Margaret the Queen

by Nigel Tranter

  "As to that, Maldred, no woman will fail to consider! And Margaret is no shrinking flower. She is prepared to accept it all."

  "She has no fondness for him, surely?"

  "I think not. But princesses are seldom permitted to wed where they are fond. That is for lesser beings! I hope! No doubt she believes that she may grow into some fondness. I know that she prays for that."

  "Prays!" He shook his head. "And so soon after the Queen's death."

  "She prays over that, also. But the King is . . . urgent. He much desires her. And she will allow him but little, until they are wed."

  Maldred made a growling noise.

  Magdalen raised an eyebrow at him. "Envy is a sin!" she said succinctly.

  "I am not envious," he lied hotly. "But — it is all so wrong. So great a, a waste."

  "You will just have to console yourself. . .elsewhere, my friend!"

  They left it at that.

  With Margaret seldom free of the King's company, Maldred and she were never alone. One day, however, with the monarch visiting the army in Fortrenn, Margaret and a large party with him, whilst Malcolm was speaking with some of the leaders and officers at the old palace-fort of Dunsinane, the princess sent Magda off on an errand, and beckoned Maldred forward to her side.

  "Are you avoiding me, Maldred?" she asked. "It seems that we do not now have opportunity for a privy word. I have never told you how rejoiced I was at your knighting."

  He bowed a little, stiffly. "I thank you." Then a thought struck him like a blow. "It, it was not you? You who won Malcolm to do it?"

  "I had said, more than once, that you were very deserving of knighthood. That is all."

  He moistened his lips. "I would not wish, I would not like to think, lady, that I owed my knighting to, to ... !"

  "To a woman? You need not so think, Maldred. Malcolm would not have done it to pleasure me, I promise you. But — why do you call me lady, now? As though we were no longer friends. You did not do that before."

  "No. But you are to be Queen. It is different now."

  "Different, yes. But not so greatly that we should cease to be friends. I would have you always that, Maldred." She paused. "You do not approve, do you? Of me being the Queen."

  "It is not for me to approve or disapprove." "But you would have it otherwise? That I should not be Queen of this realm."

  "Say that I would not have you wed to King Malcolm." "Do you hate him so?"

  "No. He is my liege-lord. And my cousin. I serve him to the best of my abilities. He has good qualities. But. . ."

  "You think that I am not the wife for him? Yet he needs a wife, and Scotland a queen."

  "He had a wife. And Scotland a queen."

  "Yes. So that is where the trouble lies? You were fond of your cousin Ingebiorg, and resent me taking her place?"

  "No. Not that. Although it is too soon. But — he is not the man for you. Harsh. Fierce. Lacking any gentleness."

  "So . . . you are concerned for me?"

  "Yes. For you."

  "You are kind, Maldred. And I thank you for it. But this is something that I must do. I have considered it well, endlessly indeed. I think that perhaps I was born for this. For what I may, with God's help, be able to do. I do not fear the, the cost. I am strong, well able to bear what must be borne. Or, if that seems prideful, vainglorious, say that I believe that God will give me the strength I need."

  "You are so sure that it is God's will?"

  "I am, yes," she said simply.

  Magda came back — and Maldred was actually relieved to see her. She said that she had found Bishop Fothad, and he would be with them shortly.

  "The Bishop of St. Andrews, who is to marry us, wishes me to see the Abbey of Scone. Which is near here, I understand. After we have seen the army," Margaret explained. "He would have us to wed there. He says that it is the proper place for royal weddings. Where the coronations are held. And where this great Stone is, that you have told us of. But — I would as well be married at Dunfermline."

  "Scone Abbey, yes. Since you would scarcely go to Iona. It is the place for great occasions."

  "If Malcolm was wed there, the first time, it might be better elsewhere. Might it not? As well Dunfermline, which is to be our home. Ah, here is the Bishop..."

  * * *

  Bishop Fothad, good man, was of course no match for Margaret Atheling, and in due course, on 5th April, Easter Monday, the wedding was consecrated at the cashel of Dunfermline — Malcolm himself having no least care where the ceremony was performed, although Dunfermline was much more convenient for arranging the nuptial feasting and subsequent celebrations than it would have been at Scone. For old Fothad was outmanoeuvred in more ways than just location, and the entire proceedings were made the occasion for great splendour, with no expense spared. This again was at Margaret's instigation. The Celtic Church's marriage service, like all its other ceremonial, was brief and simple; but the bride saw the occasion as demanding a very different celebration — and as an opportunity, Magda revealed, to demonstrate the superiority, colour and significance of the Romish rite. For although, to be sure, the nuptials had to be in essence those of the Columban ritual, the faith of the country into which the bride was being adopted, she managed to introduce considerable innovation of the Roman practice which had never been seen in Scotland before — her groom again concurring, having little concern either way. Indeed, although the service was conducted by the Bishop, assisted by Abbot Ivo of Dunfermline St. Ternans, her own confessor Brother Oswald was allotted quite a prominent role in support, reinforced by another and more senior monk of the authoritative Cluniac persuasion, one Thorgot or Turgot, specially sent north by the new Bishop of Durham for the occasion. It had to be conceded, of course, despite due loyalty to their own Church, that most of the people around the palace found the enhanced proceedings to their taste — especially after the intense gloom of Holy Week which the Athelings had sought to impose.

  So, on a bright and breezy spring forenoon of sunshine and high-sailing cloud galleons — confirmation of the Almighty's favourable reaction, to Margaret at least — the great company assembled in the open air before the tiny church of the cashel, to the chanting of choirs of boys and men and the strumming of clarsachs. This, within the monastery itself, was composed of the invited guests, the Court and high nobility, the officers of state, the clergy, the choristers and the sennachies. At this stage, all was under the control of the High Sennachie, as master-of-ceremonies. Outside the perimeter, the populace was gathered in its thousands, in holiday mood, come from far and near.

  The King arrived with his own party, dressed more magnificently than any had ever seen him, but scarcely at ease in his finery, scowling and self-conscious. With him were nearly all the mormaors, now earls, the lesser kings who supported the Ard Righ or High King of Scots — but not those of Moray or the Mearns, hostile to Malcolm. The Earl of Atholl, uncle of the bridegroom was there, for once coaxed away from Dunkeld, countenancing the marriage as Primate of the Church, his three sons with him on this occasion. Maldred had not wished to attend at all, but he could hardly absent himself — although he had politely rejected the suggestion that he should join the bride's procession.

  This, when it appeared up from the palace, a little late, grew later still when it halted amongst the outer crowd and Margaret, gorgeously arrayed, descended from her litter to move amongst the people. She could not actually speak meaningfully to them, for she did not know the Gaelic and these spoke no other; but she could smile and gesture and wave, a move much appreciated by the throng, if less so by the impatient monarch. Her train did not follow suit, save for Magda who stuck close, but merely waited — the Athelings and the Saxon and Hungarian nobles they had brought with them.

  When, at length the two parties were before the church-door — but not joined — they were addressed by the High Sennachie Gillemor, after a prolonged blowing of bulls' horns. He proclaimed the names, styles and titles of the parties to this marriage, announ
cing that Malcolm mac Duncan mac Bethoc nic Malcolm was true Ard Righ, crowned on the Stone of Destiny, and was without question or any impediment able, free and entitled to wed the daughter of Edward, son of Edmond. If any held otherwise let him now stand forth and declare it.

  This producing only the desired hush, he went on to the important part of the proceedings, as far as he was concerned, the genealogies. He recited with great vigour and sonorous dignity the royal pedigree of the King, seemingly endlessly, back and back into and beyond the mists of antiquity, never stumbling or hesitating, in extraordinary catalogue of the oldest royal line in Christendom, a double line of the Scots and the Picts. It took a long time, as strange, uncouth name succeeded name. The bride's entourage, in especial, stirred restlessly, for of course it was all Gaelic and incomprehensible to them — although Margaret herself listened as though enthralled. And when it was their turn, to be sure, the second recital was comparatively brief and feeble, neither the Saxon nor the Hungarian royal lines being particularly ancient.

  This over, in deference to the bride, a move was made inside the church. Only a small proportion of even the most prestigious could gain entry, of course, with a few of the choir — and even so the dark little sanctuary was grievously crowded, with the smoke of the candles breath-catching — these for light rather than devotion, for there was little of window about the wood-and-turf building. Bride and groom moved up towards the altar, the King with MacDuff of Fife and Cospatrick in support, Margaret with her brother and sister.

  Bishop Fothad — he was Fothad the Second of St. Andrews — now took over, flanked by the local Abbot Ivo on the one side and the two Romish priests on the other, both these in much more resplendent vestments than the main officiants. Fothad was in rather a peculiar situation here. In the monastic Celtic Church abbots were actually senior to bishops, and this was Abbot Ivo's own church. But certain sacramental duties, including marriage, were the preferred role of the bishops. Pardy because a succession of Bishops of St. Andrews had been Chancellors, or chief ministers of the realm, this bishopric had become the most influential in the land, its occupant being known as the King's Bishop. Nevertheless, he was not in any way superior to Ivo or to other abbots or bishops, and they were both junior to Melmore of Atholl, Hereditary Primate, and to the Abbot Robertach of Iona, St. Columba's present successor. Probably only in the Columban Church, so utterly non-hierarchal and egalitarian, could such an unsystematic arrangement have subsisted.

  Fothad's part of the service was simple and straightforward, up to a point. He said a prayer, Ivo read a suitable passage from Holy Writ, and the Bishop then turned to address the bride and groom on the sacred duties and responsibilities of matrimony, in lieu of sermon. This was followed by chanting, while the eucharistic elements were made ready on the altar. Fothad then paced forward to superintend the ceremony of the exchange of rings, the clasping of hands and the vow-making. This done, he duly pronounced the pair man and wife, without more ado. All this in the Gaelic, except that Margaret made her vows in English.

  This would all have been quite enough for Malcolm; but now the Roman contribution commenced, in Latin, with much intonation, signing of the Cross and genuflection, amounting almost to a second wedding rite, so that the bride could feel truly married. Thereafter, Brother Turgot laid hands on the couple's heads, for which Margaret knelt but Malcolm, who would kneel for no man, even if deputising for the Almighty, remained standing and glowering.

  There followed the Nuptial Mass, in this instance a complicated process, for however far the Athelings had gone in countenancing heretical and unsuitable ritual, they would not yield an inch on Holy Communion. So, in effect, two simultaneous consecrations went on at the little altar, Gaelic and Latin, although unfortunately the latter was much the more prolonged, so that Fothad and Ivo had to stand idle and expressionless for some considerable time until administration could proceed. And even that was less than straightforward, for the two rites differed, the Celtic proffering in two kinds, that is the bread and the wine, the Romish in one, the bread only. The royal couple partook first, again kneeling and standing, and while Malcolm received both elements in short order, Margaret got over the difficulty by accepting the bread from her Turgot and the wine from Fothad.

  When, thereafter, it was the turn of the little congregation, the other Athelings refused to make any such gesture, taking only the bread from their own priest, the Saxon and Hungarian notables following suit. So there was something of a confusion at this stage, a holy disorder as Cospatrick whispered to Maldred, adding that all this was a foretaste of what they might look for thereafter. The sweet singing of the choir helped however. And the final benediction, from both sources, Turgot's resounding and comprehensive indeed, sent them all out thankfully into the sunshine from the dark, smoky and humanity-smelling atmosphere.

  The High Sennachie took over again, hailed the fortunate and potent monarch, and declared that Scotland had a Queen again, Margaret the Beautiful and the Good.

  The cheers rose and continued.

  The bride, flushed and gleaming-eyed, certainly had seldom looked more lovely. If she was not truly happy, she appeared to be.

  The ceremony of kissing the new Queen's hand followed, for the magnates and high nobility. When it came to Maldred's turn, he rose from his knee to find Margaret's eyes keenly scanning his face.

  "It is done then, Maldred," she almost whispered. "For better or worse. Wish me well."

  "That I do, Highness," he said. "Always. I shall be your true knight."

  "And friend . . . ?" she murmured, as he passed on.

  The King was wearying of all this, and made it obvious. But his new wife had a strong sense of duty, and nothing was to be skimped. Even when the procession was formed to wend its way back to the palace, this concern for what duty required was demonstrated, for she refused to get into her litter, declaring that she would walk, so that her people could see and speak to her and touch her — for they were her people now. What this meant Malcolm soon discovered for, despite the fact that the royal couple were leading the procession, behind the massed singers and instrumentalists, Margaret insisted on darting off to mingle with the crowd, to catch hands, to pause and greet and smile — whilst the King, whose habit was to drive headlong through all crowds, had to wait, fretting, like all the others. Cospatrick again had comments to make.

  The wedding banquet at the palace was probably the most ambitious that Scotland had ever seen, the numbers invited almost more than the accommodation would hold, the provision lavish to a degree, the entertainment which went with it and followed after varied to suit all tastes, from music, story-telling and dancing, to juggling, sword-play and performing bears. As well, there were outside feasts, in the courtyard for the lesser nobility and clergy, the magistrates, officers and the like; and in the open Glen of Pittencrieff beyond the walls, oxen were roasted whole, with barrelled ales, for all comers. Malcolm was not normally thus spendthrift, although by no means mean either; interested in neither hospitality nor display rather; but he had been left in no doubts as to what was necessary on this occasion, and he had opened his coffers wide. Moreover, he had had a very successful season in Northumbria. Margaret asserted that wealth was for spending, spending well and for the benefit of others, not for hoarding.

  Maldred was unable to sit with Magda on this occasion, having to remain in his father's group, actually nearer to the royal pair than usual, while Magda was further down the table, well squired by appreciative young males — although at least Madach could not be amongst them. He was there, next to Maldred, to be sure, for most of the army leaders were present, from Scone and Stirling, military threat having for the moment receded, the Galloway host having taken over Man, where Godfrey Crovan had declared himself King under allegiance to the Orkney earls; and William of Normandy, thwarted meantime and moreover preoccupied with another Welsh rising. Maldred then was in a good position to watch the King and Queen, and to note Margaret's graciousness and easy assumptio
n of her new role, her suitable attentions to her husband allied to her nice concern for their guests, even it seemed for the servitors. This was something new for that company and could have caused embarrassment; but not once did she put a foot wrong, display or permit undue familiarity, or verge on the officious. The only frowns brought to Malcolm's features were when, once or twice, she gently placed a hand across the mouth of his goblet as he was about to replenish it — but even that surely was a bride's privilege on her wedding-night, and the King's brow quickly cleared.

  He, and they all, had occasion to look more doubtful, or at least astonished when, the main eating over, Margaret rose, and raised an uncertain Malcolm also — whereupon of course, everyone else must rise. There were lewd grins amongst the male guests and some lifted eyebrows amongst the ladies, at this presumed over-eager early departure of the bridal pair; but Margaret explained to such as were near enough to hear her, that she now, with the King's consent and she hoped his escort, would go out to see how it all fared with the various companies feasting outside — who were, to be sure, as worthy and entitled to celebrate this joyous day as any in the hall. She urged all to continue with their entertainment here, desiring only her husband's company amongst the people. They would return.

  Malcolm stood silent, his face a study. But he could scarcely refuse to go.

  With the royal couple gone, the guests were more free to move around. Maldred soon found his way to Magdalen's side.

  "You are not needed now?" he put to her.

  "I shall be," she asserted.

  "You, you are not going back to England, then? Now that she is wed? And is Queen."