Margaret the Queen

by Nigel Tranter

  With his cousin settled at the table eating, and eating well, Cospatrick went on,

  "I want you to go to Dunfermline, to see Malcolm for me. Tell him, in closest secrecy, that I am alive. Tell him that I can be of much use to him. That I want my son Cospatrick, young Pate, made Earl of Dunbar and March in my room. And tell him. . ."

  "Pate? But Pate is your third son. What of Dolfin? And Waldeve? Dolfin, I have heard, was born bastard. But Waldeve. . . ?"

  "Aye. Waldeve, shall we say, had some doubt about his birth, also! It happens, now and again! Besides, young Pate has the wits of them all. Waldeve is like his unfortunate uncle of the same name, a little weak. He will do for the Church, belike. So — Cospatrick to succeed me as Earl here. As for Dolfin, have Malcolm create him Earl of Cumbria in the room of his uncle ..." "The Earl Waltheof? Is he dead?"

  "My foolish brother is William's prisoner, in some Normandy castle, and like to remain so. As is Morkar. As would be Bishop Ethelwin — but he died."

  "Dear God! But, see you — how can I have the King create earls of these boys? Think you he will heed me, in so great a matter. . . ?"

  "Perhaps not. But he will heed me. Or the message you bring him from me. He has all but lost Cumbria. Galloway too. All of Strathclyde is at risk. Tell him that — although he knows it well enough. I will make it my business to watch over Cumbria. Secretly, to be sure. I will move about therein, unknown. I have lands there. Unknown —-but knowing all. I know all the lords and the churchmen. My father, to be sure, was Maldred, Prince of Cumbria, Duncan's brother. So, I will keep Malcolm informed, and more than that. Let him appoint a governor for me to work through, meantime. But my Dolfin to be Earl there. He is twelve years now. In a few years he will be able to rule there. That is my price. If Malcolm wants to save Cumbria for his realm."

  Maldred stared. "For a dead man, you speak strongly!" he said.

  "As I have reason to do. And am able to perform. I am not yet forty. Think you that I am going to spend the rest of my days doing nothing, playing only the friar? Norman William will not live for ever. When he goes, there will be changes, large changes, with those weak sons of his. Who knows, there may be a resurrection from the dead! That Waldeve Siwardson — who is also cousin, see you — will come to a bad end, that I swear! So Northumbria could lose its earl again. And I will be waiting. Duke Robert and William Rufus think none so ill of me — I have fought at their sides. So — one day, Maldred, you may see Cospatrick, Earl of Dunbar and March again, Earl of Northumbria again and Earl of Cumbria also! A territory half as large as Scotland itself."

  His cousin had no words.

  "Tell Malcolm that, man. Tell him that I could put Scotland's Border at Tyne and Ribble instead of Tweed and Esk. Tell him. You have it?"

  "I, I hear you, yes." Maldred shook his head. "Whether Malcolm, or any other, will believe you . . . ?"

  "I do not ask him to believe it. Only to wish it! The wish will do. He needs such wishing, see you. I will provide it." Cospatrick rose. "Now — if you are sufficiently fed and refreshed, cousin, we shall ride."

  "Ride? You . . . ?"

  "Both. A servant of God so sore distressed in the body as I am, may surely ride, on occasion, as well as tramp the land? I have a- suitable fat palfrey, which was my daughter Ethelreda's pad . . ."

  So, side-by-side, the cousins rode off, sedately, down the Leader in its fair wooded valley, the four miles to its confluence with great Tweed, Cospatrick bestowing casually sketched benedictions upon any individual they happened to pass on the way, in seemingly absent-minded benevolence, Maldred seeking to school his expression.

  Where the two rivers joined, a quite large promontory of suddenly higher land had been formed in the loop, not liable to flooding, the meall rhos of the name Melross, whereon had been one of the earliest and most famous Columban monasteries in southern Scotland, or Bernicia as it then had been. Founded by St. Aidan, as an offshoot of Lindisfarne, in the mid-seventh century, here St. Boisil and St. Cuthbert had been successive priors. But, like its parent-house, in time it swung over to the Romish adherence; and in 859 the heavy-handed King Kenneth MacAlpine had sacked and burned it for such apostasy. In the intervening two centuries, although used intermittently as a hospice for travellers and as a settlement for Saxon slaves, it had never been restored as a monastery. Its farmery and mill on the low ground, remained intact however, and these were run by tenants of Cospatrick. This proved to be their destination.

  It was not the farmhouse they made for, nor yet the mill, but higher, for the ruins of the old monastic enclosure itself. Here one of the low-browed buildings had been rethatched and made habitable, clearly recently, and another, on which four monks were working, was in process of being restored, evidently as a church of sorts. Something familiar about one of the men attracted

  Maldred — and when he got closer he was astonished to recognise the monk Turgot, Margaret's confessor. One of the others was a fine-looking older man, with the hot eyes of a fanatic, the others ordinary serving-brothers.

  Cospatrick smiled. "I perceive that you recognise our friend from Dunfermline. In changed circumstances — like myself! Such is the lot of man, God's will being done! And this is the Prior Aldwin, lately of Jarrow. And Winchcombe, was it? An even more notable churchman, I am assured."

  The two priests greeted Maldred distinctly warily, Turgot acknowledging him by name as the Lord Maldred, but referring to Cospatrick as Brother Eadwulf.

  "What brings you here?" Maldred demanded. "Working with your hands. In this sorry place. How come you . . . ?"

  "None so sorry, man," Cospatrick intervened. "One of the most sacred fanes in the land, once. And may be again — who knows?"

  "Perhaps. But Brother Turgot was the Queen's chaplain a month back, no more."

  "The King's Highness has never thought well of me," Turgot said. "He ever suspects me. Of over-much weight with the Queen. He has banished me, for the second time."

  "Then what do you here?"

  "Friend Turgot was making south down Lauderdale when he came to rest for the night at Ersildoune," Cospatrick explained. "Someone told him of my humble self, and he came to me. Earlier, while I was at Ubbanford, our friend Prior Aldwin here arrived there, a fugitive from his priory of Jarrow-on-Tyne, whence he had been ejected by a Norman nominee of the new Archbishop Thomas of York, who has succeeded old Eldred. This is happening all over England. He was at a loss where to go, what to do. So, in all due humility, I proposed that he and Turgot should come here to ancient Melross. Form a community here again. And, who knows, perhaps build it up to what it was before?"

  Maldred was almost beyond being surprised by Cospatrick mac Maldred. But to accept him as a founder of monasteries and protector of ousted priests, demanded considerable mental adjustment.

  "Why?" he demanded, baldly.

  The other shrugged. "Now that I have embraced God's cause and service, you would not have me slack in it? Or turn my back on my fellow-servants in their need?"

  That from the greatest cynic it had ever been his lot to meet, left Maldred little the wiser. "These, then, know who . . . that you are . . . ?"

  "That I am Eadwulf, who has been other. Come to God late in life perhaps — but with the more need to make up for time past! But still with some small sway in this land, it may be. On both sides of Tweed."

  "We greatly admire and give thanks to God for what Brother Eadwulf in his goodness permits us to attempt, in the cause of Holy Mother Church," Prior Aldwin declared carefully.

  "No doubt. But . . . this church or community, which you seek to establish here, will be a Romish one, I think? Not Columban."

  "To be sure, my lord. It could not be other. We are all good adherents of the Holy Father at the Vatican, however unworthy..."

  "It was Romish before, Maldred," Cospatrick pointed out. "The Celtic Church has shown no interest in Melross. And as a daughter-house of Lindisfarne, under Bishop Walchere of Durham, it would have to be." That mention of Bishop Walchere
was distinctly emphasised — and set Maldred's mind speculating on a new course. As it was no doubt meant to do.

  "Yet this is Scotland," he said. "Where the Church is not Roman."

  "It would not be the first such," Turgot put in. "Are not the King and Queen building a great new church at Dunfermline, of our Roman faith?"

  There was no answer to that, of course. But though Maldred held his peace, he eyed Cospatrick the more thoughtfully.

  Leaving the two serving-brothers to continue with the building efforts, the other pair led the visitors into the restored house, which proved to be a tiny, makeshift sanctuary combined with living-quarters, severely functional but clean and adequate, if much less comfortable than Cospatrick's little establishment under the White Hill of Ersildoune. They did not produce Burgundian wines, either.

  It did not take long for that man to make it clear why he had brought his cousin here. "The Lord Maldred is going to Dunfermline in a day or two," he said. "I wish him to be able to inform King Malcolm as to the situation in the North of England now prevailing, so far as you know it. You are both Bishop Walchere's men, and have no reason to love the Normans. You may speak freely. My cousin approves of that Bishop."

  The Prior Aldwin needed little encouragement. With his burning eyes, intense expression and pale leanness, Maldred judged him to be of the stuff of martyrs and prophets, no carefully discreet cleric — although Turgot was of a different sort.

  "The land simmers in near revolt," he said. "The man Odo — I will not call him bishop, for he disgraces his mitre — is worse hated than even King William. Everywhere his hand is heavy, the folk groaning under his oppressions ..."

  "That we know, friend," Cospatrick interrupted. "It is details that we want. The state of Northumbria, Cumbria, Durham, Deira, even Mercia, or what is left of it. Of Hereward the Wake in his fens . . ."

  "Hereward is captured. Betrayed. William has taken him to Normandy. What to do with him, only God knows. Or Satan! The Abbot Thurstan was forced to surrender. To Odo. What is become of him, none can tell. I fear the worst. The fenland revolt is crushed. But other revolt is stirring. Even amongst the Normans themselves."

  "Ha! Which Normans?"

  "Roger fitz Osbern, for one, Earl of Hereford. And Ralph Guader, the Breton, Earl of Norfolk. Others less lofty but still powerful. Even some of the Norman bishops . . ." He began to say something else, but thought better of it. "Odo has offended them. Now that King William spends most of his time in France, Odo rules all as viceroy and Chief Justice. Even William's youngest son, Henry, is at odds with his uncle. There will be trouble, nothing more sure."

  "Hereford, you say? One of the Norman Marcher earls! This could mean much. If Hereford rebelled, the Welsh would rise again, for sure. Especially as, I am told, the other Marchers, Chester, Shrewsbury, Gloucester, are with William in France. Aye — what, then, of the North?"

  "The North seethes. With the Earl Waldeve absent,

  Edwin of Mercia dead and Morkar prisoner, the North is leaderless. But it seethes . . ."

  They discussed the situation in greater detail, Cospatrick putting shrewd questions, not all of which the churchmen could answer. During the Earl Waldeve's absence with William, his friend Bishop Walchere of Durham was acting his deputy — and since no other major leaders remained, he could be said to be ruling the North. But, to be sure, he was no warrior, however capable; and one Ligulf, a thane descended from the ancient line of the Earls of Bernicia, was acting as his right hand in matters secular and military. Cospatrick knew this Ligulf, in fact could claim distant relationship, and was keen to have relevant information. It was clear, to Maldred at least, that his cousin was not going to be content with any passive role, friar or none.

  For his own part, when Cospatrick had got all he could, for the present, out of Prior Aldwin, Maldred sought information from Turgot as to affairs at Dunfermline. The Benedictine was no gossip, but he was at least an enthusiast over Margaret and her activities, obviously no less smitten by the Queen's attractions and excellences than were others — but of course confined his panegyrics to her piety, saindiness and good works generally. The handsome new church to the Holy Trinity was going up apace, he said — although one gathered that if he had been the architect instead of the monk, Godwin, sent up by Archbishop Lanfranc, there could have been improvements to the design. The Queen had persuaded the King to endow the new foundation with broad lands and properties, some taken from the forfeited MacBeth family — lands in Fortrenn, that is, for even Malcolm was not sufficiently strong to take lands from the late King's heirs up in Moray and the North, where they still remained powerful. Moreover, of course, now the Queen was much concerned with increasing the power and prestige of the See of St. Andrews, so that it might give a lead to all Scotland in matters religious . . .

  "See is a word we do not use in Scotland," Maldred interrupted flady. "We have no sees."

  "The see is the diocese of a bishop, my lord."

  "I know what the word means, sir. But we have no dioceses or sees in our Church. Our bishoprics are otherwise. Bishops are with us a kind of priest distinct from abbots, as both are from lesser ministers. Equal to them in certain functions, inferior to them only in rule. And ... I do not think that we require being given a lead in religion, as you say."

  The other pursed his lips. "No doubt you best know the peculiarities of your faith, my lord. But — that is scarcely my concern. I but say that the Queen seeks to enhance the position and status of St. Andrews. Endow and improve it, that it may be in a position to give lead to others. You will not deny that conditions cannot but be improved in matters of religion, in this land? Or in any land?"

  "I urge that you watch where you tread, Brother Turgot!" Cospatrick said, grinning. "Recollect that the Lord Maldred's father is Primate of the Columban Church. And so where leads are to be given, he falls to be consulted!"

  The monk said nothing to that.

  "I knew that Her Highness advised Bishop Fothad of St. Andrews to change matters at St. Andrews. I heard her tell him so two years ago. But this you speak of — raising the position of his bishopric, you said? How shall this be done? His is but one of the bishoprics, if the richest, under the Abbey of St. Serf of Loch Leven."

  "But the seat of the most eminent of the bishops. Fothad."

  "Eminent as Chancellor of the realm and King's Bishop. Not otherwise. What can the Queen do?"

  "Endow with lands, moneys. Improve the places of worship. Contrive fine vestments for the St. Andrews clergy, as she is doing for those of Holy Trinity to be, she and her ladies working these with their own fair hands. So, in God's service, may a minster or a bishopric be built up."

  "Perhaps so. But all this of raising up and adoration is foreign to our Celtic ways."

  "You have your own saints. Many of them. Of which Holy Church has never so much as heard! This Serf you speak of Ternan. Others. You would not deny that Christ's own Mother and His apostles are more worthy of reverence?"

  "No. But our saints were missionaries. The Brethren of Columba. The churches named after them they established. We do not adore them — only commemorate their work in our land ..."

  Cospatrick yawned openly, bored. "I say, leave the Queen to it. No harm in it. What interests me is where she intends to find the siller for all this endowing and bestowings and building of churches? Malcolm was never one for gathering moneys. Where is it to come from? I do not see our Scots lords dipping deep into their coffers. Which are scarcely full, forby!"

  "The Queen is full of projects to increase and multiply treasure," Turgot assured. "And not only in God's service but for the prosperity of this kingdom and people. She is seeking to encourage more trade and manufacture, greater produce of the country. Many distant lands, she says, would purchase Scottish goods — in especial wool and woollen cloths. Hides. Salted fish. Spirits. Skins of deer, wolves, seals, martens. To set up guilds, as in the Low Countries and Hungary. To foster craftsmen. Ports and havens to be improved, enlarged
with piers and jetties. Burghs to have rights of tax and custom — of which the Crown gets some part. Other like enterprises ..."

  "Lord — once I told Malcolm that he had wed a queen of some commerce!" Cospatrick exclaimed. "It seems that I was right. And does the King swallow all this? Malcolm, who ever lived by and for the sword! Trade, huckstering and chaffering! Salted fish and beeswax! You conceive of Malcolm Big Head setting his hand to this?"

  "He is already doing so. Or aiding the Queen to do so. And ... it is how Holy Church gains much of her revenues." There was reproof in that.

  "I stand corrected, Brother! I have much to learn, it seems. But — not today! We must take the road. Maldred has far to ride." He rose. "Blessings on the good work here. I shall see you again..."

  As they rode off, back to Ersildoune, Maldred eyed his companion consideringly. "You want a Romish church there, cousin, do you not? This is no chance matter. Why? You care not a snap of the fingers for either Church, I swear. Why, then?"

  "For sufficient reason, man — and you much miscall a sinner but newly repented and enrolled in holy orders! I want a Popish church here because a Columban one would be of no least use to me. To sustain my part as friar, I require a parent house to which, if need be, I can seem to belong. And since I am a Romish friar, it must needs be a Romish one . . ."

  "You could belong to Ubbanford — as I thought that you did. There is more to it than that."

  "There is, yes. Can you not see? You heard — Bishop Walchere is ruling Northumbria and Deira for Waldeve. Waldeve is now part of William's own household, wed to his niece Judith. And with Northampton and Huntingdon, richer, softer, earldoms than his northern ones — and he is a soft man. As I see it, Walchere and his new friend Ligulf — Walchere is a great one for friends! — will continue to control Northumbria, Durham, and probably much of Cumbria, for some time to come. So, for my purposes — which are. also Scotland's purposes — Walchere will be a useful friend for me! Although a different kind of friend!"