Margaret the Queen

by Nigel Tranter

  When the hollow clanging of St. Ternan's bell awakened the monks for early-morning prayers, Maldred roused himself, washed and shaved, and went to Madach's cell nearby. His brother was still asleep. Wakened, he showed no enthusiasm for the business. But the postulant insisted, fetched him his sword and knelt before him. Owlishly, the other grumbled and frowned and then tapped each bent shoulder with the steel, muttering that he hereby named Maldred mac Melmore knight, and let him be a good and true knight hereafter until his life's end. Maldred rose, took the sword, held it up by the blade, cross-like hilt high, then kissed it. He was a knight.

  He left his yawning brother, and went for his breakfast.

  Later, all ready for his journey, he presented himself at the palace. The King was no slug-abed and was already briefing the Earl Cospatrick and a group of officers. Maldred did not have to wait long. Malcolm beckoned him forward.

  "Here is our knight-to-be. I swear that he was awake all night, making his vigil!"

  "Scarcely all night. But I did what I could, Highness."

  "I am disappointed in you, cousin — so serious a youth, and that is all you could do? Myself, I mind that I fell asleep after a minute or two. On your knees, then. Cospatrick, man — give me your sword."

  There was little more ceremony about it than in Madach's cell earlier. The King slapped the sword-blade down more heartily on Maldred's shoulders, and added a few extra words, that is all.

  "Maldred mac Melmore, I name you knight," he said, almost casually. "See you keep your vows, maintain the right, serve my cause and do so all your days. Aye, do that! Arise, Maldred of Atholl, knight."

  It can fall to few men, surely, to be knighted twice in the one morning.

  Cospatrick was the first to come forward to shake his hand — but his grin was mocking.

  Soon thereafter they were on their way, Maldred disappointed that no one from the Athelings' party came down to see them off. No doubt they were deeply engaged in morning worship. Also, amongst other doubts, he had one about leaving Magda to see much of Madach with himself removed.

  * * *

  They had to cover some one hundred and fifty miles of Lowland Scotland, in diagonal fashion, to reach Galloway, over the high spine of the land, first having to ride fully twenty-five miles up the firth to Stirling, to win across the Forth itself. Thereafter they went almost due southwards, across the grain of the country, though anything but directly, for they had to make innumerable detours to find river-fords, to circle lochs and flooded areas, to avoid marshes and dense forests. This was no time of year for such travel. But though most of the company grumbled, Cospatrick himself was in good spirits. Clearly he was glad to be on his own again, his own master and free of the trammels of Malcolm's establishment. He made himself entirely affable towards Maldred — who did not particularly like him, but found him easy enough to get on with. He was a strange man, with a reputation almost as fierce as Malcolm's to add to his well-known unpredictability as to loyalties, yet cheerful, at least superficially friendly and good company, with little of the proud noble about him. He was good-looking too, in his own way, tall and a fine figure of a man. Although of the Celtic royal house, his mother had been sister to a previous Saxon Earl of Northumbria and he had been married to a daughter of King Harold of England, he who had died at Hastings.

  He made a hard-riding commander, and despite the difficult conditions, led them fully seventy miles before halting for the night at the Hospice of St. Bride in Douglasdale, in the former kingdom of Strathclyde. That Cymric-Celtic realm, stretching from the northern Welsh marches and the Yorkshire border right up to the Lennox Highlands and the fringe of the Hebrides, had been an independent monarchy until a century-and-a-half previously when Constantine the Second of Scots annexed it; and still its relationship with Scotland was apt to be uneasy, the latter's sovereignty at times only nominal.

  Indeed, Cumbria, its southern province, was now largely English-dominated, although Cospatrick's brother Waltheof was styled Malcolm's governor thereof; and the great Lordship of Galloway was, like the Hebrides, a possession of Orkney, although again the Earl Erland Thorfinnson ranked as governor. In the circumstances, Strathclyde was an unruly and unmanageable entity, more of a source of weakness than of strength to the Scottish crown.

  Off again at first light, by noon next day they were actually in Galloway, Outer Galloway as it was termed, which extended from the Cumbrian border at Annandale right up to the Lordship of Renfrew on the Clyde estuary. But Inner; or Galloway proper, was otherwise, confined to the great many-pronged peninsula itself which thrust out into the Irish Sea. Their destination was another fifty miles at least.

  Cospatrick went more warily now, concerned not to thrust his head into any noose, having a notable sense of self-preservation. His company of two hundred was large enough to be safe from casual interference but not from major assault in a semi-hostile land — and certainly not small enough to escape notice. So they went now by hidden ways, keeping within the closer hills and higher moors, more difficult going as this made and much as it added to their journey.

  In the late afternoon they came down from the bleak, snow-streaked Lochinvar Hills, by the Garpel Burn to the Water of Ken, and to the cashel of St. John of Dairy, a remotely-sited monastery in a quiet valley at the hub of waters. Cospatrick had little fear of trouble or betrayal in such places, for the churchmen were entirely sympathetic towards the Scottish crown, in Galloway, feeling themselves somewhat beleaguered indeed. For the Romish Church in England, through the Archbishop of York and Bishop of Durham, were making claims that this area should be under their jurisdiction on the grounds that there had once been a diocese of Whithorn owing allegiance to them, even though that was centuries before — an issue which had taken King MacBeth to Rome and agreement with the Pope. But that Pope was dead, and now the English bishops were at it again. The Orkney earls were Romish likewise, if they were anything; so the Celtic churchmen of Galloway lived under something of a shadow and were apt to welcome warmly any signs of attention from the North.

  Cospatrick, to be sure, had no religion in him; but he made much of Abbot Cosgreg and sounded the soul of Celtic piety. And to excellent effect, for the monks here were in a position to be well-informed as to the present situation in Galloway. St. John's Town, although deep in the heathery hills, was only a score of miles up the Waters of Dee and Ken from the former's estuary, whereon lay Kirk Cuthbert's Town and fort, the principal place of Galloway, where the governor had his seat. There was a monastery of St. Cuthbert there, and considerable coming and going with that of St. John.

  "So the Earl Paul of Orkney is come visiting his brother Erland, friend?" Cospatrick said, conversationally, over an adequate if simple meal in the eating-hall. "And has brought a sufficiency of Orkneymen with him, I am told?"

  "My sorrow, yes, my lord Earl," the Abbot agreed. "There are seventy longships lying in St. Cuthbert's Bay. Aye, and another score lying apart, behind St. Mary's Isle. Manxmen, there."

  "God — Manxmen? Already? A score of Manx long-ships, you say? An army?"

  "An army, yes. For what, I cannot say, for sure. But I greatly fear. Since their Bishop Roolwer is come with them. Which bodes no good."

  "A bishop? The Bishop of Man? What does he want?"

  "What does any Romish bishop want? To wrest Galloway from us, from our Church. As first step to taking it from King Malcolm."

  Cospatrick glanced over at Maldred. "This we had no word of. The Church taking a hand. It could be an added danger."

  "Perhaps. But — do we need added dangers? With near a hundred longships. Even though they are not all of the largest, that could mean four thousand men."

  "Aye." The Earl turned back to Abbot Cosgreg. "These Manxmen — who sent them?"

  "It is said the King of Man. But he is sick, in Dublin. They are under the command of the Lord Godfrey of Islay, Godfrey Crovan."

  "I know him. How long have they been here?"

  "They came three days past.
"

  "And the Earl Paul and his Orkneymen?" "Ten days or more."

  "So! It looks as though he had waited for them. This was planned between Paul and Godfrey. Four thousand men. For what?"

  "For no good, lord. To take Galloway. The Church and the land."

  "But, man — they already have Galloway's land. Paul Thorfinnson is lord here, his brother governor. This of your Church is not the main concern, only to aid in it. These seek bigger things. What? Have you heard talk? From Kirk Cuthbert's Town? What are folk saying?"

  The little cleric looked both anxious and embarrassed. "It is only mere chatter, my lord Earl. The clash of idle tongues. Unseemly. And I cannot think that it is all true . . ."

  "Out with it, man. We are not bairns! There may be a hint of truth even in such talk."

  "It is whispered — by the ignorant, see you — that the Orkney earls intend to make war, large war. Against King Malcolm. To drive north into Scotland. To avenge the death of their sister, the Queen. For which foolish men blame His Highness."

  "Aye. But if Paul desires to fight Malcolm, would he not do so better to descend with his longships and Vikings upon the other side of Scotland? On the east coast. In Fortrenn. Or into the Scottish Sea. Near where the King is, the heart of the land? Why here, so far away?"

  "Because, lord, they say that is for others to do. It is to be a greater war than just this of the Orkneymen. They say that Norman William himself is in it. That — saving your presence, my lord — your own brother, the Earl Waltheof of Cumberland, also. That even King Olaf of Norway, whose cousin the Queen was, is to come. He it is who will land on the east, in Fortrenn. Many onslaughts."

  "But... but. . ."

  "I told you, my lord, that it was idle chatter. Foolishness."

  "Yet it makes sense," Maldred put in. "If it could be achieved. A concerted attack."

  "At this season? Moving great armies, while still the rivers are high? The campaigning season is two months off, yet. And are these Orkney earls of the worth and stature to lead anything such? Or devise it? Would William dance to their tune? If it had been their father, the Raven Feeder, I might have believed it."

  "They may conceive themselves more potent than you do," Maldred said.

  "There is more to it — although how much to believe, who knows?" the Abbot went on. "It is said that the plan is for the attack from Galloway here to start first. To give the others time. And to draw King Malcolm away from Fortrenn. Get him south of the Forth crossing, his greatest defence. To have him march southwards and westwards, to repel this invasion of Strathclyde. Whilst the Earl Waltheof invades Teviotdale and the Forest. Then the others to strike behind Malcolm. William by sea and land, from the south, to the Scottish Sea and Tay. Olaf to the north. So Scotland falls ..."

  "As it would, by God! If this indeed could be done. But — do not tell me that Thorfinn's sons could rise to this? Have the wits for it. Or the ability to move kings like pawns on a board!"

  "Could it be that it is they who are being moved?" Maldred suggested. "That the conception is not theirs but Norman William's? It is not beyond him to conceive all this. He has done greater, has he not? And but uses the Orkneymen and the others, even King Olaf, to his own ends. To bring down Malcolm."

  Cospatrick looked at him thoughtfully, rubbing his small pointed beard. "I do not know," he admitted. "But if it is so, then we are in a coil indeed." He straightened up at the table. "Tomorrow," he decided, "we go see my good brother at Caerluel. Discover what he knows. Before these others gain word of us. That is best. . ."

  That night Maldred lay long awake. There was a sufficiency to think about. And not the least of the questions he asked himself was, if all this proved to be true, even in some measure, what were the chances of Cospatrick remaining true to Malcolm and Scotland? Would not all his advantage be to change sides once again, to throw in his lot with this menacing confederacy, if such there was? In which case, what was his own duty? Or, at least, how was he to carry any of it out?

  He could only wait and see what transpired.

  In the morning, they were on the move early again, for it was a long day's ride to Caerluel in Cumberland, especially since they must still keep to hidden ways and high ground, at first at least, to avoid discovery. Later, it would not matter. They went by Corsock and the Urr Water, over to Auchenreoch, and then followed the Cargen Water down to Nith, to ford that great river at Dumfries. This was a fair-sized town at the only available crossing, which they could not avoid. But they were not held up, the banner of Northumbria — which Cospatrick still chose to fly — sufficient credential if two hundred armed men were not enough. On across the great Lochar Moss to the Solway shore, openly now, for none would challenge the Earl Waltheof s brother this side of Nith, to cross the foot of Annandale and so come, over Sark to the two final Solway crossings, of Esk and Eden, into Cumbria. At once, across Esk at Kirkandrews, they were held up and questioned by guards, but allowed to proceed. Yes, the Earl Waltheof was in residence at Caerluel.

  Caerluel, the Fort of Llewellyn, some Cymric princeling of old, rose in marshland at a major bend of the River Eden some five miles inland from the Solway, in a strong position within triple moats, the site of a Roman strength. Its township, on the firmer ground to the east, although the most important centre in Cumberland, was a poor place, having suffered much from Viking burnings in the past. But on its outskirts was a monastery, a Romish one this, and very different from the Celtic cashels, even though not large as such establishments went. It was built all in stone-and-lime and slating, with a handsome church and quite extensive monastic buildings surrounding a cloister— chapter-house, refectory, dormitories, calefactory, infirmary, locutory, guest-houses, even a scriptorium and library, and a misericord where special indulgences in food could be enjoyed. In the circumstances, perhaps, it was not to be wondered at that this was where the visitors found the Earl Waltheof installed, a deal more comfortably than in the old fort.

  Two years younger than his brother, he proved to be a very different man, hesitant, slow of speech, wary, inclined to stoop. He was handsome also, in his own way, but there was an essential weakness about the mouth and chin which was not to be hidden.

  He did not appear overjoyed to see Cospatrick or to meet his cousin Maldred for the first time. But he made them reasonably welcome — or at least requested the Prior, one Ulfwin, to do so, and to provide suitable accommodation for his kinsmen in the monastery, and quarters for the soldiers nearby in the town. Unfortunately it was the Fast of St. Matthew, and these being Benedictines and of fairly strict rule, the hospitality would not be of the most lavish.

  For all that, the newcomers did quite well at Caerluel, with better, or at least more varied, feeding than at St. John's of Dairy, served suitably in the misericord chamber. Here Cospatrick lost no time in questioning his brother, having cheerfully if autocratically dismissed all others save Maldred from the room.

  "Now — what of this talk of war, man?" he demanded bluntly. "I hear that you are in some way concerned. Which is not like you. What's to do, Wattie?"

  The other looked alarmed and unhappy, glanced at Maldred, and closing somewhat slack lips rather more tightly, shook his head.

  "Come — out with it," his brother insisted. "Never heed Maldred. He is our close kin. And acts my lieutenant in this enterprise."

  As the younger man blinked at this, Waltheof found his voice. "Aye — what is your enterprise, Pate? What brings you here, with this Scots company? Who do you support now? Who do you serve?"

  Cospatrick laughed. "Say that I support myself. As best I can in this sorry world! As must all, who are not fools. At present I am on an errand of enquiry, see you."

  "For Malcolm?"

  "And for myself. A man cannot make wise decisions lacking full knowledge. Eh, Maldred?"

  That one, as careful as Waltheof, only slightly inclined his head.

  "It is not for me to inform Malcolm Big Head," Waltheof said.

  "You are his gover
nor, here in Cumbria, are you not?"

  "Am I so still? Or ever? I know not. We have no dealings. It was never more than in name — as well you know, Pate."

  "So — you have something to hide? From Malcolm. But not from me, brother — not from me, I promise you!" That was almost menacing. "It is this of war? That you are entangled in it with those fools Paul and Erland Thorfinnson — like the fool you are also!"

  "No, Pate — no. It is not so, not that. . ."

  "Do you deny that you have, of all follies, conspired with the Orkneymen to invade Scotland? With Godfrey Crovan and others?"

  "Not conspired, no. It is at William's express command — King William of England."

  "William? Since when has the Norman commanded you? Or any of our house? This is Cumbria, is it not? In Strathclyde. Not in England."

  "You fought for William yourself. . ."

  "When it suited me. Of my own will. Never at his command."

  "And look what that gained you! You lost Northumbria. I, I will win it back again."

  "Ha — so now we have it! That is what William has promised you, to be his man? To do his bidding. You are to be Earl of Northumbria. In my place. Or so he says . . ."

  "And why not? You have thrown it away. It was ours, our forebears'..."

  "You think that Norman William would fulfil his word, fool? And that if he did, I would leave you in possession of my earldom! Dear God —even you should know better than that! One man has already learned what it costs to try to hold my patrimony — Robert de Comyn. I slew him, you will mind."