Margaret the Queen

by Nigel Tranter

  The monarch gave something between a snort and a laugh. "There is ever a price to pay, by God!" he exclaimed. "But — so be it."

  Maldred rubbed his chin, as ruefully as his liege-lord. Margaret always seemed to win. A new church — a new Romish church. So that was to be the seal set on all his efforts and all Lothian's agony.

  Kindly, warmly, the Queen smiled on him.

  * * *

  It was some months before accounts began to percolate through to Scotland as to the consequences of Duke Robert's abortive expedition. The principal result, it transpired, was anger, wrath, fury — on William's part. At all concerned, but chiefly at his son. Indeed, so hot was the Conqueror's choler that the pleasing reconciliation between father and son was quite shattered; and Robert departed again forthwith for Normandy, in high dudgeon. Bishop Geoffrey de Coutances, who it seemed had been sent north as adviser to the Duke, was also in disgrace, old comrade-in-arms of William's as he was. No doubt Malcolm mac Duncan himself came in for a large share of the wrath — but he was beyond its practical effects, meantime at least. However, a fourth party did feel the weight of it, in no uncertain fashion. The Bishop Odo of Bayeux was arrested, clapped in prison, his earldom of Essex forfeited, like his chief-justiceship, and even execution talked of. So much for pretensions to the Papacy and disappropriation of Treasury funds.

  Even Cospatrick considered that the burning of his Lothian had been well worth while, whatever Maldred said.

  Part Three

  22

  Two SUMMONSES REACHED Dunbar Castle on the same day of June, 1085, for Maldred mac Melmore. One from the King, requiring his presence at Dunfermline, to take part in some sort of royal progress through the realm, or at least the central parts of it, to celebrate apparently fifteen years of wedded felicity; and also the completion of the main part of the great new church of the Holy Trinity at Dunfermline. Clearly, although the summons might be from Malcolm, the moving spirit behind all was Margaret, since her husband was not the man to think of celebrating either event, and certainly not by perambulating his kingdom for common folk to stare at. The second messenger arrived only an hour or two later, from Maldred's mother, the Countess of Atholl. The Earl was grievously ill, probably dying. Maldred should come at once.

  He had never been really close to his father, who had always been a reserved man, detached, not good at showing affection. But he had loved him, after a fashion, and admired his quiet integrity and his scholarship. Saddened, he made hurried arrangements to leave almost immediately. Fortunately no serious problems loomed meantime, in the two Border earldoms, to complicate his speedy departure. The last four years had been comparatively uneventful ones, both on the national and the local levels, with King William never fully recovered from his wound and not the man he had been — although his rages were reported to be more terrible than ever. Only one warlike campaign he had initiated in the interim, against the unfortunate Welsh, when, despite the fact that he had been borne in a horse-litter most of the time, he had supervised retribution of an unparalleled ferocity. But he had not ventured north of Wessex, and the Scots had been left to their own devices — these by no means always peaceable admittedly; but Maldred had been well able to cope with his share of the burden of rule, mainly in keeping within bounds the normal Border raiding, reiving and feuding, and dealing out the punishment thereof. He now had a new tide, of English style, bestowed on him by Cospatrick, that of Sheriff of the Merse, Tweeddale and Teviotdale — although he preferred to use the old Celtic term of Judex. Cospatrick himself spent most of the time when he was not restlessly ranging the land, at Caer-luel, nowadays, with his eldest son Dolfin, Earl of Cumbria who, at eighteen, had taken over from Madach there.

  So, leaving Magda to make a less hurried departure, who was also called, as extra lady-in-waiting to the Queen, Maldred bade fond farewell to the children — they now had a third child, a son named Crinan — and set off on the long road to Atholl at maximum speed.

  Even so, when he arrived at Dunkeld two days later, it was too late. His father had died the day before. His mother was prostrate, a woman who had lived almost wholly for her husband and was now all but lost. Fortunately Madach was at home and had all in hand, a practical if limited man. He was now Earl or Mormaor of Atholl, subject to the King's approval and confirmation, one of the righ or lesser kings of Scotland; almost certainly he would make a better one than had his unworldly sire.

  They buried Melmore mac Crinan quietly next day in the graveyard of the Abbey under the soaring fort-crowned crag, beside two of his favourite hounds — for the Celtic Church allowed Christian burial for animals that had been the especial friends of men. Maldred waited on one more day, to take part, the leading part, in the ceremony in which all the thanes and chieftains of Atholl came to accept and pay allegiance to their new mormaor, if so they elected. In this case there was no dispute, and it only remained for Malcolm to add his royal agreement.

  Thereafter Maldred rode south again, feeling that another chapter in his life was ended.

  Again he came late, at least for the celebrations in the large cathedral-like church. These had taken place the day previously. Magda was able to give him a glowing account. He was interested to hear that the monk Turgot had been brought up from Wearmouth to conduct the service — since it had to be in the Romish rite, of course, although Bishop Fothad and some of the abbots and other Keledei had attended and even taken minor part. Malcolm had presumably swallowed his dislike of the Englishman. Incorporated in the seemingly splendid proceedings in the church had been the dedication of a vast treasure in gold and silver vessels, chalices, pattens and crucifixes, holy books and missals lovingly encased in jewelled boards, and a large number of the most gorgeous vestments, chasubles, copes, stoles and the like — all of the Queen's giving, allegedly out of the profits of her many trading ventures to foreign parts. Turgot himself was still collecting such costly things for her, as opportunity offered. According to him, via Magda, there was not a church or minster north of York itself so richly endowed as was now this Holy Trinity.

  When Maldred presented himself before the royal couple that night, at the feasting in the crowded hall of the palace, it was to a more gracious reception than sometimes, evidently on account of his father's death, Malcolm actually pushing aside his old crony Angus on the royal bench to make room for Maldred at his left side, Margaret on the right giving him her hand to kiss and then holding his own tightly for a moment. Magda went to sit beyond the Queen. Even so the monarch's greetings and condolences were less than effusive.

  "So you have it by with, cousin," he said. "The old man buried? He went quickly at the end, I heard."

  "Yes. I did not see him alive."

  "I am sorry, Maldred — sorry," Margaret said. "You will be sore-hearted."

  "I doubt it!" Malcolm jerked. "Why should he be? My uncle was an old done man, who had made little of his life these many years — if ever he did! Maldred saw but little of him, mind."

  "He was his father, Malcolm. One day our sons will mourn you. And me. Pray God, kindly!"

  The King grunted, and turned back to Maldred. "You were in time for the burial? Yesterday?"

  "The day before."

  "Then you took your time in coming on here, man?"

  "There was more to do at Dunkeld, Highness."

  "I think that he delayed so as not to have to attend at our thanksgiving in Holy Trinity!" the Queen said, half-playfully. "Maldred does not altogether approve of our efforts at fuller worship."

  "M'mm." Malcolm looked a little doubtful at that. "All men are not churchmen, lass. Even Primates' sons. Like Madach, his brother, to be sure."

  Wondering what that might mean, Maldred shook his head. "I had to stay another day. All the chiefs came to accept Madach as mormaor. I had to be there. He now seeks your royal confirmation, as earl."

  "Aye. No doubt. That, the accepting as mormaor — that was all?"

  "All? It was sufficiently important, was it not?"

>   "Yes, yes. I meant that there was no other talk of appointing? In your father's room. The churchmen. . . ?"

  "You mean the primacy? No. That is no concern of the thanes and chiefs. It is for the abbots and the Keledei to confirm."

  Malcolm cleared his throat. "Confirm, perhaps. But not appoint." He paused. "I have decided to appoint my son Ethelred, Primate in your father's room."

  Maldred all but choked on his rib of venison. "You ... ? Ethelred? The child? Primate of the Church!"

  "Ethelred, yes. He is now eleven years. A lad of bookish ways. He will grow into it very well."

  "But . . . but . . . ? What of Madach? The primacy is hereditary in the house of Atholl..."

  "Am I not of the house of Atholl, man? Son of Duncan, Crinan's eldest son. Forby, Madach has nothing of the priest in him, a soldier not an abbot. With young Kerald it might have been different."

  "But it is his right. At least to make the choice . . ."

  "The choice is mine, as head of the house, as well as of the kingdom. Just as it is mine to decide whether Madach shall be Earl of Atholl, or no!"

  Into the pause which followed that evident threat, Margaret spoke. "We should seek Madach's agreement, to be sure, Maldred. He would not wish to withhold it, I think. He shows no interest in Church matters. So long as it remains ... in the family."

  "But — a child! Eleven years. Primate of the Columban Church! You, .yon of all people, support this?"

  For once Margaret Atheling, on a matter of religion, looked less than sure of herself. "He is a godly child — much more so than any of his brothers. Old for his years. Born to serve God, we do believe. In only a few years he will be a man — a fine and upright, godly Primate. Much better, more suitable, surely, than a man like Madach, with no concern for matters of religion? The Primate is appointed for life. So it could be many, many years before there is another. Important years ..."

  "Important, yes — for your efforts to turn Scotland to Rome! With the Primate in the palm of your hand!" Margaret bit her lip.

  "Watch your tongue!" Malcolm growled. "Ethelred will do very well. Some suitable appointment is necessary for him, our third son. It will enhance the primacy. And Madach will see very well what is advisable and where his best interest lies — even if you do not!"

  "You will not confirm his earldom if he does not agree?"

  "Have I said that, cousin? It will have to be considered — like all earldoms."

  '.'And ... if Madach agrees? What of the Church? Will the churchmen agree? The abbots and bishops and Keledei? To have an eleven-year-old boy thrust upon them as Primate?"

  "Leave the churchmen to me. The primacy revenues are quite large. Until Ethelred comes of full age, the distribution of them will be in my hands. Leave the abbots and bishops to me, I say!"

  "It is for the best, Maldred," the Queen said.

  He did not answer further, and at the royal bench at least the meal went on in silence. Presently Margaret rose, to proceed out to the courtyard where the usual hundreds of the poor were being catered for and entertained. Malcolm, this time, elected to go with her, adopting his long-suffering expression. Maldred did not, even though Magda urged him to, as she hurried after the Queen.

  The next day, St. Columba's Eve, the royal progress commenced, with the King and Queen leading a great cavalcade of nobles and chiefs and officers of state, with their ladies. The idea, Margaret's idea, was to visit as many towns, villages and communities as possible, to demonstrate the Crown's abiding interest in the people, to attract the affection and support of the masses, to show the royal children to the folk, to inspect the state of the realm and to bestow largesse. Maldred suspected also that another objective was to survey where the Roman Church influence might be established further. And Magda, privily, informed that the Queen was concerned to improve the King's reputation as father. Donald Beg, his second son by Ingebiorg, had recently been done to death in an unsavoury affair in the remote Highlands, where he had been running wild, aged twenty-two but leaving sundry bastards. And, of course, Duncan, the eldest son, was still an unredeemed hostage in England. The people, and many of their betters, were unhappy about the way these princes had been treated. Hence the taking along of all the royal children on this progress, even the latest addition, the year-old Mary. Margaret had had one more son, David, making six in all, and another daughter, Matilda. She was now in her fortieth year and presumably her child-bearing was nearly over; but she had kept her figure and remained a remarkably attractive woman. Clearly her demanding husband still found her so.

  The procession, all mounted, with colourful trappings and banners, clad in the most splendid of clothing and preceded by musicians and choirs of singers, first headed eastwards through Fothrif into Fife. Margaret was particularly anxious to visit the new merchanting ports, formerly mere fishing-havens, which were developing along the north shore of the Scottish Sea as a result of her constant efforts to promote trade, crafts, manufactures and the like, source of so much new wealth to the land — and to the Crown — places such as Pettycur, Kingoren, Kirkaladin, Dysart, Wemyss and Leven. Messengers had been sent round to inform the people of the royal intention, so that there should be no lack of due attention in each place.

  At first, the tour looked like being a success, the weather kind, welcoming crowds everywhere. Garrons laden with sacks of coin and grain and meats for distribution helped to ensure a suitable reception; but there was no doubt as to the Queen's popularity, at least. Throughout, she was greeted with warmth, affection, almost love, her husband neither seeking nor receiving such reaction. The children proved a major attraction, and behaved well, at least most of the time — and were left in no doubt of maternal disapproval when they did not.

  It was Malcolm who grew tired of it all first, needless to say. He showed some interest in the ship and boat-building yards which were springing up along the Fife coastline, to cater for the much increased foreign trade and the fisheries for the new overseas markets — salted herring in especial. He shrewdly assessed townships and thanedoms, for the numbers of men they might produce in arms, for any emergency. He was quick to point out bad husbandry and neglected properties. But being pleasant to his subjects, concerning himself with their troubles and complaints, was not for him. Before that first day was out, he was riding ahead with some of his lords, making for MacDuffs rath at Kennoway where they were to pass the night. Maldred remained behind with the Queen's company, which scamped nothing.

  Maldred had not been at Kennoway for years, making a point of avoiding Dufagan MacDuff’s company. But now Dufagan was dead, killed in a drunken brawl, leaving a child Constantine as heir to the old Earl, now mountain-ously gross and all but senile. The daughters of the house remained unwed and soured. The boy Constantine seemed bright enough, but it was scarcely a happy household. The royal party made its own cheer, however, and there was no lack of provender. Malcolm got drunk, as compensation for a long and boring day.

  The feasting finished, and the King sprawled forward over the table asleep, with Margaret and her ladies retired to a lesser chamber, the MacDuff steward came hurrying into the main hall, now in something of a riot, drink-taken young lords in noisy horseplay with the serving-wenches whilst their elders snored and musicians, not very enthusiastically, sought to provide background entertainment. Eyeing this scene assessingly, the steward seemed to decide that Maldred of Atholl looked the least inebriated of those near to the monarch, and hesitating to disturb the slumbering King, came to him.

  "My lord," he said. "There is a man outby, seeking the King's Highness. A priest, a wandering friar — but with a haughty mien. He says that it is important."

  "And does this friar have a twist to one shoulder, lean to one side?"

  "You know him, then. . . ?"

  Maldred found Cospatrick eating cheerfully enough in the kitchen premises amongst the servants, and received a sketchy benediction along with a warning glance. He was duly careful.

  "You wish to speak with the K
ing's Highness, Sir Friar?" he greeted, almost sternly. "Then, come."

  When they were alone, out in the courtyard, the Earl clapped his shoulder. "God be praised you are here, at least, Maldred!" he exclaimed. "They say that all are drunk in the hall. And the noise is like the courts of hell, to be sure! I despaired of getting near Malcolm."

  "Malcolm is scarcely sober either. But — what do you here, in Fife? I have not known you to venture north of Lothian these many years."

  "I came because it was important. And you were not at Dunbar. I am sorry about your father, lad. There was none I could send here, who could be sure of reaching the King's ear. But, sakes — I never thought that I would enter this house of MacDuff s! Whom I love as well as any viper! It must not be known who I am, Maldred."

  "Is that still so important? After these years?"

  "While William lives, it is."

  "William is a sick man. He does not march at the head of armies, any more."

  "Do not be too sure. And have you not heard how he deals with those whom he does not love, or fears? Still? He sends out assassins, secretly. Usually as I am, in guise of monks. To quietly poison or stab or strangle. The Conqueror is no more gentle than ever he was. If he learned that I am still alive, had duped him these years, he would have his minions after me, nothing more sure. So I wait — and live!"