by Jean Plaidy
Contents
About the Book
About the Author
Also by Jean Plaidy
Title Page
Family Tree
The Scottish Orphans
Rufus
A Suitor at the Abbey
The Miraculous Escape
The Vices of the King’s Court
Love comes to Wilton Abbey
Brothers in Conflict
The Forest Tragedy
A Royal Wedding
Escape from the White Tower
The Chivalry of the Duke
Matilda’s Eyes are Opened
The Queen and the Duke
The Abduction
Triumph in Normandy
Weddings in the Family
Young Matilda and Stephen
The Passing of the Queen
A Horse and a Bride for William
The White Ship
The King’s Resolve
Bibliography
Copyright
About the Book
The death of The Conqueror left three sons to inherit his power and his wealth. Normandy for Robert, England for Rufus and for Henry, the youngest, five thousand pounds of silver.
The three were natural rivals. The feckless Robert lost Norman dukedom in an orgy of impulsive extravagance. Red-haired Rufus scandalized the court with his perverse sexuality and contempt for the Church.
And Henry – cleverest of all – awaited his chance to fulfill his father’s prophecy and assume the mantle of The Lion of Justice.
About the Author
Jean Plaidy, one of the preeminent authors of historical fiction for most of the twentieth century, is the pen name of the prolific English author Eleanor Hibbert, also known as Victoria Holt. Jean Plaidy’s novels had sold more than 14 million copies worldwide by the time of her death in 1993.
Also by Jean Plaidy
THE TUDOR SAGA
Uneasy Lies the Head
Katharine, the Virgin Widow
The Shadow of the Pomegranate
The King’s Secret Matter
Murder Most Royal
St Thomas’s Eve
The Sixth Wife
The Thistle and the Rose
Mary, Queen of France
Lord Robert
Royal Road to Fotheringay
The Captive Queen of Scots
The Spanish Bridegroom
THE CATHERINE DE MEDICI TRILOGY
Madame Serpent
The Italian Woman
Queen Jezebel
THE STUART SAGA
The Murder in the Tower
The Wandering Prince
A Health Unto His Majesty
Here Lies Our Sovereign Lord
The Three Crowns
The Haunted Sisters
The Queen’s Favourites
THE FRENCH REVOLUTION SERIES
Louis the Well-Beloved
The Road to Compiègne
Flaunting, Extravagant Queen
THE LUCREZIA BORGIA SERIES
Madonna of the Seven Hills
Light on Lucrezia
ISABELLA AND FERDINAND TRILOGY
Castile for Isabella
Spain for the Sovereigns
Daughters of Spain
THE GEORGIAN SAGA
The Princess of Celle
Queen in Waiting
Caroline the Queen
The Prince and the Quakeress
The Third George
Perdita’s Prince
Sweet Lass of Richmond Hill
Indiscretions of the Queen
The Regent’s Daughter
Goddess of the Green Room
Victoria in the Wings
THE QUEEN VICTORIA SERIES
The Captive of Kensington
The Queen and Lord M
The Queen’s Husband
The Widow of Windsor
THE NORMAN TRILOGY
The Bastard King
The Lion of Justice
The Passionate Enemies
THE PLANTAGENET SAGA
The Plantagenet Prelude
The Revolt of the Eaglets
The Heart of the Lion
The Prince of Darkness
The Battle of the Queens
The Queen from Provence
The Hammer of the Scots
The Follies of the King
The Vow of the Heron
Passage to Pontefract
The Star of Lancaster
Epitaph for Three Women
Red Rose of Anjou
The Sun in Splendour
QUEEN OF ENGLAND SERIES
Myself, My Enemy
Queen of this Realm: The Story of Elizabeth I
Victoria, Victorious
The Lady in the Tower
The Goldsmith’s Wife
The Queen’s Secret
The Rose without a Thorn
OTHER TITLES
The Queen of Diamonds
Daughter of Satan
The Scarlet Cloak
The Lion of Justice
Jean Plaidy
The second book in the Norman Trilogy
The Scottish Orphans
IN HER BEDCHAMBER the Queen of Scotland lay dying. At any moment she would send for her children to say her last farewell to them. The girls, Edith and Mary, sat gloomily in the schoolroom, their books before them; but they paid no attention to these as they thought of their mother who, from the time she had first come to Scotland, had been noted for her beauty and her piety.
Mary, the younger, was the first to speak. ‘Edith, do you think she will die before our father comes?’
Edith paused a moment before she turned mournful blue eyes on her sister and said slowly: ‘What if he should never come back?’
‘Don’t speak so, Edith.’ Mary shivered and glanced furtively over her shoulder. ‘It could bring ill luck.’
‘What I say will not bring us ill luck. It is the Normans who have brought that to our country and our family.’
‘But if our father defeats the King of England, our Uncle Edgar will be King. He is King in truth. If the Godwin Harold has not usurped the throne and the Normans had not come . . .’
‘If!’ retorted Edith scornfully. ‘What is the use of saying If! And it all happened long ago. Twenty-seven years. And it is said that no one could have withstood William of Normandy. All his life he had conquered.’
‘It will be different with William Rufus. He is not like his father. And he is cruel. The people hate him. He cares for nothing but hunting and they say he has vices which are . . . unnatural.’
‘But what do you in truth know of him?’
‘What I hear. And I believe that our father will defeat him and that very soon Uncle Edgar, the true King, will be on the throne. The English will welcome him. Of course they will welcome our dear Uncle Edgar. He’s good, he’s a Saxon and he is the true King.’
‘You talk like a child, Mary.’
‘And you of course are so wise. You have lived for sixteen years and because I haven’t lived quite as long you think you are so much cleverer.’
‘Don’t let us quarrel, Mary, while our mother is dying.’
‘She won’t die. She’ll get better and very soon we shall see a messenger riding to the castle with the news that our father has captured Alnwick Castle and is marching south.’
Mary pushed her books aside and went to the long narrow window which was cut into the thick wall. Edith joined her, for what use was it to pretend to work at such a time? They should be praying – for the victory of their father and the soul of their mother. Yet how difficult it was to think of anything but: What will become of us?
Looking down to the moat and the drawbridge and beyond to the gr
een hills, Edith was thinking how quickly everything could change. For sixteen years she had lived secure in her father’s castle and it was only recently that she had been aware of a shifting pattern. Princesses became important when they grew up. Their future could become a matter of state. They either married or went into a nunnery. Edith was not of a nature to wish for the latter. The brief glimpses she had had of her mother’s sister, Aunt Christina, who was the Abbess of Rumsey, had decided her. How different were the two sisters! Her mother was gentle, beautiful and kind; she was good, too, for on every day in Lent she went to church bare-footed, dressed in a gown of hair cloth, where she selected the poorest people that she might wash and kiss their feet. She wanted her children to be good and happy – but most of all good, as she was herself. As for Aunt Christina, she was far from beautiful and her black robes had frightened Edith when she was very young. Aunt Christina’s sharp cold eyes saw every fault and no virtue; her knees were hard, it was said, because she had spent so many hours on them praying, and this was considered saintliness of the highest order. Aunt Christina was so busy being good that she had no time to be kind. She thought all those who were not dedicated to the convent life were sinners. Even her sister Margaret, mother of Edith, had lived in what Christina called a worldly manner, bearing many children.
No, it would not be a nunnery for Edith if she could help it. She would beg her father to spare her that.
She hoped to marry as romantically as her mother had. She had heard the story many times. Edith’s mother was Margaret Atheling, the daughter of Edward, who had been the son of Edmund Ironside; her grandmother had been the daughter of Emperor Henry II of Germany. When Edward the Confessor knew that his reign could not last much longer he had sent for Margaret’s father Edward, as was presumed, with the object of making him his successor. Edward had died before the meeting could take place but left his son, Edgar, as well as two daughters, Margaret and Christina.
Then William came and conquered England, and because of Edgar’s clear claim to the throne the Conqueror had kept him under surveillance. He treated him well but Edgar grew to suspect his motives and thought it an excellent idea to take his sisters to Hungary where his mother’s relatives would welcome him.
He had set sail from England but ran into a storm and his ship had been thrown up on the Scottish coast. There was nothing to be done but to ask for asylum – which the royal Athelings did.
Malcolm Canmore, the King of Scotland, agreed to give them hospitality while they made their plans. Malcolm, young and comely, had recently come to the throne by driving out the usurper MacBeth, and was a romantic as well as a handsome figure. He entertained the fugitives in his castle and within a few days had fallen in love with Margaret and asked Edgar for his sister’s hand in marriage.
What great good fortune! The dowerless young woman who had been on her way to Hungary to ask for asylum was being asked to share the crown of Scotland.
Her brother Edgar had expressed his pleasure; as for Margaret she was no less pleased, and very soon after her arrival in Scotland the marriage was solemnized and the spot where she had landed was for ever after known as Queen’s Ferry.
It was a happy marriage and very fruitful. She soon presented her husband with a fine son who was named Edward after her father, and this child was followed by another son who became Edgar after her brother – then Edith, Mary and the little ones followed. Her brother Edgar stayed at the Scottish court while her sister Christina entered a convent and became its Abbess.
So it had been a happy storm which had driven their ship into the Firth of Forth.
Why could they not remain happy? wondered Edith. But how foolish to think that time could stand still. Uncle Edgar talked constantly of the Norman usurpation and dreamed of the day when he might regain the kingdom. It had been useless while William the great Conqueror lived but it was five years since he had died and during those five years Edgar had begun to hope again.
There was much talk about Rufus who was not the man his father had been. William I had been a harsh ruler but people had respected him. They realized that what he had done had been for the good of the country. His great selfishness had been his love of the hunt, and people had been turned from their homes to make forests where wild beasts could roam. The penalties for killing wild animals had been very cruel; but because of the manner in which the country had prospered and law and order had been brought in, William was accepted.
Rufus would never be. He was different from his father by all accounts. William I had had great dignity; he was a tall man and although towards the end of his life he had grown so corpulent that only the strongest horses could carry his weight he had always had the appearance of the great ruler he was. Rufus was short of stature, broad and fat; there was a red tinge in his hair and his complexion was ruddy. When he was angry he would stammer and become almost unintelligible, but in the company of his friends he was said to be witty and able to laugh at himself. As his vices were many and his greatest friends were among members of his own sex, his joking references to them made those about him accept them with more leniency than they would otherwise have done. Like his father, his greatest passion was the hunt. At this time Rufus had fallen ill and when the news had reached Scotland, Malcolm Canmore decided that the moment had come for him to take revenge on his old enemy for all the slights Scotland had received at his hands.
Malcolm’s great ambition was to restore the Saxon line. If he could succeed, he would not only drive the Normans back to Normandy but set his own relations through marriage on the throne of England.
For this reason Malcolm had amassed an army and marched south; and it was while he was absent that his wife had become ill, and that illness had so progressed that now she was on her deathbed.
Turgot came into the schoolroom, his expression grave, his pallor accentuated by his black priestly robes. He was their tutor as well as their mother’s confessor, but there would be no lessons today.
‘How fares my mother?’ asked Edith.
‘I fear, my child,’ he answered, ‘that you must be prepared for the worst.’
‘If only our father would come!’ cried Edith in despair.
Turgot nodded. ‘Soon she will wish to see you to say goodbye. I have come to warn you to be ready.’
Mary began to cry.
‘Do not let her see your tears,’ went on Turgot. ‘She will wish you to be brave. Kneel with me now and pray for strength to face this ordeal, so that she will know that all my teaching has not been in vain.’
There in the schoolroom they knelt.
Turgot wondered whether the girls realized the tragedy which was facing them. They lived in a violent age from which during their short lifetimes they had been miraculously sheltered. He had advised peace; he had been against Malcolm’s marching across the border. These Normans had come to stay. That seemed certain. And, although William Rufus might not be the man his father was, he was a wily general and the Normans were great fighters. Battle was in their blood. It had come from their marauding Norse ancestors who had roamed the seas in their long ships looking for lands to plunder.
Malcolm should have stayed at home. Turgot had not swerved from his conviction, even though the news was good and Malcolm had laid siege to Alnwick castle and it seemed that the besieged could not hold out much longer. But if he took the castle, that was but a beginning. Turgot hoped that Malcolm was not going to indulge in a long war which was most unlikely to bring any profit to either side, as was the case with most wars.
Turgot was deeply involved with the family: he had been a part of it for so long. Of a noble Lincolnshire Saxon family, he had become aware of the power of the Conqueror when, during one of the latter’s punitive expeditions, he had been taken prisoner and held hostage. There had followed a time of privation in the dungeons of Lincoln castle, from which, with the help of sympathizers, he had escaped and, reaching the coast, taken ship to Norway. When the ship was driven back to the coast by the treacherous w
inds, he had landed in the north and, because the north was then in revolt against the Conqueror and he was a man of some learning, had found hospitality in Durham Abbey and there become a priest and eventually its prior. Having heard his story, Queen Margaret had been interested and had sent for him. Their regard for each other had been instantaneous. She made him her confessor and the preceptor of her children and, ever since, the welfare of the royal family of Scotland had been his chief concern.
The death of the Queen would be as great a sorrow to him as to her family and he knew that before she died she would want him to swear on oath to continue to care for them after her death as he had during her lifetime.
As they now knelt in prayer there was a shout from below and the clatter of horses’ hoofs could be heard.
Mary forgot she was supposed to be at prayer. ‘It is a messenger,’ she cried, and rushed to the window. The others were not long in following her.
‘It is our brother Edgar,’ said Mary.
‘He must have come from the battle,’ added Edith.
‘How sad he looks!’ went on Mary. ‘Oh, I know something fearful has happened.’
They followed Turgot down the stone stairway to the hall and there was Edgar, weary, mud-stained, his eyes wild, and a look of such misery on his face as the girls had never seen before.
‘My son,’ said Turgot, ‘you have ill news?’
Edgar answered, ‘The worst. I must see the Queen.’
‘The Queen is grievously sick.’
‘It cannot be . . .’
‘’Tis so, alas. Tell me your news and I will impart it to her if she must know it.’
Edgar shook his head and it seemed as though the words would not come.
Turgot prompted him gently. ‘Your father was besieging the castle of Alnwick and had reduced the inhabitants to starvation. They were on the point of surrender.’
‘Yes,’ replied Edgar slowly, ‘they did surrender. They surrendered on condition that they should deliver the keys of the city to none but my father.’
‘Yes, yes, my son.’