with long riding. The Earl had sent him to say that the Duke Robert of Normandy was marching northwards and had already reached York, with an army of ten thousand. De Coucy was to reinforce him. They were coming to Scotland. The Lord Maldred must warn King Malcolm at once. So far as the Earl knew, there was no sea-borne force in support — but this was not certain. He himself was going to see to the raising of a force in Cumbria, to come to the aid of the Scots; but this would take a little time, and the Normans would have crossed the Border well before he could march. He had not thought that William could act so swiftly. But at the least, this Robert was not made of the same stuff as his father, apparently.

Maldred acted with his own celerity. He put into immediate effect the mobilisation plans for the two earldoms. He had Magda and the children pack up for a prompt retiral northwards for Bothargask — for Dunbar was of course apt to be directly in the path of any invasion from England, hence its strategic importance. He himself, however, did not wait for his family, in this instance, but set off for Dunfermline without delay.

He was again glad of the new ferries over Forth. Unfortunately, Malcolm and the royal family were not at present at Dunfermline but up at the hunting-palace of the Ward of the Stormounth, so that further journeying and delay ensued.

Maldred was very weary when at length he reached the Ward, after riding nearly ninety miles in thirty hours, with only snatches of sleep. The King was preparing to go hunting in the Forest of Clunie, with the nine-year-old Prince Edward impatient to accompany him, when the traveller arrived. Margaret, with the younger sons, cried out with pleasure at sight of him, then her voice changed to concern as she perceived his state of reeling fatigue when he stiffly dismounted.

"Maldred, my dear — you are tired, faint!" she cried. "You, you are not ill. . . ?"

"It is the tidings he brings that are ill, I wager!" Malcolm declared. "I know that look."

"Aye, my lord King — none so good." Maldred turned to the Queen. "I am well enough, Highness — only weary. I have killed three horses getting here from Dunbar."

"Then come, sir, refresh yourself. Food, wine, Maldred . . ."

"Tush, woman — the news first! Since he has come all this way with it. What is it, man?"

"The Duke Robert of Normandy is marching north against you, sir. With ten thousand men. Sent by King William. He had reached York when Cospatrick sent these tidings. From Cumbria."

"Robert? That weather-cock! In England?"

"William is back, and brought him with him. Now sends him against you. In strength. De Coucy, now made

Earl of Northumbria, is to aid him with more men. This — for your wasting of Northumbria a year ago!"

"Curse you . . . !" Malcolm began, and glanced at his wife. "Watch your tongue, cousin! So — this Robert is at York?"

"Was,
four or five days ago. Now will be a deal nearer."

"Oh, the foolishness of it! More of war and suffering!" Margaret exclaimed. "Will men never learn better ways to settle their disputes?"

Neither of them attempted to answer that.

"Ten thousand, you say? And the Northumbrians in addition. Four days north of York. We cannot hold them at the Border, then. I cannot muster sufficient men, in time. It will take me five days, or six, to put half that in the field."

"Cospatrick, Highness, said that he would raise a force in Cumbria. And bring them to your aid. With Madach, no doubt. But it would take some time."

"Aye — all takes time. Time which we do not have!" Malcolm glared around at them all, wife, cousin, children. "God's curse on all Normans!"

"God's mercy, rather, on us sinners, husband!" Margaret said. "We break His laws and then curse when He punishes."

"Aye, no doubt. Pray you for mercy then, lass — I have more to do!" The King raised his great voice, to shout for lords, stewards, grooms.

"Come, Maldred — come within," the Queen urged. "You must have rest and refreshment. Your part is done . . ."

Malcolm heard that. "By God, it is not!" he jerked. "I have work for you. But go, eat meantime. . ."

They went indoors while Malcolm erupted orders and young Edward protested vigorously about his lost hunting-trip.

Margaret attended to Maldred's needs with her own hands. She asked as to Magda's situation — and rejoiced at least to hear that she and the children were on their way to Bothargask — which was only a few miles west of the Ward. She wondered if Maldred thought that this time it must come to actual battle? Could that not be avoided, as before? At Abernethy. By using their wits?

"William accepted an oath of allegiance — once!" he said. "Will he do so a second time? After it was broken."

"Malcolm kept his oath for seven years. Only broke it when the Northumbrians themselves besought him to come, to take them into his realm. He will not find occasion to do that again."

"Will that appease William?"

"Perhaps not. But this son Robert is less strong a man. It seems that he is easily swayed. Might we not sway him? If he was told that the Northumbrian venture had been done in the best interests of all? That his father had never really ruled Northumbria. That this way would have aided both kingdoms, removed a source of ill-will between them. And that Holy Church would have gained. The good Archbishop Lanfranc was in favour of it. Or, of Bishop Walchere's plan. I could tell him so — this Duke Robert. Commend him to Lanfranc — who is his father's friend."

Maldred was too tired for agile thinking. "I do not know. I do not know this Robert. It might help. But was not Lanfranc's concern more with countering Odo of Bayeux?"

"That evil man! Yes, Lanfranc seeks ever to undo the ill he does. But he also saw good in that the Northumbrian Church should move into Scotland."

Maldred was in no state to restart that battle-of-words about the take-over of the Scottish Church by the Romish one; but one aspect of the subject did come to his mind, as perhaps relevant, especially to Lanfranc. "Odo," he said. "Did you know that Bishop Odo seeks to be Pope of Rome?"

"Odo? Oh, no — no! Surely not that? By all that is holy — never that!"

"Cospatrick says that it is so — and he is seldom wrong in his information. The Archbishop Thomas of York is aiding him — Odo. He has been gathering in the riches of the Church and the realm, in England, for long, it seems. To bribe the Cardinals who elect the Pope . . ."

"Maldred — it cannot be true! That would be beyond all evil. A disgrace to all Christendom."

"I do not know. But Cospatrick says that William would much mislike this. If he knew. That he would not have his half-brother raised to such heights and have to bow before him. Nor would Lanfranc, I swear! Is there not here something you might use . . . ?"

"You mean . . . ? Yes — oh, yes, Maldred, I see it. Tell

Duke Robert this. Say that we . . . that King Malcolm is concerned to halt this wickedness. That Odo must be stopped. That the Northumbrian venture was part of this, not really an invasion. But a supporting of Bishop Walchere and Archbishop Lanfranc in their countering of Odo's schemes
..."
"And is that truth?"

Margaret paused, blinked and actually flushed. She shook her fair head. "No, Maldred — no," she admitted, low-voiced now. "No — God Almighty forgive me! I, I was carried away. I thank you, thank you for rebuking me. I am a great sinner, Maldred."

Emba
rrassed, he touched her hand. "I
am sorry. I did not mean
...
I was not accusing. Only pointing the weakness
..."

"Yes, weakness. But it was sin, nevertheless. Untruth. We shall never do good by evil means — as well as imperilling our souls. No. Yet — there is something here that we could use, is there not? Lawfully, honestly . . ."

Malcolm stamped in. "You, Maldred mac Melmore," he cried. "If you have now eaten sufficiendy, get you down to sleep. Instead of huddling close to my wife! I will give you four hours, no more. Then you must be on your way south again. There is over-much to do, for sleeping — or exchanging confidences!"