Margaret the Queen

by Nigel Tranter

  If all this was not sufficient, consequences in the English South were vehement if predictable, once the strong hand of the Conqueror was removed. The freed Odo managed to get there first, and with the aid of the likewise freed Earl Morkar of Mercia and the Earl Roger of Hereford, immediately raised a scratch army to grasp the throne, allegedly for his ill-used nephew Robert; although most believed for himself. So Rufus was faced with rebellion from the firsthand the result was still very much undecided. Civil war raged in the South. The position was futher complicated by one of Rufus's first acts, which was to lay violent hands on the Lord High Treasurer and his keys, and to confiscate and remove from Winchester the entire English royal treasure in gold, silver and jewels — the silver alone said to amount to over sixty thousand pounds in weight. This, naturally, much offended his brother Henry, whose testatory five thousand pounds was not paid, and who now seemed as though he might throw in his lot with Robert and Odo.

  Thus and thus, and much more, the talk went.

  In Scotland, Malcolm waited, on the alert. The news which reached Dunbar from the north was that the mustering plans were all in force again, war-training intensified, and the King ready to pounce for Tyne and Tees whenever the situation was sufficiently clarified to reveal his best chances. Incidentally also the word was brought that something of a rift had occurred between Malcolm and his wife. The Queen, it seemed, had become almost a changed woman, her enthusiasms gone, save for prolonged fastings and penances. No longer did she tour the country bestowing largesse and feeding the poor. Now she was reported to spend much of her time on her knees, shut up, alone. And not even usually in Malcolm's own houses, at Dunfermline, the Ward or elsewhere; for, of all things, she had elected to take over for herself a tiny islet in Forfar Loch at the other end from Abbot Colban's crannog, where, in harsh conditions and austerity, she played the prayerful anchorite herself. Why she so chose, none knew. Admittedly the distinctly gaunt royal castle of Forfar was close by, where some of her ladies were forced to roost, since she would have none on her island. Maldred, for one, saw it all as a direct consequence of that grim visit to the hermit Drostan's cave on Finavon Hill. She was still accepting the man's words as God's, stricken with some sort of guilt and foreboding. She could not share the cave with this flagellant, but Forfar Loch was in the vicinity, close enough to visit, perhaps to learn of remission. It was said that she often consulted the authoritative Colban.

  Maldred and Magda were much distressed, but could think of nothing that they might usefully do. Magda pointed out that Margaret, long ago, had declared that she would have liked to live the life of a religious — as indeed her sister Christina was now reported to do, as an abbess, in England. Perhaps, belatedly, the Queen was moving towards such fulfilment.

  In the autumn of that eventful year, at Dunbar, there were very different developments to preoccupy Maldred's attention. One golden late-October afternoon he was informed that a fine and gallant company, all banners and colour, was approaching from the south-west, clearly someone important. When he and Magda repaired to the gatehouse-tower to prospect, a large cavalcade was seen to be only a short distance off, gay and impressive as intimated, with even a band of mounted musicians to play them on their way, with trumpets, flutes and drums. There were, as related, many banners — but the greatest, and foremost, were to be distinguished as those of the

  Celtic royal house of Scotland, the silver boar on blue, and the red rampant lion on gold of the earldom of Dunbar and March. Intrigued, wondering, Maldred hurried down to receive whoever these were. It could hardly be the young Earl Cospatrick, for he had seen him only two days before at Ersildoune and there was nothing out-of-the-ordinary occurring then.

  Standing on the lowered drawbridge, as castellan, to welcome the newcomers, he saw that young Cospatrick was indeed there, near the front of the party, with his brothers Dolfin, Earl of Cumbria and Waldeve, Lord of Allerdale, and their sister Ethelreda. But these did not ride directly beneath the great banner of Dunbar — their father did that, no longer dressed in the habit of a wandering friar but splendid in a velvet cloak over chain-mail, and wearing a plumed helmet. And at his side, under the boar flag, was a richly-dressed young man whose heavy features were vaguely familiar. Then, astonished, Maldred recognised another of his second-cousins, the Prince Duncan, eldest son of the King.

  With a final flourish the musicians finished. Cospatrick, reining up, raised both hand and voice.

  "Ha — Maldred! Greetings! Smile, man — do not look so glum, so solemn. See whom we have here — Duncan mac Malcolm, rightful Prince of Strathclyde."

  That introduction, with its implications of trouble, certainly did not bring any smile to Maldred's face. He moistened his lips.

  "Welcome, cousins," he said, and could think of nothing more to add.

  "Come, Maldred — is that the best you can do?" Cospatrick exclaimed, getting down with a little difficulty from his magnificent stallion — for he was permanently twisted from that long-ago wound, and the horse was a deal taller than the humble nags he had chosen to ride for years — but spurning assistance nevertheless. "How is that to greet the true heir to the throne? And my own poor self, new returned from the dead! Earl of Dunbar and March once again, monkish habit burned. Does not all this call for some rejoicing?"

  Maldred inclined his head. "I rejoice, my lord — if you do. And I welcome Duncan mac Malcolm back to his own land, and freedom at last." That was the best he could achieve.

  There followed a great to-do of dismounting and settling in, of hurried arrangements for feeding and quartering so large an influx. It was some time before, over the repast which Magda managed to scrape together, they heard the full story — and something of Cospatrick's intentions. Duncan proved to be a quiet and rather stolid young man, but with an obstinate chin. He left the talking to his hosts.

  Cospatrick was in high spirits. With William's death he saw all threat to his life and wellbeing lifted, so that he could now resume his rightful status. This Rufus, he declared, was a very different man from his father. Not, he suggested, wholly to be trusted — this with a glance at Duncan — but with different and less menacing ideas and preoccupations. He was avaricious, more interested in wealth and fine-living and ease, than in dominating power, the reverse of a womaniser, concerned with display, entertainment, hunting and the like. And of less than good health. Moreover he had a difficult situation to face in England, and would have for some time. A weakling, compared with the Conqueror, he was unlikely to seek to pursue his sire's feud with the resurrected enemy in the North — especially with the link to be forged with the excellent Prince Duncan here, of whom Rufus was known to approve. Indeed, he had actually knighted him as one of his first acts as King on returning to England, before despatching him northwards.

  "Despatching him northwards?" Maldred repeated. "Do you mean by that, my lord, that the prince was sent back to Scotland by the new English King — rather than electing to come home, himself?"

  Cospatrick looked at Duncan.

  That man nodded. "I was very well at Winchester," he said shortly. "I have no assurance that my father, who I think hates me, will welcome me back to his realm."

  None commented on that fairly obvious assumption.

  "Rufus, I think, sees our young cousin's situation in a different light," Cospatrick observed. "He conceives him as becoming something of a check and hindrance on Malcolm's hostile activities and ambitions. He, not the fair Margaret's son Edward, is the true heir. All Scotland knows that — and many might be prepared to support his claims. The old Celtic polity would prefer him, do you not think, to the younger, half-Saxon and Romish Edward?"

  Maldred stroked his chin. "Perhaps. And you?"

  The other shrugged. "We shall see."

  "If you are right, Duncan mac Malcolm's situation in Scotland, meantime, could be an uncomfortable one."

  The prince looked as though he agreed with that assessment.

  "Ah, but that would depend on circumsta
nces, Maldred. The circumstance, for instance, of where in Scotland he dwelt. Here, in my Borderland, see you, he would be apt to come to no hurt."

  "So-o-o! You would do that? Whose side are you on now, then, my lord? King Malcolm's or King William Rufus's?"

  "Say that I have Scotland's best interests much at heart!" the Earl answered easily, grinning. "And also, to be sure, those of my future good-son!"

  "What! Good-son . . . ?" Maldred stared. "You mean . . . ?"

  "Indeed yes. Duncan will wed my daughter Ethelreda here. A most felicitous match, do you not think?"

  Maldred glanced down the table at the girl, who kept her head down. He was silent as what this meant sank in. He had always wondered whether, at the back of it all, Cospatrick had designs on the Scots throne for himself. He aimed to rule Cumbria, Northumbria, the Borders and Lothian. Would it be so unlikely a step to envisage, to aim for the rest? Malcolm was now sixty-five, himself only forty-seven. By wedding his daughter to Duncan, she could be the future Queen; or he could use the excuse of support for his son-in-law to improve his own chances of taking over the throne in due course. But — inevitably, it would mean hostility, almost undeclared war, between himself and Malcolm. The King had never trusted the one-time side-changer. This would pose the most transparent threat.

  "And the King?" Maldred said, at length. "How think you he will see this?"

  "Malcolm has shown no interest in his eldest son for a dozen years and more. Should he do so now?" Cospatrick shrugged. "I have served him passing well over these years. And he has never so much as said a word of thanks. Perhaps we may change that. And Duncan's prospects."

  Maldred held his peace, but thought his own thoughts. Presently he changed the subject somewhat.

  "If you, my lord, are now Earl of Dunbar and March again, and openly resident here, you will not require my services as deputy. I should be glad to return to my own place of Bothargask, in Atholl. Much neglected!"

  "Not so, Maldred — not so. I have need for you here, still, your position unchanged. I shall make my home at Ersildoune, with my family. You will continue to manage all my lands from here. I shall take the manpower of my earldoms out of your hands — but you have besought me to do this often. I shall be much away, in Northumbria and Cumbria still, if openly now. You will do better here, man, than roosting in a small corner of your brother's lands."

  They left it at that, meantime.

  So, a few weeks later, at the now revived and quite flourishing monastery of Melross, Prince Duncan, aged twenty-seven and the Lady Ethelreda, ten years younger, were wed. Turgot, Prior of Durham and now much Cospatrick's colleague, was fetched north to perform the ceremony — in the Roman rite, despite Duncan's alleged requirement of Celtic support. None of the bridegroom's family were present, or invited.

  Afterwards, Turgot and Maldred had a long conversation about the Queen. The Prior had heard stories about her present strange state of mind. She had ceased to write him letters. The last consignments of holy books and church ornaments he had collected for her had remained unacknowledged. He asked whether Maldred, whom he knew to be her friend, could somehow arrange an audience for him, secretly if need be.

  Maldred was not hopeful. The King would be unlikely to allow it. And it would be almost impossible, even if desirable, to smuggle the monk into Scotland first and then into the Queen's presence, without authority — especially under present conditions. But he would tell her, next time he saw her, of Turgot's strong desire to visit her. That was all that he might do. He did not add that it was only for Margaret's sake and not for the Prior's, or for that of the Romish faith, that he promised as much.

  25

  ONE ADVANTAGE, AT least, accrued from the Duncan marriage, for Maldred — he found that Malcolm did not expect him to lead a Lothian and Border host on the next invasion of Northumbria, or even to take part himself. Clearly he was now considered to be hopelessly in the Cospatrick camp, and not to be trusted. The following summer, the unfortunate Edgar Atheling arrived back in Scotland, having been dispossessed of his countship of Montreuil-sur-Mer, given by King Philip and later over-run, but confirmed by the Conqueror to him in return for Edgar's resigning of any rights to the English throne. Rufus had now turned him out, to hand over the property and rights to his brother Robert of Normandy, in an effort to detach him from Odo's insurrection. Malcolm, despite his scorn and impatience with his brother-in-law, saw this to be as good an excuse as any to make his latest bid for Tyne and Tees; and calling on all good Saxons to rise against the Normans, marched southwards with a large army. He took the inland route by Soltra and Lauderdale to the Tweed crossings, thus avoiding coastal Dunbar but of necessity passing close to Ersildoune. However, Cospatrick could be discreet when the occasion warranted, and having no desire for a confrontation with his monarch at the head of a major host, found it convenient to betake himself, his family and new son-in-law, off on a visit to Dolfin's earldom, at Caer-luel — with a couple of days to spare.

  So the Scots went harrying and burning down into Northumbria just like old dmes — but minus Maldred and his contingent.

  The situation in England was still unsettled. Rufus had most of the South under control of a sort, but Odo was still in revolt in his earldom of Kent, even though Robert apparendy was no longer his ally and excuse. Morkar had

  been captured and put back in a cell, but Hereford was still at large on the Welsh Marches, and much of Mercia and the Midlands not accepting the new King. Rufus had so far not ventured as far north as York; so Malcolm reckoned that his chances were good, with only Moubray, the present Earl of Northumbria and his local forces, to oppose him. He did not trouble to take Edgar Atheling with him, his part being merely to furnish an excuse for the move and to call on the dissident Saxons not to aid Moubray.

  The news that filtered back to Dunbar and Caer-luel, those weeks of high summer, was of a most successful and enjoyable venture, from Malcolm's point of view, with Moubray consistently falling back without major battle and the Scots spreading satisfactory destruction far and wide, more or less unimpeded. In due course they reached the Tyne, where they found the great new castle completed, and too tough a nut to crack without a prolonged siege. So by-passing this they moved on towards the Tees in an almost leisurely fashion, making a diversion to take a swipe at Durham in the by-going, more as a gesture of warning to Cospatrick than anything else — although the ecclesiastical pickings were considerable — Bishop de St. Calais and Prior Turgot prudently absenting themselves.

  Long pack-trains of booty and captives, and huge herds of cattle, kept coming back across Tweed and up through Lothian, to witness to the fair accuracy of these reports.

  So passed the summer, with Maldred thankfully not involved in anything more violent than the hay and corn harvest, and Cospatrick biding his time.

  It was the latter, with his excellent lines of communication, who first learned of impending change, towards the end of August. Rufus, it was said was assembling troops, further troops, in large numbers. But then he was always having to do this, and these might well be aimed against Odo or Hereford, Rufus having no lack of enemies. But when the word began to come in of a great fleet being assembled in the East Anglian ports, it seemed unlikely that this could be directed against anyone but Malcolm. When information confirmed that the objective was indeed said to be Scotland, or at least the North, and that Duke Robert was in command of the naval force, Rufus himself leading the new army, Cospatrick decided that it was time to act. It was no part of his designs to see Malcolm suffer major defeat in England, and to have the English entering Scotland as victors. Accordingly he sent messengers to warn the King, on Teesside, of the approaching menace, ordered Maldred to muster the Lothian and Border host once more, and himself collected a Cumbrian force, to march eastwards.

  It looked as though Maldred was not to escape hostilities, after all.

  Cospatrick and Dolfin arrived at Dunbar in foul weather of unseasonable easterly gales on the Eve of the Trans
lation of St. Cuthbert. Maldred had assumed that the combined force would move down through the Merse to the Tweed, to guard the fords there — since, if Malcolm indeed was retiring and pursued, that is surely where he would turn and make a stand. But Cospatrick said no. They would wait here, at the beginning of the wide Lothian plain, and just beyond the Lammermuir passes of Peasedean and Bils-dean. His objective was to rescue Malcolm, and be seen to do so, not to try to defeat Rufus. The Tweed fords might have been suitable enough for a battle-ground. But they had to think of the seaborne force under Robert. That would not be affected by inland battles along the Tweed. Making for the Scottish Sea and the Forth, as it would be likely to do, it must pass close to Dunbar here. A large force seen waiting here, ready, would be apt to give Robert pause, if he arrived first. And if Rufus preceded him and was held up here, Robert would see it and presumably adjust his tactics. It was much better, too, that in any confrontation with Rufus, and possible negotiation, he should have had to fight his way over Tweed and then through these dangerous Lammermuir passes first, so that he had these hazards behind him to menace his retiral should he suffer any reverse — always an important consideration for any commander.