Queen Hereafter Read Online Free PDF

“Thank you, it’s very good.”
    Mother Annot smiled and filled Margaret’s cup yet again.
    MORNING LIGHT SEEPED through the chinks in the stone wall as Margaret finished her early prayers. Accustomed at the abbey to rising several times a night to kneel in prayer, she could keep that habit anywhere now, although the others still slept, tucked in blankets on the floor. She slipped past without disturbing them.
    Mother Annot cooked flat cakes that smelled buttery and good, sizzling on an iron plate suspended over hot flames. Finding her red shoes and cloak drying by the hearth, Margaret put them on, savoring their warmth. Then she stepped outside, going past the house with its attached animal byre to the enclosed latrine beyond; she ducked into that and later emerged to stand in the misty dawn. A few clustered houses with thatched roofs and stone walls created a small, muddy village that lacked a center, for she saw no obvious church or chapel structure. Each home seemed to be as plain as the one belonging to Annot and her family.
    Margaret had seen the homes of the poor in England and in Hungary, too, but she had never been inside one of them, living always in the finest royal quarters. These Scottish folk had little, yet they shared without expecting a reward. She breathed deeply of the moist, salty air and once more felt humbled by the kindness shown to the Saxon fugitives.
    She went back into the house, where she and the others were eating hot oatcakes when Edgar and Wilfrid came to the door, having spent the night in another domicile. “The ships are being unloaded now,” Wilfrid told them as they escorted the women to the beach.
    “And this morning Cospatric rode to the king’s royal residence, not far from here. King Malcolm will send an escort for us soon, no doubt,” Edgar said.
    Farther down the beach, Margaret saw two longboats leaning like whales in the shallows while men waded back and forth with crates and gear. English-bred horses now grazed on fresh grass along the dunes, and wooden boxes were piled on the dry sections of the pebbled beach.
    “We must see if our things are safe,” Cristina said. “That is all the fortune any of us has now,” she added.
    “At least we have something,” Margaret said, though Cristina ignored her and ran ahead.
    Searching with her sister through the boxes as they were opened, Margaret looked in particular for an ebony reliquary that contained a priceless crucifix in gold and gems. The treasured piece housed a precious relic, a sliver of the true cross saved by Saint Helena, on whose feast day Margaret had been born. The Black Rood, as some in England had called the cross, had been coveted by Edward of England, but Lady Agatha had guarded it carefully, hinting to Margaret that it might be part of her dowry someday. Other crates contained gold and silver plates, vessels, cups, and candlesticks; several small chests held thousands of coins, English and foreign, the edges clipped with use yet still valuable for trading or melting down. Their well-being might rest on their ability to pay the Scots king, and so Edgar seemed anxious to locate the coins, while Margaret and the others looked for household goods.
    Cristina gave a little cry as she discovered the ebony box packed in damp straw, and then she and Margaret looked eagerly through another box. Soon Edgar returned, having walked off to speak with Wilfrid after finding a few chests of coins. “Thank the saints, we have some means,” he said.
    Margaret smiled, noticing how tall her brother had grown and how somber he seemed. She felt a surge of love and gratefulness to know that they were all safe. And Edgar, who had so much responsibility on his broadening shoulders, might yet have a chance to reclaim England, so long as the Saxon lords supported him and the Scottish king kept his promises.
    “The ships need repair,” Edgar now said. “The fishermen will make the arrangements. We needs must be guests in Scotland