Maldred, in all the years that he had known his cousin, had never seen him in such raging anger; indeed he feared that Malcolm was going to take some sort of fit or seizure. Thickly, incoherently, he cursed and swore, all but rigid with inexpressible choler and indignation. When even choking words failed him. Cospatrick it was who reached over, first to grip the royal arm, then, when there was no reaction, to take the bridle of the King's horse and to turn the beast about and lead it back whence they had come, the monarch seeming almost dazed in the saddle. Without a word spoken, the entire Scots party reined round and followed.
For an hour or so Malcolm shut himself up alone in his campaigning tent and not even Cospatrick nor any of his sons dared to disturb him. Oddly, it was the Prince Duncan, who had little cause to love his father, who proposed to do something positive about the situation. He would go back himself, he said, alone, and see King William. They had been friends. Try to resolve this folly and indignity. William might listen to him. He would try to make him perceive that this course would serve no good to any, that only hatred and evil could come of it and both kingdoms suffer.
Cospatrick, who now had taken charge, did not see his son-in-law as likely to be successful, but he did not seek to hold him back.
At length Malcolm emerged from his tent, set-faced but calm. He gave brief orders for camp to be struck immediately. They would march for Scotland forthwith.
None sought to argue, although doubts were expressed as to whether the English would allow this. Malcolm heeded none; nor would he wait for his eldest son's return.
They rode within the hour. The guards did not appear to know what to do; but they did not seek to restrain them;
For long the King, riding alone and silent, did not look back; but others did. There was no sign of pursuit, so sign even of Duncan following. They were well into the night-shrouded Malvern foothills before they camped. Malcolm remained unapproachable.
That was a strange, tense, journey home, so very different from their outwards travel, with a brooding aura of wrath and humiliation hanging over all and vengeance the word most often to be heard. Not from the King; indeed few words of any sort did he utter in those long days of hard riding — for he led them northwards at a fierce pace, telling on man and beast. They followed the same route as they had come — and as William's safe-conduct had stipulated — and never once were they held up or interfered with. Nor did the missing Duncan put in an appearance — nor his father ask after him. They had taken ten days to reach Gloucester from Tweed, but they returned in six, some of the most joyless and dreary days in Maldred's experience. Even Cospatrick was subdued, preoccupied.
Malcolm broke his grim silence only at Dunbar, but briefly, refusing to consider halting there for the night.
"Muster your every last man, cousin," he said harshly. "In all Lothian and the March, in the dales and the Forest. Wait for me here."
Cospatrick, indeed all, had anticipated this. "When?" he asked, simply.
"Soon. So soon as I can gather the greatest host ever to leave Scotland!"
Without a word of farewell, the King rode on for Edinburgh.
* * *
It was late October before Malcolm had sufficiently great an army assembled to satisfy his hatred, and marched southwards again. Certainly it was a mighty host which crossed Tweed fords, and took hours to do so, with Cospatrick's contingent of about four thousand, amounting in all to almost twenty-five thousand men. For this was to be no raid, but war, no mere attempt to extend Scotland's boundaries to the Tyne or the Tees even, nor yet to win back Cumbria; but a determined invasion of England, to seek battle and settle accounts with William Rufus. They would march as far as they had to, to achieve that end.
From the first, then, a very different atmosphere prevailed in all ranks, with little of the carefree high spirits and cheerful anticipation of sport and loot and profit which normally characterised these expeditions. The King was at his grimmest, so that even his sons Edward and Edgar tended to avoid his company — Ethelred was left behind on this occasion, it being no work for the priestly. There was to be no looting and burning, no spreading devastation over the English countryside, no relaxation of a stern discipline and fairly rigid formation — any infringement of which was to be punished by hanging. When, a short distance into Northumbria, some of Cospatrick's Teviotdale mosstroopers were rash enough to allow their Border instincts and accustomed habits to prevail, in the sacking and rape of a small hamlet in the Till valley, a score of them were promptly strung-up on the nearest convenient trees, as indication of the royal mood and authority. There were no further breaches of discipline meantime.
Strangely, they met with no opposition. No doubt, with the Scots muster so predictable and having taken almost two months, the English would have received ample warning; so it could be taken that Rufus was not taken by surprise. He would be choosing his own time and battle-ground, presumably.
Cospatrick, from the start, sought to establish himself not only as second-in-command but as chief military adviser to the King, making no secret of the fact that he saw his veteran monarch rather as a captain of reiving bands than as an experienced general of armies. Needless to say, Malcolm saw it all differently. Moreover, the senior mormaors tended to resent Cospatrick's assumptions and influence. So there were divided counsels in the high command. Not that Malcolm appeared to care. He was a man alone, preoccupied with vengeance, ignoring his lieutenants and sons most of the time. One of his sons, the eldest, he did not ignore — for Duncan had never returned from Gloucester to Scotland and his wife. Whether this was from choice or he was again being held as a hostage, none knew.
By-passing the great castle of Bamburgh, Cospatrick's old home, and where Malcolm had passed much of his boyhood, held against them now and impregnable, the army reached the Aln before the first reactions of the enemy became evident. Near Alnwick town, four miles inland from the mouth, where the river became bridge-able, the Scots scouts sent back the report that the bridge was held against them, but that a party waited on the far side under a white flag, and were asking for the King of Scots.
Malcolm and his leadership-group rode forward.
A company of armoured knights sat their horses at the far bridge-end. As well as the flag-of-truce they bore other banners, the largest of which, as Cospatrick pointed out, was his own rightful emblem of Northumbria. But they did not recognise Sir Robert de Moubray there. Drawing rein at their own bridge-end, a Scots spokesman shouted to ask who was there and what they might want with the High King of Scots?
Two men rode some way nearer. One called back. "I am Morel, nephew and steward to Robert, Earl of Northumbria. And this is Sir Geoffrey en Gulevant, Lieutenant Governor. My lord Earl requests audience of Your Highness."
"To what purpose?" Malcolm himself asked curtly.
"He desires to know your intentions, Sire, on behalf of King William, and submit proposals."
"I will put my proposals to King William myself — with my sword in my hand!" Malcolm gave back. "If he will present himself. Where is he?"
"The King's Grace has been marching north through Cleveland, Highness. He is now at Durham, moving on to Tyne. He has sent requesting my lord Earl to discover your reasons for bringing so great an armed host into his realm."
"If he needs others to ask such a question, then he is a fool as well as an insolent!" the King said. "He will discover from myself, in due course."
"No doubt, Sire. But he, King William, has authorised my uncle to discuss terms with you, whereby you may meet together and any differences be resolved without bloodshed. He has certain offers to make."
"Does he offer open apology, before all men, for the insults he laid upon me at Gloucester?"
"I know not, Sire. My lord Earl has not revealed to me the terms of King William's message. Save that it concerns Northumbria and Cumbria."
"Why has your precious uncle not himself come to ask this, man? Instead of sending a steward to bespeak me!"
"He
is at Alnmouth, my lord King. He is meantime stricken with a sickness. He believed that Your Grace would wish to hear King William's proposals from his lips rather than my humble ones."
"So he would have me, the King, ride to him at this Alnmouth? As insolent as his master!"
"Not so, Highness. But since he cannot ride to you . . . And it is not far to Alnmouth — but four miles. He offers you fullest hospitality."
Frowning, Malcolm looked at his lieutenants.
"No harm in going," Cospatrick said. "If we hear what Rufus is offering we may better gauge his intentions."
"It may be but a trick. To delay us," Angus objected. "To allow William to win closer. To gain a better field to fight on. Have Moubray fetched in a litter, if what he has to say is so important."
"Quicker to go to him, Father," Prince Edward put in.
"Yes, is it more comfortable to your royal dignity to sit here waiting for him, than to go there . . . ?" Cospatrick was asking, when they were interrupted. A thane from the rear pushed his way through the leaders' party, with a weary-looking, travel-worn courier in tow.
"A message from the Queen, Highness," he cried. "Ill tidings. . ."
The man blurted it out. The disaffected Highland chiefs had risen, on hearing that the King and his army had left Scotland, and they had been joined in revolt by the men of Moray and Ross and others hostile to the regime. They had taken Scone and Dunsinane and Stirling and were marching on Edinburgh. Donald Ban was at their head, supported by none other than the young Prince Edmund. The Queen had moved from the monastery of St. Ninian at Edinburgh up into the fortress of Dunedin. She urged the King's return to Scotland.
Much shaken by this news, Malcolm and those around him were momentarily at a loss. The King swore loud and long. His sons called for an immediate retiral; their mother might be in danger. Cospatrick declared that such would be folly at this stage, when they had Rufus prepared to talk terms. Settle with him first, gain back Cumbria and perhaps even Northumbria, then return and deal with the rebels. Donald Ban was no fighter anyway. It was unlikely that the revolt would come to anything, for these Highlanders and Moraymen would soon be at each others' throats. Madach demurred. Many would support Donald Ban, considering that he should have been king. The Moraymen had remained on good terms with the Orkney earls, MacBeth's kinsmen. If they were to sail to their aid, possibly throw Galloway in against the King, this army might never win back to Scotland if it delayed now.
During this hurried debate the Englishmen waited at the other end of the bridge.
Malcolm made up his mind. They would go see Moubray and discover Rufus's proposals. Depending on what these were, he would decide whether to continue onwards, turn back for Scotland, or send only part of his force back.
When it was shouted to the waiting knights that the King of Scots would ride to Alnmouth, Morel called back that he was gratified. He advised, however, that they used the north bank of the river, not his side. It would cut off a series of bends and save time. They could ford the Aln back to the south side easily enough near the mouth. Malcolm agreed to this. But Madach, suspicious of trickery, suggested that they ought to move perhaps half of the army across this bridge meantime, in case it was all a delaying tactic, and whilst the King was away at Alnmouth the main English force might move up and seek to hold this river-line against them.
This was considered to be good sense, and as soon as the English party came trotting across the bridge, the Scots started moving in the opposite direction.
Most of the leadership group accompanied the King and their guides eastwards, plus a suitable escort of about seventy men. Madach was left in charge at the bridge, but Maldred went along with Cospatrick and the young princes, with the King.
At first the knight Morel sought to talk volubly with Malcolm; but getting little encouragement from that morose monarch, he presently gave up the attempt and rode on in silence. His colleague, Sir Geoffrey en Gulevant, had not opened his mouth throughout.
They cut inland from the river, through wet meadow-land mixed with scrub woodland, occasionally having to detour real marsh and fen. If this side was easier and quicker going, Maldred reckoned that the other must be bad indeed — although it did not look it from any distance. Presently, with the river swinging away to the north, from a slight eminence they could see the country opening before them to a wide and almost landlocked bay, into which, after a major meander, the Aln obviously emptied itself. The sea lay beyond. There was considerable denser woodland to cross before that bay was reached, however.
It was when they entered these woods, which appeared to flank both sides of the Aln, that Morel said they must turn down to the ford, to save following all the river's wide bend. It shallowed here, he assured. He explained that although the township of Alnmouth was on this north side of the estuary, his uncle was installed in the monastery on the south side, so they must cross.
Through the close woodland they rode down to the river. The ford proved to be not so very shallow, the water up to the horses' bellies; and wide too, fully eighty yards across. But Morel led the way in confidently enough, declaring that the monks used it constantly.
Maldred and Cospatrick, just behind the King and his two sons, were two-thirds of the way over when pandemonium erupted. Without warning a shower of arrows winged down upon the splashing Scots from both sides of the river and as horses reared and toppled, kicking and screaming, armed men by the hundred burst out of the cover of bushes and trees, swords, spears and axes in hand. Front and rear they hurled themselves into the water against the floundering company. Behind them mounted knights and men-at-arms appeared everywhere in the woodland.
Malcolm's horse was one of the first to fall, pierced by no fewer than five arrows, obviously the principal target. As the King was pitched head-long into the water, crowned helmet flying, the man Morel swiftly drew sword and slashed downwards, twice, thrice. A great gash opened on the victim's grizzled head and he sank below the surface, blood staining the current to join that of his mount.
Cospatrick was down too, an arrow through his throat, horse thrashing beside him. Reeling, staggering on the slippery pebbles of the bed, seeking to tug out the shaft, he gazed up at Maldred desperately. He tried to speak, could not, and pointed urgently instead, not at the King, nor where the King had been, nor at their betrayers, but at the two young princes, shocked, bewildered and trying to control their plunging, lashing mounts.
Maldred himself was unhurt, his horse likewise, having been part-hidden behind the others. His first impulse was to leap down to Cospatrick's aid, but the sheer command and authority in the dying man's eyes constrained him. Again the Earl stabbed a finger at the princes — his last act on this mortal scene, as his knees gave way and he collapsed into the swirling river.
Maldred sought to pull himself together. He found that he had drawn his sword. The King's body was drifting away slowly in the current, weighed down by its gold scale-armour. Clearly Malcolm was dead. Everywhere around was savage, hopeless fighting, Morel and Gulevant now turned and leading the attack from this south bank.
Dragging his terrified horse round, he raised his sword and made a furious slash at Gulevant — and had the satisfaction of seeing that knight's shoulder droop within his armour and his sword fall splashing from nerveless fingers. But with the men who swarmed out at them from this south bank almost reaching the princes, he recognised his duty, and Cospatrick's last command. Kicking his mount cruelly, he reined over to where Edward and Edgar were gazing about them helplessly.
"Come!" he shouted. "Nothing to be done here. Quickly. Back. We will . . . avenge them . . . later!"
Edward reacted, pulling his mount round. But Edgar merely stared, appalled.
Reaching out Maldred grabbed the young man's reins and jerked his beast to face the north bank. Across the river, and on that bank also, furious fighting was in progress, the remainder of the Scots party battling valiantly but hopelessly against overwhelming odds. Many had already fallen; the s
tony bed of a swiftly-running river could hardly have been worsened as a defensive stance — and the sloping river-bank little better. The Earl Dolfin of Cumbria and the Mormaor Malpender of the Mearns were seeking to rally the survivors into some sort of coherence, the former hampered by his brother, the young Cospatrick whom he had hoisted before him on his horse, clearly wounded sorely.
Maldred, splashing up, yelled for them all who could to close in behind him into some sort of formation, the nearest to a wedge that was possible in the circumstances. To cut their way back and out. Nothing more was possible here — although this surely was self-evident. He was the most experienced soldier there and automatically took charge. Malpender reined his mount over to Maldred's side, slashing down two men who sought to stop him. The two princes and Dolfin managed to pull in behind the older men, and those of the escort who could, ploughed their awkward way over, to fall in as tightly as possible at their backs, to create something like an arrowhead, for mutual defence, support and impetus.
Maldred did not wait for any late-comers or consolidation. Swinging his sword in figure-of-eight before him, he turned his beast's head half-left, upstream, spurring hard. This ran them into deeper water, leaving the ford's shallows; but at least it had the effect of shaking off their attackers on foot, who were soon out-of-their-depth. When the water became so deep that the horses were all but swimming, they were forced to turn in to the north bank, about one hundred yards up from the ford.
Margaret the Queen Page 47
