Margaret the Queen

by Nigel Tranter

  "You. . . ?" That was on a choke.

  "Did you think that the Durham mob did it of their own feeble wills? So will end any others who think to hold what is mine — whether the Norman gives them it or no." There was an appreciable pause, whilst brother glared at brother. "Now," Cospatrick went on, in a different tone of voice. "This of William's new war? What would he have of you, for Northumbria?"

  Waltheof swallowed, looked again at Maldred, and mumbled somewhat. "There is to be invasion of Scotland. From all quarters. The Orkneymen and Manxmen up through Strathclyde. Myself into Teviotdale and the centre. Waldeve Siwardson, Earl of Deira, through Northumbria into the Merse and Lothian. A Norse force to land in Moray and Ross, where MacBeth's son Farquhar is Mormaer and hates Malcolm. And a Hebridean force under Earl Somerled mac Gillaciaran to land in Dalar." For a slow-spoken man that came out in a rush.

  "All that! When?"

  "It will be in stages. It cannot all be done at one time. The Galloway force to move first. Any day now. They but wait for word that Somerled of Colonsay has his Islesmen gathered. Then they strike up towards the Clyde. In the west. To force Malcolm to come out against them. As he must, for the Orkney earls have a great army assembled. Then, when Malcolm has left Fortrenn, I move. I have fifteen hundred mustered along Esk and Liddel. More to come. The Earl of Deira at the same time, in the east. We both make for the Forth. At Stirling. With all speed. To capture that vital crossing. And to cut Malcolm off from Fortrenn. Then the Norsemen and Islesmen move into the north. It cannot fail, I tell you!"

  "And the so-clever William? Where is he, in all this?"

  "He waits at York, meantime. A great fleet assembles in the Humber. When he hears that we have secured the Forth crossing, he will sail for the Scottish Sea. Attack Malcolm in the rear. Take over Scotland. And appoint the boy Duncan mac Malcolm, Ingebiorg's elder son, King. Under his own overlordship. He has promised this, to myself and to the Orkney earls."

  "Aye. So our Abbot Cosgreg was none so far out! A pretty plot!" Cospatrick suddenly leaned forward, to jab a pointing finger at his brother. "You!" he all but shouted. "You believe all this, Christ God! Do you, fool, idiot, dizzard?"

  The other shrank back. Clearly he was much afraid of his dominant and unpredictable elder brother. "Why . . . why not?"

  "Because, witling, William the Bastard of Normandy is the greatest liar and deceiver ever spawned! An able fighter, yes. But an arrant deceiver. As I know. A user of others. He will use you, Wattie, and these others, to do his work for him. As he has done times beyond number. You, and Paul and Erland Thorfinnson. And Godfrey Crovan. Aye, and Waldeve Siwardson. You all will fight Malcolm, for William, and bring him down — if you can. And then the Norman will step in and take all. And you will get nothing for your pains."

  "When I get Northumbria, I will share it with you, Pate. I swear it. . ."

  "Dolt — I tell you, you will never get Northumbria. How think you William has won over Waldeve Siwardson? His father, Siward the Strong of Deira, took Northumbria from our grandsire. Became Earl of Northumbria also, until he died. Waldeve fought against William, for the Atheling. Now he is for him. He too will have been promised something — Northumbria, I vow! And he, being one of William's English earls, and a fighter besides, unlike you, will be much the more likely to get it. Can you not see it, man?"

  The other was silent, clenching and unclenching his fists.

  "So — you will be done with all this nonsense, Wattie. You hear me? It is finished."

  "I cannot, Pate — I cannot." That was next to a wail.

  "You can and will. I say it. Who is head of our house? You, or I? You will not use Cumbrian levies against their liege — lord Malcolm — you, his governor. You will not raise hand against your cousin at the behest of the Bastard of Normandy. You will, instead, send to warn the King of what is plotted against him. As is your duty. You have it?"

  "My word is given ..."

  ""Your word! Your word, brother, is not worth a snap of my fingers! It is my word that counts. And stands. As well that I came in time. Now, will you send and draw back your levies from Esk and Liddel? Or shall I?"

  Waltheof sighed, and shrugged, beaten.

  "See to it, then. For I have other work to do. Where is Waldeve Siwardson now?"

  Both his hearers stared, at that.

  "He is ... he is in Northumbria. At, at Bamburgh. Mustering."

  "Precious Soul of God — Bamburgh!" Cospatrick half-rose from his seat. ""My house! The Dane sits in my house. And you, you knew it! You . .". !"

  "I could not stop him, Pate. How could I? He is William's man, now. What could I do?"

  "As you say — what could you do! What could you ever do, to effect? It is ever I who must do — and you whine! But I will do, never fear. You — get me fresh horses. For myself and my men. Get them now, this night — for I ride before daybreak. For Bamburgh."

  "Bamburgh? Waldeve . . . ?"

  "Aye, Waldeve. I will go reason with your fellow fool, that insolent Dane! My former brother-in-arms! And see if the men of Northumbria prefer to obey their true lord, or him! Go — get me those horses ..."

  Alone with Maldred, the Earl spoke in a different tone, although still urgently. "You, lad — now you have your chance to play the knight! You have sound wits in that head, I think — now show them. While I go see Waldeve Siwardson, you must go to your cousins Paul and Erland. And tell them where their advantage lies."

  "Mel Go to the Orkneymen? To their army?" Maldred gasped.

  "To be sure. They are your kin also. Talk with them. Tell them that William cheats them, cozens them, uses them. Tell them that my brother Waltheof will not march. Aye, and tell them that Waldeve of Deira will not march likewise! As he will not, if I can stop him. Tell them that King Malcolm knows all, and will surely defeat them. No surprise."

  "But — how can I do this? They will not listen to me, believe me. I am too young, of insufficient stature. . ."

  "You are not so much younger than are they. You are the King's cousin, new knighted. You came from me, my lieutenant. Aye, and you were Ingebiorg's friend. Tell them, see you, tell them that Malcolm did not have the Queen killed. That their hatred and spleen has no justification..."

  "How can I tell them that? When I do not know it as truth?"

  "Tell them it, anyway. This could be the saving of Scotland, man! You do not know that it is not the truth. So you would be telling no lie."

  "No. That I will nor do."

  "Then, by God's Blood — tell them that I say it! That I, Cospatrick, swear it is truth. That I know that the King did not poison the Queen. That I am close to Malcolm. You can tell them that, and save your thin, lily-white skin! But, whatever you say — keep them from marching. Until I arrive. I will hasten back from Bamburgh just so soon as I may. To tell them that William's plans are all agley. That if they attack, it will be alone and will be their end. Give me three days — no, four. It is near one hundred miles to Bamburgh. Even killing horses, I cannot do it in less, in this winter. I need four days — you must win me this, Maldred. Win Malcolm them. For Scotland's sake. For he is Scotland, in this, whether you love him or no. Else, I tell you, there will be bloody ruin!"

  He strode off, leaving the younger man to stare and chew his lip.

  * * *

  So next day, a very doubtful new knight rode, with half their former escort, back across Esk and Sark into Galloway, on to Dumfries and westwards for St. Cuthbert's Bay. He cursed the Earl Cospatrick, in his mind, cursed Malcolm for having sent him on this crazy errand, cursed himself for being so feeble as to allow himself to be committed to it. Yet he did not see what else he could have done, in the circumstances.

  One matter at least now seemed clarified and straightforward — Cospatrick's commitment to Malcolm and Scotland. Whatever had decided him, it now appeared to be assured that he was not intending, or even contemplating, another switch in loyalties meantime. It was inconceivable that he could have acted as he had done if he had bee
n harbouring any doubts. He could scarcely have taken a stronger line, indeed, or pitted himself more vehemently against the Norman. And that he would be an effective ally for Malcolm was equally clear. Whatever his doubts and fears, Maldred could not help admiring at least some qualities of this peculiar cousin of his.

  Cospatrick, before he rode off eastwards for Northumbria, had advised that Maldred should just ride openly into St. Cuthbert's Town as an envoy should; no more hiding and lurking. Which was sensible enough, but it did mean that he was picked up by the first of the Galloway outpost parties strong enough to challenge his five-score men, at the Haugh of Urr ford, and so escorted to the Orkney camp with some suspicion if a degree of circumstance, in the face of a smouldering sunset.

  The army was encamped south-west of the township, around the sprawling fort which occupied St. Mary's Isle — a peninsula into St. Cuthbert's Bay rather than a true island, with a wide artificial moat cut across the neck of it, and the flanking shores flat and marshy. It was a strong place, on account of its water-defences. To the fort, through the savage-looking encampment of the Viking host, Maldred was conducted, by boat finally, for although there was a hidden underwater causeway zigzagging out to the island, this was not to be demonstrated to suspect callers.

  The leaders were sat down to their evening meal in the rath or hall-house of the fort when the visitor was shown in by a captain of the guard.

  "My lords," he shouted, when he could gain a hearing.

  "The Lord Maldred mac Melmore of Atholl. Seeking word with the Earl Paul of Orkney."

  A tall fair-haired young man at the head of the long table rose to his feet, ale-beaker in his hand, staring.

  "Maldred ... of Atholl!" he exclaimed. "The Earl Melmore's son? And . . . Malcolm's cousin!" That was hardly a cry of welcome.

  "As are you, Paul Thorfinnson!" Maldred returned. "I greet you, and all here, kindly."

  The other looked uncertain, as around him others rose. He was an open-faced, boyish-looking individual of burly build, still under thirty, undistinguished as to features but with an honest if non-intellectual look about him.

  "Kindly . . . ?" he repeated, at length. "If you come from Malcolm, you do not come kindly!"

  There was a growl from those around.

  "Kindly, yes," Maldred insisted. "Since I come for your good, your welfare."

  "Why should we believe that — of one of your house?"

  "Would I be here, thrust myself into your armed camp unprotected, if I sought your hurt?"

  "You might. If you were here to spy out our strength." That was another and slightly younger man, on the Earl Paul's right, less robustly built but bearing a strong resemblance, undoubtedly the Earl Erland, so-called Governor of Galloway. His was a less attractive face, narrower, lacking his brother's openness.

  "No need for that, cousin," Maldred gave back, seeking to keep his voice steady — for he felt a deal less bold than he sought to sound. "We know all your strength, Orkneymen, Manxmen, Islesmen. We know your allies, or your believed allies! We know your plans, and King William's orders to you. We know it all, cousin. No need for spying."

  There was a stunned silence as men absorbed that, turning to eye each other.

  "So, I have come for your good," Maldred went on. "That this folly may cost the less."

  "Where have you come from?" a pale, hawk-faced, lean man of early middle years demanded. "Who sent you? Where is Malcolm Big Head?"

  "To whom have I the honour of speaking?" Maldred asked, to give himself a moment to marshal his wits.

  "I am Godfrey of Islay."

  So this was the notorious Godfrey Crovan, the Pale-Blooded a notable soldier if a scoundrel. "I come from Caerluel — Earl Waltheofs camp," he answered. "As to who sent me, King Malcolm did, in the first place. But I come here on behalf of the Earl Cospatrick."

  "Cospatrick!" Godfrey and the Orkney brothers were not the only ones to exclaim over that significant name.

  "He sent me with tidings for you. In goodwill. He will come himself, in a day or two." Maldred looked about him. "But — should we not speak more privily than this?"

  "Yes. To be sure." The Earl Paul turned and pointed to a door. "In there." He gestured to his brother, Godfrey Crovan and one or two others, to follow. Then he paused. "Have you eaten, cousin?" he asked.

  "Not since morning, no."

  "Then you shall eat as you talk." He ordered servitors to bring food and drink from the table through to the small chamber, which proved to be little more than a storeroom. "Now — why are you here?" he asked, when the door was shut.

  "Because I bring this message from the Earl Cospatrick. Do not march, he says. For if you do, it will be to your utter defeat. All is known of your plans — or the plans King William has made for you. Malcolm is apprised. He will take steps to confound them. He does not wish your ruin and death, for the Norman's advantage. For that is what it is, all it is. The Earl Waltheof does not march. He has thought better of it. Nor the Earl of Deira." God forgive him if that was a lie. "And since these two were to gain the Stirling crossing of Forth before William sailed from the Humber, he will not sail — if ever he intended to. Which we believe unlikely. So, if you march, it will be to disaster. For you, with four or five thousand, cannot hope to fight and beat a warned and waiting Malcolm. Alone."

  His hearers' consternation was not to be hidden. Anger too, of course; but alarm and dismay were clearly uppermost.

  It was Godfrey Crovan who recovered his wits first. "Why should we believe all this?" he demanded.

  "Why should we devise it? And how, if it was not the truth? Send to the Earl Waltheof and ask him, if you do not believe me."

  "The forsworn turncoat. . . !"

  "I say, rather, a wiser man than you are, my lord! In that he perceives how William the Bastard is using him, using you all, to fight his battles for him, to try to bring down Malcolm at no cost to himself, that he may rule Scotland, as well as England. Through the child Duncan."

  "Since when has Waltheof been of this mind?" Paul asked. "We had a messenger from him but four days back. Nothing was said of this."

  Maldred took up a leg of roe venison. He tried to sound assured. "He no doubt has constant word from the south, from William at York. From those close to William. As has Waldeve, from Deira. He has learned the truth." He feared that was less than convincing, fie added. "And Cospatrick, like Malcolm, has his own information."

  "Aye, Cospatrick!" the Earl Erland exclaimed. "That one I do not trust. Where comes he into this?"

  Chewing, Maldred racked his wits. "Cospatrick has reason to mistrust William. He knows him, was his ally. And was betrayed. Dispossessed of his earldom. He aided William and then saw a Norman, de Comyn, given his Northumbria, put in his place. The same will happen again — with Northumbria and Cumbria both. William has done it all over England and Wales. Replaced the Saxon and native lords by Normans. Think you, when he controls all — at your cost — that he will not put more Normans as Earls of Northumbria and Cumbria? Aye, and Galloway too, belike. Or Man, for that matter!"

  That made an impact, at least. Doubts chased themselves across every face.

  "It is not only William," Paul said, after a moment or two. "More than he moves against Malcolm."

  "The Norse? King Olaf? Who is now your overlord in Orkney!" He threw that last in deliberately. Olaf's father, Hardradi, had managed to reassert the Norwegian ascendency over the islands, nominally at any rate, on the Earl Thorfinn's death, to the Orkneymen's chagrin. To the brothers' glares, he went on, taking a chance. "Did he, Olaf the Farmer, tell you that he was sending a fleet? Or was it William who said it?"

  It was evident from the expressions that he had guessed aright; the word of the Norse participation had come from the Normans.

  "If they do come — which, I say, all should doubt — it will be on the east. And little help to you here in the west. Like to be as much use as was the Danish fleet to Edgar Atheling, at York!" That more or less exhausted Maldred's dou
btful armoury of words, his playing on their fears. "So you are left with only the Earl Somerled of the Hebrides. But he is your man anyway — another cousin. Landing in Argyll, Dalar, he will not threaten Malcolm direly. Or serve you greatly."

  There was a short silence. Then Paul said, "This of the Norman. Even if it is as you say, our quarrel with Malcolm is not only on William's behalf. It is on behalf of our own sister. Whom Big Head misused. And, we are told, slew with poison."

  It had had to come to this, of course, sooner or later. "Who told you so, cousin?" Maldred asked, levelly.

  "More than one. Whom we trust." Erland said that.

  "I say that that can only be idle talk. Hearsay. Who could tell the truth of the matter? The Queen sickened and died. Without known prior illness. But — many do that. I was in Atholl when Ingebiorg died. So I cannot tell you how it was. . ."

  "You had been there. You it was who took her to this place, we were told. I misremember the name. Where she died."

  "Yes. But that was weeks before. Before Yule."

  "So you do not know how she died," Erland insisted. "You only say that you think that she was not poisoned. You cannot deny it. She was buried hurriedly, secretly. At this place. On Malcolm's orders. He was not present."

  "That is no proof of poison."

  "It is proof that he had no love for her. And he is a hard and violent man."

  "So was your father. That does not make him a poisoner."