Margaret the Queen

by Nigel Tranter

He frowned — and then raised surprised brows as the girl Magdalen appeared, to insert herself neatly between him and the princess, to stoop and slip a cloak from her own couch around Margaret's bare shoulders. It was deftly done. As she moved modestly away again, she contrived to make an immodest face at the interested Maldred. Margaret herself acted as though nothing had happened.

  Malcolm glared, snorted, began to speak, and then turning, stamped out of the cottage.

  "Thank you, Magda," the princess said calmly, into the hush.

  After a moment, Maldred followed his monarch out, uncertainly.

  2

  SCOTLAND SHOWED AT least a scenic welcome for the refugees, as the galley limped up the Scottish Sea between the Lothian and Fife coasts, with all echoes of the storm gone, the late-autumn sunshine golden and the air crisp and clear. Maldred stood, with the three young women and the monk Oswald, on the roughly-repaired bows-platform, pointing out the landmarks on either side, the soaring, mighty Craig of Bass and the lesser islands of its group, with the little red-stone cashel or Celtic Church monastery on Fetheray and the green cone of North Berwick Law behind, all backed by the long heather hills of Lammermuir — this on the south; and to the north the yellow beaches, rocky headlands and fishing-havens of the East Neuk of Fife, with the cave-pitted cliffs of Kincraig, near where the great MacDuff, Earl of Fife, had his ferry. He named for them the great bight of Aberlady Bay on the one side and Largo Bay on the other, the twin breasts of the Lomond Hills, which he took the opportunity of calling the Paps of Fife — and stole a sidelong glance at his hearers to observe any effect — gesturing ahead to where the extraordinary crouching-lion-shaped peak of Arthur's Chair and the fort-crowned rock of Dunedin, or Edinburgh, seemed to challenge a range of taller hills, the Pentlands.

  "Hills everywhere!" the Princess Christina said. "I had heard that there was nothing but mountain and rock and bog in Scotland. How can men live in such a place?"

  "We live very well," Maldred replied tartly. "As you will have need to discover, perhaps."

  "At least it is a beautiful land," Margaret put in soothingly.

  It was nearing noon. They had left Wearmouth the previous afternoon, only some twelve hours after King Malcolm had marched off, not daring to wait longer, despite the state of the vessel, so anxious was Prince Edgar — although the other three ships had remained at their anchorage meantime. But they had brought some of the passengers from the other craft with them, so that the galley was much overcrowded — Hungarian and Saxon notables of the Atheling Court. Maurice, the Hungarian ship-master, found them all a trial.

  The visitors were surprised when, passing the cliff-girt island of Inchkeith, Maldred signed to the shipmaster not to turn in southwards towards the lion-shaped Arthur's Chair and the cluster of lesser hills around it, where clearly there was a sizeable town and associated haven for ships, but to continue on up into what was now a narrowing estuary. They passed three more islands, on one of which Maldred pointed out the cashel of St. Colm — he was concerned to make it evident to these proud Romish Church travellers that Scotland was indeed a Christian country, with many monasteries and religious houses, even though they did not recognise the Pope of Rome as Christ's deputy. To the monk Oswald's question as to who was this Saint Colm, distinctly emphasising the word saint, the younger man declared strongly that he was the devout and vigorous missionary, Columba of Iona himself, from the Celtic Church in Ireland, who had come to convert the Cruithne or Picts here centuries before the English, the Saxons and probably the Hungarians likewise, had even heard the name of Jesus Christ.

  The girl Magdalen at least seemed to find that amusing.

  Quite soon after this exchange Maldred indicated where, ahead, thrusting promontories on either side narrowed the estuary to little more than a mile across, with an islet in the centre. This was the end of the Scottish Sea, he informed. Beyond it was the Firth of Forth, which continued for many miles more up to Stirling. Here he directed the shipmen to steer the galley in to the north side, where in a little bay behind the cliffs of the promontory, there was a substantial stone jetty at which there were already two vessels moored, and a number of small fishing-craft. The great Highland mountains of the west, some already snow-streaked, had now come into view, blue and jagged in the distance.

  When they had tied up, and the protracted business of landing and unloading was proceeding, Maldred went to find a messenger with a horse who would ride the four miles north to Dunfermline, where King Malcolm had established royal residence, to fetch back many garrons and carriers to help transport the visitors. Also, of course, to inform the Queen of the situation.

  Inevitably there was quite a lengthy wait, and while their elders sorted out and arranged what was to be taken and what left, the young people decided to walk for at least part of the way, Maldred leading a party of perhaps a dozen, glad enough to stretch their legs after the constrictions of the ship.

  They climbed inland by a winding track which lifted and dropped and rose again over a series of gentle ridges of pastureland, cattle-dotted, with small farmsteads and strip cultivation. As the land rose, the prospects widened and became ever finer, all the tremendous Forth valley stretching westwards, the firth narrowing to the river emerging from the mountains of Lennox, while as far as eye could see, to the south, the hills of Lothian reared their shadow-slashed ramparts above the coastal plain. Even Christina Atheling had to admire.

  They had covered almost two miles before a convoy of men and garrons passed them, heading for the harbour under one of the palace stewards. Maldred offered to detach two or three of the horses for the young women, but Margaret would have none of it, declaring that the exercise would do them good. They had kilted up their long gowns for ease of walking, to the admiration of their escorts, even Oswald, entrusted with carrying the precious Black Rood casket, hitching his black Benedictine robe to reveal hairy legs.

  They rested for a while beside a large isolated boulder, recumbent on the crest of one of the rolling ridges, which interested Margaret sufficiently for her to enquire how it had got there, so great a stone by itself. Maldred explained, pointing to humps in the cattle-cropped turf around, that it was all that remained above ground of a stone circle. The Cruithne, who occupied the land before the Scots came from Ireland, were sun worshippers, and these circles, of which there were a great many, were temples of a sort, usually set on high places, the stones aligned most exactly to point to the sunrise position at certain times and seasons.

  "They were great sundials, then?"

  "More than that. It is said that they enshrined much knowledge now lost to us. Of the heavens, of other worlds, of the weather and the seasons. Ancient wisdom . . ."

  "Heathenish superstition!" Oswald amended.

  "Not so. My father says that we have lost much in discarding this knowledge. He says that in some matters their learning and understanding was far above ours. . ."

  "Such talk is foolish and wicked, such knowledge sinful — like that of the Assyrians and the Babylonians. Of the Devil. Let us be on our way, princesses — this place is evil!"

  "Who are you to say what knowledge is foolish or sinful?"' Maldred demanded warmly. "An ignorant Englishman from a Northumbrian village! A mere monk — whilst my father, as well as an earl, is an abbot of Holy Church!"

  "You are condemned out of your own mouth, young man — since no true abbot could ever have a son. Holy Church forbids it. . ."

  "Is that your Dunfermline we see ahead?" Margaret asked, moving between them. "Up on the terrace, with the trees? It looks a fair place."

  Maldred swallowed. "That is the cashel of Saint Ternan. He came from Ireland, with Farlane the Strong, long ago.

  Farlane built his dun, or fort, further over, to the west. You cannot see it yet. That is where the King has his tower and palace. At the dun. Dun Farlane — it has become changed to Dunfermline."

  They moved on, while Maldred told them more of the sturdy, fearless and strong-armed missionaries of th
e Celtic Church, who had brought Christianity to this land in no uncertain fashion, and of the Keledei, or Friends of God, their present-day successors in the cashels and monasteries. Oswald marched along behind, tight-lipped, frowning.

  Prince Edgar, his mother and the others caught up with them as they neared the monastery of St. Ternan. The prince very much took charge now. He had been here two years before, in 1067, after a preparatory expedition to try to establish a base for his attempt on the English throne, in Cospatrick's Northumbria, had suffered defeat at the Norman usurper's hands, and fled to Scotland. He insisted that his sisters be mounted, as befitted their rank, and that they rearrange their clothing and tidy their hair, blown by the breeze. He instructed Maldred to go on ahead and inform the Queen of Scotland of their arrival.

  "The Queen's Highness already knows of your coming," he was told. Maldred did not like Edgar, and it is to be feared that he was not very good at hiding his feelings. "If she is ready to receive you, she will no doubt be waiting."

  Proceeding along one of the many little ridges of that strangely folded land, presently there were sudden gasps from the ladies. They had reached a point where the ground dropped away abruptly, unexpectedly, before them into a deep, winding glen, its sides scattered with thorn-trees. And rising out of the centre of this glen was a narrow, isolated mound, glacial of origin, steep-sided on all flanks save that to the east where a sort of spine rose more gradually. Crowning the summit of this mound, within the green ramparts of an old fort, Farlane's dun, reared a tall square stone tower, almost in the Norman keep fashion, totally unlike any Scots or Celtic hall-house or rath, stark, strong, uncompromising. Stretching eastwards from it, within a high-walled enclosure, was a range of lesser, lower buildings, part stone, part timber coated with clay and whitewashed in more typical Scots style.

  "That . . . that . . . ?" the Princess Agatha exclaimed. "Is that it? We have come to . . . this?"

  "That is Malcom's Tower, yes. I told you that it was no palace, no suitable house for a king, Mother. Or even a modest thane . . ."

  "The King has houses, palaces, at Forteviot and Dunsinane and Kincardine," Maldred interrupted. "Forts and raths amany. But he prefers to live here. He chose to build this tower and house. He is not a man for great palaces and large Courts. A warrior-king."

  Without comment the visitors moved on down into the Glen of Pittencreiff.

  There, at the foot of the eastern spine of the central mound, was the first line of defence, a moat, water drawn from the burn that threaded the valley, with a drawbridge. Here the chief steward awaited them, to conduct them through a gatehouse-pend in the perimeter walling and up the slope, zigzagging, to a point where the spine had been cut through laterally with a wide and deep trench or dry ditch, across which was a second drawbridge. Beyond this, the first of the buildings arose, all stone here, with an arched and fortified entrance to an elongated narrow central courtyard. Within the entrance a young woman stood, backed by attendants.

  "Greetings, Highness," Maldred called, strongly. "The lord King sends his royal salutes." Which, in fact, was a lie; Malcolm had not so much as mentioned his wife. "I bring the Prince Edgar of England, his lady-mother and sisters and some of their people. Seeking your royal clemency and aid.. In flight from Duke William." He turned. "The Queen's Highness, the Lady Ingebiorg Thorfinnsdotter."

  "I thank you, cousin," the Queen answered gravely. "My husband is well? Good. I greet the Prince Edgar again, warmly. And bid the princesses welcome to my house." She was a fresh-faced, round-featured, big-boned creature, not beautiful but pleasant-looking and unassuming, only daughter of the great Thorfinn Raven Feeder, Earl of Orkney. Malcolm had married her soon after attaining the throne on the death of King Lulach, as a politic gesture to ensure that the late Thorfinn's sons did not trouble him as their father had troubled his. They were second-cousins, their grandmothers being sisters, daughters of Malcolm the Second, The Destroyer — although the King was now forty-seven while she was only twenty-five. The marriage could scarcely be called a happy one. Maldred bore the same relationship to the Queen.

  The visitors dismounted, to make due obeisance to their hostess and to be led within. The ladies all eyed the Queen interestedly, for her story and Malcolm's behaviour towards her were well known.

  "So that is the daughter of the famed Thorfinn the Mighty!" Magdalen of Ethanford said quietly, as she and Maldred followed their principals up the climbing courtyard. "She scarcely looks a female Viking!"

  "A pity that she is not more like her sire."

  "Why?"

  "She might do better, live the happier. She is too gentle for the King."

  "Ah. I can believe that he would require steel in a woman. They have no children?"

  "Yes. Two princes. There they are, waiting in the tower doorway. With the wolf-hounds. Duncan and Donald." I Two small boys, about nine and eight years, watched tne procession, one scowling, one grinning. ] The Queen led her guests not to the tall stark tower that frowned over all from the crest of the mound, but into the doorway of the secondary and lower building on the right — which proved to be really a fairly typical Celtic hall-house attached to the keep but utterly different from it in style and accommodation, a commodious, comfortable, sprawling establishment. Malcolm had built it on to his tower at his new wife's urging, when he still paid some heed to her wishes, she hating his Norman keep from the first sight of it, however defensively strong. They came into the great hall of the house, a vast apartment which took up a full half of the entire building, right to the blackened roof-timbers — it had to, in order to allow the smoke from the central fireplace to be drawn up and escape through the necessary aperture in the roof, flues being impracticable in this timber-and-clay construction. Elsewhere the building was two-storeyed, with only the upper-storey bedchambers having heating. A huge fire of aromatic birch-logs blazed now in mid-hall, scenting as well as warming the air notably — but even so the visitors were quickly coughing in the smoke-laden atmosphere. A very long table ran down one side of the chamber, strewn with platters and goblets and the like. For the rest, the place was an untidy litter of benches, coffers, stools, spinning-wheels, rugs, skins, hangings askew and bone-gnawing dogs. It seemed that Queen Ingebiorg was little concerned with keeping a spick-and-span house.

  Informed that a meal would be ready for all shortly, the newcomers were taken to their quarters. There was insufficient room in this tiny palace for all the refugee party, and most of the men would have to live either in the monastery or in cottages of the quite large associated township. The Athelings were given upper rooms in the hall-house, whilst stewards took their nobles away to find as acceptable accommodation as possible.

  While they were settling in, the Queen spoke privately with Maldred.

  "What is the truth of all this, cousin?" she asked. "What does Malcolm want with these? It is not like him. Why are they come? And for how long?"

  "I do not know," he admitted. "The King took pity on them. They could nowise sail the Norse Sea in their damaged ship..."

  "Malcolm does not take pity on any — save to his own advantage," she said factually.

  "Perhaps. It may be that he sees gain in holding the Atheling here. As threat against Norman William. Something to bargain with."

  "And the women? Malcolm has little use for women — save to breed on. I mislike that Agatha, I think. The mother. She has a proud manner."

  "They have been told ill of Scotland, Highness. They believe us barbarians, uncouth. Scarcely Christian, indeed! For they are a very holy family. God's name is seldom off their lips. But . . . the Princess Margaret, the fair one, is different. Holy also, but kinder. And stronger too, with more of spirit."

  "To be sure. I can see that she is the one who would have men dancing to her tune! I shall watch her! Holy women of her years require watching. Especially when they are beautiful and shaped as she is! So — watch you also, Maldred mac Melmore! And what of my warrior lord? Who is he slaying now? And when does he r
eturn?"

  "That I know not, cousin. He is gone to Cumbria now. To repel a raid by Cospatrick."

  "But Cospatrick is his cousin. And yours. Displaced by the Normans. That Comyn in his place. Why should he raid Cumbria?"

  "He has changed sides once more. A strange man. And Comyn is dead. This time, the King will hang him, I think, cousin or none." "Malcolm will enjoy that!"

  Maldred glanced sidelong at the Queen, and away. She was seldom so outspoken as this. Something must have roused her.

  The young princes came running in, towed by their wolf-hounds. Duncan the elder, aggressive, abrupt, true son of his father; Donald, cheerful, happy but easily hurt, i Time for confidences was past.

  The next morning Maldred rode eastwards for Kennochy in Fife, to deliver the King's message to the Earl MacDuff. Dunfermline was in Fothrif, the western sector of the great peninsula between Forth and Tay; but the Earl had his main seat at Kennochy twenty miles or so into Fife proper, sufficiently distant not to be too irksomely on the Ring's back but near enough to be able to rally swiftly to the royal aid. It was indeed the strong presence here of his powerful friend and ally, MacDuff, which had occasioned Malcolm to desert the traditional royal palaces of Fortrenn, in Forteviot and Dunsinane, and to build his tower on Fife land at Dunfermline, for reasons of security, the first monarch to have dwelt in Fife. He and MacDuff had been equally unpopular in 1058, jointly responsible for the slaying of the good King MacBeth and then, six months later, of his stepson and successor, Lulach. MacBeth's seventeen-year reign had been an unusual and prosperous interlude for Scotland, and his killers were hated. So they had kept together for mutual protection, and lived close these dozen years, whilst memories and old loyalties faded. Malcolm would never be loved or popular, as MacBeth had been — nor, probably would wish to be. But he was a strong King, maintained discipline, had few extravagances — and therefore was not Heavy with his taxes — and was excellent at providing English slaves and bondwomen from his raids in the south.