Queen Hereafter by Susan Fraser King Read Free Book Online Page A

away from the floor, where she sat on the bench at supper. The rushes on the floor were fresh enough, but the layer beneath was old, decayed and fusty. Her eyes stung from the rancid smoke of flickering wall torches in need of changing. The meal was already being served, handed about on platters, but the king had not yet arrived for supper. In the confusion, some of the servants snatched dishes from the tables to bring them back to the kitchen until the king was properly in attendance.
    Chaos, Margaret thought, had no place in a king’s hall. Watching Dame Agnes, she knew that Lady Agatha and Kata would have made short work of the whole mess. So would she, come to that; while she had never run a household of her own, she was well versed in all domestic matters. As the eldest princess in a royal family, she had been originally intended, and trained, for a significant marriage. The Normans had changed those plans and the peace of Romsey Abbey had changed her mind, but she had more than enough skill and knowledge—and a good measure of practicality—to supervise even the largest household. Seeing what could and should be done with the king’s ill-managed palace of Dunfermline, she felt a twinge of frustration. Still, she smiled and sat quietly.
    She and the other Saxons occupied benches at a long, broad table with a linen cloth sitting askew, having been tugged by one of the taller dogs. Housecarls and household retainers shared tables along with servants, an arrangement she had never seen before. Some of them were already eating; few took notice that the royal Saxons were there and the king was not.
    At Winchester, grand feasts and even everyday suppers had been orderly, formal occasions when elaborate meals were served in several courses, and dishes, cups, and utensils were of the finest materials—brass, pewter, silver and gold, even crystal and glass. At Dunfermline, the dishes were wood or pottery, drinking horns and simple cups were more prevalent than goblets, and implements were ordinary wood and metal. Margaret noticed her mother’s disapproval and her sister’s disdain, and saw Edgar’s puzzled expression, too, as he rubbed at a stain on the tablecloth.
    Robert De Lauder walked toward them. “King Malcolm will be here soon. He is in his chamber as yet meeting with his councilors, since he has been away in the south.”
    “He has royal guests. Such rudeness,” Lady Agatha remarked in German to her kinswomen. Margaret saw De Lauder frown.
    Dame Agnes’s wooden-soled shoes made a clomping sound as she crossed the room toward them. She paused to bark out an order to oneof the servants before bowing her head toward the Saxons. “Sire,” she addressed Edgar in a broad, rolling accent. “Whatever you need, tell me and you shall have it.” He thanked her and she left, never returning to the table, busy as she was.
    Servants ran back and forth from the kitchens, spilling food from tilted platters, sloshing wine and ale from jugs, tripping on the dogs, large and small, that seemed constantly underfoot. A musician sat on a stool beside the central fire basket, which blazed and smoked in the middle of the long room. The old man played a harp and sang, though the din in the room did not quiet.
    Dame Agnes could be heard shouting in the corridor, and moments later, servants rushed into the hall, carrying platters and bowls as if the hounds of hell were at their heels. As Margaret and the others were served fresh dishes of sliced beef and onions—the food was plain but good—the musician began a new tune, a bright rhythm that Margaret found enjoyable.
    “He is a good
jongleur
,” she said to Sir Robert, beside her. He nodded.
    Ranald, the surly blond warrior in the king’s elite guard, leaned forward. “He is adequate for a
Saxon
poet,” he said with some emphasis.
    “It is surprising to find a Saxon poet in the Scottish court,” Edgar said. “Surely he must be very good, to have a patron in the king of