Margaret the Queen (48 page)

So with Patie's Dod, no longer dressed as serving-brother, to act as escort as far as the Border, and both better mounted than on the journey south, Maldred headed northwards next day, making for Tweed and the Scottish Sea.

They rode much more swiftly now, and he reached Dunbar in two long days. There he collected Magda, who always enjoyed a visit to Court — or at least to see Margaret. She was pregnant again, but only in her third month and able to ride well enough.

Along the Lothian shore that late afternoon, they were making for the monastery of St. Wilfred at Abercorn, a Keledei place, to pass the night when, making up on a foot party of travellers, men and women carrying bundles, poor folk, Maldred was asked if they were on the right road for Queen Margaret's new ferry. Having to admit that he did not know, he asked in turn what and where this was that they spoke of?

"Och, sir, it is the good Queen, bless her," one of the men answered. "She has set up fine ferry-boats. At Ardgarvie. To carry folk across the water to Fothrif. To make the pilgrimage to her great new church at Dunfermline. Aye, and on to St. Andrew's shrine at Kilrymont too. Have you not heard tell of it?"

"No. We are from the Merse. And Dunbar. This is new?"

"Aye, new. All may use this ferry. To save the long road round. By Stirling's bridge. At no cost, mind. All at the Queen's own charges. She is a right good woman, that, English as she is."

"To be sure. Free, you say? And at Ardgarvie?"

"Aye. It is just across the water from Dunfermline, sir. Saving four long days' walking, and more, praise God. But we are not sure of the way
..."

"The road to Ardgarvie I know. In another mile, near to Dalmeny, there is a stone-circle. This road divides there.

Straight on to Abercorn and Stirling. Right to Ardgarvie. Then another mile, no more."

"We thank you, sir. May the blessed St. Colm and St. Serf and all others, smile on you and your lady . . ."

"I think that you will soon have to be changing your saints, friend!" Maldred commented, as they rode on.

"Think of that," Magda said. "Free ferries for the poor. Who would have thought of that, but Margaret? Even you will not deny her goodness, kindness!"

"I have never denied that, lass. But her thoughtfulness extends to more than the poor, I think!"

Nevertheless, when presently they reached the stone-circle near Dalmeny, he suggested that they too took the right-hand track to the Ardgarvie shore. If a ferry-boat was indeed there, it would save them fifty miles of riding.

Sure enough, down at a new jetty where a shingly small headland jutted out towards the rocky islet of Inchgarvie, and a larger point, Cult Ness, projected on the other side, narrowing the Scottish Sea to the Firth of Forth, a large flat-bottomed scow was just drawing in, with a load of travellers, some with pack-ponies. They did not all look like returning pilgrims, by any means, some seeming to be packmen and merchants. The scow had a single square sail and a crew of four men dressed in the dark habits of serving-brothers of the Roman Church, with long sweeps to manoeuvre the vessel and propel it when the wind was contrary.

They joined a group of waiting passengers, to lead their doubtful horses aboard by a gang-plank. When Maldred told the ferrymen that there was another party coming, just a mile behind, he was informed that there was no need to wait as another scow would be across from the Fothrif side in a short time. It was only a mile across at these narrows. In fact, they passed the companion ferry as they neared Cult Ness.

So, with only four miles to ride thereafter, they reached Dunfermline half-an-hour after landing, and a full day earlier than they had anticipated, even Maldred prepared to bless the Queen for this provision, at least.

Margaret received them warmly, as ever, laughing about her now normal state of pregnancy — and delighted to hear that Magda was in the same condition, however far behind in the reproductive race. The Queen now had four sons, Edward, Edmund, Ethelred and Edgar — and was praying for a daughter next. She seemed in no way concerned by all this child-bearing, apparently throve on it, for she was the picture of radiant health, a lovely and mature young matron of thirty-three years. She made use of the fosterage system, of course, as did almost all noblewomen, so that much of the burden of suckling and child-rearing was spared her. But she kept her sons with her in the royal apartments, not farming them out with foster-parents as was so often done, so that the small palace, being constantly added to as it was — mainly upwards on account of the restricted hilltop site — rang with children's voices. But not to the discomfort of adults and guests, for though a fond mother, Margaret was proving to be a strict one, with strong views on discipline and manners — and of course, on piety. Any infringement of her rules met with prompt and condign punishment, and the palace chamberlain had firm instructions as to dealing with excess of spirits, even to whipping the young princes when necessary. For all that, the youngsters clearly adored their mother — who was also their tutor, it transpired, educating them as no Scots princes had ever before been educated. It was not only in their Saxon names that they were different from all their predecessors.

Malcolm was absent at a council at Scone when the visitors arrived, so that they had Margaret to themselves for that evening and most of the following day — and much relished her good company and unaffected friendship, Maldred being careful, for once, not to introduce controversial topics, and Margaret herself only once or twice coming out with remarks which he felt it incumbent upon him to indicate had another point of view — despite the warning glances, even glares, of his wife. It was difficult not to embark on the subject which had brought them, especially as the Queen was eager to hear if Maldred had seen her friend Turgot and to learn about his doings. But he felt bound to reserve his business for the King's ears first, and Margaret no doubt recognised this and did not press him.

In the end, however, the Queen heard of the Northumbrian proposals just as soon as did her husband, for on Malcolm's return he joined them at once, unannounced, the three of them and the children, under the apple-trees of the tiny, slantwise orchard. There, dismissing the boys almost immediately, without preamble, he wanted to know what had brought his cousin to Court this time, unsummoned — since he had not come for love of seeing him, the King, that he swore. This whilst standing chewing at a leg of roe venison and drinking from a beaker of ale. Margaret's preoccupation with good manners and the civilities, for her sons, did not seem to have rubbed off at all on her lord and master. At Maldred's hint that it was all a matter of some moment and perhaps should be discussed in a more private place, the monarch jerked to be out with it, and not to play the self-important popinjay.

"Very well, Highness — if so you wish. I come, as usual, from Cospatrick. But this time also from others whom you know of — and indeed ejected from your borders for failing to take the oath of allegiance! The Prior Aldwin and the monk Turgot, friends of the Bishop of Durham."

"Ha!" the King said, and glanced at his wife. "Go on."

"They, all three, have a proposal to make to Your Highness. I am but the carrier of their proposals. For I doubt their wisdom and worth
..."

"I am not interested in your doubts, man. What do they propose, these beauties?"

"They propose that Northumbria should become part of Scotland. To the same extent that Cumbria is. And that the Church, the Romish Church, should lead the way."

"God Almighty!" Malcolm exclaimed—and recollecting, shrugged apologetically towards his queen.

"Yes, sir. It is no small matter."

"Well, man — well? What dizzard notion is this?"

"It comes in two parts, sir — the Church's and the realm's. Bishop Walchere now rules Northumbria wholly. As lieutenant as well as bishop. Did you know that the Earl Waldeve is dead? No? William — or Odo — has had him executed. There is a great anger in England, it seems. Never before have the Normans in fact executed a Saxon earl, however many they have imprisoned or slain in battle . . ."

"No doubt. The man was weak and a fool. What of it?"

"There is near revolt, especially in Deira and Northumbria. And Walchere is appointed to rule in his place. But the Bishop was Waldeve's friend — closer than brothers they were." Maldred's eyes flickered towards the women. "So Walchere hates. He is not a Norman but a Lorrainer. He aided us, you will mind, in the matter of Hereward and the Mercian earls. It must be that Odo, and King William, do not know of this hate — or they would not have appointed him. But however that may be, he is now prepared to put his see of Durham under you, sir. Under Scotland."

"Why, in God's name? What advantage to him, in that? And what good an English bishopric to me?"

"These monks see it as a way of getting out of the intolerable rule of Odo of Bayeux, the viceroy. Of throwing off the hated Norman yoke. They say that the Archbishop Lanfranc, who is Walchere's friend, and is at odds with Odo and the Archbishop Thomas of York, will approve. He admires Queen Margaret, we know. . ."

"He is my good friend and father-in-God," she agreed.

"And
my
advantage in this?" the King asked again.

"Since the Bishop rules Northumbria as lord now, there would be no opposition to your army, sir, if it marched in and took possession."

Malcolm stared, and Margaret caught her breath.

"They want me to do that?" the King demanded, almost incredulous.

"That is why they have sent me, Highness."

"But, Christ God — a bishop! A mere snivelling clerk dreams thus! Because his catamite is beheaded! What proof have I that all this is not the maunderings of a deranged dizzard?"

"I said, sir, that I doubted the worth of these proposals. But
...
I must remind you that Cospatrick is behind it, has been working towards it, I think, for long. He has been much in touch with Walchere. He sees himself as Earl of Northumbria again, no doubt. But
he
is no fool or dizzard. And there is more to it. The Thane Ligulf is the Bishop's right hand, in the rule of Northumbria. Leader of his forces as well as adviser. And he is deep in this
..."

"Ligulf I know. I knew him when I was a lad, at Bamburgh. He will be old-getting now. But a sound man and soldier. He is far-out kin to me, indeed — descended from the old Earls of Bernicia, as was my mother." Oddly, Malcolm appeared to be more impressed with this mention of Ligulf than with anything that had gone before. "If Ligulf is in it, there may be some sense to it."

"The way it was put to me, sir, was that with Ligulf commanding the Bishop's army, you could count on the Northumbrians not only not to oppose you, but to
join
you. And aid in repelling any assault by Odo thereafter."

"Aye. There is that. But — Cospatrick! He is clever — oh, yes. But I do not trust him. He would have me to win Northumbria back for him. And he had me make one son Earl of Cumbria, the other Dunbar and March. So — he could rule over a territory half as large as all Scotland! Who knows, the clever Cospatrick might think to topple me from my throne, one day — since he too is of the blood-royal." The King did not add that Cospatrick was the legitimate great-grandson of Malcolm the Second, whereas he was a bastard.

Maldred swallowed but said nothing.

"Husband — you should not harbour such ill thoughts of Cospatrick," Margaret rebuked, gently. "He has served you well these years past. Myself, I am not happy about armed invasion. But if it could be achieved without war, for Durham and the Northumbrian Church to come under Scotland would be a joyous thing."

"Once it was so, Highness. But it was the Columban Church then," Maldred reminded. "From Lindisfarne."

"Which clutch of churchmen is no matter," the King said, dismissing that aspect of the question. "What is important is whether, afterwards, I could defend the Tees to Kibble border. And what William would do."

"You have heard, sir, that William has suffered defeat? In France."

"Yes. But William is a better soldier than that Philip of France, a curse on him! He will not remain defeated for long. Odo I could deal with, I believe. But William is a different matter."

None actually reminded him of his oath of allegiance to the Norman.

"The monks Aldwin and Turgot believe that the Saxons of the South are so hot against Odo that they might well rise if Northumbria did. The Welsh are, as ever, stirring. Odo is fighting Lanfranc. So it could be that William, heavily engaged in France, and with his sons and Flanders against him, would not be in any state to march against the North for man
(
y a day." Maldred said that without any great conviction, for he had no wish to persuade the King to this course. "But one day, William would have to be faced, my lord King."