Clambering out on to dry land was a desperate business. The bank was steep and littered with debris and fallen trees; and of course many of the enemy had hurried along to intercept. The wedge formation inevitably got badly broken up, and there were more casualties. But their assailants tended to fight shy of the determined leadership. Maldred, Malpender and Gillibride of Angus who had now joined them, slightly wounded, were veteran sworders, riding close, one-and-two, formidable indeed as they breasted the steep slope, streaming water. Moreover the treacherous ambush had achieved its purpose, with the death of the King and Cospatrick; and men do not usually seek to die for a won cause. So the pressure slackened before the resolute onslaught. But just as a break-through was being achieved, an English footman, before bolting out of the way of the oncoming horsemen, hurled his spear like a javelin. It took Edward, Prince of Strathclyde, full in the chest and, coming from beneath, the point was able to penetrate under the scales of his armoured jerkin and pierced his rib-cage. With a bubbling yell he pitched to the ground.
At the dire sound Maldred wheeled about. Flinging himself down he gathered up the choking heir to the throne in his arms, and with the aid of Malpender, somehow got him hoisted up to hang over the saddle-bow of Maldred's horse, whilst the rest of the Scots formed a milling circle round them. Mounting again behind, and with difficulty holding the twisting, jerking prince in position, he lashed his mount onwards once more.
They were pursued, but not so closely as to involve further fighting, on the three-mile dash back to Alnwick's bridge. Well before they got there however, they recognised that danger was ahead as well as behind, the clash of battle sounding. Madach had been right. The English army, or some part of it, had been watching, to come up and attack whilst the Scots awaited the outcome of their monarch's negotiations.
As they drew nearer they could see that, as might be expected, the major battle was engaged beyond the bridge, on the south side. Some fighting was going on on this side also, indeed scattered over a wide area. It was impossible to gauge how went the fortunes of war in that chaotic scene.
What to do? To plunge into the fight, with the King missing and treachery evident might be a recipe for disaster. There were not enough returned from Alnmouth — no more than thirty — to make any real difference to the outcome, although some were leaders. Edward was direly wounded, coughing blood, others also seriously injured including young Cospatrick. In this situation there were conflicting opinions, and little time for resolving them. Angus and Malpender, with contingents of their own mortuaths involved, felt bound to plunge into the battle and put themselves at the head of their men. Maldred's concern was for Edward and Cospatrick the younger, saving what could be rescued from this debacle. Edgar, now representing the royal house, was urgent that they first get his brother to some place where his wound could be tended, then home with him at the soonest. Dolfin felt the same about his brother.
So it was accepted. Malpender and Angus, with some of the men, would join the fighting, keeping secret meantime that the King was dead; thereafter they would advise retiral on Scotland, even if victorious — for there would be little point in continuing with this expedition now, and the Donald Ban situation had to be faced. Maldred and his second-cousins would hasten back to the hospice and monastery at Wooler, near the Till, where they had passed the previous night and where the monks would succour the wounded. Then make for Scotland with whatever speed was possible.
The party split up. With the unconscious, grievously-snoring prince held in his arms, Maldred led his sad little group northwards.
28
Two GRIM DAYS later, on Scottish soil but far from home, the young man whom Malcolm Canmore had arranged to succeed him, breathed his difficult last in the bloody haemorrhage from his punctured lung. The Benedictines at Wooler had done what they could for him, but had not been hopeful — and at heart the others knew that he was dying. Bearing him in a horse-litter they had pressed on through the Cheviots, seeking at least to get him home to his mother alive, by the shortest route to Edinburgh — which, from Wooler was by the Glen Water and down to Tweed at Kelso and following up the great river to Lauderdale, where Dolfin and young Cospatrick could be dropped at Ersildoune. But in an aisle of Jedworth Forest near Makerstoun, amongst the fading brackens of a dripping November day, the Prince of Strathclyde succumbed, in his brother's arms.
Edgar, aged eighteen, was desolate. He had always been close to Edward. Now he had to go and tell his beloved mother that both her husband and her eldest son were dead.
It was a sorry homecoming for Cospatrick's sons also. The Earl had brought up his children, motherless, from an early age, and always had been popular with them however much he had left them to roam afar. And for so assured, and colourful a personality to have died so wretchedly and profitlessly, was added pain. Maldred himself realised that he would miss his dramatic and always lively cousin more than he could say..
They had not been able to travel at their fastest with the wounded, and before they reached the Leader and Ersildoune the local contingent from the Scots army had caught up with them. Their news was as good as could be looked for in the circumstances. The battle at Alnwick's bridge had been won — or at least the English had retired eventually with heavy losses leaving the Scots in control of the held, but themselves with almost three thousand casualties, for it had been a bitter fight. Apparently it had been only an advance section of the full English array, for Rufus was still said to be at the Tyne with the remainder. After the battle, the Scots had gone searching for the bodies of the King and Cospatrick; but local people at Alnmouth declared that the Earl of Northumbria's men had collected them and conveyed them to King William. The remaining Scots leaders had had little difficulty in deciding that there was no point in any further extension of this disastrous venture, especially in view of the uprising at home, and had ordered an immediate retiral to Scotland by the Coldstream fords and the Merse, where these Lauderdale men had left them.
Maldred saw Dolfin and his brother — whose shoulder-wound was painful but not dangerous — safely to Ersildoune Castle. But he did not linger there — nor indeed head eastwards across Lammermuir for Dunbar. Edgar was insistent that he accompany him to Edinburgh to help him break the grim news to the Queen, Maldred indeed feeling this to be his duty. So he sent a messenger to Magda assuring her that he was safe and well, and continued northwards up Lauderdale with the prince, travelling fast now.
Over Soltra Edge they dropped down into the central Lothian plain, with the crouching-lion outline of Arthur's Chair to beckon them on to Edinburgh and its rock of Dunedin. As they neared the town it was to perceive that they were going to have other problems to add to that of telling the Queen the evil tidings. A large army appeared to be occupying the area and surrounding the fortress on its rock. And quickly it became clear that it was a Highland army.
Anxiously they made enquiries at the herds' houses on the town common muir to the south. They were told that the Prince Donald's Highlandmen had been there for five days, terrorising the neighbourhood. Nothing was safe from their depredations, women especially. Donald Ban was occupying St. Ninian's monastery below Arthur's Chair and besieging the fortress. Yes, the Queen was still in Dunedin, with her children, but said to be grievously ill. Where was King Malcolm? Why was the King not here, instead of stravaiging about in England . . . ?
Concerned, perplexed, the new arrivals were at a loss, distressed at the situation, anxious about the Queen's state and not knowing how they were to reach her in the beleaguered Dunedin. Discarding their rich armour and wrapping themselves in old borrowed cloaks which would draw no attention, Maldred and Edgar left their little party, with the body of Edward, and moved forward on foot to investigate.
They discovered that it was scarcely a close siege of the fortress, hardly a siege at all, only a containing. Donald Ban's forces were not really endeavouring to capture the all-but-impregnable stronghold, merely shutting up the Queen and her family within. No act
ual fighting was taking place; and Donald had even sent gifts of fresh meat and fish and fuel to the royal family, declaring that he did not make war on women and children. Townsfolk below the rock, in the warrens of huddled cot-houses, said that if the enquirers were to present themselves up at the gatehouse bearing some sort of gifts, they probably would be allowed through the rebel lines.
So, in the thin rain of the November dusk the pair of them, carrying poultry and ale which they had purchased from the market-place, climbed the steep approach, amongst Highlanders who thronged everywhere. They met with no opposition, only raillery and military wit from the pickets who guarded the spine of ridge which was the only access to the place, their only anxiety lest they had their provender stolen. But they met with more difficulty when they arrived before the massive gates beyond the wide ditch and first line of ramparts. Here the fortress defenders were unbelieving of such ordinary and uninspiring figures being the sort to bring gifts to the Queen. They were told to be off and scornfully hooted at when the pair declared themselves to be the Prince Edgar and the Lord Maldred of Atholl. Edgar indignantly shouted back that did they not have his brothers Alexander and David and his sisters Matilda and Mary there in the fort? Bring one of them, and have an end to this nonsense.
Eventually, not one of the royal children but none other than Magda herself, appeared on the gatehouse tower, to exclaim thankfully at the sight of her husband. The gates were opened promptly thereafter and a gangway run out to enable them to cross the water-filled ditch.
Magda flung herself into Maldred's arms, all but sobbing with relief and emotion. It was some little time before either of them was able to explain their situation coherently, as they climbed up to the higher inner levels of the fort.
The Queen was desperately ill, she told them. She had been frail enough before, God knew, scarcely able to walk, and had had to be carried up here from St. Ninians in a litter; but now, of all things, she had commenced a forty-days' fast prior to Christmas, similar to that she always imposed on herself in Lent. Apparently she had done this the previous year and it had even then taken great toll of her flagging strength. This time it looked like killing her. It was a sort of madness. She was blaming herself for all the ills that had befallen her family and Scotland. It seemed almost as though she wanted to die. It was the Princess Matilda who had sent for her, Magda, thinking that she might have some influence with her mother, as an old friend and close companion. She had got here from Dunbar only the day before the rebel army arrived and cooped them up in this eyrie. Did they know that the Prince Edmund was with Donald Ban? Turned renegade — a further dire blow to his mother.
Maldred glanced at Edgar, biting his lip. It was difficult enough, in these circumstances, to tell even his wife their news.
"My father. . . !" the prince blurted out, and stopped.
"Yes, the King?" Magda said. "The King — is he . . . well? For the Queen believes . . . she says . . . she deems him dead!"
Edgar drew a gulping breath.
Maldred's voice was a little unsteady likewise. "She thinks this? Really believes him so? It is not mere fears . . . ?"
"No. Four days back, when I came to her in the morning, she told me that this would be Malcolm's last day on earth! She, she has been praying for the repose of his soul ever since. Is he . . . ?"
Thickly he answered her. "He was slain, that day. By treachery. Four days ago."
She swallowed. "Dear God!"
Since Edgar appeared to be unable to speak, Maldred, after a moment, went on.
"Did she say . . . more? Foretell other evil? Worse, perhaps?"
"Worse . . . ?"
"Aye, worse. For Edward is dead also. Her son Edward."
'.'Merciful Mary Mother of Christ — Edward!" Magda stopped, to stare. "Oh, Maldred — no! Not Edward? The sin of it, the hurt of it. This . . . this will kill her, most certainly."
"She had no premonition of this, then? With the other?"
"I do not know. But, if she had, she did not voice it. She has been full of sorrow and self-condemnation and punishment since ever I came. But she has not spoken of Edward's death."
Edgar sought to speak, but still could not. He was a sensitive young man.
Magda took his arm. "Oh, I am sorry, my dear — sorry! Your brother. And your father. And, and now this . . ."
"We are accursed," he got out, wildly. "Rejected of God! Our family. . . is . . . damned!"
They shook their heads, but found no answer to that.
Here they had reached the topmost levels of the great rock where the royal quarters were being erected, these not any sort of palace. Some part was sufficiently near completion to be occupied. Nearby was a tiny, absolutely plain gabled building, little more than a stone cell, featureless save for some small windows and a door.
"The Queen's new private chapel," Magda explained. "To house the Black Rood. She says that Dunfermline no longer requires it. But that this chapel requires no better ornament than her piece of Christ's True Cross. She, who has built the great Holy Trinity, the minster at St. Andrews and restored Iona — this is what she erects for herself— a hermit's cell!"
They entered the royal house, a bare place also, where they found the four youngest of the children, Alexander, David and the girls Matilda and Mary, all looking pale and strained. These ran to embrace their brother. The youngest of all, the nine-year-old David, slight, great-eyed and fine-featured, asked for Edward, obviously favourite. None spoke of their father. Edgar forbore, meantime, to inform the others of their double loss. Magda, with manifest reluctance, said that she would go in to prepare the Queen. The two travellers gulped down proffered beakers of ale, to sustain them for what lay ahead.
Presently Magda emerged from the royal bedchamber, tears welling in her eyes. She gestured within, but shook her head.
"She will see you. She knows that you bring ill tidings — knows it, of herself. But ... I have not told her."
Maldred hung back, to allow the prince to meet his mother alone. But Edgar grasped his arm. Together they moved in to the ordeal they had been dreading for days.
Strangely, the atmosphere was superficially cheerful in that room. A bright wood fire crackled on the wide hearth, candles illuminated the rich and colourful wall-hangings and evergreen branches, even some roses decorated the chamber. And on the great bed Margaret smiled, actually smiled at them, the first smile they had seen for long. She was desperately thin, her face like alabaster, her eyes huge and dark-circled. But she managed to smile, and raised a quivering hand.
"Edgar! And . . . Maldred!" she whispered.
The younger man ran forward, choking, to lean over the bed. He would have embraced her, but her obvious weakness and brittleness restrained him and he threw himself down beside her instead, head on her pillow, to kiss her hair, her cheek. He did not speak.
"Edgar, dear Edgar," she murmured. Over his head her great eyes sought Maldred's and held them. And they were fearful no longer, nor agonised, but calm, deeply assured, as they had used to be — accepting.
He wagged his head, also wordless.
Her lips moved but he could hear nothing. He moved closer.
She tried again. "You both . . . have come far. . . with a sore burden ... to carry. I grieve ... for you."
Like a weight lifted, Maldred recognised that they need not have feared, that their ordeal was not to be so unbearable, their burden so heavy — for Margaret herself was going to carry most of it. She was, indeed, in command, not they, weak as she was in body.
"Margaret!" he exclaimed, thickly. And again. "Margaret!"
"Tell me," she ordered. "How . . . it was."
Edgar raised himself. He glanced over at Maldred. "It was, it was . . ." He weakened. "It was none so ill," he finished lamely.
Maldred shook his head. That would not serve. The prince, seeing how shockingly fragile was his mother's state, thought to spare her, thought no doubt that the truth would kill her. But she knew, she knew. And however frail her per
son, her spirit was strong, stronger than either of theirs.
The Queen's hand reached to touch her son's arm. "The truth," she murmured. But it was a command.
"They are gone, Highness," Maldred said. "Both. Both gone."
She closed her eyes, and slowly nodded her head. "Yes," she said.
Edgar glared at Maldred, clenching his fists. "It was treachery," he exclaimed. "Foul Norman treachery. They came to us, under the white flag. Led us to speak with Moubray. To hear Rufus's proposals. Then turned on us, when crossing a river. In great numbers. Arrows, spears, swords. Father was slain at once. Edward . . . Edward was wounded. He, he died later. We were bringing him home . . ." His voice trailed away.
There was silence for a little, save for the crackle and hiss of the log-fire. Margaret's eyes were still closed, and two great tears welled out to run down her wasted cheeks. Her lips moved, but she was speaking to herself, or more probably to her Maker.
Strangely, when she did find words to utter aloud, and opened her eyes, her voice seemed to have gained an unexpected accession of strength.
"Edward," she said. "Edward." A pause. Then, "I praise . . . Almighty God. Now ... at the end. That Thou hast willed it . . . that my soul should be cleansed by . . . this anguish. That Thou hast given me time . . . time to endure it. And so, I pray . . . wash away some of the stain . . . of my sins!"
Margaret the Queen Page 48