sophistication to the court and worked tirelessly for the poor and the Church. She was everything he was not, and much loved for it. Happily, she was a good influence on him and he began to moderate his ways. Eventually, she became fond of him — perhaps she felt it was her duty to bring a woeful sinner back into God’s fold.
In many ways, Malcolm and Margaret became my surrogate parents — he the powerful, domineering father, but one to be respected and admired, and she the kindly and confiding mother every boy should have.
King William loomed prominently in my life throughout the years I spent at the Scottish court. I loathed him for many reasons, not the least of which was that he wore the crown that rightly belonged to me. He was also a brute, not like Canmore — who was a simple soul with some redeeming features — but a brilliant, remorseless monster of a man. The time Margaret and I were held hostage by him after Senlac Ridge was a terrifying experience that I would never want to repeat. It was during this ordeal that I learned how to deal with my anger, how to deal with the Normans and how to survive.
As he had shown in his conquest of England, William lacked neither audacious ambition nor astonishing military aptitude. In 1072, he launched a brilliant attack on Scotland with both a large army and a huge fleet.
He marched more than 3,000 of his finest cavalry from Durham, crossed the Forth at Stirling and met with his fleet on the banks of the Tay. He had assembled 200 ships carrying 3,000 infantry and butescarls up the east coast. It was a mighty invasion force, not quite on the scale of the host that had crossed the Channel in 1066, but large enough to put the fear of God into Canmore.
While William sat and waited by the Tay, Canmore pondered his response. Not the most intelligent of men, he nevertheless had the cunning of a warrior and carefully weighed his options.
‘I will go to him and negotiate. I have no choice. Edgar, you will come with me.’
His judicious decision was applauded by my dear sister.
‘That is a wise choice, my husband. Let Edgar help you; he will give you good advice. Do what is best for Scotland and don’t let your pride get in the way. I will pray for your safe return.’
I was overawed by the sight of William’s army. He was camped around the old Pictish tower at the settlement of Abernethy, his tents in neat rows, his destriers tethered on ordered picket lines in the meadows. His massive fleet was in sight to the north, the ships lashed together in long rows by the banks of the Tay. This was the work of a leader of armies second to none. When he greeted Canmore he was at the head of his Matilda Conroi, the finest cavalry in Europe. He was a large, imposing man with a considerable girth and a deep, growling voice.
Canmore also looked impressive at the head of his hearthtroop. I was to his left, his son Duncan, a boy of twelve, to his right. He tried to remain calm as he addressed his doughty opponent.
‘You are a long way from home, William of England. With so many men, I assume this is not a hunting party.’
‘I will come to the point, Malcolm of the Scots. You attack my northern realm as far as Bamburgh and Durham in the east and Carlisle and Penrith in the west. This must cease forthwith.’
‘The border between our kingdoms has never been agreed, so who are you to say whose realm it is? Besides, what my men may have done is nothing compared to the slaughter you meted out to the English, a people you now call your own.’
‘What I do in my own domain is my business. You will stay out of it, south of a border we will agree here and now at the line of the Wall of Hadrian.’
‘That is an insult. Cumbria has been part of Scotland for centuries.’
‘Not any more. I will take your son as hostage to our agreement and I also require you to send Prince Edgar from your court. He may go to Europe, but I do not want him on this island fomenting trouble among my people.’
At that, I felt compelled to assert myself.
‘My Lord Duke, they are my people too and I have a stronger claim to be their lord than you.’
‘You offend me, Prince Edgar. I am your King; even the rebels at Ely acknowledged it.’
‘But I do not!’
‘Enough, Edgar.’
My brief spat with William had given Canmore time to think. Forthright though he was in his verbal sparring with William, he knew he had to concede.
‘It is a hard bargain, but I agree to your terms; your army gives me no choice. I will not let them do here what they did in Northumbria. I will bow to you this day; but take your men back over the border where they belong. Duncan will join your court in England and Edgar will leave these shores directly.’
Canmore and William dismounted and entered the base of the tower. In circumstances that William had contrived with great symbolism and with Walchere, the new Bishop of Durham and Earl of Northumbria, presiding, the two Kings swore their agreement on the ancient Bible of Bede, brought especially for the occasion from Durham. Two monks had to hold the giant book so that Malcolm could place his hand on it. Then, to make the obedience complete, William laid his hand over Malcolm’s and rested his baculus, the fabled Viking mace of his ancestors, on his forearm.
The deed was done. William had secured his northern border, and Canmore could be at peace in his Alban realm — for a while, at least.
My blood ran cold as I contemplated the circumstances. Malcolm and his Scottish warriors were a formidable force, but he stood there humbled by the overwhelming strength and ambition of William and the Normans. As for me, I remained the embodiment of the defeated English, a mere witness to yet another Norman conquest.
Even so, my determination to find my own destiny grew ever stronger.
On hearing the outcome upon our return to Dunfermline, the Queen was relieved that Malcolm had acted with such restraint, but greatly upset that part of the price was the loss of her son and brother.
Duncan took a small retinue and left within hours to reach William’s army before it had gone too far. I left two days later to make my way to William’s neighbours and enemies in Flanders and France. However, I would be back far earlier than I anticipated.
I travelled with only a dozen men and two stewards, and moved quickly through England’s ravaged North.
It was a difficult journey for me. The Great North Road was a hive of activity with cartloads of provisions of all sorts going backwards and forwards. York and Durham and the burghs towards the southern part of Northumbria were alive with masons and carpenters about their work, but it was a different story away from the routes under the watchful eye of the Norman overlords and their garrisons.
Ragged little children would often appear at the side of the road, begging for food. Sometimes, half hidden by the trees, the remnants of abandoned villages could be seen. There was fear and loathing just beneath the surface. It was well disguised, but it was there — as was the deep-seated melancholy of a once proud people, now vanquished and forlorn.
When we got to Mercia, I left my men at Peterborough and, disguised as a monk, rode to Ely to find out more about what had happened there a year earlier.
What I found filled me with a heartfelt sorrow. The burgh of Ely, although small, was thriving. The causeway across the Fens, which King William had built to break Hereward’s resistance, was thronged with merchants and farmers. There was a considerable garrison of Normans at work on a huge motte and bailey, their work almost complete. Although all trace of the bloody encounter of thirteen months ago — which had seen England’s final capitulation to the Normans and the deaths of so many brave men — had gone, I shuddered at the thought of it.
Few would speak about the events of 1071, and those who did merely repeated the oft-told myths and rumours. The new abbot, a man called Theodwin, was not a Benedictine monk but a secular governor, placed there by the King to keep order and oversee the garrison and the building of the fortifications. I was told that the King also intended to tear down the abbey and St Etheldreda’s Chapel to build an enormous cathedral, modelled on the ones in his homeland. The door of her chapel was still barred and had not been opened since the King ordered it to be sealed at the end of the siege. Many believed that it had become Hereward’s tomb, his body still lying where it had been left after his execution at William’s own hand.
Outside the abbey I did find a man who would speak to me. I did not recognize him — perhaps I should have done, as he was one of the few survivors of Ely and had campaigned with us in the North. But he was only a wretched shell of his former self.
His name was Wolnatius. He had been blinded after being captured at the collapse of the final redoubt and
