Macbeth the King (14 page)

"Thorfinn would say otherwise, I think."

"Should you have wed Thorfinn then, after all?"

"No! Oh no, my dear, my love, heart of my heart. Never that...!"

"Then hush you, woman. And forget Duncan the King. And Thorfinn the Earl. And all others who would come between us. You have MacBeth mac Finlay, for better or worse. And I have Gruoch nic Bodhe. And I, for one, am content..."

Forgetting Duncan, or
for that matter Thorfinn, was comparatively easy in Moray for the rest of that winter, and life at Spynie was little spoiled by the dynastic situation—especially as Gruoch's pregnancy progressed and more domestic preoccupations prevailed.

But if either of them had imagined that Duncan's shadow could ever pass them by, placed as they were, they were destined for disappointment. Word, and ever more ominous word, of the new King's activities grew with the year. The first was innocuous enough, namely that he had married the lady he had gone to Northumbria to woo in the autumn, the Lady Sybil, sister of the Earl Siward of Deira. Siward was a Dane, indeed nephew of the late King of Denmark and cousin of Canute; and governed Northumbria for Canute, although there was a Saxon Earl Eadulf thereof, who seemed to lie fairly low, advisedly. On the face of it, therefore, Duncan's marriage was unexceptionable and might even be wise and advantageous—after all, Malcolm had presumably approved the match. But scarcely were the nuptials over than Duncan announced a claim to overlordship of Northumbria; this on the flimsy grounds that after the Battle of Carham nineteen years before, when Lothian was ceded to Scotland in total, the overlordship of Northumbria itself was included in the settlement. If Malcolm, the victor of Carham, had himself ever so asserted, he had never been so rash as to seek to do anything to enforce it. Nor had he sought to bring it forward in his negotiations with Canute. Now Duncan was demanding what his warrior grandsire had not dared to do. Rumour had it that Canute was sick with jaundice; and it was conceivable that Duncan was relying on the fact, and had struck some bargain with the Earl Siward on marrying his sister. But by any standards the thing was folly, playing with fire.

A further and possibly greater folly followed. The King sent a demand to Thorfinn for tribute and tax to be paid to him forthwith for the mortuaths of Caithness and Sutherland—or so old Gunnar Hound Tooth at Torfness reported. He did not report on the earl's reaction—but that was scarcely necessary.

At this stage Gruoch was delivered of a fine boy, and for the time being, at least at Spynie, the follies of princes receded somewhat from consideration. They christened the child Farquhar, amidst great rejoicings.

Six weeks later a courier arrived from Orkney, via Torfness. The Countess Ingebiorg had also produced a son, to be named Paul. Thorfinn's message added that undoubtedly the prodigy would go down in saga as Paul the Bellower. He made no reference to Duncan or his demands.

It was Saint Moluag's Day when the new King's first actual communication with MacBeth arrived at Spynie, by the hand—or, rather, the mouth, since it was no letter—of the young Thane of Stormounth. It was a command for the Mormaor of Moray and Ross, in company with the Earl Thorfinn of Caithness and Sutherland, to proceed with all expedition and fullest force against the rebel MacDowall, Lord of Galloway, presently troubling the King's provinces of Dalar and Argyll and the western seaboard, and to take whatever steps were necessary against him, for the realm's good.

To say that MacBeth was surprised would be an understatement. He looked at Stormounth unbelievingly. "But...this is crazy!" he cried. "Does he know what he is asking? He wants me to go to war, on his behalf. After, after all that he has done!"

"On the realm's behalf, my lord. MacDowall is a rebel and man of blood. He sides with the Northumbrians against Strathclyde and Cumbria."

"Perhaps. But that is not my concern."

"It is a royal command."

"One which I cannot obey. This is a matter for sea attack. Ships. I have no fleet of warships to carry a host..."

"The Earl Thorfinn has."

"And think you that Thorfinn will fight Duncan's wars for him?"

"He has been sent command to do so."

"Saints save us—Duncan mac Crinan has run mad! If he is so anxious to do battle, let him do it himself. Tell him so, from me..."

"He is to do so, my lord mormaor. He intends to invade Northumbria. That is why you are to engage MacDowall. So that he cannot come to the aid of the Northumbrians."

"Attack Northumbria! Has he taken leave of his wits entirely? War with Canute!"

"Canute is sick. A failing man. And Siward will make only a show of fighting. When Earl Eadulf of Northumbria is defeated, Siward will assume the earldom under King Duncan. As well as his own York, or Deira. And when Canute, his cousin, dies, he will be in a strong position to take the English throne, in place of Canute's weak sons. It is all well planned."

MacBeth was speechless.

"So Cumbria and Strathclyde, on the west, must be made secure. And MacDowall of Galloway is the greatest danger. The King has made his young son Malcolm, Prince of Strathclyde, for the folk to rally to. You are to attack in his name..."

"God in His Heaven—did I hear you aright? You say that he has made the boy Malcolm, Prince of Strathclyde? His
bastard!
He of the big head—Canmore?"

"Yes. He much loves the lad..."

"But—loves or not is nothing to the point, man! The child is a bastard, born out of wedlock. And Prince of Strathclyde is the title and position of the heir to the throne! Is Duncan planning to make this Malcolm, the Forteviot miller's daughter's son, tanist? Heir to Scotland! A fine tribute to pay to his new Queen! To prefer his bastard to any child she may bear him!"

The young Thane shrugged. "He is the King..." MacBeth sent Stormounth away with a non-committal reply to Duncan, intending no action. Then, two weeks later a messenger arrived from Thorfinn saying that he would be coming with his fleet to Torfness in ten days’ time to pick up MacBeth's force against MacDowall. That was all; no comments or questions, just the bald statement. And as big a surprise as Duncan's own command.

MacBeth, in a quandary, gave reluctant orders for a small force to be readied, and waited.

When Thorfinn arrived at Torfness, two days early, it was in major strength, with some score of longships and almost 3000 men. He came to Spynie in high spirits. MacBeth was at Elgin, on business of the mortuath, and when he returned home it was to find the Vikings in noisy possession. Thorfinn had brought Ingebiorg and the baby, to keep company with Gruoch while their men went campaigning. An infant under each arm, he shouted greeting from the causeway-head. Where were the forces of Moray and Ross?

His brother, who was not much of a shouter, reserved his reply. But he had his own charges to make, when presently Thorfinn had got rid of the babies.

"I scarce expected
you
to obey Duncan's command!" he said. "You who scorn kings."

"Ha—but there are commands and commands, brother. This one I rejoice to obey."

"Did you send Duncan his tribute, then?"

His brother hooted.

"Why this, then?"

"Why? Because I mislike MacDowall. I have many bones to pick with him. Also I find Galloway to my taste, and have long thought of making a try for it. A fair province, wasted on such as MacDowall. Thought of it the more since I wed Ingebiorg. Indeed—do not tell her—but that was one of her attractions!"

"Ingebiorg? Why?"

"Did you not know? Her father, the Earl Finn Arnison, married a sister of Kenneth, Lord of Galloway, whose son Malcolm this MacDowall slew and took his lordship. There is a cousin, Sven—or Suibhne, as they call it there—in Galloway still. I have been considering how best to bring MacDowall down and take Galloway. Now your Duncan orders me to do just that, by royal command. Shall I disobey the King of Scots?"

"I see. I did not know of this. But—MacDowall is strong."

"I am stronger."

"Then you do not require my help to bring him down."

"That is true. But it might serve you none so ill to come in with me. Duncan's messenger said that you also were commanded to this. It will be his first call upon you? As King. A pity to fail him! When you also could gain by it."

"What should I gain in this, man?"

"Much. I want Galloway. And an end to MacDowall's raiding in my Hebrides. But there is much else that he has stolen and held—the isles of Arran and Bute. And the Cumbraes. Taken from Strathclyde—Duncan's own now. These could be yours."

"I do not need them. On the other side of Scotland."

"Never refuse the chance of good land. If you do not need it, you can always use it as bargain for something you do want." Thorfinn paused. "Forby, I say that it is time that you showed that you can use a sword, Brother. I know that you can. But many do not. For too long you have stayed at home. Not gone warring, hosting. Cherished Ross and now Moray, like any father. You won Moray with words. I have nothing against words, see you—but most men pay less heed to them than to swords. If you wish to hold your mortuaths in peace, as Thorkell told you one time, then wield the sword now and again. A simple rule!"

MacBeth remained doubtful.

Strangely enough, Gruoch agreed with Thorfinn for once. She was not a hating woman, but she hated Duncan. She saw this adventure as a means to beat Duncan at his own game. Seem to obey his command, she said, and in doing so, establish a presence on his flank, in his own Strathclyde indeed, with Thorfinn. It would be an ever-present threat to Duncan's peace of mind thereafter. Make him rue the day when he had made his bastard Prince of Strathclyde.

It was this more than anything which weighed with MacBeth. He had been grievously offended by this appointment of the child Malcolm Big-Head to the position traditionally reserved for the heir apparent of Scotland. Whoever should be King after Duncan, it should not be a bastard. The Celtic system of tanistry enjoined that the most suitable and able close member of the royal house should be tanist or heir. Meantime, that was himself, undoubtedly; and later, Lulach. But even if this was denied, Duncan could yet have sons by his new Queen Sybil. To make his bastard Prince of Strathclyde was insufferable. He must be made to realise it. The thing was accepted. MacBeth, with two thanes and 400 men, would join the Orkney expedition.

For the life of him MacBeth could not feel other than a holiday atmosphere to prevail, rather than any warlike passion, as the fleet drove its way northwards up the Sutherland and Caithness coasts in the late July sunshine. On the dragon flagship at least high spirits obtained—perhaps they always did when there was any prospect of fighting ahead—Thorfinn in great fettle. He seemed to see it all as expressly designed for his delight and advantage. And he was clearly and sincerely rejoiced at having his half-brother with him on a venture, something that had not happened for a long time. Thorfinn Raven Feeder, the happy Viking.

The passage of the dreaded Pentland Firth, or Pictish Sea, between Scotland and Orkney, was comparatively smooth for so ominous a water, where the great Western Ocean met the North Sea in a confined strait. The wind was directly in their faces here, and always strong, so that it was oar-work all the way. But once, after seventy miles of it, they turned southwards again into the coloured Sea of the Hebrides, it was all plane-sailing, with the oars little required and the most lovely prospects known to man for their delectation, an endless panorama of islands and skerries, white cockle-shell sands, soaring hills and cliffs, many-hued seaweed strands and waters the clarity of which had to be seen to be credited.

Throughout almost 150 miles of the Nordreys, the carefree atmosphere maintained. Then, passing the great thrusting promontory of Ardnamurchan, they entered the Sudreys area, and a change came over the Norsemen. They remained as cheerful as ever, but now they were keenly on the alert, watchful, anticipating. MacDowall seldom ventured so far from Galloway as the Nordreys, but the Sudreys were a favoured summer stamping-ground—when he was not raiding Man or the Irish or Cumbrian coasts.

Thorfinn headed now for Coll, a long, narrow island, fifteen miles by three, where his uncle and lieutenant for the Hebrides, the Earl Gillaciaran, had his headquarters. Thorfinn had no especial right to the Hebrides, of course, other than conquest, like his fathers before him; but that was as good a right as any, so long as he could hold them. Gillaciaran was Celtic, as his name implied, with a Norse wife, Thorfinn's aunt, and the true lord of the islands. But he was well content to act deputy, rather than to oppose the mighty Thorfinn.

He was a stout man of middle years, lazy but effective enough when it came to the pinch, with two stalwart sons, the elder of whom, Somerled, was a fire-eater. He kept eight longships at the ready always in Coil's wide natural harbour of Arinagour. It made a packed anchorage when the Orkney fleet joined them.

Gillaciaran had fairly recent news of MacDowall, for Somerled was just back from chasing him away from the coasts of Islay. There had been no real fighting on this occasion, for MacDowall preferred not to take on Gillaciaran unless he could not avoid it, finding easier game more profitable. Somerled, although having only five longships against the other's nine, had chased him for forty miles, into the mouth of the Firth of Clyde, where he felt his responsibilities to end, and had come home for reinforcements.

He had these now, with a vengeance. Leaving Gillaciaran with only two stand-by ships, Thorfinn added the six Coll vessels to his fleet, under Somerled, and set off south-eastwards at top speed.

Nightfall overtook them just north of the Mull of Kintyre, a dangerous lee-shore if ever there was one. Thorfinn, giving the menacing Mull itself a very wide berth in unpleasant cross-seas, carried on eastwards in darkness, feeling his way through Sanda Sound and into the wide Firth of Clyde—here, more properly, the mouth of Kilbrannan Sound. Then, sheltered by Kintyre's mighty breakwater, they slipped past the Isle of Davaar into the large landlocked bay of Kilkerran, and there lay, five nights out from Torfness.