Margaret the Queen (53 page)

Maldred nodded. "I know my cousin," he said.

They watched the enemy forward force advance, a gallant sight, all glittering steel and chain-mail, colourful heraldic surcoats and banners, on heavy war-horses, perhaps one thousand strong. Behind, a mile or so back, could be seen a much larger host advancing. The Carron here was fully three hundred yards across, just out of effective bowshot; but there was a muddy islet in mid-stream.

The Normans reined up on the south bank, a group of notables under the great standard of England directly opposite the boar-banner of Scotland. For minutes the two sides eyed each other across the water. It was too far for shouting.

"They look fine enough — but they will have empty bellies!" the King said. "Go you, Gillibride."

The Earl of Angus, chosen as spokesman, and his banner-bearer, mounted and rode forward alone into the muddy waters of the ford. There was a causeway of stones beneath the silt here, otherwise there would have been no crossing, save by boat. As it was, the Earl's horses were up to their bellies. The two men rode out as far as the tidal mud-bank, on to which the horses mounted in a slippery slaister.

"I am Gillibride, Earl of Angus," that man shouted. "I speak for the most puissant prince, Malcolm mac Duncan, High King of Scots. He demands to know who you are who come in this martial array upon the soil of his Scotland, without his leave? And your business — which had better be honest!"

From the north bank they could not hear the answer. But presently the Earl came splashing back.

"The Duke Robert, my lord King — he who wears the whitened mail — says that he summons you in the name of the King of England, Lord Paramount, to lay down your arms and come to yield up your kingdom to him. He says that you have broken your royal oath of allegiance. That you are, in consequence, no longer King of Scots. That King William has deposed you. And that your son Duncan, in his care, will now rule Scotland under him, in your stead."

"Ha — he crows so loud, does he — this tanner's grandson! Go you back, Gillibride, and tell him . . . No, wait. We shall give him his answer otherwise. Horns, my friends — all horns to sound. Loud and long. Blow, I tell you — blow!"

At first only those around the King, but soon all along the Scots line the curling bulls' horns were lifted to lips, and the wailing, hooting cacophony rose and continued, a sufnciendy derisive bellowing to make the Scots attitude entirly clear.

Before it had finished, a splendid horseman and his bannerman detached themselves from the Norman central group and rode in turn into the ford and out to the islet.

"I am William de Warrenne, Earl of Surrey," this individual shouted, when the hooting had died away. "The Duke Robert requires immediate obedience to his commands. Or he will come for you, my lord Malcolm, in person. And be not gentle when he reaches you! He has eighteen thousand men to enforce his will."

The King answered that himself. "I, Malcolm, urge him to come, Norman!" he called. "I am ready for him. The only way that he will get across this river is over a bridge of his own slain! We shall see whether eighteen thousand bodies are sufficient for that — for there is a notable depth of mud! And we shall be waiting for such as remain."

Surrey turned and relayed that to the other side.

After an interval of mixed shoutings, he faced the Scots again. "My lord Duke reminds you, sir, that this river is none so long. A few miles up and he can cross it with ease. And once across, he will see that you pay for every minute that you have delayed him. Wiser to yield now — while you still have your eyes, at least!" Gouging out his victims' eyes was one of the Conqueror's methods of showing his displeasure with persons whom it was politic not actually to slay.

"Tell your duke that
his
eyes must be failing him if he has reached as far north as this and cannot see that he will get no further. And that his journey south again will be less comfortable — for such as may live to essay it! Remember that. And remember that none such will eat until they are over Tweed! As for this Carron river, I have other forces further up. Think you
this
is all the manpower of
Scotland
?"

While Surrey conveyed all that to his friends, the Queen spoke, strongly. "Malcolm — this is folly! Children's folly. Like bairns at play! Can grown men not do better than this? Shouting insults! Let us go speak to him, face to face. With some dignity. There is much to put to this Robert. . ."

"This one requires humbling before he will talk."

"And is this humbling him? Seeing who may shout the loudest threats? Our young sons could do better! Let us go out to that mud-bank, Malcolm. Ourselves. Call on the Duke to do likewise. And speak. If you went, he would come, I think."

"To what purpose? When he has three times our numbers."

"He may not have three times our wits, husband."

The King shrugged. "Very well. Even if we gain nothing, it can do little harm." He signed for the horses of his immediate group. Margaret insisted on accompanying them.

As about a dozen of them rode forward into the water, the Earl of Surrey and his banner-bearer decided to rejoin his colleagues.

Out on the islet, unlovely stance as it was for so illustrious a company, Malcolm, still under his royal standard, raised his voice.

"Robert of Normandy — if you have anything to say to me more cogent than these idle threats and insolences, come and say it here. I do not conduct my affairs by unseemly shouting. You will be quite safe — you have my royal word."

There was a distinct interval on the other bank, with heads together. Then a party of approximately the same numbers as their own reined forward under the English standard.

As the newcomers splashed across, they became less splendid than it had seemed at longer range. Their faces looked tired, strained and grey, actually ingrained with soot — the more easily discerned in that they were all clean-shaven and short of hair. Their fine linen surcoats, too, over the rather rusty chain-mail, were streaked with black and the char-holes left by burning embers. That last fifty miles through Lothian had left its mark. When they clambered up on to the islet, however, they did have one advantage over the fresher Scots — they sat much higher on taller, finer horses than the sturdy but squat garrons.

The man in the white-painted mail, on a magnificent black charger, was slightly-built and in his early thirties, bullet-headed and round of features. There was a distinct likeness to his father, but the strength of character was not there, even though he was scowling fiercely. Clearly he was surprised, and a little put out, to find a woman present. He jerked a mere nod.

"Lady!" he said briefly, then turned.
"You
are Malcolm . . . ?"

"I am. In granting you this audience, Duke Robert, let it be understood that I make notable concession. For your royal father's sake — whom I hear is confined to his sick-bed by grievous wounds. I should not otherwise have granted audience to an armed invader of my realm, I promise you!"

"You, sir, are no longer in a position to grant or to withhold audience — since you no longer are King!" the other gave back. "Did you not hear? My royal father has deposed you."

"Then his wounds, sirrah, must have affected his wits! Where did you strike him? On the head?"

The Duke glared. "Mind how you speak, sir — for your words will fall to be paid for! And sweetly."

"On
my
soul, man, I speak as I will. If you have aught to say to me, other than vain incivilities, then say it — and begone."

"Very well. Hear this. You, Malcolm, swore an oath of allegiance to my father. Before due witnesses — some of whom are here present. You took him to be your Lord Paramount, your kingdom a fief of his. You swore that his enemies should be your enemies. And that you would no more invade his territories. You broke that solemn oath. You invaded Northumbria, with fire and slaughter. You aided my father's rebels there. None of which you can deny. . ."

"I do so deny — all of it. I swore fealty only for my own lands in England. As must any man. I did not invade Northumbria — I went there at the express invitation of the duly appointed and lawful lord and governor there the Bishop Walchere of Durham. As to fire and slaughter, I made only some due punishment for the grievous murder of the Bishop and governor, by his rebellious levies. Then returned home."

"You burned half the North, sir! Hexham town, and others. Due punishment, you name it. . . ?"

"I but made a gesture, as was proper. As your sire's friend. Did not your uncle, the Bishop Odo, come north thereafter and do the same? Only in more notable fashion!"

Robert coughed. He and his Uncle Odo did not agree. "It was invasion, however you name it. You came to pillage and steal. We know your intent — to try to take Northumbria for Scotland. An act of war, in clearest violation of your oath. . ."

"I have stated my intent. Do you, sir, know it better than I? I came to assist Walchere the governor, who had rebellion on his hands. And died of it."

"So you say now. But I am not come to trade tales with you, sir. I am here to convey to you, and to execute, my father's royal will and commands. To pronounce your deposition
..."

"May I speak, my lords?" Margaret put in, clear-voiced. "Of your charity, hear me. Lest there is further misunderstanding. My father-
in-God, the good Archbishop Lan
franc, spoke with you, my lord Duke, before you came north?**

Warily, at mention of Lanfranc's name, the Norman eyed her. "No, lady. I did not see him. I take my orders from the King, not the Archbishop of Canterbury."

"To be sure. But he is your father's good friend, as he is mine. He was of necessity concerned to deal with much, in England, whilst you and your royal sire were away on foreign wars. Much that you do not understand, it seems."

"I understand invasion and war, lady. And my father's commands."

"Archbishop Lanfranc is not concerned with invasion and wars, my lord. Nor am I. Nor, in this present instance, was my lord the King, here. It was Holy Church we sought to serve."

Robert frowned. "I cannot see how Holy Church is concerned."

"But it is, it is. In two respects." The Queen's glance flickered momentari
ly towards Maldred. "Bishop Wal
chere's plan was for the coming together of the Northumbrian and Scottish Churches. The other, is this of the Papacy."

"Papacy . . . ?" Bewildered, the other stared from her to Malcolm, and back.

"Do you not know, my lord? What is afoot? Worse, does your
father
not know? That his brother is secretly negotiating to become Pope?"

"God's Blood —Pope! Odo? No — I'll not believe it! He is . . . this is . . . what canard is this?"

"We have it on excellent authority. That Bishop Odo has been working to this end for long. Whilst he has been governing England in King William's absence. But — your royal father
must
know of this? For we have heard that he is much against the notion. Archbishop Lanfranc would surely have told him. The Archbishop has said that he would sooner die than see Bishop Odo as Pontiff."

"If my father knows, he has said naught of it to me," Robert declared. But he looked uneasy, uncertain. "It concerns my mission nothing."

"It may be that your father does not know
all."
That was Malcolm taking up the argument. "To be sure he has been out of England for years, and is not long back. And he came back sick, wounded. With much to see to, no doubt. He may well not know all. That Odo has been milking the Treasury and the taxation for long, in order to pay his supporters in Rome — the cardinals and bishops, for the election. Has been using the fines he imposed as Chief Justice of England. Has been buying many lords and their men, for his cause, with the aid of his friend William fitz Osbern. And gaining his own creatures and chaplains bishoprics in England, helped by his other friend, Thomas, Archbishop of York. Forming a party. . ."

The stir amongst the group of nobles behind the Duke had become very noticeable, particularly at the mention of these names, as jealousies and rivalries amongst the Normans rose to the surface. These men were, in the main, those who had been away in France fighting William's battles for him, and were more than ready to believe that those who had stayed behind in England had been stealing a march on them, gaining whilst they were absent. That wily veteran, William fitz Osbern, was particularly unpopular — he was father of Ralph, the Earl of Hereford who had led the late rising and was now in a Normandy prison. And Archbishop Thomas was as suspect, always Odo's man and enemy of Lanfranc.

Robert turned to consult those closest at his back, in especial one grizzled warrior, only the cross and mitre described on his surcoat indicating that he was a prelate, Bishop Geoffrey de Coutances. That old comrade-in-arms of the Conqueror shrugged and shook his grey, cropped head, tonsure just visible, clearly unable to inform.