Margaret the Queen

by Nigel Tranter

  "His father was — King Duncan. Whom MacBeth slew."

  Paul intervened. "On this, you can speak with no authority, cousin," he said. "So we shall use our own wits, make our own decisions. For the rest, we thank you. We must needs confer. Consider what you have said. Decide on our course. We shall leave you to eat in peace."

  "Yes. One last word, my lord — do not march until the Earl Cospatrick comes. He will be here in three days, or four. He has more to tell you than have I. I am but his messenger. And, and he who is close to Malcolm, declares that Ingebiorg was not poisoned. Him you should ask . . ."

  With varied expressions they filed out.

  * * *

  The three days that Maldred spent with the Viking host at St. Cuthbert's Town — for Godfrey Crovan's Manxmen were mainly of Norse-Danish extraction also — held for him a strangely unreal quality. He was in a sort of limbo, idle after all the great and hurried riding of the previous days, largely shunned by his involuntary hosts, with only the Earl Paul in any way civil, all initiative now out of his hands, not knowing what was being decided, what the true situation was outside Galloway, what his own immediate future was likely to be. It was all frustrating, unsettling, for a young man of his active and direct temperament.

  At least, the army remained stationary meantime. He could claim little credit for this, however, since he gathered that they had all along been waiting for a further contingent from the Isle of Man; also for great numbers of garrons scoured from all the Galloway countryside, since they could hardly have brought these on their longships.

  The days passed slowly, with little enough to occupy his mind, although he made what he could of seeing to the comfort of his five-score men. But the evenings were better, for these Scandinavians knew how to enjoy themselves; and though their visitor was scarcely accepted as part of the proceedings, he was allowed to sit in, as it were, at the nightly feasting and entertainment. There was no lack of provender and good cheer — Galloway was probably being ransacked to provide it; and the divertissements which went on during and after the meal were as unstinted, indeed apt to be uproarious, much wilder, disrespectful, even scurrilous, than was ever the Scots custom. Nothing and no one was sacred to Arnor Earl's Skald and his minions, even, indeed particularly, his masters Paul and Erland Thorfinnson — with parody and ridicule generally taken in extraordinarily good part, although occasionally there was fury, fisticuffs and flagons thrown. Inevitably Maldred came in for some derogatory references from the sagamen, skalds and storytellers, but nothing that he could not grin at or swallow. He came to the conclusion that, given more propitious circumstances, he could get on well with these Norsemen — but that he would not like to have to fight them.

  Then, on the fourth evening, Cospatrick duly appeared, with his weary following, travel-stained, all but exhausted with homeric riding. Not that the Earl allowed himself to show it. He came into the great camp as though he owned it, shouting for the Thorfinnsons and Godfrey Crovan, a picture of assurance and cheerful authority. Even Maldred was impressed.

  From the start Cospatrick took it that the projected campaign against Scotland was off, that anything else was unthinkable, that he pitied his young kinsmen from Orkney for ever having been so deluded as to consider the matter, whilst hootingly deriding his old friend and fellow-veteran Godfrey of Islay for not knowing better, for taking William the Norman at his word and for not advising the young earls more wisely, he a man of experience. Not for a moment did he give any other impression than that the project was dead, that the others would have come round to realising this in due course anyway — but that they certainly owed himself his meed of thanks for having saved them all from folly and disaster if not ruin. Waldeve Siwardson so esteemed his intervention, he confided — but then, poor Waldeve had never been of the brightest, easy meat for William's wiles. He ought to be on his way back to Deira by this time.

  It was rather extraordinary how the others accepted all this as valid, factual — and despite Cospatrick's reputation for untrustworthiness and double-dealing. Presumably it was his personality, allied to his sheer arrogant confidence of manner, which carried the conviction. Maldred had to some extent paved the way for him, admittedly; but the real conquest of the others' intentions and will-power was all his own. At any rate, without it having to be declared in so many words, it was agreed, before they slept that night, that invasion was no longer practicable, and that the offence concerning King Malcolm would have to be assuaged otherwise. Maldred deliberately retired early, not wishing to become involved again in the vexed subject of the Queen's death, so what Cospatrick told the bereaved brothers he did not know nor wished to know.

  They had a day of relaxation thereafter for Cospatrick's tired escort and horseflesh — which that indefatigable manipulator turned to good purpose — as he saw it — by convincing the now distinctly purposeless and at-a-loose-end Vikings, to prevent them having second thoughts, that the obvious thing to do with all their fine mustered strength was to sail across to the Isle of Man and take it over as a suitable appanage and dependency of the Orcades and Hebrides — after all, it had once been part of the Sudreys, the Southern Hebrides; and its present king was unlikely to rise from his sick-bed in Dublin. Godfrey Crovan, needless to say, backed this programme wholeheartedly — as Cospatrick had foreseen — declaring that he would be happy to rule Man for the Orkney earls. The brothers had not actually committed themselves to this adventure when Cospatrick and Maldred took their leave next morning, but clearly they most probably would do so, for it would serve to save their faces, allay the sense of anti-climax in their army, and show some suitable return for all the trouble and expense they had been put to. Also it might conceivably lead to greater things, for the sickly Godfrey was King of Dublin as well as of Man, and who knew what possibilities might arise, with Man as a stepping-stone to Ireland, most of the east side of which was in the hands of second and third generation Norsemen and Danes.

  So the Scots company rode off northwards on St. Moluag's Eve, the second day of March, reasonably satisfied that they left a much improved situation behind them — except for sundry folk on the Isle of Man — and took even a sort of grudging gratitude with them.

  Maldred was admittedly at a loss as to what to think of this cousin of his, Cospatrick. He did not know that he was any more prepared to trust him than before — less so, perhaps. Yet he could not but admire his agile wits, his genius for persuasion, his dash, courage and elan. It occurred to him that he might, in fact, have made a suitable king for Scotland had Duncan Ilgarach had as eventual successor his brother, the late Maldred, rather than his illegitimate son Malcolm.

  After riding a while at the Earl's side, he spoke. "Did Paul and Erland believe you as to Ingebiorg?" he wondered.

  "God knows! But I did my best for Malcolm." "Aye." Maldred left it at that.

  A little later, he resumed. "What of the Earl Waldeve of Deira? Was he as easily convinced as was your brother?"

  Cospatrick grinned. "He is of a more sceptical turn of mind, is Waldeve. But I think I persuaded him where his present advantage lay, see you. And I won him out of Bamburgh."

  "How did you do that?"

  "I said that Malcolm would take it unkindly. As might I. And that a Scots army could be at Berwick-on-Tweed, twenty-five miles away no more, in not so many days' time."

  "Oh. And he accepted that? And is now on his way back to Deira?"

  "He will be — if he believes half what I told him. . . !"

  7

  IT TOOK SOME time for Maldred to adjust himself to the atmosphere which they found prevailing on their return to Dunfermline. It was as of holiday and celebration, with no least hint of danger or threat of war. It was not normalcy, far from it indeed, because Malcolm's Court and establishment had never been notable for gaiety and good cheer; but it was far removed from the urgency and emergency in which the Galloway party had been steeped. There was a preoccupation with conviviality and festivity. The Princess Margaret Atheling h
ad agreed to marry the King, and the wedding was set for so soon as a month hence.

  The newcomers learned this even before they reached the palace, had it shouted to them time and again as they approached and entered the town. If Maldred was surprised, almost shocked, Cospatrick was not, and said so, with sundry cynical, lewd and uncalled-for comments, so that they reached their destination in mutual disenchantment.

  The King, they discovered, was away with his bride-to-be visiting the small monastery which St. Columba himself had founded on an island in the Scottish Sea, St. Colm's, called after him — this significant in itself as indicating the influence Margaret was establishing over the monarch, at this stage at least, in that Malcolm had never been one for visiting religious establishments as a means of recreation or enjoyment. Cospatrick had his comments to make about that, too.

  Magda was with her mistress, and Maldred was not one to discuss affairs with the Princesses Agatha or Christina — who already seemed to be carrying themselves with enhanced authority and assurance. So he gained no detailed information until the royal party returned, with sundown — and Malcolm, hearing that his envoys were back, summoned them to his presence forthwith.

  The King was stamping around the hall fire, sipping at a quaich of whisky, for a chill wind had made the voyage home a cold business. Margaret had gone to her room to change.

  "You are back, then," he growled at them. "Both of you!" Undoubtedly he emphasised that, a little. "Your message reached me. That Waltheof’s also. Is all well?"

  "All is well," Cospatrick nodded. "This time. But William will try again. Nothing surer."

  "No doubt — fiend burn him! And the Orkneymen?"

  "Sailed after lesser game, I think. But — I hear that you are to wed again, cousin? I wish you good fortune. And you will need it, with that one, I swear! Eh, Maldred?"

  Maldred compressed his lips and said nothing.

  Malcolm glared. "Watch your tongue!" he jerked. "I mislike loose tongues."

  "You owe my tongue a deal!" the other observed, cheerfully.

  The King hunched his heavy shoulders in the bull-like way he had, big head thrust forward, lower lip curling down. "I owe you nothing — save perhaps a hanging!" he said deliberately. "Remember that. I do not forget who betrayed me, not so long ago. I have a good memory."

  "Then, I hope that you will remember what I have saved you, these last days, my lord King! Perhaps your kingdom, indeed." Cospatrick flung that back almost casually, confidence evidently nothing diminished. "How say you, Maldred?"

  "I would say that His Highness may have much reason to be grateful, my lord," the younger man said carefully.

  The monarch looked from one to the other, assessingly. He was a realist, above all. "So-o-o! Out with it, then. What have you saved me? And how?"

  "Why, I have destroyed a most dire threat to this realm. Turned back invasion on many fronts. Talked the Thorfinnsons, Godfrey Crovan, my brother Waltheof and Waldeve Siwardson out of a combined attack, wrecked the Norman's plans against you, and persuaded the Orkney earls to assail Man instead of you. All without a life lost, a drop of blood shed. Is it not enough?"

  "All that? So nimble a tongue! Or so great a liar!"

  "Have it as you will. But the threat was there. Thousands of men mustered against you. And now is not. William forced to think anew. If you do not believe me, ask Maldred."

  "It is true, Highness. All true. My lord Earl did all that he says. By using one against the other. By cozening, yes — but shrewdly. By threatening his brother, first, the weakest link. It was featly done. The Orkneymen had four thousand waiting to strike. Waltheof fifteen hundred. Waldeve I know not how many. Somerled more. Others also. The Norse may still strike, at Moray and Ross, where Farquhar MacBeth hates you. And William waiting with a fleet in the Humber, to finish all."

  "While you, cousin, courted!" Cospatrick added easily.

  "I have five thousand waiting at Stirling and Scone. Others mustering. Think you I have lost my wits, fool?"

  "Men have done that over a pretty face, before this."

  "Not Malcolm mac Duncan!" the King said grimly. "Now — from the beginning. Tell me it all."

  He listened, weighing each word, as Cospatrick recounted the circumstances and details — the tale losing nothing in the telling. At the end, he stroked his cruel, down-turning moustaches.

  "As well that it was witlings, fledglings and cravens you had to deal with! Men of any parts and experience would have required more than a glib tongue to persuade."

  "They were the same whom William's tongue had first persuaded! Do not forget it. Nor forget that, like William, I require my price!"

  "Require, you say . . . ?"

  "Aye. For the labourer deserves his hire. And, if refused it, might hire his labour to . . . another!" "I promised you a Scots earldom. The Merse."

  "That, cousin, will be more burden than reward. Since it is your border with William's England, and I shall have to fight for every yard of it. You should pay me for holding your March for you."

  "You seek more?"

  "Much more. I shall need another earldom to enable me to hold the Merse. It had better be that next to it. Lothian."

  "Lothian! So rich a province? So great? You are bold, man!"

  "I am. But then you need my boldness, do you not? And I am not done yet. I am giving you back control over Cumbria. And now Northumbria also, my Northumbria, which William promises at large. For these, to help you hold them, I require ten thousand merks, in gold and silver."

  The King's intake of breath was audible. Maldred tensed physically for the explosion. But before it came, a stir behind them turned them all. The Princess Margaret stood there.

  After a moment Cospatrick and Maldred bowed, the former deeply.

  "Lady," he said. "Your most humble admirer. I was felicitating the King's Highness on his good fortune."

  "Was that what it was, my lord? To me, it sounded as though your felicitations were becoming expensive!" She turned. "Maldred — I rejoice to see you back."

  He inclined his head. "I also must offer my humble duties," he said flatly. "And my good wishes."

  At his tone of voice she looked at him searchingly, almost anxiously. "I. . . much esteem your . . . goodwill, Maldred. Your regard. I hope that I shall always have it." For that clear-sighted young woman, that was less than assured.

  Malcolm humphed impatiently, such talk not for him. "This fine cousin of mine, Cospatrick, claims that he has saved my realm for me! And asks, requires, two earldoms and ten thousand merks for doing it. What say you to that?"

  "The Earl Cospatrick esteems his services more highly than do you, my lord King?" "It seems that he does, yes."

  "The buyer need not pay all the seller asks, I think. In any market. Often the seller scarcely expects him to! All depends on whether there is another buyer in sight?"

  "M'mm. The only other buyer for these goods, I say, could be William the Norman."

  "And he already has bargained with this seller. And lost to him. Twice, has he not? I think that our merchant will . . . chaffer!"

  "Aye, by God — you could be right!"

  The Earl looked from one to the other. "I perceive that Scotland is going to have a queen of some . . . commerce!" he said. "I admire that. I will take eight thousand merks. But I must have Lothian as well as the Merse. There are insufficient men in the Merse to keep your border for you. The March. Insufficient wealth and rents to pay them, also. For you are giving me the Merse as a task and duty, not a reward."

  "I will give you half of Lothian, then. The east. Dunbar, with Lammermuir. And the Merse. And five thousand merks. Not a merk or an acre more. That is the last of it."

  The other grinned. "Very well. Chaffering over! I accept. Earl of Dunbar and March. And five thousand merks. Before these witnesses! I am your true man." He made a half-mocking bow. "And your most deft lady's. You can belt me an earl of Scotland some other time."

  Malcolm, however, ensured himself the las
t word. "At my convenience. You have my permission to retire. Both of you."

  Maldred went in search of his brother and Magda — and hoped that he might not find them together.

  The girl was easily discovered. But it transpired that Madach was with his Atholl regiment at Stirling, and had been for some days. Magdalen was undisguisedly glad to see him, at least, and chattered away like a kettle on the hob. Maldred did not have to steer the subject round to the matter of Margaret and the King. Magda was not long in reaching it herself — and in no uncritical fashion.

  "There was no stopping her. Once she had made up her mind," she declared. "I saw it coming."

  "But why? Why?"

  "She conceived it to be her duty."

  "Duty? To give herself to a man old enough to be her father. And such a man as Malcolm."

  "Even so. As Queen of Scotland she sees herself as greatly aiding Edgar and her mother. And as Malcolm's wife she thinks that she can do much for Scotland. And even possibly England. The Saxon cause. She says, who is she to refuse, reject, so great an opportunity to serve others?"

  "Saints above! How can she believe that? Delude herself?"

  "But she does believe it. Has come to. And once she believes, nothing will move her. You do not know her as I do."

  "But does she know what she does? In giving herself to the King. Can she think of what it will be like, wed to such a man?"