Margaret the Queen (60 page)

So the Scots went harrying and burning down into Northumbria just like old dmes — but minus Maldred and his contingent.

The situation in England was still unsettled. Rufus had most of the South under control of a sort, but Odo was still in revolt in his earldom of Kent, even though Robert apparendy was no longer his ally and excuse. Morkar had

been captured and put back in a cell, but Hereford was still at large on the Welsh Marches, and much of Mercia and the Midlands not accepting the new King. Rufus had so far not ventured as far north as York; so Malcolm reckoned that his chances were good, with only Moubray, the present Earl of Northumbria and his local forces, to oppose him. He did not trouble to take Edgar Atheling with him, his part being merely to furnish an excuse for the move and to call on the dissident Saxons not to aid Moubray.

The news that filtered back to Dunbar and Caer-luel, those weeks of high summer, was of a most successful and enjoyable venture, from Malcolm's point of view, with Moubray consistently falling back without major battle and the Scots spreading satisfactory destruction far and wide, more or less unimpeded. In due course they reached the Tyne, where they found the great new castle completed, and too tough a nut to crack without a prolonged siege. So by-passing this they moved on towards the Tees in an almost leisurely fashion, making a diversion to take a swipe at Durham in the by-going, more as a gesture of warning to Cospatrick than anything else — although the ecclesiastical pickings were considerable — Bishop de St. Calais and Prior Turgot prudently absenting themselves.

Long pack-trains of booty and captives, and huge herds of cattle, kept coming back across Tweed and up through Lothian, to witness to the fair accuracy of these reports.

So passed the summer, with Maldred thankfully not involved in anything more violent than the hay and corn harvest, and Cospatrick biding his time.

It was the latter, with his excellent lines of communication, who first learned of impending change, towards the end of August. Rufus, it was said was assembling troops, further troops, in large numbers. But then he was always having to do this, and these might well be aimed against Odo or Hereford, Rufus having no lack of enemies. But when the word began to come in of a great fleet being assembled in the East Anglian ports, it seemed unlikely that this could be directed against anyone but Malcolm. When information confirmed that the objective was indeed said to be Scotland, or at least the North, and that Duke Robert was in command of the naval force, Rufus himself leading the new army, Cospatrick decided that it was time to act. It was no part of his designs to see Malcolm suffer major defeat in England, and to have the English entering Scotland as victors. Accordingly he sent messengers to warn the King, on Teesside, of the approaching menace, ordered Maldred to muster the Lothian and Border host once more, and himself collected a Cumbrian force, to march eastwards.

It looked as though Maldred was not to escape hostilities, after all.

Cospatrick and Dolfin arrived at Dunbar in foul weather of unseasonable easterly gales on the Eve of the Translation of St. Cuthbert. Maldred had assumed that the combined force would move down through the Merse to the Tweed, to guard the fords there — since, if Malcolm indeed was retiring and pursued, that is surely where he would turn and make a stand. But Cospatrick said no. They would wait here, at the beginning of the wide Lothian plain, and just beyond the Lammermuir passes of Peasedean and Bils-dean. His objective was to rescue Malcolm, and be seen to do so, not to try to defeat Rufus. The Tweed fords might have been suitable enough for a battle-ground. But they had to think of the seaborne force under Robert. That would not be affected by inland battles along the Tweed. Making for the Scottish Sea and the Forth, as it would be likely to do, it must pass close to Dunbar here. A large force seen waiting here, ready, would be apt to give Robert pause, if he arrived first. And if Rufus preceded him and was held up here, Robert would see it and presumably adjust his tactics. It was much better, too, that in any confrontation with Rufus, and possible negotiation, he should have had to fight his way over Tweed and then through these dangerous Lammermuir passes first, so that he had these hazards behind him to menace his retiral should he suffer any reverse — always an important consideration for any commander.

So they waited. But meantime Cospatrick despatched a courier over the Earl of Fife's ferry at North Berwick to bring Edgar Atheling back from Dunfermline — if he would come. He was the ostensible excuse for Malcolm's invasion, and might make a useful bargaining-counter if negotiations could be developed.

Soon messages began to come from their people along the Tweed that the main mass of the Scots army was on its way home through North Northumbria, but much slowed by immense booty. Of the English forces there was no word.

Strangely, their first real news of the southern situation came from the north. A vessel put into Dunbar harbour two days later, bringing not only Edgar Atheling but his royal sister. They brought the tidings that, as they were about to leave from Inverkeithing haven, a storm-tossed Low Countries ship had come in, whose skipper announced that he had had to shelter in the mouth of the Humber and whilst there a great invasion fleet under Duke Robert of Normandy had been driven ashore on that coast, by the fierce storm, and utterly wrecked. Margaret observed, although much less confidently than formerly she would have done, that it was, surely, an answer to prayer?

Maldred and Magda were shocked by the appearance of the Queen. Drawn, thin and pale, she seemed to have aged almost unbelievably. She was still beautiful but no longer lovely in the warm and comely way which had been so attractive. Now she was sad, reserved, without sparkle, almost ill. Magda thought that her time-of-life might have something to do with it — she was now forty-three — but more than this must be responsible. If it was the result of her penances and fastings, then she was punishing herself terribly for some reason.

They made a less than cheerful compa
ny as they waited in Dunbar Castl
e. All were anxious over the developing situation, Edgar particularly so, an agitated man who wished that he was not there, wished, he declared, that
he had never been born. Apparentl
y he had come in answer to Cospatrick's summons only because Margaret had insisted on it — and had come herself to ensure compliance. So she could still be strong-willed, at least. Edgar and Cospatrick, of course, cordially disliked each other, and he was by no means fond of Maldred either.

That first evening, with the Athelings declaring that they were weary and retiring early to their rooms, Magda told Maldred that she was going up to Margaret's chamber to talk to the Queen, alone, goodnights said or no. They were, after all, old friends as well as mistress and attendant. Surely she would abandon her grievous reserve and speak freely to her?

Some considerable time later, with his wife not returned, Maldred decided to go up himself. Was he not also Margaret's friend, however much they might disagree at times? He knocked at her door. Magda came and, making a helpless gesture, beckoned him within.

"Here is Maldred, Highness," she said. "May he come in?"

The Queen was standing near the window, staring out northwards across the sunset-stained sea. She held a crucifix in her hands. She answered neither yea nor nay.

Taking silence for assent, he moved in.

"Her Highness is sore at heart," Magda went on, tensely. "She blames herself. Against all reason. She conceives God to be punishing her. And so punishes herself the more cruelly."

"But . . . but, back there, did she not say that this wrecking of the Duke Robert's fleet was God's answer to her prayers? How then . . . ?"

"That was presumptuous in me," Margaret said, without turning. "Others more worthy would be praying, in this pass. To be heard before me."

"Highness — is this
...
are you still concerned over the condemnations of that crazed man in the cave? The Keledei Drostan?" Maldred demanded. "Surely that is folly? A man beside himself. . ."

"Folly? Should I condemn as folly the condemnations, when what he prophesied is fulfilled?"

"Fulfilled . . . ?"

"Fulfilled, yes." Margaret turned, to face them.
"You
heard his prophecies, Maldred. All that he said then is coming to pass. And others, as he warned, are paying the price of
my
sins. And you say not to concern myself."

"But
...
but. . ."

"My sons, my own sons.
They
are paying the price. He said that those I loved would suffer. Edmund is lost to me, lost. Given over to wicked ways, although so young. Always he was headstrong, but now he sins openly, before all, shaming me. Wine and women, lies and savageries, despising all God's commandments . . ."

"Margaret — I say that you cannot blame yourself for that!" Magda exclaimed. "You reared and cherished him to love and fear God. No children could have been better raised. And God would never cause Edmund to sin ag
ainst Himself, just to punish yo
u."

"God allows it. So mine must be the fault. And it is not only Edmund. Even Ethelred, my own beloved Ethelred who seeks after God, who was to be wed to Holy Church, as I should have been — even he is lost to faith and truth and all decency
..."

"That I do not believe!" Maldred cried. "Not Ethelred. As good as a monk."

"Ethelred, yes. He is, he is . . . married! Sixteen years, and wed! Secretly wed."

Astonished, speechless, they gazed at her.

"He is wed to a young woman two years older than himself. Daughter to Malsnechtan of Moray, Lulach's son. She, she is to have a child. Ethelred, whom I taught and loved and trusted. Lost
..."

"Not lost — never lost, Margaret!" Maldred asserted. "A young hawk, testing his wings, that is all. And honest enough to marry, not to abandon, as do most. . ."

"But he was to be a priest! A man of God. To do so much, so much before him. As Primate of the Scots Church. All thrown away, all lost. . ."

"My father, Highness, was Primate of the Church. And wed my mother, with the approval of all."

"That was different. He was not of the true
...
of the Roman Church. He was not a true priest, in orders."

"He was Abbot of Dunkeld, as is Ethelred." Maldred produced a mirthless smile. "You and Malcolm made him that, made the lad head of the Celtic Church. Can you blame him if he accepts some of the doctrines of that Church — in which priests may wed? Blame him, if he finds its customs more to his taste than some of those of Rome?"

"I do not blame him — I blame myself!" the Queen said, broken-voiced. "I am accursed, accursed, for my sins."

"Sins, Margaret, my dear — who are you to weep for sins?" Magda put in. "If you, the most sainted woman in this land, bewail your sins, what of the rest of us? Who have real sins to live down."

"You do not know what you say, Magda. My sins are as scarlet, I tell you. I have been living a lie almost from the day I reached this land. I had promised myself to take the veil. As Christina has done. I should never have agreed to wed Malcolm. He had a wife, a queen. How she died I know not — but I should not have wed Malcolm when I did. It has been on my conscience ever since. I thought, I thought to do so much, in my arrogance, for his realm, this Scotland . . ."

"And you have done much, worked wonders, no less . .

She ignored that. "Malcolm already had two sons. But I allowed him to put them aside, wickedly, in favour of my own. Now I, and they, are punished."

"They were
Malcolm's
sons," Maldred pointed out.

"I was made one with Malcolm, before God. His sins are mine, are they not? I let him send Duncan away, hostage. Thankful that it was not any of mine! And not only in this. I have not restrained Malcolm as I ought. His warrings and invasions and cruelties. I have not held him back from these — although God knows I have tried!"

"God knows, yes — leave it to God and His mercy, Highness. Malcolm is a hard and harsh man. No woman could ever soften him wholly. You have done great things with him and through him, for his realm. You have made his people love you — as none love
him.
You are beloved as no queen ever was. The poor all but worship you. Do not scorn the love of thousands . . ."

"Oh, I do not, I do not, Maldred. Unworthy as I am. . ."

"I think that you do. Or you would not condemn yourself so."

"It is true, Margaret — true," Magda said urgently. "God has blessed you with the love of so many. He cannot condemn you, as you think. Love is the touchstone, is it not? If you are greatly loved, you cannot be far from God."

"You think so, Magda — oh, you think so?" At last there was a flicker of hope in that unhappy voice.