Margaret the Queen (5 page)

"If my humble services are required, Princess, and if Bishop Ethelwin agrees, I shall be honoured to remain with you
..."

There was a commotion at the low-browed door, and the King himself stooped to stride in unannounced.

"Maldred," he jerked. "I may need more men. When you win back to Dunfermline, have MacDuff of Fife muster another host. Two thousand will serve. To be ready if I send for them. Ready to march with all speed to Cumbria. You have it?" He turned, to glower at the women. "I march within the hour, ladies. You will sail for Scotland so soon as you may. You will be safe there. Maldred mac Melmore will see to it. Until I return. The Prince, here, can go with you, or ride with me — whichever he pleases."

"Edgar — in sweet Mary Mother's name, do not leave us now!" the Princess Agatha cried. "You
must
not go. Sire — we need him. You do not."

"As you will. I but reckoned that he might wish to take a hand in settling his score with Cospatrick."

"No — he has his duty to me and mine, first. In this grievous coil. If go to Scotland we must, Edgar must accompany us."

"Aye. I think that I see why he has not won his English throne!" Malcolm said heavily. But he had scarcely looked at either the older woman or her son once during this exchange, his eyes being concentrated on her elder daughter's delectable person, so much more in evidence than was customary. Margaret must have been very well aware of his assessing gaze, but she ignored it, did not even make any special attempt to cover herself more fully or to huddle down in to the bedding like her sister Christina. Maldred admired her spirit the more.

"My brother did not win his throne because his reputed friends and William's reputed enemies, deserted him, Sire. Or never so much as lifted hand to aid. Although . . . nearby."

"Ha — you think so, girl?" The King stepped over, to where he could look down directly on her. "You conceive all to have a duty to rescue this prince?"

"I conceive that all who profess to hate the Norman usurper and his savage ways should have rallied to send him back to Normandy!"

"So-o-o! You are free with your opinions, for the daughter of a landless man!" he growled.

"But the grand-daughter of two great kings, Sire — Stephen and Edmund Ironside!" she gave back.

He frowned — and then raised surprised brows as the girl Magdalen appeared, to insert herself neatly between him and the princess, to stoop and slip a cloak from her own couch around Margaret's bare shoulders. It was deftly done. As she moved modestly away again, she contrived to make an immodest face at the interested Maldred. Margaret herself acted as though nothing had happened.

Malcolm glared, snorted, began to speak, and then turning, stamped out of the cottage.

"Thank you, Magda," the princess said calmly, into the hush.

After a moment, Maldred followed his monarch out, uncertainly.

2

Scotland showed at
least a scenic welcome for the refugees, as the galley limped up the Scottish Sea between the Lothian and Fife coasts, with all echoes of the storm gone, the late-autumn sunshine golden and the air crisp and clear. Maldred stood, with the three young women and the monk Oswald, on the roughly-repaired bows-platform, pointing out the landmarks on either side, the soaring, mighty Craig of Bass and the lesser islands of its group, with the little red-stone cashel or Celtic Church monastery on Fetheray and the green cone of North Berwick Law behind, all backed by the long heather hills of Lammermuir — this on the south; and to the north the yellow beaches, rocky headlands and fishing-havens of the East Neuk of Fife, with the cave-pitted cliffs of Kincraig, near where the great MacDuff, Earl of Fife, had his ferry. He named for them the great bight of Aberlady Bay on the one side and Largo Bay on the other, the twin breasts of the Lomond Hills, which he took the opportunity of calling the Paps of Fife — and stole a sidelong glance at his hearers to observe any effect — gesturing ahead to where the extraordinary crouching-lion-shaped peak of Arthur's Chair and the fort-crowned rock of Dunedin, or Edinburgh, seemed to challenge a range of taller hills, the Pentlands.

"Hills everywhere!" the Princess Christina said. "I had heard that there was nothing but mountain and rock and bog in Scotland. How can men live in such a place?"

"We live very well," Maldred replied tartly. "As you will have need to discover, perhaps."

"At least it is a beautiful land," Margaret put in soothingly.

It was nearing noon. They had left Wearmouth the previous afternoon, only some twelve hours after King Malcolm had marched off, not daring to wait longer, despite the state of the vessel, so anxious was Prince Edgar — although the other three ships had remained at their anchorage meantime. But they had brought some of the passengers from the other craft with them, so that the galley was much overcrowded — Hungarian and Saxon notables of the Atheling Court. Maurice, the Hungarian ship-master, found them all a trial.

The visitors were surprised when, passing the cliff-girt island of Inchkeith, Maldred signed to the shipmaster not to turn in southwards towards the lion-shaped Arthur's Chair and the cluster of lesser hills around it, where clearly there was a sizeable town and associated haven for ships, but to continue on up into what was now a narrowing estuary. They passed three more islands, on one of which Maldred pointed out the cashel of St. Colm — he was concerned to make it evident to these proud Romish Church travellers that Scotland was indeed a Christian country, with many monasteries and religious houses, even though they did not recognise the Pope of Rome as Christ's deputy. To the monk Oswald's question as to who was this
Saint
Colm, distinctly emphasising the word saint, the younger man declared strongly that he was the devout and vigorous missionary, Columba of Iona himself, from the Celtic Church in Ireland, who had come to convert the Cruithne or Picts here centuries before the English, the Saxons and probably the Hungarians likewise, had even heard the name of Jesus Christ.

The girl Magdalen at least seemed to find that amusing.

Quite soon after this exchange Maldred indicated where, ahead, thrusting promontories on either side narrowed the estuary to little more than a mile across, with an islet in the centre. This was the end of the Scottish Sea, he informed. Beyond it was the Firth of Forth, which continued for many miles more up to Stirling. Here he directed the shipmen to steer the galley in to the north side, where in a little bay behind the cliffs of the promontory, there was a substantial stone jetty at which there were already two vessels moored, and a number of small fishing-craft. The great Highland mountains of the west, some already snow-streaked, had now come into view, blue and jagged in the distance.

When they had tied up, and the protracted business of landing and unloading was proceeding, Maldred went to find a messenger with a horse who would ride the four miles north to Dunfermline, where King Malcolm had established royal residence, to fetch back many garrons and carriers to help transport the visitors. Also, of course, to inform the Queen of the situation.

Inevitably there was quite a lengthy wait, and while their elders sorted out and arranged what was to be taken and what left, the young people decided to walk for at least part of the way, Maldred leading a party of perhaps a dozen, glad enough to stretch their legs after the constrictions of the ship.

They climbed inland by a winding track which lifted and dropped and rose again over a series of gentle ridges of pastureland, cattle-dotted, with small farmsteads and strip cultivation. As the land rose, the prospects widened and became ever finer, all the tremendous Forth valley stretching westwards, the firth narrowing to the river emerging from the mountains of Lennox, while as far as eye could see, to the south, the hills of Lothian reared their shadow-slashed ramparts above the coastal plain. Even Christina Atheling had to admire.

They had covered almost two miles before a convoy of men and garrons passed them, heading for the harbour under one of the palace stewards. Maldred offered to detach two or three of the horses for the young women, but Margaret would have none of it, declaring that the exercise would do them good. They had kilted up their long gowns for ease of walking, to the admiration of their escorts, even Oswald, entrusted with carrying the precious Black Rood casket, hitching his black Benedictine robe to reveal hairy legs.

They rested for a while beside a large isolated boulder, recumbent on the crest of one of the rolling ridges, which interested Margaret sufficiently for her to enquire how it had got there, so great a stone by itself. Maldred explained, pointing to humps in the cattle-cropped turf around, that it was all that remained above ground of a stone circle. The Cruithne, who occupied the land before the Scots came from Ireland, were sun worshippers, and these circles, of which there were a great many, were temples of a sort, usually set on high places, the stones aligned most exactly to point to the sunrise position at certain times and seasons.

"They were great sundials, then?"

"More than that. It is said that they enshrined much knowledge now lost to us. Of the heavens, of other worlds, of the weather and the seasons. Ancient wisdom . . ."

"Heathenish superstition!" Oswald amended.

"Not so. My father says that we have lost much in discarding this knowledge. He says that in some matters their learning and understanding was far above ours. . ."

"Such talk is foolish and wicked, such knowledge sinful — like that of the Assyrians and the Babylonians. Of the Devil. Let us be on our way, princesses — this place is evil!"

"Who are you to say what knowledge is foolish or sinful?"' Maldred demanded warmly. "An ignorant Englishman from a Northumbrian village! A mere monk — whilst my father, as well as an earl, is an abbot of Holy Church!"

"You are condemned out of your own mouth, young man — since no true abbot could ever have a son. Holy Church forbids it. . ."

"Is that your Dunfermline we see ahead?" Margaret asked, moving between them. "Up on the terrace, with the trees? It looks a fair place."

Maldred swallowed. "That is the cashel of Saint Ternan. He came from Ireland, with Farlane the Strong, long ago.

Farlane built his dun, or fort, further over, to the west. You cannot see it yet. That is where the King has his tower and palace. At the dun. Dun Farlane — it has become changed to Dunfermline."

They moved on, while Maldred told them more of the sturdy, fearless and strong-armed missionaries of the Celtic Church, who had brought Christianity to this land in no uncertain fashion, and of the Keledei, or Friends of God, their present-day successors in the cashels and monasteries. Oswald marched along behind, tight-lipped, frowning.

Prince Edgar, his mother and the others caught up with them as they neared the monastery of St. Ternan. The prince very much took charge now. He had been here two years before, in 1067, after a preparatory expedition to try to establish a base for his attempt on the English throne, in Cospatrick's Northumbria, had suffered defeat at the Norman usurper's hands, and fled to Scotland. He insisted that his sisters be mounted, as befitted their rank, and that they rearrange their clothing and tidy their hair, blown by the breeze. He instructed Maldred to go on ahead and inform the Queen of Scotland of their arrival.

"The Queen's Highness already knows of your coming," he was told. Maldred did not like Edgar, and it is to be feared that he was not very good at hiding his feelings. "If she is ready to receive you, she will no doubt be waiting."

Proceeding along one of the many little ridges of that strangely folded land, presently there were sudden gasps from the ladies. They had reached a point where the ground dropped away abruptly, unexpectedly, before them into a deep, winding glen, its sides scattered with thorn-trees. And rising out of the centre of this glen was a narrow, isolated mound, glacial of origin, steep-sided on all flanks save that to the east where a sort of spine rose more gradually. Crowning the summit of this mound, within the green ramparts of an old fort, Farlane's dun, reared a tall square stone tower, almost in the Norman keep fashion, totally unlike any Scots or Celtic hall-house or rath, stark, strong, uncompromising. Stretching eastwards from it, within a high-walled enclosure, was a range of lesser, lower buildings, part stone, part timber coated with clay and whitewashed in more typical Scots style.

"That . . . that . . . ?" the Princess Agatha exclaimed. "Is that it? We have come to . . . this?"

"That is Malcom's Tower, yes. I told you that it was no palace, no suitable house for a king, Mother. Or even a modest thane . . ."

"The King has houses, palaces, at Forteviot and Dunsinane and Kincardine," Maldred interrupted. "Forts and raths amany. But he prefers to live here. He chose to build this tower and house. He is not a man for great palaces and large Courts. A warrior-king."

Without comment the visitors moved on down into the Glen of Pittencreiff.