Margaret the Queen (56 page)

The feasting finished, and the King sprawled forward over the table asleep, with Margaret and her ladies retired to a lesser chamber, the MacDuff steward came hurrying into the main hall, now in something of a riot, drink-taken young lords in noisy horseplay with the serving-wenches whilst their elders snored and musicians, not very enthusiastically, sought to provide background entertainment. Eyeing this scene assessingly, the steward seemed to decide that Maldred of Atholl looked the least inebriated of those near to the monarch, and hesitating to disturb the slumbering King, came to him.

"My lord," he said. "There is a man outby, seeking the King's Highness. A priest, a wandering friar — but with a haughty mien. He says that it is important."

"And does this friar have a twist to one shoulder, lean to one side?"

"You know him, then. . . ?"

Maldred found Cospatrick eating cheerfully enough in the kitchen premises amongst the servants, and received a sketchy benediction along with a warning glance. He was duly careful.

"You wish to speak with the King's Highness, Sir Friar?" he greeted, almost sternly. "Then, come."

When they were alone, out in the courtyard, the Earl clapped his shoulder. "God be praised
you
are here, at least, Maldred!" he exclaimed. "They say that all are drunk in the hall. And the noise is like the courts of hell, to be sure! I despaired of getting near Malcolm."

"Malcolm is scarcely sober either. But — what do you here, in Fife? I have not known you to venture north of Lothian these many years."

"I came because it was important. And you were not at Dunbar. I am sorry about your father, lad. There was none I could send here, who could be sure of reaching the King's ear. But, sakes — I never thought that I would enter this house of MacDuff s! Whom I love as well as any viper! It must not be known who I am, Maldred."

"Is that still so important? After these years?"

"While William lives, it is."

"William is a sick man. He does not march at the head of armies, any more."

"Do not be too sure. And have you not heard how he deals with those whom he does not love, or fears? Still? He sends out assassins, sec
retly. Usually as I
am, in guise of monks. To quietly poison or stab or strangle. The Conqueror is no more gentle than ever he was. If he learned that I am still alive, had duped him these years, he would have his minions after me, nothing more sure. So I wait — and live!"

"And the news that brought you here?"

"War, man — war. Fetch Malcolm, and you will hear it. But only Malcolm, mind you."

"I tell you, he is in a drunken sleep. At table
..."

"Then wake him. I have not followed him half across Scotland to wait while he snores! And he is never witless with drink — you know that. Fetch him, cousin."

So Maldred went back to the hall. In fact, the King was not difficult to rouse, only vicious towards the rouser. He snarled his resentment.

"It is Cospatrick, Highness," Maldred whispered. "With news. Most secret."

"Eh? Cospatrick? That snake! Here? What does he want? Never trust that man." Thickly he spoke, glaring.

"News, sir. Of war, he said. He has risked much, to come thus far. To tell you."

"Not for love of me — damn him! Bring him, then." The monarch stared heavily round at the hall's noisy confusion.

"He says no, sir. He would be seen and known. He must remain secret. He asks that you come."

Grumbling, Malcolm rose unsteadily and lurched after Maldred. Few there were in a state to notice his departure.

In the yard outside the three cousins eyed each other in the warm evening light of June. Malcolm and Cospatrick had not set eyes on each other for years.

"Save us — is this how you look, these days!" the King greeted, his speech a
little
slurred but his glance keen enough. "An old man, getting!"

"I could say the same, Malcolm! Since I am the younger by eighteen years, am I not? I make you sixty-four."

"Well, man — well? You have not come here to tell me my age?"

"Nor, it seems, to receive warm greeting! After all these years."

"Why should you expect that? You were never my friend, only my uncle's son."

"Yet I have served you well, Malcolm. Better than many close to you."

"For your own purposes. As no doubt tonight. What is it? What is your news this time?"

"Sufficient. The days of peace are over — such as they have been. England prepares for war, major war. This may be our opportunity."

"Our
opportunity? Whose? Mine — or yours?"

"Both, I hope. I still seek to win back Northumbria. And you, to put Scotland's border at the Tees, do you not?"

"That tale again! A dream, man. I would have thought
t
hat
you
would have wits enough to perc
eive it, by
now. I do not trust you, Cospatrick — but I have never doubted your wits!"

"I am overwhelmed, sir! As to dreaming, hear this. William is preparing for the greatest threat to his England since he conquered it nineteen years ago. King Knud Svenson of Denmark is claiming the English throne, as great-nephew of Canute. He has assembled a great fleet. Olaf the Farmer of Norway is to join him. Count Robert of Flanders also, whose sister is Knud's queen. And with him Duke Robert of Normandy, still smarting from his father's ire. And, to be sure, Philip of France who is always at war with William. Others, it may be — but these I name are sure. A great assault, on four fronts at least."

Even Malcolm was impressed. He tugged at his forked beard. "When?"

"This summer."

"By the Fiend — why have I not heard of this? Before now? Why have these others not approached
me?
To join in. . ."

"Perhaps because they esteem your oath of allegiance to William more highly than you do! His enemies being your enemies?" Cospatrick held up his hand as the King's features contorted with quick rage. "No, no — I but jest, cousin. I have heard that the true reason is otherwise. That Olaf of Norway's terms for joining Knud are that afterwards he has a free hand to move his army and ships against your Hebrides. He wants them as part of his realm. The Orcades also. He esteems the Orkney earls as weak — as they are — and covets their territories, with their Norse folk. So
you
are not to be approached."

"How a God's Name did you learn this, man? If it is truth."

"I have my sources, cousin — as you should know. But mainly I have friends in the earldom of Northumbria still. And in the bishopric of Durham. You know that there is another new earl? De Coucy lost William's confidence after the Walchere business, and resigned. Robert de Moubray, the new man, is bold enough, but indiscreet in his cups. He talks much. I have friends in his household. Likewise the new bishop, William de St. Calais, more soldier than priest, talks likewise. They are cronies, these two. Our friend Aldwin is now Prior of Durham — and loves the Normans no more than he did."

" You accept all this talk as truth?"

"I do. It is confirmed from other sources. Moreover, William's own actions sufficiently support it all. For England is thrown into turmoil. It is scarcely believable. William has ordered the complete emptying of the coast lands of England facing Denmark and Norway, for twenty miles inland. All to be laid waste, towns and villages and farmsteads flattened, to give no sustenance to invaders, hundreds of miles of ruin — worse, far worse, than anything he has ordained before. Most of the remaining Saxon lords are imprisoned. And he is bringing great armies of mercenaries over from Brittany and Poitou, fetching back hosts from Ireland
..."

"Curse him — he does not sound like a man on his sick-bed!"

"Not he. Have you not heard? Before all this of invasion, he was laying waste and emptying a hundred square miles of Hampshire, on his own doorstep at Winchester, to make a new hunting forest! Every house levelled, every man, woman and child driven out — even the monasteries. Does that sound like a bed-ridden cripple?"

"It sounds like the Devil Incarnate!" Maldred said.

"It sounds like William the Bastard!" Malcolm amended grimly. "So — what now? If William makes his preparations, so must I."

"I believed that you would so wish, cousin — and so came. Time may be short."

"If I muster my armies. Ready to march south across Tweed, for Tyne and Tees. Whenever we hear word of the Danes and Norsemen landing — what of this Moubray?"

"Moubray will be mustered and waiting, undoubtedly. But waiting for the Norsemen, not for you! Facing the sea, not looking behind him. If you marched inland, down Rede and Wansbeck and Coquet, you would take him in the rear. And I, and Dolfin, would bring our Cumbrians. Once at the Tees, I say, whoever was winning, Knud or William, would be glad to treat with us, to have us on
their
side. Or not against them. We could demand our own terms."

"Aye. It could be, it could be so. How say you, Maldred?"

The younger man pursed his lips. "It smacks of a jackal's game. But . . . dealing with the Norman wolves, even jackals may justify themselves!"

"That is as high praise as we w
ill gain from Maldred mac Melm
ore!" Cospatrick said. "My price is Northumbria and Cumbria both, my lord King!"

Malcolm eyed them both consideringly. "I am blessed with kindly kin!" he observed bleakly.

"You could have worse, cousin. You will muster, then?"

"Aye. Tomorrow I shall begin. Turn back from this folly. It will be better work than this of Margaret's, all but kissing the arses of my subjects! And you, man — what of you?"

"I shall be on my humble way by sun-up. I think that you, Maldred, should return to Dunbar tomorrow, likewise. To make plans, with me, for raising Lothian and the Borderland. But only plans meantime — only a few to know. Or the word of it will get cross to Northumbria, and Moubray may be warned."

In the morning, when the King and most of his nobles turned back for Dunfermline, there was no sign of the wandering friar. Margaret elected to carry on with part at least of her progress, possibly even slightly relieved at her husband's absence, intent especially on visiting St. Andrews and forwarding her missionary efforts there. Magda remained with her, Maldred accompanying them as far as the East Neuk of Fife, where, under Kincraig Point, was the little port which was the base of the Earl of Fife's ferry across the Scots Sea to his lands in Lothian. With the King's authority, Maldred got the skipper to make a special journey, and so saved most of three days' riding.

23

The summer passed
in a strange admixture of impatience and thankfulness, for most people in Scotland at least — impatience at nothing happening when all was prepared for momentous doings; and thankfulness that the hay harvest was in, then the oats harvest, then that the reeds could be cut for thatching and the peats dug for drying for winter's fires. The mustered armies kept releasing men to go home for short periods for these activities, but to be ready for instant recall. But those who remained assembled grew bored and out-of-hand, their leaders resentful. By late August morale was at a low ebb everywhere — and nowhere more so than in the Borderland, where armed raiding was endemic, all were geared for it, and yet these months it was strictly prohibited. Maldred was hard put to it to maintain the Dunbar and March force in any sort of fighting trim.

Cospatrick had an army of Cumbrians waiting at Caer-luel, under his son Dolfin, presumably equally unruly. This was facing
northwards,
towards Galloway, so that news of it should not alarm the present Earl of Northumbria, himself mustered at points in a very long line between Tees and Aln, facing the Norse Sea.

Decision, when it did come, was totally unexpected. It was that William
the Norman's luck held. Knud of
Denmark, prime instigator of the entire campaign, with his claim to be Canute's lawful successor on the English throne, was dead, murdered by his own people. Unseasonable storms had delayed him, week after week. Then there had been mutinies amongst his assembled armies and fleets. These he had put down savagely, whereupon revolt erupted amongst the Danish population, hitherto unheard-of. Knud had been overwhelmed and slain. The whole invasion project collapsed, lacking his drive, and with Olaf of Norway's interest really confined to the Hebrides and Orkney. So England remained unassailed — save by William's own terrible defensive measures.

Malcolm's disgust had to be seen to be believed. But his wife at least was thankful and joyful.