David the Prince - Scotland 03 (4 page)

Edgar did, if abruptly. "Would you have had me slay him? Take his life? My own father's brother. It was that — or what I did. He had twice grasped the throne. Once from Duncan, our half-brother, once from myself. He would have done so again. Is he better in my kitchen? Or in the grave?"

"So it was justice and expediency — not evil." Henry waved a hand towards the dancers. "And this - this could be folly, misdemeanour,
balourdise
—
but is it evil?"

"Yes," the two brothers said.

The dancers retired, to loud applause, and a single singer with a lute came in. There was no doubt about the sex of this one, at least, for dressed in the height of fashion, he nevertheless wore an enormous image of an upright male organ strapped to his groin, flesh-coloured, perhaps three times the size of even the most ambitious, and this he waggled and flapped as he minced and capered, strumming his lute the while. As he broke into a song, catchy and tuneful but quickly evident as obscene as his appearance, Edgar mac Malcolm suddenly rose to his feet.

"Enough!" he jerked.

All his party rose also, of course, even Henry, although he delayed for a moment.

"I thank you, my lord Henry, for your courtesy," the King of Scots said, shortly. Then drawing himself up, he looked towards William at the dais, and nodded his head in the merest suggestion of a bow. Turning, he stalked to the nearest door, his people after him.

Unknown as it was for any guest to leave the monarch's presence lacking express permission, none could confidently assert that this applied to another monarch, even William. That man, as abruptly, laughed loudly - as dutifully did most of his supporters. The singer sang on.

The Scots party returned to St. John's Hospice. David went to his own palace quarters, where were his sisters. And Henry Beauclerc walked back to his place at the dais-table and resumed his seat, ignored by his brother.

* * *

The next day's Crown-wearing ceremony was, in fact, something of an anti-climax, certainly nothing worth the Scots having made all their long journey to attend. But then, it was not meant to be. It was merely an excuse, to remind them and all others that William was master and that the King of Scots must come at his bidding. Any other pretext would have served equally as well. It was not directed only at the Scots, of course, but at all Rufus's feudal vassals, the Norman baronage in especial, which his father the Conqueror had set up and which by its very nature was liable to become uppish and out-of-hand. The native Saxon chiefs and ealdormen were now little trouble, fairly thoroughly cowed. But some of
the new Norman earls and lords had waxed altogether too powerful for the King's liking, some owning as many as two hundred manors. William greatly blamed his father for so lavishly rewarding his old comrades-in-arms-or allowing them to reward themselves. So every now and again he held a Crown-wearing demonstration, just to remind all concerned of their true position, of
his
powers and their subordination, at which it was obligatory to attend, on summons. It was, in reality, just a sort of repeat of the coronation, much foreshortened. There had not been one for four years.

A herald came that morning to command that the King of Scots be in position in the forecourt of the cathedral by one hour before noon. Edgar treated this instruction with reserve, especially when young David arrived at the hospice with his two sisters, shortly after, and mentioned that they had been told that they must be in their place inside the church only twenty minutes before noon. So it was evident that their elder brother was going to be kept hanging about outside, like some underling, for almost an hour, with the ceremony itself not starting until mid-day. He decided to delay his appearance considerably.

The two Scots princesses, from the nunnery at Romsey Abbey, aged nineteen and sixteen years, were attractive girls, however unflatteringly dressed - as was to be expected in daughters of the beautiful Margaret Atheling- but very different in appearance as in character. The elder - actually she had been christened Eadgyth, given a Saxon name like all Margaret's children, but had always been called by her second name of Matilda - was a tall and very lovely creature, fair-haired, well-built, prominently-breasted, with a quick wit and equally quick temper.. Whereas Mary was more like David, slight, dark, quiet, with fine eyes and a thoughtful expression. They greeted their elder brother warmly enough, but they did not really know him very well, for one way or another most of his life had been spent apart from them. And they held it against him somewhat that he had never managed — if he had really tried - to get them out of the clutches of their Aunt Christina, Abbess of Romsey, and a monastic life which Matilda in especial loathed. They were not nuns, in fact, but had long been treated almost as such by their sternly pious aunt. This was hardly the occasion for much discussion on that long-standing problem, and William Rufus's part in it, but the subject did not fail to come up, if briefly.

In due course, as it drew on towards mid-day, the herald arrived back in some agitation, to demand, in the King's name, why the lord Edgar of Scotland had not appeared, as commanded, before the cathedral. He must come, at once. The herald was considerably more upset
before, some
time later, the royal party, with the other Scots notables, set out eventually in a distinctly leisurely progress through the climbing streets, thronged even more notably, to the higher part of the city.

Edgar found Flambard the Justiciar in charge outside the great church, who greeted him coldly but with a hint of relief. The group of notables assembled there were no more forthcoming. But then, none of them looked particularly happy or pleased to be present anyway. Edgar recognised only a few, including the Earls of Surrey, Shrewsbury and Warwick, but most were unknown to him. He guessed that all were in much the same situation as himself. These three he knew certainly were not William's friends, so probably the others were not cither. None, so far as he could see, had graced the dais-table last night. Like himself, they were being used, forced to take a prominent part in this ceremony, as indicative of their dependence upon and subservience to King William.

David and his sisters were hurried off by one of Flambard's minions, to take their allotted places in the cathedral. The rest of the Scots party were ignored entirely.

David was surprised to find himself being led up through the already crowded church of St. Swithin to quite a prominent position near the chancel-steps, amongst the great ones. This was a new experience, for hitherto his family had been almost entirely disregarded by the Red King and left in no doubts as to their unimportance. After last night's performance, it would be foolish to imagine that this represented any change of heart. So, when he and his sisters were placed at the front of the chattering, richly-clad throng in the south transept, facing into the crossing, he decided that they were there to be seen, for William's own purposes - and these were unlikely to be kindly. He perceived, directly opposite, Henry Beauclerc standing, a little way apart from the rest in the north transept, but with two ladies, both over-dressed and neither beautiful. The prince waved a greeting to David.

"Who is that?" Matilda asked. "Someone prepared to know us!"

"Prince Henry, the King's brother. The one we told you of, who aided us last night. I do not know the women."

"The taller one is the Princess Adela, Countess of Richmond and of Blois. She came to Romsey with another sister, the Abbess of Caen, in Normandy, last year. I do not know the shorter one. Probably another of the King's sisters."

They gazed around them at the vast congregation —although it was not really that, for almost certainly this was not to be any occasion for worship. William was wholly irreligious, hating all priests and priestcraft; and the chattering, noisy company gave no indication of being aware that they were in a sacred edifice. No doubt the cathedral was being used merely because it was the largest building in Winchester.

Henry surprised again by coming strolling over to them. "A good day to you," he nodded, casually friendly. "Not improved by wearisome waiting! For myself, I mislike all such mummery." He was speaking to David but his eyes were on Matilda. "I vow that your royal brother, too, will be glad when it is over.

Is this . . . are these beautiful creatures your princess sisters? Make me known to them, I pray you."

"This is Matilda. And here is Mary, my lord Prince."

"Ah, yes - Matilda. And Mary. I am lost in admiration." He took Mary's hand and raised it to his lips, and then Matilda's -and hung on to it. "My eyes feast. I swear that I am going to enjoy this day's tiresome nonsense after all!" He looked into the older girl's eyes, frankly admiring.

"You cozen, my lord," she said, gently withdrawing her hand. "Amongst all your Court beauties, male as well as female, we are not for your notice!"

"Ha!" he observed. "That is the way of it, is it? Wit, as well as loveliness!
My
tastes, I would assure you, Princess, are not my brother's! Nor any of my family's, for that matter." He grimaced, and turned back to David. "Do you tell me, my young friend, that you have been hiding away this, this treasure in Romsey Abbey all these years?"

"We have been there, yes, for six years, my lord. As to hiding, I know not."

"Being hidden, perhaps," Matilda amended quietly. "Not of our choice."

"Sb-o-o! You would be out therefrom?" "Yes."

"I think, then . . ." he began, when the blare of trumpets interrupted him, a stirring fanfare echoing and rebounding amongst the lofty stone walling.

Henry bowed to the girls, shrugged ruefully at the same time, and walked unhurriedly back to his own place just as his brother made his entry from the chapter-house doorway.

William was dressed magnificently today in cloth-of-gold seeded with pearls, beneath a scarlet cloak trimmed with miniver and thrown back, a jewel studded belt around his ample waist. He had an ungainly walk as he strutted to his throne-like chair placed isolated just above the chancel-steps and in front of the screens which partly hid the choir and high altar. Behind him trooped his personal entourage.

Sitting, and the others arranging themselves behind him, a motley crew, mainly men younger than himself, the King raised a hand for silence.

"I greet you, I greet you all," he said, "on this the twelfth anniversary of my accession to this throne of England. In token whereof I command this Crown-wearing. Let all my friends rejoice. And let all my unfriends take heed, and tremble."

"God save the King's Grace!" Bishop Maurice of London, the only cleric present in evidence, intoned in a mellifluous voice, so much better attuned to the cathedral acoustics than William's high-pitched stammer.

Everywhere the shout was taken up. "God save the King's Grace. God save the King's Grace!"

Another flourish of trumpets was the signal for the great west doors to be flung open, to admit the procession. First came the King's Champion, a knight in full armour, white-painted, mounted on a huge pure white destrier or war-horse, white lance held high. Behind him came the royal Standard-Bearer, similarly mounted, bearing aloft the St. George Cross banner of England. The horses' iron-shod hooves clattered and slithered and drew sparks from the stone flags of the central aisle, as folk stared and gasped at such sight and sound in a church, some hastily crossing themselves. The two horsemen were followed by a splendidly-dressed double file of soldiers, on foot, halberds shouldered, marching to the rhythmic clash of cymbals, stamping the time.

There was only a slight gap before Chief Justice Flambard appeared, bearing before him a purple velvet cushion on which rested the Crown of England, a heavy, open gold band heightened with four spikes topped with trefoil heads, all studded with pearls. Flambard walked alone. Behind him the others came two by two. William dc Warenne. Earl of Surrey, Her-vey's father, carrying the sceptre or baton; and beside him, Robert de Bclleme, Earl of Shrewsbury with the orb lopped by the cross. Next came Simon dc St. Liz, Earl of Northampton with the golden spurs on another cushion; and Henry Beauchamp, Earl of Warwick with the ring. These were followed by the two Montgomery brothers, Roger and Arnulf, Earls of Lancaster and Pembroke, each holding a glove, and looking distinctly offended to be so doing. Then, walking alone, was the King of Scots bearing upright the two-handed sword of state. These represented all the coronation symbols to be paraded. But not all those Rufus wished to be seen as supporting them. A group followed, carrying nothing, led by Gruffydd ap Cynan, Prince of Gwynedd and Richard, Prince of Cornwall, with a number of others including Saxon ealds and thanes -none of especially high rank, for all such were dead or imprisoned. Finally there was another file of the soldiers, with more cymbal-clashing.

This illustrious column might well have looked highly impressive. But it was not intended to do so; and the desired end was achieved in two ways - by packing the individuals close together, so that they were all but treading on each other's heels, and by the soldiers, front and rear, forcing a very quick pace, timed by the cymbals. The result was an undignified, hurrying shuffle, which duly produced mocking smiles from some of the watching audience, frowns from others - and open laughter behind the King's chair. The horses of the Champion and Standard-Bearer misliking the cymbals, snorted and blew and sidled.