Queen Hereafter

by Susan Fraser King

  Malcolm told Parlan to obtain some wheat somewhere to make risen bread for the queen, and though trading ships from England came to Leith less often, Parlan managed to make wheaten bread loaves, though from the crude dark grain mixed with rye that monks favored. Malcolm himself sliced and buttered it thick and handed it to her at the table. She dared not refuse.

  Eva played harp for her when she took to her bed now and then, and one day, head spinning, Margaret saw a tiny being seated on a stool; it smiled and told her to eat and worry no more. Then a second shadow that she thought was surely angelic, for it was quiet but stern, told her that pain defeated sin and not to listen to temptation. She felt faint, and did not know which vision to obey.

  One evening Eva brought her a warm, thick liquid concoction she had made from oats, warm milk, spices, and the Scots drink called uisge beatha, strong spirits made from fermented barley. Eva stayed until the queen swallowed much of it, and Margaret slept deep that night, even through her prayer hours. Still, she became bird-thin and as pale as linen—yet she felt clean, pure, ethereal.

  One day Brother Tor took her aside. “You have fasted sufficiently,” he said. “Now go to broths and fruit, and then eat something substantial each day, every day. Until the birth, do not go to chapel during the night, and do not return to fasting. Praying in your little chapel or by your bed is more than enough proof of your devotion.”

  “You sound like a physician, not a priest,” she said.

  “I am a physician for your soul,” he answered. “Margaret, please do as I ask.”

  Looking up, she saw in that solemn blue gaze a tender concern, and when he touched her shoulder briefly, the gesture of a counseling priest, she felt such comfort that her knees oddly weakened. She leaned toward him, sensing that he understood, knew, accepted her for all her flaws.

  “Brother Tor,” she said, “sometimes I want to fast until all the sin is burned clean from me. Once I begin, it becomes like a fever demon and I must continue even against my will.”

  “You have such a pure soul,” he whispered. “There is no need to clarify yourself, especially now.”

  She nodded, and then fled, blushing hot, feeling the correction more than the praise. His good opinion of her was so important—too important, she told herself, and mentally assigned herself three additional Pater Nosters to recite that evening, for she had let pride best her again.

  A few days later, Malcolm brought her a bowl of soup with his own hands and sat by her bed while she ate a little. When she set it aside, he handed her a parcel wrapped in cloth and string. Peeling away the cloth, she saw a book—quite a magnificent one, bound not in leather as were most of her books, but with boards encased in engraved silver studded with a border of small jewels and a golden cross fastened at its center. Gasping with delight, thrilled with its beauty as well as Malcolm’s surprising thoughtfulness, she carefully opened the tiny brass locks attached to the leather buckles that fastened the covers tightly shut. Inside, another cover was of new, fragrant leather lined in thick white satin, and she saw that the pages were separated by individual squares of white silk. Turning a few pages, she caught her breath in astonishment.

  “But—this is my own copy of the Gospels! The book that went missing! How did you—”

  “A little thievery of my own,” he said. “I took the book one day after you set it down. We had been reading, you and I, and you were very patient with me.” He smiled a little. “The leather cover was so worn, it was splitting apart. I thought a new cover would please you. A goldsmith in the town did the work, and finished it just this week.”

  “Thank you,” she said, tears stinging her eyes. “I do not deserve such a fine gift.”

  “Of course you do.” He sounded almost annoyed. “Do not say otherwise. I hope you will continue to teach me to read these words as well as you can.”

  She turned a page. “Incipit evangelium … Now you read the rest. It is your book, too, now.”

  “This is the Gospel … according to, uh, Mark,” he read. “Look at that fancy fellow, with his red beard and quill like a sword,” he said of the painting that faced the opening page. “And that foolish little chair, as if he is sitting on top of a building.”

  “He is. That is the very Church itself. Now read this bit.” She pointed.

  “Ecce mitto angelum …” he began, tracing the words with a fingertip.

  A SOFT KNOCK at the door woke Eva in the middle of the night, and Matilda got up to open it. “The queen wants you,” she whispered. “She waits outside.”

  “To chapel again?” Eva groaned but rose from bed, dressed, and twisted her hair into a long rope, tying it with a ribbon as she went to the door.

  Margaret waited in the corridor, wearing a black hooded cloak so voluminous that at first Eva did not recognize her in the shadowed passageway. She held a flickering oil lamp of brass in one hand and a similar cloak draped over her arm, which she offered to Eva in silence. Puzzled, Eva slid the cloak over her shoulders, wondering at the queen’s secretive mood. The entire household knew about the queen’s eccentric habit of praying and strolling about at all hours. Yawning, she followed Margaret down the steps and around the side of the main keep.

  “But the chapel is that way,” Eva said.

  “Hush!” Margaret took her arm and pulled her across the shadowed, moonlit bailey.

  The air was so cold that Eva’s breath frosted in a cloud. She followed Margaret, who led her to the building that housed the garrison and the dungeons.

  “Why are we going—” Eva began. Margaret touched a hand to her arm.

  “The guards are not here just now,” she replied in a whisper. “Malcolm has kept them up late, meeting with his advisors and most of the housecarls over some talk of securing the fortress against invasion from the south. Even the dungeon guards were summoned there. They will not be gone long. And I have the key.” She opened her palm to show a glint of iron.

  “What is this about?” Eva asked.

  Margaret seemed curiously excited, her eyes sparkling in the moonlight as if she had a fever. “I want to free the prisoners.”

  “What?”

  “Hush! Follow me.” She proceeded down a few steps to the corridor leading the dungeon. The flame of the oil lamp formed a small pool of light just ahead of them as they went.

  “This is foolish,” Eva hissed as the queen drew her forward. “Who are these men, and what are their offenses? You should not be going near them on your own.”

  “Four Saxons and two Normans, all taken captive in England,” Margaret answered. “Malcolm says he is only holding them for ransom. They have committed no crimes and their families and properties are in harm’s way in the south. But so far William has given no reply to the ransom request, and their Saxon kin have no fortunes left to buy their freedom.”

  “This is not your concern, truly.”

  “Can I ignore good men lingering in prison in my own household? Malcolm admits they are honorable men, and this is only a custom of war—but it seems sinfully wrong to keep them here and away from their families. You keep watch while I let them out,” Margaret said.

  She led the way along the dark channel and went to the first cell, where she spoke to the men inside in French, which Eva understood only slightly. Then came answering murmurs, and the chink and clank of key and lock. The door creaked open and two tall, shadowy figures emerged.

  The queen moved to the next cell, and again Eva heard her speak low, again in French. As the door opened, four men emerged this time. Eva heard rapidly murmured English then.

  “Hurry,” Margaret said, “you must all flee. There is little time before the guards return.”

  “Lady, you have taken a great risk,” someone said. “We thank you.”

  Margaret’s hood slipped back as she looked up, her golden hair, without a veil, flowing free. She looked young, vibrant, and calm as she turned toward Eva with a smile. Exhilaration shone in her like a light.

  “You are enjoying thi
s,” Eva said. “I think you love the adventure even more than you love the justice of this.”

  “Of course not.” But Margaret looked pleased. “Quickly, we must reach the gate before these men are seen. Come ahead,” she said, as the prisoners followed them.

  “Wait!” Eva stretched up an arm, seeing some long cloaks hanging on wall pegs near the outer end of the corridor. One of the men reached over her head to take the cloaks down.

  “Excellent thought—take these,” he told the others, handing them out.

  “But that is stealing.” Margaret looked doubtful.

  “Will we quibble sin this night? Replace them later,” Eva said. “What about the sentries?”

  “I will tell the guards that I am sending some servants out with urgent messages.”

  “Your sins are multiplying,” Eva said.

  “As are yours,” Margaret said. “Later we will go to the chapel and pray.”

  “Instead of the entrance gate, we should use the postern gate at the back,” one of the men whispered. “We can get away without being seen.”

  “But there is a steep drop there,” Eva said.

  “We can follow the ledge behind the palisade, and there is a way down the cliff if we go carefully,” the man replied. “I have heard the guards talking about it.”

  “Rope,” Margaret said quickly. “At the back of the yard is a byre. There will be rope there.”

  “Thank you.” He bowed solemnly. “Queen Margaret, your charity will never be forgotten.” He took her hand and kissed it.

  Each man gave the queen a grateful farewell and turned to Eva to thank her also, all in a rush, a few seconds or more. Then they were gone, cloaks whirling away in the darkness.

  “So,” Margaret said with satisfaction, folding her hands before her. “It was right to help them. Though I do not know how to explain this to Malcolm,” she added.

  “You will find a way,” Eva said, feeling admiration—Margaret was made of more than prayers and pious sin-fretting, and more than sweet and charitable goodness. “That was very courageous, my lady. Best we go to chapel now.” She took Margaret’s arm. “We should be seen there rather than near the dungeons.”

  Margaret laughed. “You are a true friend.”

  Eva said nothing. If she fulfilled her promise to her grandmother, she would be no friend.

  MALCOLM’S ROAR could be heard throughout the tower, even in the great hall where Eva sat with the queen and others, having just fed a few small children who had been brought up from the front gates. When the king burst through the curtained entrance of the great hall moments later, Eva jumped up, but was hardly surprised to see that the king was not taking the news well. The queen, sitting with a child on her lap, looked up calmly as Malcolm stomped toward her.

  “Margaret,” he said in an angry, warning tone. “Where are my prisoners?”

  “Hush, sire,” she said. “You will frighten the little ones.”

  “A word with you,” he growled as he stood over her, a fist at his waist, his face red. “Now.”

  The child in Margaret’s lap began to cry, staring up at Malcolm. Handing the little girl to Eva, Margaret stood and walked away with the king. He led her to a far corner and began to talk in a low, angry rumble accompanied by swift jabbing gestures toward the doorway and outside.

  Eva jiggled the child on her lap and dipped a spoon into the porridge as she watched the queen and king. Margaret smiled at her husband and set a hand on his arm as if to calm him. Then she rested a hand on her stomach. Under the long, layered draping of the queen’s garments, the burgeoning curve of her body was obvious, and Margaret used that.

  When Malcolm subsided quickly, Eva smiled to herself, silently applauding the queen’s cleverness. The king took his wife’s hand, then leaned down and kissed her cheek. He left the hall, and Margaret returned to sit once more.

  She smiled at Eva. “He saw that the key in our bedchamber had been moved, and he realized I had taken it. I confessed that the prisoners’ escape was all my doing. He thinks he will lose a good deal of income from this, and that is why he is angry. He says that I am coming into my own ever since I learned thievery.” Margaret grimaced slightly.

  Eva laughed. “And I am your accomplice.”

  “MY LADY!” Robert De Lauder approached Margaret as she and her mother and sister walked across the bailey on another morning. “The king rode out early, but left this word for you. He implores you to order your servants to pack whatever is necessary. The household must leave very soon.”

  “What is wrong?” Margaret set a hand to her throat, heart surging with fear.

  “Dun Edin is no longer safe for you. Malcolm wants you to depart for the north before nightfall.”

  “But we would need days to pack!” Astonished, she stared at him, and felt fear growing as she recalled fleeing other places. “Is it the Normans?”

  “Malcolm had a message from the south—a carrier rode into the bailey at first light. William is gathering troops and preparing to cross into Scottish territory. Cospatric sent word that Saxon boats are being constructed at Berwick, and once they are ready, it will take William no time to reach Scotland with thousands of warriors. When that will be we cannot say, but Malcolm wants you to leave Dun Edin immediately.”

  Margaret crossed herself, head and heart. “God protect us. What of Malcolm?”

  “He and Edgar, too, will remain here for now. Brother Tor will accompany you to Dunfermline.”

  “Is that place even safe, if William has ships?”

  “You may need to move farther north,” De Lauder replied somberly.

  With a child due soon that might prove impossible, she thought. “I will order the servants to begin packing.”

  “Only what is most essential. Other things can be sent later. The ship departs Leith this afternoon. The king bids me tell you that you will be aboard, or he will throw you on the boat himself and tie you to the mast. Pardonnez-moi, ma reine,” he finished.

  MALCOLM HIMSELF CARRIED his wife in his arms through the shallows to the longship, and though Eva could see Margaret was not happy about it, the queen did not protest. Edgar lifted Eva, too, and she rode lightly in his arms, clasping her hands about his neck. He was stronger than his lankiness suggested, and when he set her down he thanked her gallantly for the privilege.

  “Sir, I am honored to be carried by a prince who should be a king,” she had said, playing the little game of courtliness that he had begun. She preferred honesty over flattery, but smiled at the flirtation. He blushed red to the ears and wished her a good voyage.

  “I will see you in Dunfermline later, as soon as we can join you there,” he said, and his long fingers lingered over hers, tightened, then let go. He leaped down into the water and waded back.

  “Husband,” Margaret said as the king set her down beside Eva. “This ferry reminds me—there are so many people in need of transportation to complete their pilgrimages. I want to sponsor a ferry that would cross the firth to Dunfermline and Fife for no fee for pilgrims.”

  “Not now, Margaret,” he said. “We will talk of this later.”

  “If I must travel over water, then you must hear me out. Quickly, now—”

  “Your ferryman would have plenty of customers for his free ferry but no supper on his table.”

  “I would pay his yearly fee from my own coffers. I have dowry funds and rental incomes, and even a portion of that would keep a ferryman and his family. We could also provide a hostel on the other side of the firth for pilgrims, so they can rest before continuing their journey.”

  “Such a bargain would attract more than just pilgrims. Everyone would want to ride free.”

  “We would provide the ferry for free to pilgrims and others—and charge only the bishops. They can afford it, and their fees could help pay for the pilgrims.”

  He laughed. “Clever Margaret. I will ask Sir Robert to look into the arrangements when he can. I must leave you now—but I will see you soon, I promise.”<
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  Eva saw them exchange a quick, tender embrace, and Malcolm looked her way as he left.

  “Lady Eva,” he spoke, “take good care of her.” She nodded.

  Later, as Eva watched the frothy, white-capped waves of the firth stream past, she savored the freedom of salt wind on her face as the longboat slipped along, surging and cresting in a whippy wind. The queen’s kin and retainers were crammed between crates and chests and the ride was bumpy that day, but took only an hour or so.

  Margaret sat in silence, pale face lifted to the wind, her hands fisted. When they landed, she was quick to request that two housecarls carry her, sling-like, to shore. When Eva joined her, Margaret looked very pale, and Eva took her arm in sudden concern.

  “I have not been very good about keeping the vow I made,” Margaret said.

  “But your new ferry will do a great deal of good. That will out-last any vow.”

  “May it counter my shortcomings,” Margaret said.

  Walking with her toward the cart that would carry the queen the rest of the way to the royal tower, Eva sighed to herself. No matter the good Margaret did, it was never enough in the queen’s regard. “Lady,” she said then, “I think I shall compose a praise poem for you.”

  “A new melody would be lovely to hear,” Margaret said, “but there is no reason for a queen’s poem. Write one for the king instead—that is the tradition for a court bard, is it not?”

  “Only if the king is one the bard admires. Otherwise, it is best to keep silent.”

  “Eva, that grudge will outlast you,” Margaret said.

  It might indeed, Eva thought.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Thou shell of my heart

  Thou face of my sun

  Thou harp of my music

  Thou crown of my senses.