Margaret the Queen (64 page)

There was a buzz of reaction and conjecture.

Malcolm rose. "This council is ended," he said. "There is food and drink for all down at the cashel. Where my wife intends that a new abbey shall arise." He grimaced. "We shall tell the Pope that also!" He turned and strode out, as unceremoniously as he had entered.

"How say you to that?" Cospatrick asked Maldred. "I wondered why Malcolm chose Edinburgh for this council — which was no council! It is to be a fist shaken in
my
face, I think. As much against me as against the Normans."

"Or against your good-son, Duncan? Or both of you!" Cospatrick grinned mirthlessly. "We shall see," he said.

It was a
strange experience to be riding down through Northumbria and the English North neither burning nor slaying nor yet opposed, indeed almost in holiday mood — although in Malcolm Canmore's company such an atmosphere was difficult to sustain. Nevertheless it was a resounding and practically unique occasion, apt for some sort of celebration. Never in living memory, or well beyond that, had a Scottish monarch progressed in style and fair company peaceably through the English countryside, all clad in their finest, banners flying but not a gleam of naked steel in sight.

William Rufus had indeed made a fair response to Malcolm's letter and the carefully leaked details of that sent to the Pope — although he had taken his time about it. But there was reason for that. All England knew, and by now most of Scotland too, that King William believed that he was dying. He had taken to his bed at Gloucester, and was in the process of putting his earthly realm in order so that he might be better received at his entry into the heavenly one — as his father, and so many another, had done before him. Just what his ailment might be remained unspecified; but it was sufficient for him to require the most influential of prayers — including the Pope's, naturally — and to send a safe-conduct to Scotland with the request that Malcolm should come in person, with his grievances, to a dying man's bedside, so that all their differences might be settled in holy amity and goodwill. Also, he suggested, that the saintly Queen Margaret should likewise pray for him. Nothing was actually said in the letter to Malcolm about the return of Cumbria, but since that was the main issue between them, surely it could be taken that a settlement was envisaged.

So the colourful and mainly cheerful throng rode southwards through the early August richness, with the English scene looking at its verdant and bountiful fairest — where it was not still a charred desert from the Conqueror's politic devastations, that is. The safe-conduct had stipulated the exact route to be taken, which first was on the east side, through Northumbria, not west through Cumbria as would have been shorter and more appropriate. Robert de Moubray, Earl of Northumbria, had met them at the Aln, with a large company, apparently to act as escort, without contributing notably to the gaiety. The two parties kept fairly carefully apart throughout.

For that matter, the Scots themselves were apt to ride in separate groups — Malcolm's own, Cospatrick's, and a gay and noisy younger company, consisting of three of the princes, Edward, Edgar and Ethelred, and the younger of the mormaors and thanes. Edmund, the black sheep, was none knew where. The Queen was not present, having been with difficulty brought to Edinburgh from her summer-time hermitage in Forfar Loch, in no state of health for lengthy travel. She would superintend the building work on the rock of Dunedin, no doubt more interested in the small personal oratory or chapel she was erecting there than in the fortifications. Duncan was travelling with them, but very noticeably avoiding his father and half-brothers and riding with Cospatrick. Maldred was in some measure able to bridge the gaps between the parties, through his friendship with Prince Edward and his link with Madach in the King's group.

Cospatrick frequently proved to be a better guide than did his enemy Moubray, his years of roaming England as a wandering friar giving him the advantage. He was also instrumental in causing the cavalcade to call in at Durham, where he carefully maintained relations with Bishop William and Prior Turgot — and where, on the nth of August, he actually persuaded Malcolm to assist in laying the foundations-stones of part of the new cathedral to be erected there.

Turning south-westwards at York, they threaded the dales and climbed over the great moors into Mercia, and so down through the Peak country, to the valleys of the Dove and the Tame and the Avon, and finally through the pleasant Malvern Hills. It made a long journey, but there was no especial hurry and it made a welcome change for most of the travellers.

But any pleasure there was in it stopped at Gloucester. The place was an armed camp and not a friendly one. Indeed the Scots were halted peremptorily, well back from the city with its great Benedictine abbey, wherein William was lodging and where a new minster was being built. In no respectful fashion they were instructed to camp and wait; and when Malcolm demanded to be taken into the presence of King William, at once, he was informed that the King's Grace was not available, was in fact away hunting in the Forest of Dean. When they expressed astonishment at this activity on the part of a man so gravely ill, they were assured that the monarch no longer felt himself to be dying, or in any danger, God and His saints having suddenly effected an all but miraculous cure.

Moubray rode on to investigate, but the Scots had no option but to wait as instructed.

They waited, in fact, to some tune, no word reaching them before night-fall, no indication that their presence was acknowledged or even known. Next morning it was the same. By mid-day, Malcolm's offence and resentment knew no bounds. He ordered all his party to mount, brushing aside the protests of the screen of guards they had acquired, to ride into the city.

But long before they reached the stretch of Roman wall which marked Gloucester's central area, a sufficiently large and determined company of armed men came to halt them, curtly ordering them back whence they had come. With Malcolm's fur
y exploding in awesome fashion,
Moubray of Northumbria materialised from the midst, in most evident discomfort. After some throat-clearing, he announced that he was commanded by the renowned William, by God's grace King of the English, to declare that he, the King, did not afford audience upon demand to any, especially to rebels and faith-breakers. If there was any issue which Malcolm of Scotland wished for decision, it could be placed before the suitable English court for judgement. Meantime, the Scots would return to their camp and await instructions.

Maldred, in all the years that he had known his cousin, had never seen him in such raging anger; indeed he feared that Malcolm was going to take some sort of fit or s
eizure. Thickly, incoherentl
y, he cursed and swore, all but rigid with inexpressible choler and indignation. When even choking words failed him. Cospatrick it was who reached over, first to grip the royal arm, then, when there was no reaction, to take the bridle of the King's horse and to turn the beast about and lead it back whence they had come, the monarch seeming almost dazed in the saddle. Without a word spoken, the entire Scots party reined round and followed.

For an hour or so Malcolm shut himself up alone in his campaigning tent and not even Cospatrick nor any of his sons dared to disturb him. Oddly, it was the Prince Duncan, who had little cause to love his father, who proposed to do something positive about the situation. He would go back himself, he said, alone, and see King William. They had been friends. Try to resolve this folly and indignity. William might listen to him. He would try to make him perceive that this course would serve no good to any, that only hatred and evil could come of it and both kingdoms suffer.

Cospatrick, who now had taken charge, did not see his son-in-law as likely to be successful, but he did not seek to hold him back.

At length Malcolm emerged from his tent, set-faced but calm. He gave brief orders for camp to be struck immediately. They would march for Scotland forthwith.

None sought to argue, although doubts were expressed as to whether the English would allow this. Malcolm heeded none; nor would he wait for his eldest son's return.

They rode within the hour. The guards did not appear to know what to do; but they did not seek to restrain them;

For long the King, riding alone and silent, did not look back; but others did. There was no sign of pursuit, so sign even of Duncan following. They were well into the night-shrouded Malvern foothills before they camped. Malcolm remained unapproachable.

That was a strange, tense, journey home, so very different from their outwards travel, with a brooding aura of wrath and humiliation hanging over all and vengeance the word most often to be heard. Not from the King; indeed few words of any sort did he utter in those long days of hard riding — for he led them northwards at a fierce pace, telling on man and beast. They followed the same route as they had come — and as William's safe-conduct had stipulated — and never once were they held up or interfered with. Nor did the missing Duncan put in an appearance — nor his father ask after him. They had taken ten days to reach Gloucester from Tweed, but they returned in six, some of the most joyless and dreary days in Maldred's experience. Even Cospatrick was subdued, preoccupied.

Malcolm broke his grim silence only at Dunbar, but briefly, refusing to consider halting there for the night.

"Muster your every last man, cousin," he said harshly. "In all Lothian and the March, in the dales and the Forest. Wait for me here."

Cospatrick, indeed all, had anticipated this. "When?" he asked, simply.

"Soon. So soon as I can gather the greatest host ever to leave Scotland!"

Without a word of farewell, the King rode on for Edinburgh.

* * *

It was late October before Malcolm had sufficiently great an army assembled to satisfy his hatred, and marched southwards again. Certainly it was a mighty host which crossed Tweed fords, and took hours to do so, with Cospatrick's contingent of about four thousand, amounting in all to almost twenty-five thousand men. For this was to be no raid, but war, no mere attempt to extend Scotland's boundaries to the Tyne or the Tees even, nor yet to win back Cumbri
a; but a determined invasion of
England, to seek battle and settle accounts with William Rufus. They would march as far as they had to, to achieve that end.

From the first, then, a very different atmosphere prevailed in all ranks, with little of the carefree high spirits and cheerful anticipation of sport and loot and profit which normally characterised these expeditions. The King was at his grimmest, so that even his sons Edward and Edgar tended to avoid his company — Ethelred was left behind on this occasion, it being no work for the priestly. There was to be no looting and burning, no spreading devastation over the English countryside, no relaxation of a stern discipline and fairly rigid formation — any infringement of which was to be punished by hanging. When, a short distance into Northumbria, some of Cospatrick's Teviotdale mosstroopers were rash enough to allow their Border instincts and accustomed habits to prevail, in the sacking and rape of a small hamlet in the Till valley, a score of them were promptly strung-up on the nearest convenient trees, as indication of the royal mood and authority. There were no further breaches of discipline meantime.

Strangely, they met with no opposition. No doubt, with the Scots muster so predictable and having taken almost two months, the English would have received ample warning; so it could be taken that Rufus was not taken by surprise. He would be choosing his own time and battle-ground, presumably.

Cospatrick, from the start, sought to establish himself not only as second-in-command but as chief military adviser to the King, making no secret of the fact that he saw his veteran monarch rather as a captain of reiving bands than as an experienced general of armies. Needless to say, Malcolm saw it all differently. Moreover, the senior mormaors tended to resent Cospatrick's assumptions and influence. So there were divided counsels in the high command. Not that Malcolm appeared to care. He was a man alone, preoccupied with vengeance, ignoring his lieutenants and sons most of the time. One of his sons, the eldest, he did not ignore — for Duncan had never returned from Gloucester to Scotland and his wife. Whether this was from choice or he was again being held as a hostage, none knew.