Margaret the Queen (50 page)

Cospatrick's grand scheme, so painstakingly built up, so wide in its ramifications, should not be abandoned because of the death of two men, and Englishmen at that. Others again proposed a waiting policy meantime — since there was no immediate threat to the Scots army. They had come so far, and were in major strength, let them therefore wait awhile and see how matters fell out. Maldred, for his part, kept silence. He did not, in fact, know what to think. He had never favoured the venture, and so, in one way, would weep no tears over its abandonment. On the other hand, it did seem a great anti-climax, and a swift return premature. Also, of course, it left Cospatrick with the Welsh and the Cumbrians, as it were high and dry. And the Welsh had been let down more than sufficiently in the past.

Malcolm listened to the discussion dark-browed, chin out-thrust, all amiability vanished. Fairly soon he had had enough. Suddenly he slammed palm on the faldstool at which he sat, and the Earl of Angus, speaking, stopped on the word.

"I despair of your wits, all of you," he jerked. "Am I ever to be surrounded by dolts? Can none see beyond their noses? See that all is utterly changed? Ligulf dead was sufficiently bad. But this Walchere's death means that all is of no avail. He was both bishop and lord here. Now there is neither, in Northumbria. No authority. I am here at his invitation — or was. That is so no longer. We are but invaders again. Not that I care for that. But it changes all. Walchere can no longer turn over Church and earldom to Scotland. Nor is any other in a position to do so. William and his precious brother Odo will chuckle over this day's work. It will mean a new Bishop of Durham and a new lord of Northumbria, a new earl perhaps. Who will they appoint? Not any man who will bring Northumbria to Scotland — that I swear! So, that dream is over — finished."

There was a heavy pause.

"But, my lord King, you can still
take
Northumbria!" Madach said. "You are here, unopposed. None, no new bishop or earl, will be in a position to oppose you, for long, for many months, I would say."

"I cannot take the Church, the bishopric, man. And without that, and no one to command the Northumbrians to support me, I could not
hold
Northumbria. Save perhaps by constant war. No — we have lost all authority here. Save that of the sword. It is not enough. Tomorrow we turn back."

"Good!" Dufagan MacDuff exclaimed. "And must we continue to love and cherish these wretched Northumbrians, Highness? In this new situation?"

"No," the King said simply, and rose, the council over.

So, next day, without any further dealings with the people they had come to embrace, not even a royal farewell accorded to Aldwin and Turgot, the retiral commenced — as did Northumbria's ordeal. For now there was no attempt to restrain or discipline the army, and the expedition became just one more traditional harrying and spoiling rampage, this time of an utterly defenceless land. Far and wide the Scots ranged and ravaged, secure in the knowledge that there was no force, local or national, to check or punish them. They left a vast trail of fire and blood, pain and sorrow and ruin behind them. From an army, the host became no more than a mighty collection of looters and cattle-drovers, and progress homewards sank to a mere four or five miles a day.

Maldred, Madach and some others protested to the King, but with scant success. He told them that if they were so nice they could order their own contingents to cease from all spoliation and ride doucely home like monks — and see how popular that made them. For himself, he held that having been brought all this way for nothing, the men deserved some little recreation and profit where they could find it. Maintaining an army, otherwise unpaid and beholden to different lords, was not a task for the lily-livered and the chicken-hearted.

The Scots' wooing of Northumbria was over before it really started, and Cospatrick's great conception gone for nothing.

It was the
following spring, 1080, before Maldred saw his cousin Cospatrick again. The Earl's mother-less family at Ersildoune all were now growing into their teens, and
presumably their father did not judge it necessary to see so much of them; indeed "Uncle Maldred" now probably meant more to the four of them than did their erratic sire. He, Cospatrick, had spent the winter in South Cumbria and Wales, where he appeared to have made new friends — no doubt sickened meantime with the Northumbrian situation and his Scottish connections. Nevertheless, when he eventually arrived one windy April evening at Dunbar, still in his guise of wandering friar, he appeared to be his normal, cynically cheerful self. Maldred had anticipated a bitter tirade against the King and most others, but nothing of the sort eventuated. He said, in fact, that Malcolm had probably made the sensible decision, in the circumstances, however uncomfortable it had proved for himself.

"Did not the Welsh turn on you, when they heard? After their trouble in mustering and arming?"

"The Welsh are well used to such treatment. They raided over into the Marcher earls' domains of Montgomery and Powisland and Flint, for a week or two, and then went home. I had more difficulty with the Cumbrians — although some were thankful enough, I think, that they did not have to fight. They have been peaceable for too long for their good! I had promised them much Norman wealth!"

"So what did you do?"

"I led them raiding also — what else? The Church Militant! Chester and Northwich will not soon forget us! I much increased my popularity with the Cumbrians, in the end.""

"So — all your fine schemes and great travels came to nothing more than the old and usual cross-border reivings? Rapine and murder."

"You could say that — thanks to the folly of others. But you would weep no tears for that, Maldred, I think? You were scarcely in favour of it all, anyway."

"I was, and am, well enough content with our border at the Tweed. But
...
do you grieve for Walchere?"

"I grieve for Ligulf. Walchere was foolish, weak, in the end. He allowed himself to be surrounded and led by worthless men. That monk Leobwin, Gilbert the Sheriff and others. Acting the
earl is not for churchmen — if I
should say so, an earl who acts the churchman!"

"Not for churchmen — save Odo!"

"Ah, yes — Odo. There is a fowl of a different feather! Northumbria will not forget
him.
For generations." "He was worse than Malcolm?"

"As compared with Odo and his Normans, Malcolm and the Scots are but as playful lambs! You must have heard what he did to Northumbria?"

"I heard that he had come north a month past. And harassed the land. As punishment for thinking to rise against the Normans
..."

"Harassed, you say! He
crucified
Northumbria —
my
earldom! Such savagery as no-one has ever before seen. Always the Normans have been harsh, cruel. But this was beyond all. He set Deira and South Northumberland ablaze from Tees to Tyne — aye, and used the people's blood to quench the flames! Untold thousands died. The land is left a smoking ruin."

"I had not heard. He did not come north of Tyne. So . . ."

"No. He had to turn back. When news of Gerberoi reached him. Esteeming it to be much worse." "Gerberoi. . . ?"

"Lord — you have not heard of this, either? There was a battle, a siege, at Gerberoi, in East Normandy. William was wounded — and by his own son, the Duke Robert. William was besieging Robert in the fortress of Gerberoi. Philip of France came to Robert's aid. There was a great battle. Robert sallied out, and struck down his father. A month ago, and more."

"And William? Is he sore hurt?"

"Unfortunately, no! Less so than at first thought. He lost much blood. Men thought that he might die. So Odo hurried south from Tyne, sparing North Northumberland, his ill work only half-done. But — he may come back. That man thirsts for blood! And this is he who would be Pope!"

"Pope?
Odo.
..
!"

"No less. That is his aim. He makes no secret of it. Which is partly why he and Lanfranc are such foes. Lanfranc has said that he would rather die than see Odo on the papal throne."

"Save us — but even Rome would not see that fiend head of its Church?"

"Be not so sure, cousin. There have been popes almost as bad. But — he may not win it. For it is said that William himself is against it. Does not relish having to kiss his half-brother's toe! William may stop it."

"William — he is still in France?"

"Yes. Nursed, will you believe it, by his son Robert! In an access of remorse, for striking down his own sire. A strange way to bring these two together again."

Digesting all this, Maldred shook his head. "At the least, it should prevent William from moving against Malcolm meantime — for having broke his oath of allegiance and invaded Northumbria."

"Perhaps. But if I was Malcolm mac Duncan I would not rely on it. William never forgets. Does Malcolm keep his armies mustered?"

"In part. Each earl and thane and lord is to be ready to have half his full strength ready to march in three days, the rest in a week. I have
your
men so ordered here and at Ersildoune."

"Aye. And I see that you keep up the watch on the Tweed crossings. Which is wise."

"That is, in part, why I am here, is it not? Although I should not foresee any attack from Northumbria in this situation, should I?"

"I think not. These new men, appointed by Odo, are not yet sure of themselves. You know of them?"

"I know that there is a new earl and a new bishop. Both Normans
..."

"Not a new earl. Sir Aubrey de Coucy is only governor of Northumbria — and misliking the task, I hear. Only William can make a new earl, and he has other things to think on, in Normandy. This de Coucy is Odo's man. The new bishop, William de St. Calais, is likewise one of Odo's friends — but he is appointed by Thomas, Archbishop of York. So I suppose that he is truly Bishop of Durham. In time, no doubt, these two will turn their faces against Scotland. But meantime they have sufficient on their hands. I would say that, what with this and that, we might look for one year of peace on the Border. No more."

"And for that we are to be thankful?"

"Most certainly. It is more than we can usually say. And we must make good use of it. For one thing, it is a good opportunity to work young Dolfin into some responsibility in his earldom. He is fifteen years now, and should be old enough to begin to act the Earl of Cumbria. Still under Madach's guidance, to be sure. I am going to take him over to Caer-luel and let him meet and know some of my new Cumbrian friends . . ."

"I had hoped, cousin, that with this hope of peace for a while, you yourself would resume your earldoms. And so allow me to return to my own place in Atholl."

"No, no, lad — not yet. So long as William lives, Cospatrick mac Maldred must remain safely dead, I fear! I had hoped that this wound might have been the end of William — when I could have resurrected myself. He hates me does the Bastard of Normandy — I have crossed him too often. If he heard that I was alive indeed, his outlaw still, he would arise from any sick-bed and come for me! Malcolm would not weaken his position by offering me protection — that is sure. So I would be a hunted fugitive again. And if caught, either decapitated like Waldeve, or immured in perpetual imprisonment like Morkar, Siward Biorn, Roger of Hereford and Hereward of Bourne. No, I am better as I am meantime. And you serve me as deputy very well. You are comfortable enough here, are you not? Stewarding two earldoms. It is not many young men who have so much of power, not born to it. You would be none so well employed, in Atholl."

"My father is old-getting, less than strong. He has little interest in his earldom. And with Kerald dead, Madach governing Cumbria, and myself here, all is not well with Atholl."

"In a year or two Madach will be able to go back there. As Dolfin takes more into his own hands. Madach is your father's heir, not you. So it is his affair, is it not? And, talking of heirs — you now have a son, I hear?"