Queen Hereafter Page 22

  “She will enjoy Saint Serf’s. Loch Leven is a very peaceful place. I lived in Fife as a child with my kinsmen, before I was sent to my Moray kin.”

  “Ah. Your Fife uncle helped convince my sister to marry the king.” He looked sideways at her as he rode beside the wagon.

  Eva gazed at him in surprise. “What coaxing would a princess need to marry a warrior-king? The only ones who might hesitate would be from Moray,” she suggested wryly.

  He laughed. Eva liked the warm sound. “My sister refused at first, too, saying she would rather live in a convent than be queen.” He spoke in a low tone so that only she would hear. “But heaven’s will brought us to Scotland. And from here I must win back a kingdom, if it can be done.” With that, he urged the horse to canter ahead.

  She sighed. Her heartbeat quickened whenever Edgar was near, however inexplicably. True, he was a fine and heroic young warrior, as in songs and tales; he was charming and attractive, and near her age, even younger. But no Saxon prince would be interested in a deposed Moray princess, and neither would her kin welcome him. She tilted her head to watch as he brought his horse in line with the accompanying guards. Edgar’s Saxon cause was impossible, but it was noble as well, and she admired his conviction. Besides, as he was Margaret’s brother, Eva had reason enough to like him.

  He reminded her of someone—of her father, she realized. Like Lulach, he was blond and handsome, fresh and ready despite a hopeless fight. Should Edgar, too, beware Malcolm, though the king was his supporter and brother by law? Eva drew back inside the wagon, resting against the cushions in silence.

  Within the hour, they came to the shores of the great loch. Low hills, like peaked green and blue draperies, spread out beneath the sky, and the surface of the water was mirror-calm. A narrow dock bridged to the rocky shore, where a ferry waited, a small birlinn manned by a robust man and a young boy. As the housecarls assisted Eva and the others out of the wagon, Edgar went forward to pay the man a few silver coins.

  Seeing Margaret hesitate as they approached the boat, Eva took her arm, for the queen looked suddenly pale. “Are you ill, Lady?”

  “A boat,” Margaret said faintly. “I had not thought of a boat.”

  “It is only a short way.” Surely Margaret’s stomach was bothering her again, Eva thought. Edgar took his sister’s other arm, and together they helped the queen into the boat. As Eva sat beside her, Margaret leaned slightly toward her.

  “I made a private vow when we first came to Scotland,” she whispered, “to never again ride over water. I must amend it for small water crossings, but I like my feet on land.”

  “I understand.” Eva smiled slightly, touched that Margaret had again confided in her. For a moment, she felt a little stir of guilt. The letter in her pocket did not prove her faith as a friend, though it met her obligation as a granddaughter. But these small trusts—these she surely would keep.

  The loch had several islands, and the ferryman rowed toward the largest, where Eva saw the flat-topped hill, monastery, and encircling stone wall. She had been here as a child, but hardly remembered except that it had been winter.

  “Pilgrims, are you?” The ferryman spoke English and seemed unimpressed to have royal passengers. “We have not seen many pilgrims this year. The Culdees here keep to themselves, but the faithful visit and worship. Still, we do not see as many as we once did.”

  “Why so, sir?” the queen asked.

  “Some cannot afford to pay, and we cannot take them over for free. Years ago I ferried over the great firth between Dun Edin and Fife, but I brought my family north for safety, and we keep a farm here now. The wars in England have emptied Scottish purses, too. There are fewer trade ships, so fewer merchants with goods and fewer customers to buy them.”

  “It is very true, what you say, sir,” Edgar agreed. “We are doing our best to improve it.”

  “See that you do. People have made the pilgrimage across Scotland to Saint Andrews for generations, hoping to save their souls,” the ferryman said. “Not as many complete the trip now. But it would help the Scottish treasury if more pilgrims would come here.”

  “The treasury!” Margaret said. “It would surely help their souls.”

  “My lady, not all pilgrims go on foot as penitents,” he said. “Many pay for ferry service and stay in inns along the way, and they visit our markets and buy pilgrim badges and relics. They donate to church coffers, too. We can blame the wars in England for the change.”

  “Ah, so Scotland gains from pilgrim visits,” Margaret said, nodding her understanding.

  “Indeed, pilgrimages are gold for Scotland. But if travelers cannot afford passage over water, it is a very long walk to go all the way around. Here we are,” he said, as he halted the boat in the shallows along the pebbled shore. Nearby rose the monastery walls, stark and beautiful.

  “It is lovely, but so isolated,” Margaret said, gazing at the flat-topped slope. “However do the monks support themselves?”

  “They raise sheep. See the flocks grazing on the hill,” the ferryman pointed out. “There is good income for Scottish wool exported elsewhere. The monastery also owns farmland near the loch. The kings of Scotland have always been generous to Saint Serf’s,” he said meaningfully as his charges stood, preparing to disembark. Edgar, taking the hint, paid him with several coins.

  Two housecarls who had ridden in the boat—the rest had remained onshore with the horses and wagon—began to carry the ladies through the shallows. Margaret kept Eva back, turning again to the ferryman. “I presume my husband, the king, supports the monastery?”

  “I believe so,” the man answered. “Most of the land was acquired years back, when this place was favored by Macbeth and Queen Gruadh. They granted lands to the monastery, farms that supply income in rentals and market profits. I am a tenant of Saint Serf’s,” he added proudly.

  Margaret stood as the guards returned. “Macbeth and Gruadh endowed land here?”

  “Aye, Lady. She was born a princess of Fife, and inherited lands when her father died, though much of that was taken from her by the Macduffs. This land south of the loch”—he gestured—“was hers to grant, and she endowed it here. Abbot Drostan was fostered by Queen Gruadh’s own father, so he knows that lady well. One of the few men she trusts, he is.”

  “Ah!” Margaret turned to Eva. “So you know this abbot, Lady Eva? You never said.”

  “We met when I was small, but I do not remember him well. He does know my grandmother, but with the long distances between here and Moray, they rarely meet.” She did not add that Drostan and Gruadh kept regular correspondence via messengers. “My mother was born near here as well,” she added. “Her father was mormaer of Fife after Lady Gruadh’s father, my great-grandfather Bodhe, was killed … by King Malcolm’s own great-grandfather.” Honesty had more value than reticence, she decided, especially with this queen, who appreciated forthrightness.

  “I see,” Margaret said quietly. “So your life, and the legacy of your family, is bound to Fife and to this monastery as well.”

  “In some ways. But Moray is my home.”

  “And where your loyalty lies?” Margaret looked thoughtful. Then she smiled at the ferryman. “Thank you, sir. Will you be back for us soon?” He nodded.

  The guards carried Margaret ashore, and then Edgar stepped down into the water, offering to lift Eva. She accepted, riding in his arms as he waded through the water, her arms locked about his neck. He set her down on the rocky shore, and as she thanked him her heart beat hard—she thought of the feel of his arms long after he had walked ahead up the hill with Brother Micheil to announce the arrival of the queen’s party. Eva came after, offering Margaret an arm, for the queen seemed pale and weak.

  Two monks welcomed them at the gate and brought them inside the walls. The monastery spread out over the hilltop, with several buildings, including a refectory, a dormitory, a chapel, and outbuildings, most of them made of fieldstone, all with unobstructed views of the loch and open to th
e winds but for the protection of the surrounding stone wall.

  One of the brothers explained that the abbot was in the scriptorium, for Saint Serf’s was a center for the copying of manuscripts and had an extensive library, which Margaret remarked she would like to see. As they walked, Eva saw a man hurrying toward them, wearing the white robes of the Céli Dé, as did all the monks of Saint Serf’s. His hair, in a frontal tonsure, was dark and long at the back, silvered throughout. She stopped and smiled, recognizing him, even after years.

  He smiled as well, extending his hands as he neared the party. “Welcome,” he said. “I am Drostan, abbot here.” He spoke warmly, addressing Margaret and her siblings more than the others, only looking toward Eva once, as if he did not recognize her. Likely he did not, she thought, knowing she needed to find a chance to speak to him privately. She touched the letter hidden in her cloak, its stiff crackle reminding her that it was secure there. Yet it was like having a hot coal in her pocket—she desperately wanted to be rid of it.

  “Abbot, you will remember Lady Eva of Moray,” Margaret said.

  “Indeed! Eva, you have the look of your mother and some of your grandmother’s beauty as well.” He smiled, taking her hands in his.

  “Father, so good to see you.” Eva could say nothing specific with the others listening, but hoped to discuss her grandmother with him later. He squeezed her fingers and let go.

  Explaining that the manuscripts copied at Saint Serf’s brought income and helped establish a fine reputation for the monastery, Drostan led the group into the scriptorium. Four monks were seated at slant-top desks, writing or copying out words on scraped vellum pages with quill pens that made light scratching sounds in the quiet room. Full inkwells, black and red, sat on desk corners, and loose parchment sheets curled as the monks leaned over their work. Learning that the queen was in their midst, the monks scrambled to their feet, flustered as they greeted her. Seeing how young they were, Eva suppressed a smile.

  The manuscripts on which they labored were beautiful pages from the gospels and a page copied from Adomnán’s laws. The certain manuscript Eva sought was well out of her reach here, she knew, for it was in Brother Tor’s possession in the south. Soon she would have to tell Lady Gruadh that she might never see the thing, despite her grandmother’s insistence.

  The group moved on to the library, where Margaret admired several of the books chained to the shelves, and Eva thought the queen might want to stay the afternoon there, so fond was she of the books. But Drostan persuaded them to go to the refectory, where he had ordered refreshments brought. There they were offered ale, barley cakes, and fresh strawberries.

  “From our farms. Please eat,” Drostan said, shaking his head when invited to join them. “Our meals here are taken sparingly, but you have traveled a long way today. And though we often eat in silence here, we few are the only ones at the table now, so we will break the rule.” He smiled.

  “Though this is not a Benedictine abbey, you follow some of its precepts, Abbot,” Brother Micheil said. “The Saxons among us will be pleased.”

  “You do have a godly and productive existence here, Father Abbot,” Margaret said. “It is a tranquil life, devoting oneself to prayer and good works.”

  “There are infinite ways to do that,” he replied. “Not all souls are suited to the monastic life, men or women. And others have callings that keep them, quite rightly, in the greater world.”

  Margaret sighed. “Aye. Have you been to Dunfermline, Abbot? Would you visit us there? Often both Culdees and Benedictines meet to discuss the state of the Scottish church in particular. Your wisdom and experience would be welcome.”

  “I am honored, Lady, though I will leave larger questions to others to debate. Years back, I came often to Dunfermline, when I served another of Scotland’s kings.”

  “Macbeth?” she asked quickly.

  “Aye, and his queen. Now I am content to oversee this monastery.” As he spoke, the bronze bell in the chapel tower sounded out, echoing over isle and loch, calling them to prayers.

  Later, in the chapel, Eva prayed alongside Margaret and the others, including several monks, for a long while. When Drostan slipped away before the rest, Eva did the same, trusting that no one would give her absence much thought. As she went out into the yard, she saw one or two monks tending to a kitchen garden, carrying baskets of vegetables, while another walked with the abbot toward the refectory. Seeing her, Drostan spoke to his companion, and came toward her.

  “Eva, walk with me a moment,” he said in easy Gaelic, having spoken English until then.

  She fell into step beside him as he led her toward the garden, where she saw wide, verdant rows of staked and spreading vegetables: full, broad bean plants, peas with wild, lacy tendrils, lush, delicate lettuces, sturdy leeks, and onion. She drew a deep breath of the green and garlicky scents there. Drostan led her along a pathway thick-edged with strawberry plants dividing luxuriant herb and flower beds—daisies, marigolds, hollyhocks, and lavender, and beyond those, neat clumps of rosemary, basil, and a host of herbs. The garden was enclosed by a wattle fence to keep out the goats and the chickens, which favored the tender peas. At the back against the stone wall she saw apple trees, their fruit green and forming as yet.

  Drostan spread out an arm. “The yield has been good this summer, and so I have asked the brothers to fill baskets for your party to take back to Dunfermline.”

  “Will you consider coming to Dunfermline, sir, some other time?”

  “I will not.” He strolled in silence for a moment. “Lady Rue was here a fortnight ago.”

  Eva looked up in surprise. “She rarely leaves Moray.”

  “She felt concerned, having had so few messages from you. We dissuaded her from riding toward Dunfermline to see you. The risk would have been too great for both of you.”

  “Was she so frantic to know what goes on at court? I have a new letter for her—will you send it on?” Eva reached inside her cloak, sliding a hand into the pocket in the silk lining.

  “Of course.” He took the letter and slipped it inside his white sleeve before tucking his hands within the generous folds. “Eva, your grandmother wants to know that you are safe, above all. She also wants to hear whatever might be of interest at court. She expects frequent letters from you.”

  Feeling chided, she sighed. “I understand that. But little at court would truly interest her,” she explained. “I wish I had known she was here.”

  “We can arrange another visit, if you like,” he murmured.

  “I am a hostage, and close watch is kept over me. I could not get safely away unless Queen Margaret returned here, too. Father Drostan, I would ask you something,” she said impulsively. At his nod, she continued. “You know, I think, what my grandmother expects of me.”

  “She told me something of her request. I think you have the spirit for it.”

  “But is it right to do this? When I came to Dunfermline, I wanted to carry out what Lady Gruadh asked, even though it goes against what is proper for a bard.”

  “Honor has always been part of the best bardic traditions.”

  “Just so,” Eva said. “What the lady asks of me is a betrayal of what I have been taught, yet she is my grandmother and a former queen, and I owe her loyalty. And no one doubts that Malcolm slew my father, so I owe loyalty to Lulach’s memory as well.”

  “I will not condone revenge, but I understand this difficult choice.”

  “Now made more difficult,” she rushed on. “I have come to know the queen so well—and so my earlier promise feels like a betrayal of her, too.”

  “Ah. So you wonder which course is right.”

  She nodded glumly, head bowed. “When I first came to court, it seemed clear that Margaret and Malcolm could be harmful to Scotland and that my kinfolk were right and just. But now … I do not know. If I spy and send reports to Moray, even if I am not caught out, it is a betrayal of Margaret’s trust in me, as well as a betrayal of my trade.”

&nb
sp; “And if you do not, you betray your grandmother’s trust.” Drostan sighed. “I cannot sort this tangle for you, Eva girl. You must decide what seems right.”

  “What seems right is tending to my music—but it also seems right to love both my grandmother and my new friend the queen. But what seems most wrong, Father,” she added, “is for Malcolm to ruin Macbeth’s memory with his false history. If I can help change that, surely I must, even if my grandmother has set me an impossible task.”

  “You are answering your own questions,” he said, smiling a little. “Come, they will be looking for you soon. Here,” he said, tearing off a thick handful of petaled lavender fronds. “Give these to the queen if you wish to explain your stroll through the gardens with me.”

  “I will say that I needed your spiritual advice.” Eva breathed in the fragrant oils on her fingertips. “Lavender is good for headache and fosters a tranquil spirit. Margaret will appreciate that.”

  “Lavender also invites the protection of the angels, which you may sorely need the longer you remain in the royal court,” he said.

  Chapter Fourteen

  May the taste of honey be

  On every word you say

  To commons and to nobles

  This day and each day

  —TRADITIONAL SCOTTISH CHARM

  Malcolm kept his end of the bargain. He took Edgar’s cause as his own, raiding into England to defend the Saxon claim, knocking spear butts into Norman helmets, burning Norman-held lands, as if enough war and recklessness would gain back England. But the Norman foe was not dissuaded by attacks or rebellion, and more effort was needed, much more. Margaret heard Malcolm and others debating and passionately arguing it at night when the men were there; often enough they raided south, with scant word of their whereabouts or well-being.

  Margaret had honored her part of the marriage bargain, bearing a healthy son before they had been wed a year and breeding again soon after. Small Edward stayed in the care of his wet nurse and the maidservants, but Margaret visited him each morning after prayers and in the evenings, and whenever her heart and her arms missed him. He thrived. She was proud and grateful, and glad that her mother saw him flourish and relaxed her doubts.