Read Margaret the Queen Online

Authors: Nigel Tranter

Tags: #Historical Novel

Margaret the Queen (9 page)

BOOK: Margaret the Queen
8.54Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

Disgustedly Malcolm waved him away, and rose, somewhat unsteadily, to his feet. "Useless!" he snarled. "Vain, posturing daw! I will see some of your miserable Saxons in the morning. Some may have more of wit and spirit than have you — although I doubt it. Now — fetch me that sister of yours."

"Sister?" The prince stared. "What. . . what. . . ?"

"Sister, yes. The fair one. Think you I would prefer your mother?"

"But, Sire — now? She will be retired
..."

"Then arouse her. I ride in the morning. I shall have no time to await women's hours. I shall see her now."

"Highness — not so, I pray you. It, it is not suitable. At this hour of night. She, a young woman of royal blood . . ."

"God's Blood, man — I shall not rape her. Or
...
I think not! See her I shall. Go fetch her — if from her naked bed, so much the better!"

"Sire — my regrets. But that I cannot, will not, do! In all respect. Her own brother
..."
He drew a deep breath. "I may be a posturing daw — but I will not aid in my sister's dishonour."

"Dishonour is it, fool? To deal with the King of Scots!" Malcolm swung around. "You, Maldred — go you.

Request the princess's presence. Not here. In the tower. Bring her to my chamber."

"The saints forbid!" Edgar exclaimed.

"Not them! Go, boy." That to Maldred, pointing.

"Then I shall accompany her," the prince declared. "If she goes, I go . . ."

Maldred hurried off, mind in a turmoil.

Upstairs, doubtfully, he knocked at the door of the Atheling women's room. At first there was no response. His second knock brought a stirring within, and presently the door opened partially, and Magdalen's face appeared at the crack, enquiringly.

"You!" she said, surprised. "What seek you? At this hour. Is it refuge that you seek? From that monster of a King. . . ?"

"No. It is the Lady Margaret. I am sorry. But will you ask her to come?"

"Lord — will you never learn? Have you taken leave of your wits, Maldred?"

"It is the King. His royal command. I am to take her to him. Forthwith. I am sorry, but. . ."

"She is in her bed. You cannot mean this?"

"It is the truth. Think you that I would be here, otherwise?
The King requires her presence. Now."

"But, but why?"

"The good God knows! But he is in a strange mood — the King. And, and not to be kept waiting."

Shrugging helplessly, the girl was turning away, to close the door in his face, when Margaret herself,
a
bed-robe thrown around her, her fair hair falling to her shoulders, appeared.

"Maldred — did I hear you say that I was wanted?" she asked. "By King Malcolm? With Edgar? Only me?"

"Yes. Only you. The prince, he will be there, I think. His Highness requests your presence, lady. For, for some reason."

"Must I dress? I was in bed."

"No, I think not. He said
now."

"So be it. I shall come."

"And I shall attend you!" Magdalen declared strongly. "Let me get a wrap, to decent me
..."

In no more tranquil frame of mind Maldred escorted the two young women downstairs, through the hall, now all but deserted save by staring servitors, out into the open courtyard across which they hurried, wrapping themselves more tightly against the chill night air, to the tower doorway and in, there to climb the narrow, winding turnpike stair to the first floor. Malcolm had slept here, apart from his wife, for some time, an obvious convenience when it came to- bringing in alternative bedfellows. The door of his chamber stood open. The two men within were well apart, the King sitting on the great bed pulling off his boots, while Edgar stood near the door, set-faced.

"The Princess Margaret, lord King," Maldred announced, and ushered the pair in.

The monarch looked up, peering a little, for the light from the one lamp and the flickering log-fire — here with a chimney fireplace — was poor, and his sight was not the best of him, especially when drink-taken.

"So! Is this to be a council-meeting, then?" he growled thickly. "Would you wish an armed guard to be brought in also, young woman, to protect your virtue?"

"I cannot believe that necessary, Highness," Margaret answered, mildly enough. "It is but seemly that the Lady Magdalen attends on me, always."

"Indeed? We shall see about that!" But he did not actually dismiss her, or the others. "Come here, girl," he said. "I would look at you."

It was indicative of Margaret Atheling's character that she did not shrink back, or even hesitate. Calmly she moved forward to the bedside, not so much as pulling her robe closer around her person. She halted only a foot or two from him, and there proffered the merest hint of a curtsy, with the flicker of a smile even.

"Can you perceive my poor looks from here, Sire?" she asked. "If they disappoint, they are, I fear, all that the good God has endowed me with!"

He stood up, swaying a little, eyeing her closely, comprehensively, unabashed, from her gleaming, cascading flaxen hair down to her bare ankles and slippered feet, lingering noticeably at the long, graceful column of her neck and the fine swelling of prominent breasts, their shapeliness entirely obvious in the low-cut sleeping-gown which her bed-robe failed to cover. If a slight flush did mantle her features and throat at this frank and assessing scrutiny, that was her only evident reaction. Her violet-blue eyes met his own pale ones, steadily, when at length he raised them that high again.

"Aye," he said.

Maldred was watching the King's great fists — his hands were notably large, like his head — which were clenching, knuckles white. If they reached out, to touch and grasp and tear, as they might so well do, as he had seen them do so often, God knew what might happen. The young man was aware that Edgar had taken a step forward, and that Magdalen was as tense as he was himself.

Margaret it was, however, who took the situation in hand, slender but capable hands. Raising another smile, she curtsied again, a little lower this time — despite the dangerous effect on her bosom — and almost in the same movement stepped back a little, and drew her robe closer, but in a perfectly natural way, as though it was slipping, rather than any hasty covering up.

"Is Your Highness content?" she asked lightly. "I do not offend? As guest in your house, I would not wish to displease you in anything, even in my looks. But now, Sire, since that is by with, I believe that you wish to speak with me? How can I, a mere girl, advantage you in this?"

His powerful jaw-muscles working, Malcolm eyed her loweringly. "You . . . are . . . sure of yourself!" he grated.

"But no, Sire. Quite otherwise. Since I do not perceive how I can advantage you. All that I am sure of is your royal clemency towards a weak woman, and those in distress. And God's concern for us both."

There were a few moments of silence, save for the hiss and crackle of the log fire.

"I desired to see you," the King jerked. "For sufficient reason." His glance travelled over her, once more. "I find you comely . . . but forward, malapert. And over-fond of deeming God to be yours for the beckoning! I say that such is . . . presumption."

She inclined her head. "I constantly warn myself against the sin of spiritual pride," she conceded. "I accept that, at times, I speak more freely than I should. But I will not, dare not, limit God's love and care. For me, and for you. And all. Sinners as we are."

He frowned. "You are worse than any priest!" He gestured roughly. "But enough of such talk. I ride to Strathclyde in the morning. To Alclyde and Renfrew and Kyle. To raise men. Then south to Tweed and Esk, to confront Norman William in his power. It will be hard fighting. This brother of yours, it seems, can aid me nothing. You, it may be, have more spirit. You were long at the Court of King Edward, so-called Confessor, your father's uncle? Ten years and more, were you not? You must know many of the Saxon lords of the north. Better than this Edgar. Lords who have some valour, some hardihood. Who hate the Norman usurper."

"I know some, yes. But, Sire, if they did not already rise to aid my brother's bid for his throne, will they rise now? For
you?
Or, if they did rise, and are now scattered, like the Saxons with us, will they risk all again? So soon?"

"There is a difference. A Scots army will now be facing William. Two armies, one on Tweed, one on Esk. This has not been, before. And Cospatrick is arrayed against him, in Cumbria. It is to encourage that fool cousin of mine, Cospatrick, as well as to make William look back over his shoulder, that I want the Saxons to muster behind him. Only to muster, as yet. Not necessarily to draw sword.
T
he threat, I need."

"If Your Highness had confronted the Norman with your Scots armies some weeks past, instead of waiting until now, I might now be sitting on my English throne and you not concerned for your borders," Edgar intervened, with an access of spirit.

Malcolm ignored him. "Well?" he demanded, of Margaret.

"Our Saxon friends here in your land will know better than I, Sire," she said. "Names, strengths . . ."

"You,
I ask! I shall use them as my messengers, never fear. Send them south. By sea. Tomorrow. Merleswegen, Maurice, Siward Barn and the others. But — I want the message to come from the Athelings. Not only from me. Give me names. Edgar here knows none — or so he says. Names, girl."

She looked over at her brother, and then shrugged those fine shoulders. "There is Leofwine of Godmanham — he did not rise, although he has ever misliked the Normans. Eadwulf of Amunderness was said to be coming, but his force never reached our army. Eadred of Lastingham is old, but fierce enough. And the Eald of Craven is powerful, if timid. Athelstan and Eadwig are great Deira lords, of whom we saw naught . . ."

"That is liker it. Can you write, girl? Then write these names on a paper. More, if you can think of them. Also write a command for them to muster. Your fine brother will sign and seal it, as true King of England! Maldred will have it ready for me before I see your Saxons in the morning."

"Sire — we are indebted to you for hospitality, here," Edgar protested. "But this is high-handed! I, and my sister — we are not to be used so . . . !"

"Begone — all of you," the King said abruptly, and turning, began to remove his shirt.

Eyeing each other, they all bowed hurriedly to the royal back, and left the presence, their reactions various.

4

It was on
the Eve of St. Finian, eight days later, that the urgently awaited news reached Dunfermline. A messenger from Malcolm's headquarters in the Merse brought the tidings. William had turned back, without attempting to cross Tweed or Esk, whether because of threat to his rear from reported Saxon musterings, or otherwise, was not known. But the Norman was marching off southwards, apparently in a hurry. There had been no real fighting. The Scots were now, in consequence, raiding happily over into Northumbria again, to recoup themselves for their trouble and expense in coming there, and so would not return home empty-handed. Just when they would be back was uncertain therefore — but as it was late in the season for campaigning, it would not be overlong delayed.

As well as these general tidings, the courier had two especial and private messages to deliver — by word of mouth, since Malcolm was no writer of letters, indeed could do little more than write his own signature. What he said to the Queen was between her and the messenger — although her set face thereafter held its own eloquence. But the royal instructions to Maldred mac Melmore were clear, brief and to the point. He was to escort the Queen forthwith to the palace of Kincardine in the Mearns, and there to leave her. With her household and gear. There was to be no question nor any delay. This was the royal command. The King did not desire to find his wife, or anything of hers, at Dunfermline when he returned.

Appalled, Maldred listened, and then went off to commune with himself for a while, before presenting himself before Ingebiorg. When eventually he did come to her, however, he found her calm and the mistress of her emotions.

"It has come to the parting of the roads, between Malcolm and myself, Maldred," she said. "A road which should never have been started on. I blame my mother and brothers for ever having agreed to this marriage. But that is an old story. I am to be removed, out of sight and sound. Far away. You are to take me to Kincardine, I understand."

"So I am commanded. I, I am sorry, Ingebiorg."

"You need not be. I have not been happy here. It is probably better so. I shall not miss my husband's company, I promise you!"

BOOK: Margaret the Queen
8.54Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

Other books

Claim Me: A Novel by Kenner, J.
Cuckoo Song by Frances Hardinge
For Whom the Spell Tolls by H. P. Mallory
Island of Death by Barry Letts
Luscious Love by Sweets, Zach
Longbourn to London by Beutler, Linda