Then, the day before Maldred and Magda were due to leave for Dunbar, in early November, an English vessel arrived at Dysart haven bringing three monks and a letter from Lanfranc, Archbishop of Canterbury. The senior of this trio, Godwin by name, was a Saxon strangely enough, but an experienced architect, who had studied his craft in Normandy and the Low Countries and had had a hand in building many fine churches. The other two, both Normans, were a master-mason and a skilled wood-carver.
Margaret was overjoyed with this response to her appeal; especially when she read the Archbishop's letter. Indeed so pleased was she that she had to show it to somebody. It was written in Latin, and Malcolm, whose schooling had been of the scantiest, could speak only Gaelic and English. But Maldred had a scholar for father and knew his Latin. The Queen showed him the letter, with Magda, in a strange mixture of pride and humility.
It was lengthy and, he thought, effusive, although Margaret did not see it so. He read it out, for Magda was no Latinist either.
Lanfranc, unworthy bishop of the holy church of Canterbury to the glorious queen of the Scots, Margaret, greeting and benediction:
The brief space of a letter cannot unfold the great gladness with which thou has filled my heart, when I have read thy letter . . . queen beloved of God. With what delight glow the words which proceed by inspiration of the Divine Spirit. For I believe that the things thou hast written were said not by thee but through thee. Truly He has spoken with thy mouth, who says to His Disciples "Learn from me because I am gentle and humble of heart." From this teaching of Christ it has come that thou, born of royal stock, royally brought up, nobly united to a noble king, hast chosen as father me, a stranger, worthless, ignoble, entangled in sin; and dost beg me to regard thee as a spiritual daughter. I am not such as thou thinkest; but may I be such, because thou thinkest it! Pray for me that I may be worthy as a father to pray to the Lord for thee ... let there be traffic of prayers and benefits between us. Henceforth let me be thy father and thou my daughter.
According to thy request, I send to thy glorious husband and thee our dearest brother Sir Godwine; also two other, brothers, because he could not fulfil in himself alone all that ought to be done in God's service and yours. I ask earnestly that you should endeavour resolutely to complete what you have begun for God and for your souls. And if you can, or wish to, fulfil your work through others, we would greatly desire that these our brothers should return to us; because they were very necessary to our Church in their services. But let it be according to your will; and we desire in everything to obey you.
"Is not that a wonder and a joy?" Margaret demanded. "So kind, noble, generous — and I so sinfully unworthy."
Maldred cleared his throat. "Most . . . flattering," he said. "For a Norman. This of being your father in the Lord, you his daughter — what means that? Which he makes so much of."
"What but that he takes me under his especial loving care and authority."
"Authority, yes, Highness. That is where I might think to tread carefully. These Normans are cunning. And this man is William's close friend — or he would not have him Archbishop of Canterbury. He put Stigand away, for him. As Archbishop, I have heard that he claims authority over all the Romish Church north of the archbishopric of Normandy. That could include Scotland, could it not?
Church authority over Scotland! And over you, Scotland's Queen. Certainly over this new church which he is aiding you to build."
"Maldred — what do you mean?"
"I mean that William the Norman now claims to be Lord Paramount of Scotland. Temporal Lord Paramount. Perhaps Lanfranc the Norman intends to be spiritual Lord Paramount of Scotland! The Normans to have us in the grip of both fists!"
Both young women looked at him blankly.
"Unkind, Maldred," the Queen reproved. "To take such thing out of so kind and good a letter."
"Perhaps. But King William said that he had made more modest his terms, at Abernethy, because of your intervention and letter to this Lanfranc. I do not think that man would do so just because of your fair face, Highness. Some might — but not William!"
Disturbed and a little hurt, the Queen took her letter and left them.
Next day, however, she had forgiven him, for she came to see them off to the Borderland, as friendly and kind as ever. She kissed them both farewell — and then drew Magda back for a moment, to murmur in her ear.
Later that young woman revealed to her husband that Margaret was pregnant again.
15
MAGDA GAVE BIRTH to a daughter, at Bothargask, on the Eve of St. Duthac, in early March, and they called her Marsala, a family name, also Margaret after her godmother. And Margaret herself was delivered of another son two months later, and named him Edmund, another Saxon name for a Scots prince.
Maldred was greatly taken with his daughter — indeed he esteemed her unique. She was a sturdy, healthy, uncomplicated child, who gave her parents a minimum of trouble. Her cousin-at-a-remove, Edmund, however, was a sickly infant, puny and wailing, such as his father had no use for at all — which made his mother the more protective.
Maldred could not remain at Bothargask, playing the proud father, of course, with the affairs of the Border earldoms demanding ever more of his time and attention. The Border folk, with all their toughness and military virtues, required a strong hand and a visible presence to keep them under control — which was why Malcolm had appointed Cospatrick thereto in the first place. So now Maldred could never be away for long. Fortunately, serious and sustained raiding from Northumbria had not developed, as feared — this almost certainly because King William, driven by whatever devil of urgency possessed him, had once again sailed with his armies across the Channel and was now involved in a double campaign, against Flanders in the north-east and the French province of Maine to the south; and the Earl Waldeve of Northumbria with his manpower had perforce to go with him. The Duke Robert of Normandy was once again in revolt against his father it seemed, and this time he had his brother William Rufus assisting him and acting as King Philip of France's lieutenant in Maine. The Conqueror appeared to be able to impose his will on almost everybody except his own family.
When, in early June, Maldred reached Dunbar, alone but with arrangements for Magda to follow with the baby in due course, he was astonished to find installed in the half-built castle there none other than its owner and builder himself, secretly but as large as life. Or not quite as large as he had been, for Cospatrick had been seriously wounded in the early stages of the Flanders campaign, fighting for Duke Robert against William, and had lost a lot of blood and weight. His right shoulder had, in fact, been shattered by a mace-blow, through his shirt-of-mail, and a muscle and blood-vessel of his neck affected at that same side. So now that shoulder sagged badly and he had something of a twist to his head. This made his raffish good looks more sardonic than ever but appeared to have by no means quenched his spirit.
"So, like an old wounded dog I have limped home to die, Maldred!" he told his cousin cheerfully. "Look not so glum, man! It all might be a deal worse."
"But. . . how are you to do? What is to become of you? Hidden, a fugitive in your own house. You cannot remain so. . .
"We shall see. I have a notion or two about that. Drastic situations demand drastic cures!"
"Yes. But — have you thought this out? Malcolm cannot permit that you remain in Scotland. It was one of the terms of his agreement with William that you should be banished from his realm. You have been gone barely a year. William will hear of your presence, never doubt it. He is a master of spies. The King will have to put you away — he can do no other without defying William openly and all that that means. You cannot go over into England, where you would be hunted down as an outlaw ..."
"William, God destroy him, is still in France, where he is like to remain for some time. Waldeve also. The odious Odo is ruling England for his bastard brother. I cannot think that he will have much time for northern adventures, chasing such as myself."
"Not
meantime perhaps. But presently. And then Malcolm will stand accused of harbouring you. Laying himself open to reprisals. You know the King. Will he be prepared to suffer it, for you?"
"Probably not. Our royal cousin is scarcely a long-suffering man. But I have a little time,, see you. I said that, like a wounded dog I had limped home to die. I have no intention of dying just yet. But I might seem to die. And my young son reign here in my stead — under your good direction."
"Do you mean that?"
"To be sure. Why not? Stranger things have been done. It would relieve Malcolm of his responsibility. Give the Normans no cause to come poking their long noses into my lands and affairs . . ."
"But what of you? Where would you be? What doing? You, a man all know, kenspeckle indeed. You would be recognised. People would talk. . ."
"True. I had thought of Holy Church!" Cospatrick put his hands together piously. "What more appropriate? It looks as though I shall never wield a sword again, with any satisfaction. Suitable that I should retire discreedy into the arms of the faithful, become Brother Anselm or something such — of not too strict an order, see you — and come and go as some wandering friar."
Maldred wagged his head helplessly. "You! A churchman’
"Of a sort, lad — of a sort! And until times improved, shall we say? When I might re-emerge, none the worse. Or improved! And who knows what Brother Anselm might achieve, in the bygoing? Heigho — do you still say that I have not thought it out, cousin?"
It took Maldred a little time to digest. "Who would know of this?" he demanded, at length. "How would you contrive it?"
"Few indeed should know. At first, none save yourself. And some secure priest, to effect the business. I shall seem to grow sadly sick, and fade fast. You shall take me away to some monastery. To die. In the care of Mother Church. Suitably. Then the Earl Cospatrick will be buried, and the monk Anselm born. Twisted as I am now, with my face shaven and head tonsured, none will know me — because none will look to see me. But . . . enough of that, Maldred. Tell me of your stewardship here. And what has happened in Scotland this past year? You are now a father, I hear. . . ?"
All worked out very much as Cospatrick had visualised. Only a few of the Earl's house-servants knew that he was back at Dunbar — he had come by sea from Flanders and landed by night in a small boat — and those who knew had been left in small doubt as to what their fate would be if they revealed his presence. Now he kept to his room, and Maldred gave it out that he was gravely ill. Then, after a few days, a horse-litter was prepared, and Maldred and a couple of his own huscarls took the Earl, well wrapped and hidden, and rode off south-westwards into Lammermuir.
The story was that they were making for the small Abbey of St. Bathans, in the green hills which overlooked the Merse on the north, where a man might die in holy peace. But in fact, once they were well away from all the haunts of men, Cospatrick rose from his litter to sit his horse properly, and they swung away due southwards into the fertile levels of the Merse itself, going at a good spanking pace now. They were heading for the Tweed, for it and across it, having come to the conclusion that the Earl's reincarnation had better be as a friar of the Roman Church rather than any Celtic monk. The Romans went in for wandering and mendicant friars much more than did the Columbans. Also this would enable Cospatrick to roam about in England too, where a Celtic monk would have stood out notably and his ignorance be exposed. Moreover, his hair already beginning to thin a little on top, he was more prepared to sacrifice an incipient bald patch to the Roman crown tonsure than to shave his brow and head frontal in the Celtic fashion. Lastly, it might be wise, for Malcolm's sake, not to die on Scottish soil. So they were making for the nearest and most modest English monastery — which in fact was that of the small house of Ubbanford, of mendicant friars, just across Tweed from Horndean in the Norham area, founded incidentally by Cospatrick's own grandfather-maternal, the Earl Uchtred of Northumbria, in an access of remorse for some unspecified sin.
The Horndean ford led them into Northumbria, and after some persuasion and slightly-veiled threats, the extremely doubtful Prior Horulf of Ubbanford received them and took reluctant charge of his new novitiate, very much aware of how vulnerable he and his priory were to pressure from Scotland, across the river, in the event of non-co-operation.
Maldred left his cousin there. Cospatrick said that he would stay at Ubbanford for a week or two, possibly, learning the basis of his new identity, having his head tonsured and generally turning himself into a convincing mendicant friar. Then there would be a quiet funeral for the erstwhile fugitive. Earl Cospatrick; and thereafter he would set out on his wanderings. Just what these wanderings were to consist of, he did not detail. He said that he had various enquiries and discreet visitations he wanted to make in North Northumbria and elsewhere, then he would make his way back to Ersildoune in Lauderdale, where he proposed to settle down near his family and his own March earldom's castle. He would send for Maldred there in due course. Clearly the mendicant friar had no intention of becoming any less the autocrat, in essence, because of his change of habit.
It was a full month later, in high summer, with Magda and the baby settled in at Dunbar and enjoying the seaside life, when Maldred got his summons to Lauderdale. On this occasion he did not take his wife. The message was brought by a so-called serving-brother, in reality a body-servant of Cospatrick's own, whom Maldred had previously known as Patie's Dod, still with something of the clash of steel about him, monk's habit notwithstanding.
At the Earl's Town of Ersildoune, four miles up the River Leader from its junction with Tweed, his guide brought Maldred to a cot-house built some way apart from the other houses and hovels of the community which served the new castle, under the green cone known as the White Hill of Ersildoune. This proved to be no ordinary cottage, normal as it looked from the front. For one thing, it was much larger than it seemed, with a quite long rear extension consisting of cowhouse, stable and other domestic quarters. The front part was in fact fitted up as a simple chapel, with altar, candles, piscina, aumbry and lectern, in the Romish fashion. But behind this a vestry door led into a large and comfortable chamber for living and sleeping in, with a stone-built fireplace and flue, a couch of skins, a paved floor with rugs of deer-skin and sheep, a table, benches, coffers and plenishings. Patie's Dod — or Brother Ulfric as he was now to be called — revealed that this was his lord's new dwelling-place. He himself had a shakedown off the cowshed nearby.
Cospatrick was not present at the moment — no doubt up at the castle with the children, Dod said. The Earl had now assumed the character of chaplain and confessor to his own family, it was explained — which seemed to Maldred a distinctly risky development, however tempting and convenient. Nevertheless, when Cospatrick turned up presently, he was indeed hardly to be recognised as his former dashing self. Clean-shaven of his little forked beard and thin down-turning moustaches, with his twisted head and sagging shoulder, short-cut hair — to say nothing of the tonsure — and grey, long monkish habit, it would have taken a keen eye to suspect that this was the celebrated earl of heretofore.
"Ha, my son — greetings, in the name of God the One in Three and Three in One!" he intoned, and sketched the sign of the cross over Maldred, grinning — a grin that at least was no more sanctimonious than formerly. "Welcome to my lowly retreat and poor eremitage. Ulfric, man — wine! A beaker for each of us. And full, man — full! It is plaguey thirsty work, this holiness!"
"So — it is all as you proposed and forecast," Maldred said. "Friar Anselm, indeed!"
"Ah, no. Anselm, I decided, did not suit me. So I am Friar Eadwulf, a notable healer of diseases of the skin. I do not actually cure leprosy — but anything else, come to me — with a suitable offering — and I shall see what can be done! Ah — drink up, cousin. Thank God I had a good supply of Burgundian wine laid in at the castle, whilst I had opportunity."
"I thank you. But — is this wise, Cospatrick? This of the castle. And your children. So close .
. ."
"Eadwulf, man — not Cospatrick! Never that. Cospatrick is dead. Did you not hear?"
"To be sure. All Lothian and the Merse rang with it. But — your family. Are the children not bound to talk?"
"Not them. Think you that I have not warned them sufficiently? And you would not have me to abandon my own bairns? They need a father. Now they will have a better, closer one, than they ever had. Holier, too! Forby, the castle has its advantages." And he gestured with his wine-beaker.
"I can see that. But ..." Maldred shrugged. "You always were sure of yourself."
"And with reason," the other agreed. "Have I ever failed you, myself, or my friends?"
"Some might say so. You are namely for, for changing sides!"
"Only a fool does not change when his wits tell him to. Dealing with kings and rulers, a man changes — or suffers! Mind you that, young Maldred. Especially rulers such as Malcolm and William, bastards in more than their birth! Either would sacrifice you, or me, at a snap of their fingers. But — sit, man. It is Malcolm I sent for you to speak on. Ulfric, oaf — bring food. Meats, do you hear? For the Lord Maldred ..."
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