Margaret the Queen

by Nigel Tranter

  So they waited. But meantime Cospatrick despatched a courier over the Earl of Fife's ferry at North Berwick to bring Edgar Atheling back from Dunfermline — if he would come. He was the ostensible excuse for Malcolm's invasion, and might make a useful bargaining-counter if negotiations could be developed.

  Soon messages began to come from their people along the Tweed that the main mass of the Scots army was on its way home through North Northumbria, but much slowed by immense booty. Of the English forces there was no word.

  Strangely, their first real news of the southern situation came from the north. A vessel put into Dunbar harbour two days later, bringing not only Edgar Atheling but his royal sister. They brought the tidings that, as they were about to leave from Inverkeithing haven, a storm-tossed Low Countries ship had come in, whose skipper announced that he had had to shelter in the mouth of the Humber and whilst there a great invasion fleet under Duke Robert of Normandy had been driven ashore on that coast, by the fierce storm, and utterly wrecked. Margaret observed, although much less confidently than formerly she would have done, that it was, surely, an answer to prayer?

  Maldred and Magda were shocked by the appearance of the Queen. Drawn, thin and pale, she seemed to have aged almost unbelievably. She was still beautiful but no longer lovely in the warm and comely way which had been so attractive. Now she was sad, reserved, without sparkle, almost ill. Magda thought that her time-of-life might have something to do with it — she was now forty-three — but more than this must be responsible. If it was the result of her penances and fastings, then she was punishing herself terribly for some reason.

  They made a less than cheerful company as they waited in Dunbar Castle. All were anxious over the developing situation, Edgar particularly so, an agitated man who wished that he was not there, wished, he declared, that he had never been born. Apparently he had come in answer to Cospatrick's summons only because Margaret had insisted on it — and had come herself to ensure compliance. So she could still be strong-willed, at least. Edgar and Cospatrick, of course, cordially disliked each other, and he was by no means fond of Maldred either.

  That first evening, with the Athelings declaring that they were weary and retiring early to their rooms, Magda told Maldred that she was going up to Margaret's chamber to talk to the Queen, alone, goodnights said or no. They were, after all, old friends as well as mistress and attendant. Surely she would abandon her grievous reserve and speak freely to her?

  Some considerable time later, with his wife not returned, Maldred decided to go up himself. Was he not also Margaret's friend, however much they might disagree at times? He knocked at her door. Magda came and, making a helpless gesture, beckoned him within.

  "Here is Maldred, Highness," she said. "May he come in?"

  The Queen was standing near the window, staring out northwards across the sunset-stained sea. She held a crucifix in her hands. She answered neither yea nor nay.

  Taking silence for assent, he moved in.

  "Her Highness is sore at heart," Magda went on, tensely. "She blames herself. Against all reason. She conceives God to be punishing her. And so punishes herself the more cruelly."

  "But . . . but, back there, did she not say that this wrecking of the Duke Robert's fleet was God's answer to her prayers? How then . . . ?"

  "That was presumptuous in me," Margaret said, without turning. "Others more worthy would be praying, in this pass. To be heard before me."

  "Highness — is this ... are you still concerned over the condemnations of that crazed man in the cave? The Keledei Drostan?" Maldred demanded. "Surely that is folly? A man beside himself. . ."

  "Folly? Should I condemn as folly the condemnations, when what he prophesied is fulfilled?"

  "Fulfilled . . . ?"

  "Fulfilled, yes." Margaret turned, to face them. "You heard his prophecies, Maldred. All that he said then is coming to pass. And others, as he warned, are paying the price of my sins. And you say not to concern myself."

  "But... but. . ."

  "My sons, my own sons. They are paying the price. He said that those I loved would suffer. Edmund is lost to me, lost. Given over to wicked ways, although so young. Always he was headstrong, but now he sins openly, before all, shaming me. Wine and women, lies and savageries, despising all God's commandments . . ."

  "Margaret — I say that you cannot blame yourself for that!" Magda exclaimed. "You reared and cherished him to love and fear God. No children could have been better raised. And God would never cause Edmund to sin against Himself, just to punish you."

  "God allows it. So mine must be the fault. And it is not only Edmund. Even Ethelred, my own beloved Ethelred who seeks after God, who was to be wed to Holy Church, as I should have been — even he is lost to faith and truth and all decency..."

  "That I do not believe!" Maldred cried. "Not Ethelred. As good as a monk."

  "Ethelred, yes. He is, he is . . . married! Sixteen years, and wed! Secretly wed."

  Astonished, speechless, they gazed at her.

  "He is wed to a young woman two years older than himself. Daughter to Malsnechtan of Moray, Lulach's son. She, she is to have a child. Ethelred, whom I taught and loved and trusted. Lost..."

  "Not lost — never lost, Margaret!" Maldred asserted. "A young hawk, testing his wings, that is all. And honest enough to marry, not to abandon, as do most. . ."

  "But he was to be a priest! A man of God. To do so much, so much before him. As Primate of the Scots Church. All thrown away, all lost. . ."

  "My father, Highness, was Primate of the Church. And wed my mother, with the approval of all."

  "That was different. He was not of the true ... of the Roman Church. He was not a true priest, in orders."

  "He was Abbot of Dunkeld, as is Ethelred." Maldred produced a mirthless smile. "You and Malcolm made him that, made the lad head of the Celtic Church. Can you blame him if he accepts some of the doctrines of that Church — in which priests may wed? Blame him, if he finds its customs more to his taste than some of those of Rome?"

  "I do not blame him — I blame myself!" the Queen said, broken-voiced. "I am accursed, accursed, for my sins."

  "Sins, Margaret, my dear — who are you to weep for sins?" Magda put in. "If you, the most sainted woman in this land, bewail your sins, what of the rest of us? Who have real sins to live down."

  "You do not know what you say, Magda. My sins are as scarlet, I tell you. I have been living a lie almost from the day I reached this land. I had promised myself to take the veil. As Christina has done. I should never have agreed to wed Malcolm. He had a wife, a queen. How she died I know not — but I should not have wed Malcolm when I did. It has been on my conscience ever since. I thought, I thought to do so much, in my arrogance, for his realm, this Scotland . . ."

  "And you have done much, worked wonders, no less . .

  She ignored that. "Malcolm already had two sons. But I allowed him to put them aside, wickedly, in favour of my own. Now I, and they, are punished."

  "They were Malcolm's sons," Maldred pointed out.

  "I was made one with Malcolm, before God. His sins are mine, are they not? I let him send Duncan away, hostage. Thankful that it was not any of mine! And not only in this. I have not restrained Malcolm as I ought. His warrings and invasions and cruelties. I have not held him back from these — although God knows I have tried!"

  "God knows, yes — leave it to God and His mercy, Highness. Malcolm is a hard and harsh man. No woman could ever soften him wholly. You have done great things with him and through him, for his realm. You have made his people love you — as none love him. You are beloved as no queen ever was. The poor all but worship you. Do not scorn the love of thousands . . ."

  "Oh, I do not, I do not, Maldred. Unworthy as I am. . ."

  "I think that you do. Or you would not condemn yourself so."

  "It is true, Margaret — true," Magda said urgently. "God has blessed you with the love of so many. He cannot condemn you, as you think. Love is the touchstone,
is it not? If you are greatly loved, you cannot be far from God."

  "You think so, Magda — oh, you think so?" At last there was a flicker of hope in that unhappy voice.

  "I do not think so, I know so, my dear. Ask yourself, is it not the simple truth?"

  Abruptly the Queen threw down the crucifix on the bed and ran forward to hurl herself into Magda's arms and burst into a flood of tears. There, rocked like a child by the other woman, she sobbed her heart out.

  Maldred tip-toed to the door, and out.

  * * *

  The next afternoon the first companies of the Scots army began to appear out of the Lammermuir passes, laden down with loot, driving herds of cattle. The King, these said, was holding the Tweed fords — for how long God alone knew, for the English were close behind and in vast strength. Cospatrick sent couriers to suggest to Malcolm that he left off that difficult confrontation and came north to Dunbar where, he asserted, a more profitable and effective stand might be made and where his own force was waiting., Whether the King would heed him was another matter.

  But the following forenoon it was evident that Malcolm was coming, as more and more parties arrived, separate and strung-out after threading the hills and passes between Lothian and the Merse. Almost certainly the word that a fresh Lothian and Border host was awaiting him there had had its effect, however much he might distrust Cospatrick.

  All day the Scots were coming in, burdened by the fruits of their campaigning. But no sign of Malcolm before nightfall. It was, to be sure, some thirty-five miles from Coldstream and the other Tweed crossings, and he was presumably fighting a rearguard action all the way.

  The King arrived, with Prince Edward and his embattled rear, just before noon next day, weary, grim, declaring that William Rufus was out of the passes now, only five miles behind. He did not appear to be rejoiced to see his wife and certainly not Edgar Atheling, nor for that matter Cospatrick or any of them, save to find some satisfaction in the fresh force of about two thousand men waiting here, beside the previously-arrived units of his own army which Cospatrick had gathered up and prevented from retiring further.

  The cousins had not seen each other for long, and did not attempt to hide their lack of affection.

  "Why did you wait here?" Malcolm demanded. "If you had brought these men, these subjects of mine, to me earlier, at Coldstream, Lennel and Birgham, the English would still be behind Tweed."

  "Perhaps. But not for long. If they are in the strength all tell me, twenty thousand men, then it was only a question of time. How many have you now? Eight thousand? With mine, ten thousand. Even if you had held the fords, some English would have marched westwards up-Tweed and crossed higher, at Kelso or Roxburgh. You could not have stopped them. Then you would have been out-flanked, finished, with nothing left but flight all the way through Lothian. And had to come to terms with Rufus in the end, weak, broken and in the heart of your kingdom."

  "And this way, man? Here?"

  "Here, I think, you may come to terms better. While you are still strong — or appear to be strong. Better terms. Rufus will think twice of giving full battle here at Dunbar, with those passes and the Tweed behind him. I have sent a small force under Dolfin to harass his rear. In hostile country, my country, he will be uneasy, more disposed to talk — now that he has lost his brother's fleet."

  "Yes, husband — you must talk, not fight," Margaret put in, with some strength in her voice again. She looked wan and frail, but with more of spirit than when she had arrived. "Talking is a deal cheaper than battling — as we have proved in the past."

  "What have we to talk about, woman? Rufus has been on my heels since the Tees. Why stop to talk now?"

  "Because the further he marches from his own place — and that is the English South — the more unsure of his rear he must become," Cospatrick insisted. "He is now in Scotland, where he has never been. He is no great warrior like his father — and he leaves Odo and revolt behind him."

  "And we have something to bargain with," Margaret added. "Edgar, here. Edgar has signed a paper declaring that he will yield up all his claims to the throne of England, for himself and for all time. It is a hopeless cause, to be sure — but this new William should be relieved to have it written and pledged."

  "There is another reason, cousin," Cospatrick went on. "Another negotiator, of whom Rufus is known to think well. My good-son — whom you may remember!" He raised his voice. "Duncan — come you."

  Out from the throng of nobles behind, the prince pushed his way. Father and eldest son faced each other for the first time in a dozen years.

  Malcolm stared, speechless. Duncan had been a mere boy when last he had seen him. This was a man, a hostile, stubborn-looking, stern man with much of his sire's build and cast of feature. They had not a word to say to each other.

  The Queen it was who broke the silence. "Duncan has been much misused. We owe him a great debt, my lord King. The greater if he can carry weight with this King William, his friend, to leave our land without battle."

  Malcolm turned away, frowning darkly. "Here is no time for this idle talking," he grated. "Rufus is only a few miles off. His front riders will be upon us at any moment. Whether we fight or treat, we must be doing, not tattling like old wives!"

  "Agreed, cousin," Cospatrick nodded. "Let us to business now, that we may talk from seeming strength later..."

  They positioned their forces according to Cospatrick's plan, Malcolm acceding that it was well thought-out and best in the circumstances. They withdrew the main army almost a mile to the westwards, behind the quite large Beil Water, with the marshland of its estuary into Belhaven Bay guarding their left flank, to form a solid barrier which would be difficult to dislodge. Cospatrick's own array, however, was sent to form up on higher ground in the Belton area almost a mile away but entirely visible, prominent indeed, gallant with many flags and banners, some in fact borrowed from the King's own commanders to make a better show. Because of the lie of the land it was impossible to tell how many men were marshalled there, with the ranks disappearing over the slope of a low ridge — but the impression certainly was of a large, fresh and eager host menacing the southern flank.

  Long before they were finished this marshalling, the enemy van was in sight, numbers growing all the time until the entire narrow coastal plain was a mass of men and horses and the gleam of steel, a sufficiently alarming sight. Past the line of Dunbar township and about half-a-mile from the Scots front, the English leadership drew up, clearly to assess the situation, no doubt very much aware of that so far uncommitted host up on their left.

  At this stage it was Cospatrick, not the King, who sent forward Maldred, Prince Duncan and an escort, under a flag-of-truce.

  Halfway between the two lines, they halted and sat their horses. And presently a similar group came riding out from the bannered centre of the English front.

  As they waited, Maldred pointed. "Is not that the banner of Normandy flying beside the royal standard of England?" he said. "That must mean that Duke Robert is there. Has rejoined his brother."

  Duncan shrugged. "Did you wish him drowned? But . . . see who comes here. It is Moubray of Northumbria."

  As the English party drew near, Maldred called out. "We come from the High King of Scots. Here is his son, the Prince Duncan. King Malcolm demands speech with whoever leads this array which has invaded his realm."

  "He will get more than speech!" a haughty voice gave back. "The most puissant King William of England, Lord Paramount of Scotland, commands his immediate presence, surrender and obeisance."

  "That is bairns' talk!" Maldred returned. "There is no Lord Paramount of Scotland save its High King. If your King William is there and desires speech with my liege-lord, let him come forward and King Malcolm will assure him of safe-conduct."

  "Insolent! The King will not demean himself to speak with a rebel-in-arms."

  "Then he must needs fight the said arms! You may tell him so."

  The prince raised his voice. "My lord o
f Northumbria, I Duncan, speak. If my friend King William will not come, let him send others who may talk in his cause. We have here the Prince Edgar the Atheling, who has an offer to make. Also my goodsire the Earl Cospatrick."

  Moubray shrugged, and rode back. The Scots waited.

  After a little delay a simple knight spurred out to them. He announced that the King's Grace could by no means hold speech with rebels but that he would permit his brother, the lord Duke Robert of Normandy, to listen to their pleas and representations — for the Prince Duncan's sake.

  With that they had to be content.

  Back at Malcolm's stance, the King declared that he had expected no better, that he washed his hands of the entire business. He would challenge Rufus to battle. But Cospatrick claimed that the English reaction was good enough and that they could talk as well with Robert as with his brother, better perhaps. So long as their terms reached William it mattered not who carried them. Margaret agreed, and when her husband told her that nothing would make him speak with any of them, she said that she would go with her brother and Cospatrick. They had talked with Robert before and found him able to see reason, had they not?