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Authors: Nigel Tranter

Tags: #Historical Novel

Margaret the Queen (39 page)

BOOK: Margaret the Queen
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The Horndean ford led them into Northumbria, and after some persuasion and slightly-veiled threats, the extremely doubtful Prior Horulf of Ubbanford received them and took reluctant charge of his new novitiate, very much aware of how vulnerable he and his priory were to pressure from Scotland, across the river, in the event of non-co-operation.

Maldred left his cousin there. Cospatrick said that he would stay at Ubbanford for a week or two, possibly, learning the basis of his new identity, having his head tonsured and generally turning himself into a convincing mendicant friar. Then there would be a quiet funeral for the erstwhile fugitive. Earl Cospatrick; and thereafter he would set out on his wanderings. Just what these wanderings were to consist of, he did not detail. He said that he had various enquiries and discreet visitations he wanted to make in North Northumbria and elsewhere, then he would make his way back to Ersildoune in Lauderdale, where he proposed to settle down near his family and his own March earldom's castle. He would send for Maldred there in due course. Clearly the mendicant friar had no intention of becoming any less the autocrat, in essence, because of his change of habit.

It was a full
month later, in high summer, with Magda and the baby settled in at Dunbar and enjoying the seaside life, when Maldred got his summons to Lauderdale. On this occasion he did not take his wife. The message was brought by a so-called serving-brother, in reality a body-servant of Cospatrick's own, whom Maldred had previously known as Patie's Dod, still with something of the clash of steel about him, monk's habit notwithstanding.

At the Earl's Town of Ersildoune, four miles up the River Leader from its junction with Tweed, his guide brought Maldred to a cot-house built some way apart from the other houses and hovels of the community which served the new castle, under the green cone known as the White Hill of Ersildoune. This proved to be no ordinary cottage, normal as it looked from the front. For one thing, it was much larger than it seemed, with a quite long rear extension consisting of cowhouse, stable and other domestic quarters. The front part was in fact fitted up as a simple chapel, with altar, candles, piscina, aumbry and lectern, in the Romish fashion. But behind this a vestry door led into a large and comfortable chamber for living and sleeping in, with a stone-built fireplace and flue, a couch of skins, a paved floor with rugs of deer-skin and sheep, a table, benches, coffers and plenishings. Patie's Dod — or Brother Ulfric as he was now to be called — revealed that this was his lord's new dwelling-place. He himself had a shakedown off the cowshed nearby.

Cospatrick was not present at the moment — no doubt up at the castle with the children, Dod said. The Earl had now assumed the character of chaplain and confessor to his own family, it was explained — which seemed to Maldred a distinctly risky development, however tempting and convenient. Nevertheless, when Cospatrick turned up presently, he was indeed hardly to be recognised as his former dashing self. Clean-shaven of his little forked beard and thin down-turning moustaches, with his twisted head and sagging shoulder, short-cut hair — to say nothing of the tonsure — and grey, long monkish habit, it would have taken a keen eye to suspect that this was the celebrated earl of heretofore.

"Ha, my son — greetings, in the name of God the One in Three and Three in One!" he intoned, and sketched the sign of the cross over Maldred, grinning — a grin that at least was no more sanctimonious than formerly. "Welcome to my lowly retreat and poor eremitage. Ulfric, man — wine! A beaker for each of us. And full, man — full! It is plaguey thirsty work, this holiness!"

"So — it is all as you proposed and forecast," Maldred said. "Friar Anselm, indeed!"

"Ah, no. Anselm, I decided, did not suit me. So I am Friar Eadwulf, a notable healer of diseases of the skin. I do not actually cure leprosy — but anything else, come to me — with a suitable offering — and I shall see what can be done! Ah — drink up, cousin. Thank God I had a good supply of Burgundian wine laid in at the castle, whilst I had opportunity."

"I thank you. But — is this wise, Cospatrick? This of the castle. And your children. So close . . ."

"Eadwulf, man — not Cospatrick! Never that. Cospatrick is dead. Did you not hear?"

"To be sure. All Lothian and the Merse rang with it. But — your family. Are the children not bound to talk?"

"Not them. Think you that I have not warned them sufficiently? And you would not have me to abandon my own bairns? They need a father. Now they will have a better, closer one, than they ever had. Holier, too! Forby
, the castl
e has its advantages." And he gestured with his wine-beaker.

"I can see that. But
..."
Maldred shrugged. "You always were sure of yourself."

"And with reason," the other agreed. "Have I ever failed you, myself, or my friends?"

"Some might say so. You are namely for, for changing sides!"

"Only a fool does not change when his wits tell him to. Dealing with kings and rulers, a man changes — or suffers! Mind you that, young Maldred. Especially rulers such as Malcolm and William, bastards in more than their birth! Either would sacrifice you, or me, at a snap of their fingers. But — sit, man. It is Malcolm I sent for you to speak on. Ulfric, oaf — bring food. Meats, do you hear? For the Lord Maldred
..."

With his cousin settled at the table eating, and eating well, Cospatrick went on,

"I want you to go to Dunfermline, to see Malcolm for me. Tell him, in closest secrecy, that I am alive. Tell him that I can be of much use to him. That I want my son Cospatrick, young Pate, made Earl of Dunbar and March in my room. And tell him. . ."

"Pate? But Pate is your
third
son. What of Dolfin? And Waldeve? Dolfin, I have heard, was born bastard. But Waldeve. . . ?"

"Aye. Waldeve, shall we say, had some doubt about his birth, also! It happens, now and again! Besides, young Pate has the wits of them all. Waldeve is like his unfortunate uncle of the same name, a little weak. He will do for the Church, belike. So — Cospatrick to succeed me as Earl here. As for Dolfin, have Malcolm create him Earl of Cumbria in the room of his uncle
..."
"The Earl Waltheof? Is he dead?"

"My foolish brother is William's prisoner, in some Normandy ca
stle, and like to remain so. As
is Morkar. As would be Bishop Ethelwin — but he died."

"De
ar God! But, see you — how can I
have the King create earls of these boys? Think you he will heed me, in so great a matter. . . ?"

"Perhaps not. But he will heed
me.
Or the message you bring him from me. He has all but lost Cumbria. Galloway too. All of Strathclyde is at risk. Tell him that — although he knows it well enough. I will make it my business to watch over Cumbria. Secretly, to be sure. I will move about therein, unknown. I have lands there. Unknown —-but
knowing
all. I know all the lords and the churchmen. My father, to be sure, was Maldred, Prince of Cumbria, Duncan's brother. So, I will keep Malcolm informed, and more than that. Let him appoint a governor for me to work through, meantime. But my Dolfin to be Earl there. He is twelve years now. In a few years he will be able to rule there. That is my price. If Malcolm wants to save Cumbria for his realm."

Maldred stared. "For a dead man, you speak strongly!" he said.

"As I have reason to do. And am able to perform. I am not yet forty. Think you that I am going to spend the rest of my days doing nothing, playing only the friar? Norman William will not live for ever. When he goes, there will be changes, large changes, with those weak sons of his. Who knows, there may be a resurrection from the dead! That Waldeve Siwardson — who is also cousin, see you — will come to a bad end, that I swear! So Northumbria could lose its earl again. And I will be waiting. Duke Robert and William Rufus think none so ill of me — I have fought at their sides. So — one day, Maldred, you may see Cospatrick, Earl of Dunbar and March again, Earl of Northumbria again and Earl of Cumbria also! A territory half as large as Scotland itself."

His cousin had no words.

"Tell Malcolm that, man. Tell him that I could put Scotland's Border at Tyne and Ribble instead of Tweed and Esk. Tell him. You have it?"

"I, I hear you, yes." Maldred shook his head. "Whether Malcolm, or any other, will believe you . . . ?"

"I do not ask him to believe it. Only to wish it! The wish will do. He needs such wishing, see you. I will provide it." Cospatrick rose. "Now — if you are sufficiently fed and refreshed, cousin, we shall ride."

"Ride? You . . . ?"

"Both. A servant of God so sore distressed in the body as I am, may surely ride, on occasion, as well as tramp the land? I have a- suitable fat palfrey, which was my daughter Ethelreda's pad . . ."

So, side-by-side, the cousins rode off, sedately, down the Leader in its fair wooded valley, the four miles to its confluence with great Tweed, Cospatrick bestowing casually sketched benedictions upon any individual they happened to pass on the way, in seemingly absent-minded benevolence, Maldred seeking to school his expression.

Where the two rivers joined, a quite large promontory of suddenly higher land had been formed in the loop, not liable to flooding, the
meall rhos
of the name Melross, whereon had been one of the earliest and most famous Columban monasteries in southern Scotland, or Bernicia as it then had been. Founded by St. Aidan, as an offshoot of Lindisfarne, in the mid-seventh century, here St. Boisil and St. Cuthbert had been successive priors. But, like its parent-house, in time it swung over to the Romish adherence; and in 859 the heavy-handed King Kenneth MacAlpine had sacked and burned it for such apostasy. In the intervening two centuries, although used intermittently as a hospice for travellers and as a settlement for Saxon slaves, it had never been restored as a monastery. Its farmery and mill on the low ground, remained intact however, and these were run by tenants of Cospatrick. This proved to be their destination.

It was not the farmhouse they made for, nor yet the mill, but higher, for the ruins of the old monastic enclosure itself. Here one of the low-browed buildings had been rethatched and made habitable, clearly recently, and another, on which four monks were working, was in process of being restored, evidently as a church of sorts. Something familiar about one of the men attracted

Maldred — and when he got closer he was astonished to recognise the monk Turgot, Margaret's confessor. One of the others was a fine-looking older man, with the hot eyes of a fanatic, the others ordinary serving-brothers.

Cospatrick smiled. "I perceive that you recognise our friend from Dunfermline. In changed circumstances — like myself! Such is the lot of man, God's will being done! And this is the Prior Aldwin, lately of Jarrow. And Winchcombe, was it? An even more notable churchman, I am assured."

The two priests greeted Maldred distinctly warily, Turgot acknowledging him by name as the Lord Maldred, but referring to Cospatrick as Brother Eadwulf.

"What brings you here?" Maldred demanded. "Working with your hands. In this sorry place. How come you . . . ?"

"None so sorry, man," Cospatrick intervened. "One of the most sacred fanes in the land, once. And may be again — who knows?"

"Perhaps. But Brother Turgot was the Queen's chaplain a month back, no more."

"The King's Highness has never thought well of me," Turgot said. "He ever suspects me. Of over-much weight with the Queen. He has banished me, for the second time."

"Then what do you here?"

"Friend Turgot was making south down Lauderdale when he came to rest for the night at Ersildoune," Cospatrick explained. "Someone told him of my humble self, and he came to me. Earlier, while I was at Ubbanford, our friend Prior Aldwin here arrived there, a fugitive from his priory of Jarrow-on-Tyne, whence he had been ejected by a Norman nominee of the new Archbishop Thomas of York, who has succeeded old Eldred. This is happening all over England. He was at a loss where to go, what to do. So, in all due humility, I proposed that he and Turgot should come here to ancient Melross. Form a community here again. And, who knows, perhaps build it up to what it was before?"

Maldred was almost beyond being surprised by Cospatrick mac Maldred. But to accept him as a founder of monasteries and protector of ousted priests, demanded considerable mental adjustment.

"Why?" he demanded, baldly.

The other shrugged. "Now that I have embraced God's cause and service, you would not have me slack in it? Or turn my back on my fellow-servants in their need?"

That from the greatest cynic it had ever been his lot to meet, left Maldred little the wiser. "These, then, know who . . . that you are . . . ?"

"That I am Eadwulf, who has been other. Come to God late in life perhaps — but with the more need to make up for time past! But still with some small sway in this land, it may be. On both sides of Tweed."

BOOK: Margaret the Queen
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