30th January 1198
Guest Apartments of the Royal Palace at Scone, Gowrie
Nerys Hamilton-Morcar was, as always, the first up in the Duchess’s entourage. As the Senior Lady in Waiting for Her Grace, Helen Mac Ailpin, Duchess of Meath it was her job to ensure the others were up and bright-eyed, tasks assigned, ready for tending to their mistresses needs. On this frigid January morning Nerys only had to awake two of her companions as the Duchess and her husband, Prince Macbeth, had travelled light, being guests of their royal master, the King himself. She clucked and tutted as she roused first Morgilla MacVeigh, lesser daughter of one of the minor baronial houses in Meath, then the rather silly and immature Rachel Brown, who was really not much better than a scullion. Still she had her uses Nerys mused-as long as they were far from her she didn’t much right mind what she did-anything to escape that heinous whinnying laugh and terrible manners.
Travisti Portrait of Helen of Meath with Lady in Waiting
‘Up girls! The Duchess will want the bed a-warming this cold day! Morgilla down to the kitchens to warm some irons for the clothes. Rachel off with you to light the fires-we do not want our lady freezing to death ‘ere she arises-quick! Snap to it!’
As usual there was much groaning and moaning. The cock had not yet crowed and light was not yet showing beyond the palace’s eastern windows. Nerys had arisen, as usual, to the church bells striking
Lauds. The bells were, of necessity, as regular as sunrise and sunset and so was she. She had a strange affinity with the early morning times, such that she arose without the need for waking by a guard well before that particular bell chimed.
Clutching her sable coat around her to ward off the cold she went to rouse her lady. She had been her faithful servant for more than ten years, had been with her through good times and bad. The bad times had encompassed a thirteen-year marriage to a bitter, careworn husband who though he professed to cherish her and had provided her with four offspring on whom to dote, had also assailed her with his biting tongue and, on occasion, a fist. Of course it was at first seen as a great match: she was marrying the King’s firstborn son after all-this would be prize for any highborn lady in any of the three Celtic Kingdoms-one that would be whispered about, giggled at and imagined in every girls fantasy. Except Macbeth had turned out to be a bit of a dud when compared to his dashing younger brother, Uhtred, Duke of Munster. He was the one that always bested Macbeth in martial games just as soon as he was strong enough, out-thought him in his studies, out-schemed him in myriad childish plotting and it was to him that their father quickly turned to succeed him, once he had come of age, leaving the eldest son a simmering cauldron of resentment and rage. So yes she had paid him the marital debt when called upon, more out of a sense of duty than anything else and she had three lively boys and a spirited daughter to call her own: John a haughty twelve year old, his younger brother Waldeve, ten-much more even-spirited. The irrepressible seven year old Marthoc-she who was convinced that she would be a great heiress and then little Duncan who was only four and just beginning to see the world in a more independent light. No it was not her children who were the problem in her life Helen had oft confessed to Nerys…
Gathering up her brushes so that she could sit and attend Helen of Meath’s dark tresses-such beautiful hair she had never known-she approached the Duchess’s bedchamber with a little lurch of anticipation. No she would surely know if
he was there. And yet…and yet when she had first discovered her mistresses little secret, just over a year ago, it became apparent that she had not known
all of Helen’s affairs least of all that she was having an illicit affair with the King himself-her own father by law…
If Nerys disapproved of this behaviour she did not let it show-never mind what the Church’s teachings say about such liaisons. Nerys shuddered at what they might have said about a woman giving herself to the father of her spouse, King or not. She remembered unhappily the time that she had plucked up the courage to allude obliquely to it to her Confessor-he had not been impressed, urging her to influence her mistress (if it was indeed ‘her mistress’ he had added slyly) to repent of her sins lest the fires of eternal purgatory awaited.
She knocked gently, ‘My Lady-are you awake?’
‘Come’ Came the gentle if sleepy response. Nerys entered the darkened room, glad for the taper that she used to quickly light the lamps that banished some of the gloom.
‘My lady-good morrow to you. I have the girls preparing warm clothes and stoking the fire in your ante-room. Shall I brush your hair out?’ This was a daily ritual-the answer was always the same:
‘Of course Nerys-will we be attending
Prime this morning?’
‘If my Lady wills it.’
Helen of Meath was a beautiful woman by the standards of the time-she sat up in the bed revealing a fine figure and ample bosom. Her long raven coloured hair framed a pretty oval face . Her eyes, though, reflected a certain world-weariness. Here at least she could be herself with her favourite Lady in waiting: they had no secrets. With her husband, however, she was the very model of deception-the fool had appreciated some of this quality and had even asked her to advise his own Ducal Spymaster-sad that he had not the wit to realise that he was being cuckolded by his own father.
‘Have you come to pray for my imperilled soul Nerys?’ She asked wryly, ‘You don’t think I miss the downward turn of your mouth and
that scowl when he visits me?’
‘My Lady’s happiness is my own’ Nerys answered simply ‘it is not for me to judge.’
‘You have your views for certes Nerys-have told me of them many times. He is kind to me is all I will say-a moment spent with him is worth a lifetime with his son I assure you.’
Fussing now over her brushing Nerys confined herself to a terse nod-she did not-could not approve of this sinful tryst, nor of her mistress effectively turning herself into the King’s harlot but if it made her happy then she could not gainsay her.
‘Let us talk of other matters My Lady.’
Helen was relieved to consent-this was difficult ground for them and without doubt had put a strain on their friendship.
‘How does my little one?’
‘Duncan is fine mistress-Nurse Agnes is full of praise for the little bairn.’
‘Good good-three sons to
that man-who would have thought it. You do realise that Waldeve was conceived by force?’
Nerys caught her breath, ‘I-I did not know that Mistress’
Helen was regarding her friend with a wryly amused expression ‘yes he has forced me on a few occasions-that was how he used to get me to pay my marital debt to him-it was quickly apparent that of desire between us there was none but he actually repulses me Nerys…’
‘I am so sorry.’
‘Don’t be-our bedtime trysts have long since ceased. No there is but one man who can satisfy me now…’
Nerys quickly changed the subject ‘And how did you get your Lord husband to agree to support his brothers claim to the throne at that Parliament of ninety five?’
Helen let out a loud laugh that roused the Alaunt lying at the foot of the great bed, ‘hah! Me? That had nothing to do with me Nerys Hamilton-Morcar-that was the King’s doing and only his. I don’t know what was said-all I do know is that one moment my Lord husband was agitating to stymie his brother at every turn, then he had an audience with his father, then he was all sweetness and compliance. Who knows what was said but I had nothing to do with it of that I do assure you.’
‘There was a lot happening that year what with Scotland annexing Northumberland and the King’s nephew Ælfræd of England suddenly dying leaving only a three year old daughter as Queen-mayhap there was some political inducement my Lady?’
Helen snorted ‘I doubt that Nerys-the biggest political inducement that my husband has received from the King was the Dechy of Meath four years past, as you recall.’
‘True true my Lady-‘tis passing strange.’
Without they could hear the movements of the other two girls-they would come in when bade to by Nerys-not a moment before. The palace was slowly coming alive, rousing itself from its icy sleep and preparing for the new day: cooks, stable hands, guards and stewards all bustled about in service to their various lords, ladies and mistresses.
Nerys could not help asking ‘do you not fear that the Queen will discover what is happening-she is not one to make an enemy of lightly.’
‘I thought you didn’t want to discuss this matter?’
‘I don’t but I cannot help but fret for your safety mistress. Queen Madrun is one to bear grudges-or so I have heard…’
Helen regarded her chief ally: so trusting and yet so naïve. ‘And you think the King won’t protect me if it should come to it? That is it no?’
‘Why would he my lady? Surely if it came to a choice he would choose his Queen to avoid scandal-she is from a powerful Welsh family, the rulers of the Duchy of Deheubarth-it would not pay to anger them surely?’
For once Helen was stuck for words-she had oft considered what might happen were her trysts with King Macbeth I of Scots and Ireland discovered-certes Queen Madrun would not take the news lightly-could make life very difficult for her and her family. Already she never ceased to hear from her harassed lover how Madrun’s half sister, Myfanwy II-the current Duchess of Deheubarth was plotting for the crown itself.
‘The whoresons cannot aim for the crown of Wales since my brother destroyed it!’ Macbeth had grumbled one morning as they both lay together in the post coital glow of their lovemaking. No he had enough to contend with containing Madrun’s Welsh House Wilhelmiden without putting extra arrows into their quiver Helen thought.
‘Let us talk of holy church Nerys-I tire of discussing my affairs’ she said lightly.
Nerys froze-had she somehow learned of her guilt-ridden confession? But how? She knew that her mistress was an accomplished schemer but would a priest have betrayed her?
‘What of Holy Church my lady?’ She said carefully, her heart beating an insistent tattoo in her chest. She did not fear Helen’s anger-her disappointment yes.
But Helen was smiling up at her, ‘I have been thinking of our Holy Father-four years since he was enthroned at Blois and no nearer a return to the Holy See of Rome.’
It was as much as Nerys could do not to let out a huge sigh of relief-this at least was safe ground. All of Europe had watched in righteous horror as, a few years before, the King of Italy expelled Pope Agapetus II, tired, he had said, of the constant meddling in Italian affairs. The Crusader Pope had been forced to throw himself on the kindness of the West Francia and had settled in Blois. In the meantime an Anti Pope had also been installed-it was a confusing and difficult time for all those of the true faith.
‘This new Pope-what is his name? Adeo-something? What says our King about him my Lady?’
Helen chuckled ‘his name is Adeodatus the Third Nerys. He is not a whit of his predecessor but he seems to esteem Macbeth-mayhap because he was the half-brother of my Uncle Ewan-the Crusader.’ Helen’s tone was reverential, as was anyone in the realm who spoke of their dear departed old King, Ewan ‘The Great’ they now called him. ‘The difficulty for Macbeth Nerys is that my Uncle is a very difficult act to follow.’
Nerys pondered this whilst also thinking ‘and yet it is your uncle-or half uncle that you are allowing to swive you woman!’ Yet it was true: the realms
had been quiet for the six years that Macbeth had ruled and Scottish territorial gains had continued apace with the annexation of Northumberland-Macbeth had decided, as many of his forebears had, to profit from the fresh unrest in England as the magnates there scrambled to control the child Queen.
‘I am sure that it must be a hard thing to follow a man who ruled for fifty years mistress-did you know him at all? Ewan I mean?’
‘I met him a few times Nerys-I remember a kind man, always interested in us, his brother’s children-mayhap to the exclusion of his own-‘
Suddenly there was a loud rapping on the main doors without. ‘OPEN UP! OPEN UP FOR THE KING!’
The two woman started as though struck, then spent moments that seemed like an age arranging themselves-Nerys particularly was concerned to ensure that her lady was presentable.
‘Go! Go!’ Helen urged her and Nerys fled just remembering to sketch a hasty courtesy to her liege as she departed. She caught a glimpse of the King’s face as she left noting with dismay that his mien was particularly grim.
Outside in the antechamber she gathered up the two younger girls and hustled them outside the guest chambers where they joined the Royal Guards in an icy corridor. Warming their hands and stamping their feet to keep their blood circulating it was all Nerys could do to hush her companions to see if they could hear any voices within. There were, however, two sets of heavy oaken doors between them and whatever was unfolding in Helen’s bedroom: of voices or sounds there was none.
‘Do you think the King is wroth with our lady?’ Rachel bleated in a frightened voice, ‘he looked wroth-‘
‘Be silent girl!’ Nerys snapped. Whatever had happened it was not good but speculating about the cause would profit neither themselves nor their mistress-all they could do was wait.
After what seemed like an interminable time Macbeth I, King of Scots and Ireland exited, he looked haggard, worn and every one of his fifty years-he also looked sad and it was this, more than anything, that had Nerys dashing back inside to her Duchess’s side.
She heard Helen well before she saw her: her wailing was that of someone upon whom has been visited an unspeakable grief. Crying and tearing at her hair her sobs racked her whole body.
‘Gods’ blood-help me!’ Nerys shouted to Rachel, who had appeared in the doorway, ‘Morgilla! Shut the outside door-no one is to enter! Do you hear?’
‘Yes my lady.’ Morgilla rushed to obey whilst Nerys and Rachel physically carried their mistress to her bed, laying her down and trying to calm her down.
‘Rachel-leave us!’ Nerys shouted above the sobs and once the younger woman had reluctantly departed the inner chamber she hugged her Lady close. It was all she could think to do and in this she was ably assisted by the great Alaunt that was never far from her side. The great dog, sensing his mistresses distress thrust his muzzle between Nerys and Helen, adding the occasional wet lick to the proceedings until slowly and finally the racking sobs eased and Nerys could finally hear Helen through her tears,
‘He has left me-he has left me. What will I do?’
‘My lady calm yourself-what has happened?’
Finally when she had spent herself crying, Helen went through the sorry tale: the King had come to end their illicit affair-it was as they had just been discussing: the Queen had indeed got wind of their indiscretions and had ordered the affair to cease. It seemed that faced with the wrath of his paramour and that of her Welsh kin the king had not hesitated to call a stop to his dalliance.
‘He was so cold-it was as if the last year counted for naught Nerys-I feel so used!’ And this set off a further bout of wailing, which Nerys sat out patiently before setting out to her Lady the reasons why it was probably providence: what would happen if her Lord husband found out? She would be disgraced-would lose access to her children-may be banished or worse-the scandal would seriously harm their family. No this was for the best-no doubt.
‘At least think on your little Duncan my lady and what would John or Waldeve say that their Ma was being played as the king’s strumpet?’ This sobered Helen up-angered her even, but in her heart she knew that her friend spoke true. The affair could not continue-she was the niece of Ewan the Great, daughter of his staunchest ally, Thomas of Ulster. It was unseemly, beneath her and was, given the closeness of blood between them, quite frankly, unnatural.
Wiping her tears she murmured ‘as always Nerys you are my rock-you have the right of it. It had to end. Besides the King looks so old-he has all the cares of the world upon him-I must look to my children now. Mayhap Duncan can be brought to keep his mother company?’
She looked so vulnerable and so small at this that Nerys could not help but hug her again, ‘I will see to it all mistress-all will be well again, I am sure of it.’
That is all would be well if a jealous Queen stuck to her side of the bargain and allowed the family machinations and relationships to return to some semblance of normality…of that only time would tell…
Afterword [translation from source Latin]:
King Macbeth’s eldest son, Prince Macbeth of Meath died at only 29 twelve months later-it is said that he died of ‘severe stress’.
He left a thirteen year old son, John, as the new Duke of Meath. It freed his spouse, Helen, from her gilded cage but she was now focused only on one thing: acting as rightful guardian for her children. The Dowager Duchess moved quickly to assume the reigns of power, aided by her erstwhile lover, the King. Mac Ailpins rallied round to support her cause and she was duly installed as Duke John’s Guardian. In return her son John gave his unstinting support for his Uncle Uhtred’s claim to the throne of Ireland-support he could give as one of its Electors.
For his part the old King Macbeth lived out his few remaining months truly content, it was even said that he fell in love with his Queen once more.
He died of natural causes on the 7th day of the Month of May in the year of our Lord 1200. The King had passed 53 summers. It is said that amongst the mourners at his bedside was the Dowager Duchess of Meath, Helen Mac Ailpin…