The Lion of Justice (2 page)

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 winds, 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.'

‘So . . . he went in person to receive them, and a knight brought them to him on the point of a lance. The knight knelt and as my father stooped to take them, this . . . this . . . treacherous dog forced the point of his lance through my father's vizor and pierced his eye.'

‘God in Heaven!' cried Turgot. ‘And the King?'

‘He died mercifully soon. He was in great agony.'

Turgot folded his hands and his lips moved in prayer.

The King dead, he was thinking, the Queen dying. What will become of these children?

They stood about her bed. How different she looked from the beautiful young girl who had come ashore at Queen's Ferry and captivated the King.

Her eyes, enormous in her pale wasted face, sought the children ranged about her bed – Edgar, the two girls and the little ones. She saw with relief that Turgot was there also.

‘You would keep something from me,' she said. ‘I know it. There is ill news. What of my husband and eldest son?'

Turgot nodded to Edgar.

‘Mother, there is sad news.'

‘My husband . . . my son Edward . . .?'

‘They are dead. Edward was killed in battle. Our father at the siege of Alnwick.'

‘Oh, God help you all.'

She looked at Turgot. ‘Come close, my friend.'

He approached the bed. ‘You will continue to care for these children.'

‘I will, with God's blessing.'

‘They are young yet, Turgot. Too young to lose both father and mother. Swear to me, Turgot. Swear to me on the Black Cross.'

The girls looked on in awe as the beautiful cross was taken from the black case which gave it its name. It was made of gold and enormous diamonds adorned it. On the gold the figure of Christ was engraved in ivory. It had been talked of often but always kept in a secure place and it was because the Queen was dying that it had been taken from that place that she might hold it in her hands during her last moments on earth. It was symbolic, that cross. It had belonged to the Saxon royal family for generations and must never pass into the hands of any other. While it was in the possession of the Athelings they believed themselves to be the true sovereigns of England no matter if William the Conqueror had snatched their lands from them.

Turgot took the cross reverently in his hands and swore that he would care for the Queen's children.

‘My life is ebbing fast,' she said. ‘Teach my children to love and fear God, and, if any of them should attain earthly grandeur, be a father to them and a guide. If the need should arise, reprove them if they should become proud; guard them that they may not offend God and forfeit their hopes of eternal life. Swear thus, Turgot, on the Black Cross in the presence of God.'

Turgot knelt by her bedside and kissed the cross.

‘So help me God,' he said. ‘I shall serve you as faithfully in death as I did in life.'

Her white fingers curled about the cross, and she lay back and died.

The Queen was buried at Dunfermline, and in trepidation the children waited for what would happen next. Turgot had told them that their brother Edgar was King of Scotland but this did not seem to be the case, for no one came to the castle to swear loyalty to him and there was no talk of a coronation. In fact, each day retainers disappeared from the
castle and those who remained had changed subtly. They were furtive, expectant and they did not behave to the children as they had when their parents were alive. Only Turgot remained the same, stern and watchful.

Young Edgar did not know how to act. Was he the King or was he not? What could this strange attitude mean? Where were the lords who should come to swear fealty to him?

Turgot advised that they go on as though they were unaware of the changing situation, for soon there would be some indication of what was taking place.

He was right. Uncle Edgar Atheling came riding to the castle in great distress. He summoned Edith and Edgar and told them that he wished to talk to them very seriously.

They had heard of their father's half-brother, Donald Bane, had they not? Indeed they had. He had always been a troublemaker. He was illegitimate but that did not mean he had no hope of inheriting the crown. Turgot had said that he wished kings would be less prodigal of scattering their seed throughout the kingdom, for the results often ended in wars and disasters.

Donald Bane had declared that as Malcolm and his eldest son were dead, and young Edgar was not old enough to rule, he had stepped into the breach and had taken the crown. Scotland had a new King.

‘But this is monstrous,' declared young Edgar. ‘I will not endure it.'

‘You can do nothing,' said his uncle shortly. ‘Donald Bane has the crown and there are those who will help him hold it. We have no means of wresting it from him. In time we will march against him, but first we must gather together a loyal army.'

‘Let us begin to do that at once,' said his nephew.

But the older man shook his head wearily. ‘My dear nephew,' he said, ‘we are in no position to do that. Moreover, King Donald has issued an edict. He orders all English exiles to leave his kingdom.'

‘Exiles!' cried young Edgar. ‘Is the King of Scotland then an exile in his own realm?'

‘My dear nephew,' replied his uncle, ‘against whom do you
imagine this edict is issued? Am I not English? Am I not an exile? He wants me out of this country. And why? Because then you, my boy, will be at his mercy. What hope do you think you have without me to protect you?'

Edgar stared at his uncle in dismay.

‘It is true,' said Edith. ‘I see it clearly. Oh, Uncle Edgar, what are we going to do?'

‘We are going to escape Donald Bane, for you, Edgar, as the rightful King of this country, are in the utmost danger. Go at once to your nurseries and prepare your brothers and sisters. We are going on a journey. First send Turgot to me.'

‘Will he come with us, Uncle?' asked Edith.

‘He will.'

Turgot came with all speed. He had already heard the news.

‘We are in acute danger,' said Edgar Atheling to the priest. ‘In particular my nephew.'

‘We are leaving here?' replied Turgot. ‘And where shall we find refuge?'

There was a brief silence. Both men were remembering the occasion when they had been shipwrecked. They had escaped once. Could they hope to do so again?

Edgar replied, ‘In England.'

‘England! You think Rufus will allow us to stay there?'

‘We have to risk that.'

Turgot said, ‘I have recently taken a vow to protect these children.'

‘Think you not,' replied Edgar, ‘that I will not protect them with everything in my power?'

‘I know it well. But to take them into England where the King of Scotland has been fighting the English . . .'

‘My good Turgot, I know Rufus. There was a time when we lived under the same roof. We were boys together. I became a friend to him and his brothers.'

Turgot's brow furrowed. Edgar was of too gentle a nature to be a match for these treacherous Normans. He seemed to forget that he was the rightful King of England, that, had he been of an age to govern, King Edward the Confessor would never have named Harold, son of Godwin, as the future King; and it would have been Edgar whom William would have had to face at Hastings. And if Edgar had been
King, how could William of Normandy have disputed the fact that he was in truth the King? Edgar had been too young at the time but he was no longer young; yet there was about him an air of gentleness which was in sharp contrast to what Turgot remembered of the mighty Conqueror, and admirable as it might be, it was a characteristic which did not win battles and subdue rebellious subjects. Edgar might well have been a King such as Edward the Confessor but there was no doubt that he was the rightful King of England, yet he seemed to be of the opinion that the son of the usurper would happily receive him and shelter him when the Saxon community were constantly chafing against Norman rule. To whom would such people look but to the Royal Atheling to deliver them. And Edgar was suggesting placing himself into the none too scrupulous hands of William Rufus!