Margaret the Queen (17 page)

His hearers' consternation was not to be hidden. Anger too, of course; but alarm and dismay were clearly uppermost.

It was Godfrey Crovan who recovered his wits first. "Why should we believe all this?" he demanded.

"Why should
we
devise it? And
how,
if it was not the truth? Send to the Earl Waltheof and ask him, if you do not believe me."

"The forsworn turncoat. . . !"

"I say, rather, a wiser man than you are, my lord! In that he perceives how William the Bastard is using him, using you all, to fight his battles for him, to try to bring down Malcolm at no cost to himself, that
he
may rule Scotland, as well as England. Through the child Duncan."

"Since when has Waltheof been of this mind?" Paul asked. "We had a messenger from him but four days back. Nothing was said of this."

Maldred took up a leg of roe venison. He tried to sound assured. "He no doubt has constant word from the south, from William at York. From those close to William. As has Waldeve, from Deira. He has learned the truth." He feared that was less than convincing, fie added. "And Cospatrick, like Malcolm, has his own information."

"Aye, Cospatrick!" the Earl Erland exclaimed. "That one I do not trust. Where comes he into this?"

Chewing, Maldred racked his wits. "Cospatrick has
reason
to mistrust William. He knows him, was his ally. And was betrayed. Dispossessed of his earldom. He aided William and then saw a Norman, de Comyn, given his Northumbria, put in his place. The same will happen again — with Northumbria and Cumbria both. William has done it all over England and Wales. Replaced the Saxon and native lords by Normans. Think you, when he controls all —
at your
cost — that he will not put more Normans as Earls of Northumbria and Cumbria? Aye, and Galloway too, belike. Or Man, for that matter!"

That made an impact, at least. Doubts chased themselves across every face.

"It is not only William," Paul said, after a moment or two. "More than he moves against Malcolm."

"The Norse? King Olaf? Who is now your overlord in Orkney!" He threw that last in deliberately. Olaf's father, Hardradi, had managed to reassert the Norwegian ascendency over the islands, nominally at any rate, on the Earl Thorfinn's death, to the Orkneymen's chagrin. To the brothers' glares, he went on, taking a chance. "Did he, Olaf the Farmer, tell you that he was sending a fleet? Or was it William who said it?"

It was evident from the expressions that he had guessed aright; the word of the Norse participation had come from the Normans.

"If they do come — which, I say, all should doubt — it will be on the east. And little help to you here in the west. Like to be as much use as was the Danish fleet to Edgar Atheling, at York!" That more or less exhausted Maldred's doubtful armoury of words, his playing on their fears. "So you are left with only the Earl Somerled of the Hebrides. But he is your man anyway — another cousin. Landing in Argyll, Dalar, he will not threaten Malcolm direly. Or serve
you
greatly."

There was a short silence. Then Paul said, "This of the Norman. Even if it is as you say, our quarrel with Malcolm is not only on William's behalf. It is on behalf of our own sister. Whom Big Head misused. And, we are told, slew with poison."

It had had to come to this, of course, sooner or later. "Who told you so, cousin?" Maldred asked, levelly.

"More than one. Whom we trust." Erland said that.

"I say that that can only be idle talk. Hearsay. Who could tell the truth of the matter? The Queen sickened and died. Without known prior illness. But — many do that. I was in Atholl when Ingebiorg died. So I cannot tell you how it was. . ."

"You had been there. You it was who took her to this place, we were told. I misremember the name. Where she died."

"Yes. But that was weeks before. Before Yule."

"So you do not
know
how she died," Erland insisted. "You only say that you
think
that she was not poisoned. You cannot deny it. She was buried hurriedly, secretly. At this place. On Malcolm's orders. He was not present."

"That is no proof of poison."

"It is proof that he had no love for her. And he is a hard and violent man."

"So was your father. That does not make him a poisoner."

"His
father was — King Duncan. Whom MacBeth slew."

Paul intervened. "On this, you can speak with no authority, cousin," he said. "So we shall use our own wits, make our own decisions. For the rest, we thank you. We must needs confer. Consider what you have said. Decide on our course. We shall leave you to eat in peace."

"Yes. One last word, my lord — do not march until the Earl Cospatrick comes. He will be here in three days, or four. He has more to tell you than have I. I am but his messenger. And, and he who is close to Malcolm, declares that Ingebiorg was
not
poisoned. Him you should ask . . ."

With varied expressions they filed out.

* * *

The three days that Maldred spent with the Viking host at St. Cuthbert's Town — for Godfrey Crovan's Manxmen were mainly of Norse-Danish extraction also — held for him a strangely unreal quality. He was in a sort of limbo, idle after all the great and hurried riding of the previous days, largely shunned by his involuntary hosts, with only the Earl Paul in any way civil, all initiative now out of his hands, not knowing what was being decided, what the true situation was outside Galloway, what his own immediate future was likely to be. It was all frustrating, unsettling, for a young man of his active and direct temperament.

At least, the army remained stationary meantime. He could claim little credit for this, however, since he gathered that they had all along been waiting for a further contingent from the Isle of Man; also for great numbers of garrons scoured from all the Galloway countryside, since they could hardly have brought these on their longships.

The days passed slowly, with little enough to occupy his mind, although he made what he could of seeing to the comfort of his five-score men. But the evenings were better, for these Scandinavians knew how to enjoy themselves; and though their visitor was scarcely accepted as part of the proceedings, he was allowed to sit in, as it were, at the nightly feasting and entertainment. There was no lack of provender and good cheer — Galloway was probably being ransacked to provide it; and the divertissements which went on during and after the meal were as unstinted, indeed apt to be uproarious, much wilder, disrespectful, even scurrilous, than was ever the Scots custom. Nothing and no one was sacred to Arnor Earl's Skald and his minions, even, indeed particularly, his masters Paul and Erland Thorfinnson — with parody and ridicule generally taken in extraordinarily good part, although occasionally there was fury, fisticuffs and flagons thrown. Inevitably Maldred came in for some derogatory references from the sagamen, skalds and storytellers, but nothing that he could not grin at or swallow. He came to the conclusion that, given more propitious circumstances, he could get on well with these Norsemen — but that he would not like to have to fight them.

Then, on the fourth evening, Cospatrick duly appeared, with his weary following, travel-stained, all but exhausted with homeric riding. Not that the Earl allowed himself to show it. He came into the great camp as though he owned it, shouting for the Thorfinnsons and Godfrey Crovan, a picture of assurance and cheerful authority. Even Maldred was impressed.

From the start Cospatrick took it that the projected campaign against Scotland was off, that anything else was unthinkable, that he pitied his young kinsmen from Orkney for ever having been so deluded as to consider the matter, whilst hootingly deriding his old friend and fellow-veteran Godfrey of Islay for not knowing better, for taking William the Norman at his word and for not advising the young earls more wisely, he a man of experience. Not for a moment did he give any other impression than that the project was dead, that the others would have come round to realising this in due course anyway — but that they certainly owed himself his meed of thanks for having saved them all from folly and disaster if not ruin. Waldeve Siwardson so esteemed his intervention, he confided — but then, poor Waldeve had never been of the brightest, easy meat for William's wiles. He ought to be on his way back to Deira by this time.

It was rather extraordinary how the others accepted all this as valid, factual — and despite Cospatrick's reputation for untrustworthiness and double-dealing. Presumably it was his personality, allied to his sheer arrogant confidence of manner, which carried the conviction. Maldred had to some extent paved the way for him, admittedly; but the real conquest of the others' intentions and will-power was all his own. At any rate, without it having to be declared in so many words, it was agreed, before they slept that night, that invasion was no longer practicable, and that the offence concerning King Malcolm would have to be assuaged otherwise. Maldred deliberately retired early, not wishing to become involved again in the vexed subject of the Queen's death, so what Cospatrick told the bereaved brothers he did not know nor wished to know.

They had a day of relaxation thereafter for Cospatrick's tired escort and horseflesh — which that indefatigable manipulator turned to good purpose — as he saw it — by convincing the now distinctly purposeless and at-a-loose-end Vikings, to prevent them having second thoughts, that the obvious thing to do with all their fine mustered strength was to sail across to the Isle of Man and take it over as a suitable appanage and dependency of the Orcades and Hebrides — after all, it had once been part of the Sudreys, the Southern Hebrides; and its present king was unlikely to rise from his sick-bed in Dublin. Godfrey Crovan, needless to say, backed this programme wholeheartedly — as Cospatrick had foreseen — declaring that he would be happy to rule Man for the Orkney earls. The brothers had not actually committed themselves to this adventure when Cospatrick and Maldred took their leave next morning, but clearly they most probably would do so, for it would serve to save their faces, allay the sense of anti-climax in their army, and show some suitable return for all the trouble and expense they had been put to. Also it might conceivably lead to greater things, for the sickly Godfrey was King of Dublin as well as of Man, and who knew what possibilities might arise, with Man as a stepping-stone to Ireland, most of the east side of which was in the hands of second and third generation Norsemen and Danes.

So the Scots company rode off northwards on St. Moluag's Eve, the second day of March, reasonably satisfied that they left a much improved situation behind them — except for sundry folk on the Isle of Man — and took even a sort of grudging gratitude with them.

Maldred was admittedly at a loss as to what to think of this cousin of his, Cospatrick. He did not know that he was any more prepared to trust him than before — less so, perhaps. Yet he could not but admire his agile wits, his genius for persuasion, his dash, courage and elan. It occurred to him that he might, in fact, have made a suitable king for Scotland had Duncan Ilgarach had as eventual successor his brother, the late Maldred, rather than his illegitimate son Malcolm.

After riding a while at the Earl's side, he spoke. "Did Paul and Erland believe you as to Ingebiorg?" he wondered.

"God knows! But I did my best for Malcolm." "Aye." Maldred left it at that.

A little later, he resumed. "What of the Earl Waldeve of Deira? Was he as easily convinced as was your brother?"

Cospatrick grinned. "He is of a more sceptical turn of mind, is Waldeve. But I think I persuaded him where his present advantage lay, see you. And I won him out of Bamburgh."

"How did you do that?"

"I said that Malcolm would take it unkindly. As might I. And that a Scots army could be at Berwick-on-Tweed, twenty-five miles away no more, in not so many days' time."

"Oh. And he accepted that? And is now on his way back to Deira?"

"He will be — if he believes half what I told him. . . !"

7

It took some
time for Maldred to adjust himself to the atmosphere which they found prevailing on their return to Dunfermline. It was as of holiday and celebration, with no least hint of danger or threat of war. It was not normalcy, far from it indeed, because Malcolm's Court and establishment had never been notable for gaiety and good cheer; but it was far removed from the urgency and emergency in which the Galloway party had been steeped. There was a preoccupation with conviviality and festivity. The Princess Margaret Atheling had agreed to marry the King, and the wedding was set for so soon as a month hence.

The newcomers learned this even before they reached the palace, had it shouted to them time and again as they approached and entered the town. If Maldred was surprised, almost shocked, Cospatrick was not, and said so, with sundry cynical, lewd and uncalled-for comments, so that they reached their destination in mutual disenchantment.