Macbeth the King (18 page)

He had parted from his brother at Duncansby, Thorfinn's main Caithness seat and anchorage, at the eastern end of the Pentland Firth, where they had found Thorkell Fosterer waiting for them, wounded but far from subdued. Matain was still in Caithness, he had reported, westwards on the Sutherland border around Reay, waiting presumably for reinforcements. He was said to have some 2000 men, at least. Thorfinn commented grimly that he would deal with the situation at once. He gave MacBeth three of the captured Galloway ships to transport his 400 Moraymen home, scornfully rejecting offers of help.

A week and a day later Thorfinn arrived in person at Torfness, come for his wife. His greetings were as boisterous as ever, his humour as ponderous. MacBeth had to ask him as to the position regarding Thane Matain.

His brother shrugged. "That Matain is dead. Like all his host. I slew him my own self. And not before time!"

"His host...?"

"We took no prisoners," Thorfinn said simply. "Caithness and Sutherland are
mine!"

MacBeth forebore to question further, meantime, in front of the women.

But in the evening, strolling under the apple-trees and slapping at midges, Thorfinn talked seriously. "Duncan," he said. "What is to be done with Duncan mac Crinan, Brother?"

MacBeth took his time to answer. "Would to God that I knew that! I have thought on it, long. There is no easy answer. He is the King...
"

"He is a dastard, a cheat, a liar and a poisoner..."

"All that. But still the King. High King of Scots."

"And that means that you will lift no hand against him?"

MacBeth frowned. "I can advise against, even
work
against his policies, where I conceive them to be wrong. You might say that it is no less than our duty, as mormaors. But to lift hand against his person—no!"

"I say that is weak folly, man! You said that same of Malcolm Foiranach. That I accepted, because you had taken an oath to sustain him. But you have taken no such oath for Duncan Ilgairach, who gained the crown by murder and deceit."

"He still sits on the Stone of Destiny. Placed there by most of the mormaors of Scotland. That Stone is the touchstone of our ancient throne. It is the talisman of our race and realm. Whoever sits on it rules Scotland, of right."

"Half the men who have sat on it—more—have been slain. And by their own people, our forefathers. Did it save them?"

"Perhaps not. But I do not judge my duty by the failures of others."

"Spoken like, like a self-righteous monk! You should have been a churchman, Brother. Duncan tried to murder you—and you turn him the other cheek. He will do so again. He has tried to steal my birthright..."

"Duncan the
man
I might seek out to slay, if I could—for I am no monk. But Duncan the King is otherwise."

"If
you
were King..."

"I should not expect my mormaors to rise up in arms against me."

"Then you would be a fool—if you had offended them."

"We shall not agree on this, Thor."

"One day we may. When even MacBeth will turn. If Duncan does not get him first! But—at least I am not to be bound by your weakness."

"No. I had not thought it. What
are your
plans?"

"I had it that we should strike at once. Both of us. I would take my full strength, by sea, to Galloway. Duncan would learn of it. But would think only that I came to strengthen my hold on that province. You would march the strength of Moray and Ross south, to Fortrenn. I would strike north-eastwards from Galloway. We would have him nailed between us. My ships to go back, north-about again, and down this east coast, while we marched. To support us from the sea. Eight days, ten, and he would be ours. And
you
would be King of Scots. Sit on your Stone!"

MacBeth shook his head, wordless.

* * *

Autumn passed into winter, with MacBeth busy. The rule of two mortuaths was a major responsibility for a man who took his duties seriously; and when they were such large territories as Moray and Ross, covering between them a quarter of all Alba, much travel was involved, even to hold the mormaor's seasonal courts of justice. Sometimes he took Gruoch with him. Even

Lulach was taken on occasion, out of policy. He was a strange, withdrawn child, as though ever watchful, wary. The baby Farquhar was left at home.

In March they heard that the Earl Eadulf of Northumbria, for whom Siward the Strong was "governor", had made a serious raid on Cumbria, no doubt in retaliation for Duncan's claim to be overlord of Northumbria and demand for tribute. There had been bound to be trouble over that foolishness. There was much slaughter and burning before Eadulf was repulsed. Siward, although now Duncan's brother-in-law, did nothing. He might even have arranged it all, for certainly Eadulf could not have done it without his knowledge.

There was no word from Galloway or Thorfinn.

Then came the news that Canute the Mighty had died. For a while men could scarcely believe it. He had been ruling England, and so much else, for over twenty years, and with so strong a hand. Bloody, savage, cunning at first, he had become pious, wise even. He had changed the face of England, Norway, Denmark and Sweden. He had introduced regular taxation, standing armies, the rule of law—Canute's law. Christendom would be a different place without Knut Svenson.

It was a high summer day of July when a young fisherman from the nearest haven to the
Dorus Neamh
came to inform his lord in haste that there was a fleet of ships beating northwards only a mile or so off-shore. MacBeth rowed across Spynie Loch in a coracle and climbed to the sand-dune ridge, to investigate.

There were eleven ships-of-war strung out in line, now some way to the north, not Viking longships but galleys, taller, heavier vessels. They flew banners, but it was too far to distinguish the emblems.

He puzzled as to who it could be, and could not reach any conclusion. These large ships could each hold many men, far more than longships, so it was a major expedition. He ordered the warning beacons to be lit along the coast, so that the smoke-signals could be seen on the Ross side of the Firth.

The fleet did not turn into the Moray Firth however, but continued on up the coast, past the bold headlands of the Sutors of Cromarty. It was Caithness or Sutherland then—or Orkney itself. Three longships slipped out of Torfness harbour, one to shadow the fleet, two to head directly seawards. It would be a surprising matter if these two were not at Orkney first.

Precisely a week later, on Saint Blathmac's Day, the galleys began to come back. Look-outs reported two of them sailing south. Then a third. Then, after an hour or two, another pair. No more.

"Eleven ships went up," MacBeth said. "Five returned, wide-scattered. It needs no seer to tell what that means. Whoever they are."

It was only a few days more when the great fleet of longships arrived at Torfness, and Thorfinn came hot-foot to Spynie.

"Up, man—up and be doing!" he cried, whenever he saw MacBeth. "Work to do. We shall have him, once and for all. Put an end to his folly."

"Which folly is that? I can name a few fools."

"Do not play the clever man with me—for I am no fool! Duncan Ilgairach's folly, to be sure. He is delivered into our hands. He came to destroy Orkney, with his galleys and his thousands. Thinking me to be still in Galloway. To harry and slay and burn my islands. Then, no doubt, to do the like for Caithness and Sutherland. But I had returned. I was sailing between Deerness and Copinshay with but six longships when we sighted him coming up. Eleven great galleys, he had. Slow, heavy craft, filled with men. My heroes herded them like sheep! You should have seen us! We sank five before they had had enough, and fled. We got another after that, too..."

"So it was Duncan himself. For all his cunning, he is...unfortunate!"

"And will be more so. I have 3000 men with me, and go to teach him his lesson. Come, you."

"You have sufficient to deal with this, without me."

"But you will be the next High King, man. Or do you want the young bastard Big Head to be named monarch?"

"No. But—we have spoken of this before, many times. I will not raise hand against the King."

"You would have him put down. But someone else must do it—for MacBeth to have the crown!"

"Have it that way if you will."

"You are an awkward, stubborn son of sin...!"

The Viking host moved off southwards next morning. Thorfinn said that all would be disorganised in the South, after Duncan's defeat. Now was the time to strike back. MacBeth and Gruoch watched the fleet sail from Torfness, the former set-faced.

"You wish that you were going with them," she said. "Despite your stand, you desire to be sailing against Duncan."

He breathed out heavily. "I am none so noble, I fear. No virtue in me. I can hate as well as the next. Were Duncan not the King!"

"He is a bad King. Bad for the realm, a danger to all Scotland. Is there not a duty to put him down? For the benefit of all?"

"Temptress! Think you I have not asked myself that a score of times? So have said all who contemplated treason. No. If the High King cannot depend on his lesser kings' loyalty, then our whole ancient system of government falls. Thorfinn does not see it so—but Thorfinn is a law unto himself."

"Thorfinn has been attacked by Duncan. Twice."

"Yes. Perhaps if I was attacked, it might be different. If I had to fight in self-defence."

"You
were
attacked. Poisoned..."

"That is supposition, no more. We have no proof of it."

She looked at him with a mixture of love and exasperation.

Thorfinn came back after three weeks, his people glutted with loot, blood and fulfilment. They had not caught up with the fleeing Duncan himself, but had wreaked their vengeance on his domains. They had raided right down the east coast, harrying far and wide. They had showed that there was no place in Scotland safe from Thorfinn's vengeance.

MacBeth's second child
was born in March, on the Eve of Saint Patrick, another son. They named him Luctacus. He was a happy, easy-going infant, from the first. With three children it was now a lively household, and Gruoch quietly happy. The
Dorus Neamh
was a wonderful place for a family to grow up.

There was no news from the North but plenty from the South, most of it coming via the Keledei. England, following on the death of Canute, was in a poor way. He had left his kingdoms to his three sons, but his so-called empire to none; Norway to his eldest, Sven, Denmark to Hardicanute, and England to Harald. None of them was of the stature of their father, and of the three Harald Harefoot was probably the weakest. There were many who grudged him his throne, including his Saxon half-brothe:-s, Alfred and Edward Atheling, sons of King Ethelred the Unready—for Canute had married Ethelred's widow, Emma. There were also their nephews, the dead Edmund Ironside's sons. Perhaps most dangerous of all was the Earl Godwin of Kent, married to the Atheling's sister, and a great warrior—which the others were not. So, although the Witan, or council of the realm, had appointed Harald, as Canute had ordained, the country was full of rumours and alarms.

Seeking advantage in this, the ineffable Duncan took it upon himself to invade Northumbria, in retaliation for the Earl Eadulf's raid on Cumbria—despite the fact that his queen, Sybil, had just presented him with a fine son, Donald—Donald Ban, or the Fair, they were calling him, to distinguish him from various other Donalds. This Northumbrian venture was no mere raid but a full-scale invasion in major force, which drove south from the Merse and by sheer weight of numbers did not halt until it reached the great Saint Cuthbert's Town and fort of Durham on the Wear. Further than this even the rash Duncan dared not go, for beyond Durham was Deira, or York, Siward the Strong's earldom. He was taking a large risk as it was. He besieged Durham—in which Eadulf was reputed to have taken refuge—but anyone with any experience of warfare could have told him, and probably did, that he had neither the equipment nor the expertise to capture any such walled city. After two weeks of siege, with Siward oddly silent, Duncan had to give it up—by which time, of course, the Northumbrian forces had had time to rally, and they sorely harassed the Scots army all the way back to the Merse and beyond, causing heavy casualties. So ended a profitless adventure.

The effect on MacBeth of these tidings was to make him wonder ever more about his cousin Duncan's state of mind, even his sanity. He had been no sort of warrior at all, the reverse indeed, until his grandfather died; now, as King, he was seldom not on one kind of campaign or another. And however cunning the timing and preliminary planning, these were all without exception misconceived, recklessly carried out and unsuccessful. He seemed to be consumed with a fever to prove himself a great soldier, greater than his grandsire Malcolm, greater even than Thorfinn, certainly greater than MacBeth the rightful tanist. And as a result he was proving a disaster for Scotland.

Duncan's follies were by no means at an end. Warning came secretly to Spynie from Cormac of Glamis. The King was assembling a great army, greater than ever before. He had sent for all the forces of Strathclyde, Lothian and the Merse, as well as those of Alba proper, and from as far west as Kintyre and Dalar. Also Echmarcach of Dublin and his Irish. He was gathering shipping to form a large fleet. It was no secret that it was aimed against Thorfinn. But the whisper was that MacBeth also was to be taught his lesson. This was to be once and for all. Part of the army was to march north, not over the high passes but by the east coast lowlands, by Angus, the Mearns, Mar and Buchan; the rest to sail in the ships. There was a rumour that they would join at Torfness, in the Laigh. He, Glamis, would have to provide his share of the Angus force; but like many another, he would be a reluctant fighter. This warning, at least, he could send.

MacBeth, it seemed, was to have his hand forced, his mind made up for him. Grimly he ordered a full muster of his forces, and sent urgent notice to Gunar Hound Tooth. His brother, almost certainly, would be away hosting by now, if not at his new lordship of Galloway. But he was a swift mover, and once informed, he would scorch the sea itself in his haste.