Margaret the Queen Read online

  Maldred was undecided thereafter as to his own programme. The King's orders to him had been merely to escort the Queen here, with no further instructions. One part of him was for returning to Dunfermline forthwith, duty done. But Ingebiorg appeared to assume that he was attached to her as aide and friend, as well as cousin — and certainly she was notably short of male attendants. Moreover, the young princes begged him to stay, a while at least. He lingered, therefore — although that was scarcely an apt description of the flurry of activity in which he found himself caught up, playing his part in the rehabilitation of Kincardine Palace, its facilities and amenities. There was an endless succession of tasks for an energetic young man to tackle, the Queen urging him on, and indeed working hard herself, like any housewife.

  So the shrinking days passed quickly enough, and long evenings round the hall fire, with music and singing and story-telling, made pleasant relaxation for tired muscles. The youngest of the Queen's ladies, Cathula, daughter of the Thane of Aberlemno, began to take a more than passing interest in Maldred, which he did not actually discourage — although again he found himself not infrequently comparing, her unfavourably with Margaret Atheling or even Magda daughter of Oswin. She was sonsy rather than pretty, amiable, cheerful, uncomplicated and good company for any normal young man; but there was little of the challenge, fascination and sheer quality which kept drawing his thoughts back to Dunfermline. Being indeed entirely normal and male, he took what he was offered gladly enough, gave his share in return, but remained uncommitted.

  It was not all work, of course — or at least, the work could be varied with occasional hunting expeditions. Kincardine was famous for its deer-drives. The mountains to west and north abounded with herds of red deer, and one of the earlier monarchs had ordered a great wall or dyke, of earth and turf, to be raised, many miles long and with angled bends in it, on the same principle as the defensive ditch and ramparts round a fort, towards which the deer herds could be driven but which they could not cross. Even so, most of the animals escaped, of course, for their fleetness of foot, when they swung sideways or bolted back from the wall, called for skilled archery indeed on the part of the waiting hunters and drivers both. The Mormaor Colin and his younger son Malpender, and some of the older Mearns thanes, co-operated in these drives — the others were away with the King's armies — and Maldred managed to acquit himself adequately enough. It was important for all such lordly households to lay in a store of smoked venison, to be kept in underground ice-houses, for the winter feeding, before the deer grew thin on account of their pastures being under snow. So Maldred helped to stock the palace ice-house as a change from more domestic labours.

  December brought different weather, drier, colder, with frosts and clear days, but occasional flurries of snow. It was after a fairly heavy snowfall, one day in the second week of the month, that Maldred decided that it was time that he was gone. Travel in these conditions grew ever more difficult, not only because the snow could close the passes but because the rivers rose, and in a land mainly without bridges, the fords became impassable and the low-lying ground flooded and marshy. He usually spent his Yuletide at his home at Dunkeld in Atholl; but that required the King's express leave-of-absence. So it seemed to be time to take his leave of the Queen — and Cathula nic Neis — and return to Dunfermline.

  At eighteen years, farewells were easily effected and quickly over, and promising to return before long, he rode off alone southwards, ice-puddles crackling beneath his garron's hooves. He wondered, in fact, whether he would be back, for he had not forgotten Ingebiorg's hint that she intended to contrive a return to Orkney.

  Despite worsened road conditions, he completed the return journey in half the time they had taken to come. To his surprise, he found that the King had still not returned to Dunfermline, where a curious vacuum situation prevailed, with the distinguished visitors lacking hosts, and nobody in a position to take major decisions. Almost inevitably, perhaps, the strong-minded Margaret Atheling was doing what she could, supervising the palace steward and his staff, meeting the day-to-day questions and problems. But all otherwise was in a state of suspension. The Athelings were glad and relieved to see Maldred back — at least Margaret and Magda were — as some representative of the reigning house, if not for more personal reasons. So that, young and junior as he was, he found himself the authority at the palace on the rock.

  If they were denied the monarch's presence at Dunfermline, they did not lack news of his doings. It seemed that he was very busy in Northumbria, the same Northumbria in which he had grown up, enjoying himself and doing what of all things he liked best, however little his victims enjoyed the process — that is, raiding on a massive scale. The reason and excuse for this change of plan — if such was needed — was that his cousin the Earl Cospatrick, once King William had departed southwards, had refused to submit to Malcolm and had instead left Cumbria and headed eastwards across Northumbria to his own powerful fortress of Bamburgh, which had been his seat when he reigned as earl and which he had managed to retain because of its almost impregnable situation. So now he was inside Bamburgh, with Malcolm besieging it, aiming to starve him out — since he could by no means capture the place — meantime the Scots filling their days by spreading havoc far and wide over the great province, burning, slaying, pillaging, to their hearts' content, all in the name of suitable and necessary discipline and pressure. As an excellent by-product, never-ending columns of slaves and serfs, the strongest of the men and the most acceptable of the women, were being sent back to Scotland by the thousand — along with vast herds of cattle, horses and sheep, of course — to improve the King's popularity at home. Word indeed came daily to Dunfermline to the effect that there was not a village or township or valley in the Merse, Teviotdale and Lothian, without its quota of these useful Saxon captives, to the satisfaction of all.

  Such tidings, of course, scarcely rejoiced the hearts of the Saxon Athelings, although they were glad enough to hear that the renegade Cospatrick was receiving his due deserts. But there was nothing that they could do about any of it.

  It was apparent that the King was not going to be back for the annual Yuletide festivities. Equally evident that Maldred could not gain the necessary royal permission to go home to Dunkeld for the occasion. Anyway, he could scarcely abandon the Athelings and Dunfermline once again. He felt in duty bound, therefore, to try to organise some sort of celebrations to mark the festive season, however modest — and in this he was encouraged and to some extent aided, by Margaret, indeed all the Atheling women, although Edgar appeared little interested. It was a pity that Margaret's ideas as to what was desirable harped distinctly on the religious aspect, which was not always the most spirited. After all, Scotland — or at least Alba — had been celebrating Yule for long centuries before the missionaries arrived with their Christ Mass, and the pagan festival of the Rebirth of the Sun had been, as it were, amalgamated with the Christian anniversary of the Birth of the Son of God, in highly satisfactory fashion, producing a rousing and prolonged succession of activities to suit all tastes and temperaments, lasting for the three weeks around the winter solstice. The Celtic Church was broad-minded in this matter — as in others — but apparently the Roman Church was not, at least as represented by the Athelings. In these circumstances Maldred felt that there was little point in seeking to assert his Scots point of view too strongly, since it was only a token Yuletide he could arrange anyway; but still he stood out for certain basic ceremonies and observances — and came to recognise still further the qualities of will, determination and conviction in Princess Margaret, and the disadvantages for those who sought to oppose her, however kindly and patiently she marshalled them.

  In the end they made do with a mixed and distinctly patchy series of events — it would be inaccurate to call it a compromise, for that was an attitude to which the princess could not subscribe — the least exciting and colourful Yule which Maldred had yet experienced, if the most pious. Even so the Athelings only too
k part in a selection of what went on, and after due consideration, needless to say those activities wherein they could trace no least hint of pre-Christian or heretical practice, thereby missing much hilarity. For instance, at the very start, at Yule Girth, the seventh day before Christmas, they did not grace the proclaiming-of-sanctuary ceremony wherein all sinners, wrongdoers and felons generally were assured of immunity from arrest and punishment until Up Halie Day — on the grounds that sin was always to be fought to a standstill. Two days later the Mistletoe Bough saturnalia, modest as it was on this occasion, was boycotted for obvious reasons. Log Even's selection and the drawing-in and lighting of the Yule Log, was ostracised in favour of the Mothers' Night adoration of the Virgin, on Christmas Eve. The decoration of doors and windows with holly and mistletoe on the Christmas Day was frowned upon as pagan, although they all did take part in the feasting after an inordinate proportion of the day had been passed by the Athelings in private worship with the monk Oswald. St. Stephen's Day thereafter was of especial reverence to the visitors, because of its linking with the later St. Stephen the King, Princess Agatha's father; nevertheless his family did not participate in the lively business of Stoning the Devil as retaliation for the stoning of the first Christian martyr, or even eat of the Martyr Cakes, with their red jam to represent blood, for which they had some unspecified objection. Hogmanay, of course, with its large-scale drinking, was anathema. And so on up till Up Halie Day itself, the Eve of Epiphany, the twentieth day of the celebrations, with its fires and dancing to be frowned upon as barbarous.

  Despite disagreement on such matters, however, Maldred got on very well with Margaret — from whom he could not hide his admiration; and on a different level with Magdalen, with whom he established a close companionship — even though there was challenge, too, in their relationship, and she seldom failed to berate and mock him over his all-too-evident preoccupation with the princess, her beauty, her spirit and her strange authority. With the other Athelings he could find little or nothing in common.

  So the festive season passed. And then, in the bleak days of mid-January, King Malcolm came home.

  Tension immediately reigned at Dunfermline again. It seemed that it was that man's role, quite apart from his royal status and absolute power, to carry with him this aura of restless unease, a sort of prevailing if unspecified threat. He came back in triumph, the victor, laden with spoils, handing out gifts, in as high good humour as was in his harsh nature. Yet still the tension was there, the menace implicit.

  The sense of unease was scarcely lessened, for the palace occupiers at least, by the fact that he brought home with him, of all people, Cospatrick mac Maldred, lately Earl of Northumbria, cousin, former ally, recent foe and now apparently colleague again. At least the Earl did not act the prisoner in any way, cheerful, noisy, brash even. A handsome man of about thirty, in a raffish way, high-coloured, well-built, with an ever-ready laugh, he was the son of the former King Duncan's second brother, where Maldred was son of the third, Malcolm himself being Duncan's own son, although illegitimate. It seemed that, hunted across Northumbria from Cumbria by his cousin, after the Norman had retired southwards, and going to ground in his fortress of Bamburgh, he had fairly quickly wearied of siege restrictions — for he was a man of impatience and constant change — and perhaps concerned at the havoc being wrought in his former earldom by Malcolm, he had made a deal with his besieging cousin, to yield his fortress and all rights he had in Northumbria, for 4500 merks — how they had arrived at the figure was not explained. This to include his own freedom. So here he was, seemingly uncaring and prepared to be on the best of terms with everyone, including Edgar Atheling whom he had so recently abandoned.

  Needless to say, he got scant response from that quarter.

  While the King made no effusive greetings or courteous attentions towards his neglected guests, he had at least thought to bring Margaret a gift, a handsome gold and jewelled crucifix, no doubt looted from some Northumbrian church. He thrust it at her, as soon as he saw her — and it was obvious that there was nothing brought for the others.

  "A trinket — since you like such things," he jerked.

  She took it, after only a moment's hesitation. "I thank you, Sire. It is very fine. Too fine for me. This should be in some house of God. Not in a poor woman's hands."

  "Better so," he said. "Too good for snivelling priests!" And he glowered over at the Benedictine Oswald.

  "Then we shall find good use for it, my lord King."

  Cospatrick was eyeing her appreciatively, assessingly. "For one so fair, I would have brought gifts, myself, if I had known," he declared gallantly.

  "And had them less gratefully accepted, my lord Earl!" she gave back, coolly.

  The faint hint of a smile flickered over Malcolm's stern features. "Beggars make poor givers!" he said tersely.

  "What news of William, Sire?" Edgar asked, turning shoulder pointedly on Cospatrick. "Where is he now? And in what state?"

  "He returned to York. Without battle. Because of risings in Mercia and the Welsh Marches. Passed Yule at York."

  "Risings? God be praised!"

  "Is it God to be praised? Or myself who sent emissaries to rouse the risers?"

  "These had scarcely the time, I think. . ."

  Scowling, Malcolm turned to Maldred. "You, boy — come." He beckoned him aside. "What of Ingebiorg? And where are my sons?" he demanded, but lower-voiced.

  "The Queen is at Kincardine, as you commanded, Highness. The princes with her . . ."

  "A curse on you! I did not say to take them also, fool!"

  "But the Queen did — and she is the Queen. You sent no word as to them, that reached me. She said . . . that they needed a mother's love."

  He chewed one of his cruel down-turning moustaches. "They must be brought back. She, she went readily?"

  "Very readily, my lord King!"

  Malcolm glared at his young kinsman. "She is better away. An ill-minded woman. I should have sent her away long since. How is it at Kincardine?"

  "Well enough. When I left, before Yule. The Mormaor Colin aids her."

  "Aye, he would. He was never my friend. One of MacBeth's men." He shrugged. "This other—the Atheling? How is it with her?"

  "The Princess Margaret? She is well, as you can see."

  "Tcha! How did she take Ingebiorg's going?"

  "I did not ask her. Nor did the Queen seek the Athelings' sympathies."

  Those pale eyes glinted at him. Then the King turned back to the others. "You!" He pointed at Edgar. "What is it to be? What do you do now?"

  "Me? Do? What can I do? Here in Scotland . . . ?"

  "You could be otherwhere. Slip secretly into England. Stir up others to join in these risings against the Norman. Seek arouse those Saxon lords of yours — Leofwine, Eadred, the Eald of Craven was it? And the rest your sister named. Or you could go to Hungary. Raise an army from your kin there. You will not win your throne sitting here!"

  "How could I do that. . . ?"

  "He could not bring an army from Hungary," the Princess Agatha protested. "They would need to march for hundreds of miles, to the sea. Then require hundreds of ships. Whose ships? Hungary has no sea and ships. And to go into England, alone, without an army, would be to go to certain death. It would soon come to William's ears. Every Norman in the land would be searching for him, every Saxon traitor being bribed ..."

  "So, what?" their less-than-pressing host demanded.

  "If we overstay our welcome here, Sire, then we can only go to Hungary. As first intended," Edgar said stiffly. "But not to raise an army. That is not possible there ..."

  "Did I say aught of overstaying welcome? I spoke of winning a throne."

  Margaret intervened. "My lord King would sooner have you here, I think, brother, than sailing for Hungary. His concern is to keep Duke William at bay, is it not? To trouble the Norman by keeping England unsettled and astir behind and around him. He can effect that better by having the true King of England here in
Scotland, a threat, than away in distant Hungary where he is no threat. Meantime, I think, better than wandering secretly in England either. For from here you could possibly lead an army southwards. Not merely stir a few Saxon lords to revolt. Am I not right?"

  Her brother moistened slack lips at this acute reading of the situation, but said nothing.

  King Malcolm looked at her narrowly, thoughtfully.

  Then he barked a short laugh, something he seldom permitted himself. And swung on the deferentially waiting steward. "Meat!" he commanded. "Victuals. Wine. Without delay. See to it. I am hungry. As are all here. . ."

  Next morning, Maldred sought leave-of-absence from the King, to visit his home in Atholl. Madach, his eldest brother, had returned with the army, and was homing also, much richer than when he had set out. They would pick up Kerald, the second brother, on the way, at the Abbey of Culross — the abbot there would not prove difficult towards his Primate's son. It was a long time since all three had been home together. The King did not refuse the request, although he was less than gracious about the business, Maldred gaining the impression that the monarch was displeased with him over something. He bade farewell to Margaret and Magda, and expressed the hope they would still be there when he got back. Madach, a cheerful, stocky and uncomplicated young man three years older than Maldred, volunteered the information that if he had been on such easy terms with two so attractive females, Atholl could well have waited indefinitely for his return.