Margaret the Queen (57 page)
But the Queen's gratitude at the unexpected ebbing of the tide of war was all too soon replaced by general apprehension, in Scotland, as to what William would do now. He had a huge army gathered and waiting, and no invasion to face. He was not the man to overlook what had been threatened, to sit back grateful that nothing had come of it. His health was reported to be improved — although he was said to have grown very fat with the prolonged physical inactivity. He was unlikely to seek to punish the Danes and Norwegians by counter-invasion — he had not the sea-going fleets necessary. Which left the Low Countries, France and Scotland as targets for his ire and vengeance. He would know perfectly well that Malcolm had been waiting, mustered, for months, for the invasion to start; and though there was no proof that the Scots had intended to stab at him in his extremity — it might have been conceivable that Malcolm was ready rather to come to the Norman's aid, under the terms of his allegiance — William was scarcely so foolish as to believe that.
A punitive expedition, therefore, might well appeal to William at this juncture. So the Scots experienced another spell of waiting, anxiously.
The fact that the winter of 1085-86 passed without hostilities did not disperse the apprehensions of the fearful, for William might be awaiting the spring campaigning season and better conditions. Malcolm had all his earls and thanes readied once again for swift muster.
And then, at last, there was hard news. As usual, it was Cospatrick who was first with the information, received through his listening-post at Durham. William had reverted to his oldest and most deep enmity, his life-long quarrel with Philip of France, and had in fact sailed with his armies for Normandy. Before departing he had set his house in order, appointing strong men in all key positions, indeed deposing the Bishops of London, Norfolk and Chester and replacing them by three of his own warlike personal chaplains — and taking Odo and William Rufus with him across the Channel, his brother for transfer to a Normandy prison, his second son because he preferred to keep him under his own eye. Presumably he trusted his youngest son, Henry Beauclerc, for he left him in nominal charge in England.
So the Scots could breathe freely again. As well as this welcome news for the King, Maldred had tidings for the Queen also. The Prior Aldwin had died and her friend Turgot was now promoted Prior of Durham in his place.
At Dunfermline Maldred was surprised to find young Prince Edmund, the second son, mastering the palace. It seemed that the King was at Dunsinane — which was still the military centre of the kingdom — on some matter connected with his armed forces, which remained his prime interest in life; and his favourite son Edward was with him. Margaret was at the Ward of the Stormounth, comparatively nearby, with her younger children. Maldred was still more surprised at the scene he was ushered into, on arrival, by the palace chamberlain, that May evening. Edmund, now aged fourteen, was seated, or sprawled, in the King's chair at the high table in the great hall, drunk most evidently, with two serving wenches actually sitting on either side of him, both half-undressed, one indeed naked to the waist, giggling and skirling, whilst the prince fondled her prominent breasts. Such few young courtiers as were present were either asleep or similarly employed. Maldred retired, without announcing himself, to eat in the kitchen. What Margaret would have thought of this, if she had known, could be left to the imagination.
There was no sign of the prince when Maldred left in the morning for Dunsinane.
Malcolm, practising cavalry tactics in the Norman style with some of his commanders on the grassy plateau of St. Martins, was well pleased with Maldred's news, needless to say. But he was not the man to display any relief. His reaction was not that peace might now be expected to subsist for some time but rather that he was free to indulge in other warfare of his own choosing.
Maldred forbore to mention young Edmund's behaviour at Dunfermline.
It was only about ten miles to the Ward from Dunsinane, northwards, and Maldred rode on thither after only a brief halt, finding nothing urgendy to detain him, certainly no pressing suggestion from his royal cousin that he should stay. Prince Edward, however, with whom a quiet but genuine mutual appreciation and friendliness had grown up, chose to accompany him.
They reached the Ward in the evening, only to find the Queen absent, and the five youngest children, the girls Matilda and Mary and the boys Edgar, Alexander and David, left in the care of the chamberlain and ladies. It seemed that, with Ethelred — whom she had collected from his favourite haunt on the monastic island of Loch Leven — Margaret had gone on some sort of jaunt round the refuges and retreats of sundry anchorites and religious hermits. Just why was not clear, but Edward declared that it sounded like Ethelred's instigation, for he seemed to think highly of such odd folk — in fact had been heard to announce that he would have liked to be one such himself. The hoots of laughter from his young brothers at this assertion made it evident that the family, at this stage, thought Ethelred very much of a curiosity.
Maldred, with memories of the hermit Keledei of St. Ethernan's Well in the Braes of Lornty, not far away, wondered at it all, but agreed that they should go to try to find the Queen, in the morning.
It was not difficult to trace Margaret's progress. She had headed eastwards, for Blair-in-Gowrie and thence down into central Strathmore, to make her first call at the cell of an anchorite who kept St. Cumin's Well deep in a woodland glade in the Bendochy area where the Rivers Isla and Ericht joined. Most of these solitaries established themselves as the custodians of springs and wells, usually linked with the name of some early saint or missionary, the alleged healing qualities of which brought sufferers and pilgrims, whose votive offerings supported the simple needs of the hermit. The fact that these were almost always sited in remote and awkward places ensured that the keeper's solitude was not inundated with floods of visitors and his chosen ascetic living-style nullified by overmuch in the way of contributions. The individual at Bendochy, extraordinarily young-looking for such a vocation and more cheerful t
han might have been expected,
told them that the Queen had indeed been there, bless her, the previous day, with the young Primate, and had been going on, he understood, to visit Abbot Colban who occupied an islet in Forfar Loch.
So they proceeded down Strathmore a further ten or so miles, to that quite large sheet of water, not far from one of Malcolm's castles and the township which clustered round it. But if this anchorite had chosen a fairly populous area for his retreat, he made up for it by electing to occupy a tiny crannog, or artificial islet, at the west end of the loch, constructed of stones, timber and sods, with a turf hut to shelter both himself and his goat, for milk, his only companion. A bronze bell hanging on a tripod at the loch-shore was the means by which he could be summoned — and summoned he had to be, since he could be reached only by the coracle which he kept out at his raft-like island. He was noted for as often as not refusing to come for visitors. Needless to say there was no well at this artificial structure, and such suppliants as sought to approach him did so only for his blessing — which, however, was considered to be particularly efficacious, for Colban was an exceedingly holy veteran, having previously been Abbot of the important Abbey of St. Peter at Restenneth, on the other side of Forfar, and had retired here to end his days thus. How he lived on this raft, surviving on goat's milk and the large pike for which the loch was famed and which were alleged to jump out of the water for his sustenance — only faith could tell.
On this occasion the callers had to ring the bell several times before there was any reaction; and they would not have troubled to wait — for most obviously the Queen was not here — had it not been that Colban might be able to tell them where she had intended to head next. Eventually the old man emerged from his rickety hovel, bent and tottering, all straggling white hair and beard, to paddle his frail craft across to them in zigzag, splashy style. In no welcoming mood he told them to be about their business, as he did not feel like interceding for anyone that day. But he was brought to admit that the Englishwoman had been out there to see him the previous afternoon, and indeed stayed some time with him in discussion, which although perhaps verging on the impertinent was also remarkable in a woman — although full of heretical notions, to be sure, presumably Romish. To continue her education he had directed her onwards to a fellow loch-dweller, also from Restenneth, one Gillemor, an expert on the doctrine of the Holy Trinity, who dwelt on a sedge-island in Rescobie Loch, a mile or two beyond the Abbey of Restenneth, further east. The holy man, having thus delivered himself, glared round them, flicked a finger at them — clearly not a benediction but a command to be off — and staggered back to his coracle, to push off, his stick-like arms seeming incapable of propelling even such a cockle-shell. That the Queen had apparently trusted herself to his doubtful navigation and been transported out to the crannog and goat in his floating basket, spoke worlds for her courage and determination.
They expected that Margaret would have spent the night at the royal castle of Forfar, however crude a place; but found that she had passed there and on to Restenneth Abbey itself — where certainly she would have been more comfortable, although that was unlikely to have been her reason. They learned there that the monks had had an edifying evening with her, and were much impressed with her knowledge and authority, like no woman they had ever known. But more to the point, they were told that after calling at Rescobie Loch, she had intended to proceed on to Aberlemno, to the north some miles where, in a cave on the escarpment of Finavon Hill, beneath the ancient Pictish fort there, a renowned seer roosted, famed for his second-sight and prophecies. It was a difficult place of access however, involving a steep climb, and the Queen, on seeing it, might decide to pass it by. Maldred privately considered that this was improbable.
In the circumstances the travellers felt that they could omit visiting the authority on the Holy Trinity since, as they passed Rescobie Loch they could see that no company was present, either on the shore or on any of the many islets of tall sedge-grass — one of which presumably hid the Keledei Gillemor, of whom there was no sign. They pressed on, turning northwards now into the rougher rising ground of an isolated hilly area rising like a leviathan out of the green centre of Strathmore.
They discovered, as they picked their way, that this Aberlemno vicinity was indeed awkward to reach, a quite high hanging valley between two parallel rocky ridges, modest by comparison with the mighty Highland mountains which flanked the strath on the north
side, but craggy and sufficientl
y difficult country, with much fallen stone to negotiate. Towards the east end of this secluded valley, a particularly steep and frowning escarpment arose on the north side, crowned by the broken, grass-grown ramparts of a large fort. And at the foot of this, at the track-side, were congregated a group of men, two women and about a dozen horse
s. They had run their quarry to
earth, it seemed — although earth was perhaps scarcely applicable here, with all eyes trained upwards.
The party at the foot of the hill informed the newcomers that the Queen had climbed the slope to interview another of these peculiar hermits, in a cave up there, and had been gone for some time. They did not comment on what they thought of such behaviour, perhaps in view of Prince Edward's presence, but their attitude was fairly evident nevertheless. Maldred and the prince dismounted and started to climb the rocky, scree-lined hillside.
A stiff clamber of about two hundred and fifty feet brought them, panting, to where a single guard stood beside a thrusting buttress of rock just below the crest of the escarpment. Saluting the prince, he pointed to a mere slit in the rock-face, tucked in at the far side of the buttress, by no means obvious as a cave-entrance. But once through this narrow aperture, quite a cavern opened out — how large it was impossible to assess in the prevailing gloom. Not much light filtered in from the aperture, and this was only modestly reinforced by a single guttering lamp set on a shelf of rock. There was a strong smell of unwashed humanity.
They heard Margaret greeting them in pleased surprise before they actually saw her, the Queen's vision having become accustomed to the gloom within whilst theirs had not. She came to kiss them both, murmuring welcome. Then, putting her finger to her lips, she took each by an arm and steered them back whence they had come, into the sunlight, blinking in its brightness. Behind her came young Ethelred, complaining in a penetrating whisper that this might spoil all.
After a brief questioning as to how the newcomers came to be there, the Queen explained the position at the cave. The Keledei Drostan here, was a noted prophet, soothsayer and godly thinker. Many had advised her to seek his advice on certain matters. But it seemed that he could not prophesy or declaim as it were to order — as was understandable — and for the moment he was awaiting inspiration of the Holy Spirit, in private prayer, deeper within his cave. How long he would be, and whether utterance would be vouchsafed, remained to be seen. They must patiently await God's decision and will.
Maldred stared. "But, Highness — why this? You, who are ever so assured? In matters of religion. So critical of our Columban Church. Seeking the words and guidance of this man! I would have thought that you would consider him heretic and necromancer, if not worse!"
