Macbeth the King (22 page)

Only the Sennachie, the two officiating clergy, the mormaors and the royal couple climbed on to the top of the Moot Hill, or
Tom a Mhoid,
the Hill of the Vows. Here, in the sacred grove where the ancient kingdoms of the Northern and Southern Picts joined, Druidical worship had given way to Christian, King Nechtan had in 710 accepted the amended dating for Easter and Kenneth mac Alpin had brought the Stone of Destiny from Dunstaffnage in Dalar in 844, on uniting the thrones of Picts and Scots. Now the
Lia Faill
formed the centre-piece of the day's ceremonial, together with a lesser stone, a mere boulder this, lying nearby.

The
Lia Faill,
the most revered object in the land, had been brought out of the abbey-church to stand on a three-stepped plinth on the summit of the hill. Various origins were assigned to it. Some said that it was the stone which Jacob had used as a pillow at Bethel when he had his vision of the angels ascending and descending, which later fell into the hands of the Pharoahs of Egypt at the Captivity, and was brought first to Spain and then to Ireland by Scota, daughter of a Pharoah—who gave name to the Scots. Others said that one Simon Brec, a son of a King of Spain in the Celtic days there, had brought it to Ireland. And from Ireland Fergus mac Ere, King of Antrim had carried it to Dalar or Argyll when he formed a new kingdom in what was to be Scotland—Dalar-rioghd or Dalriada. Some averred that it was in fact Saint Columba's portable altar-cum-font, made out of a meteorite which had fallen at some auspicious occasion. Others that it was the font from which Saint Boniface had baptised King Nechtan, made out of an early Roman altar from the Antonine Wall, later decorated with Celtic carving. Whatever its origins, it had been the crowning seat of kings for many centuries.

MacBeth, as he walked past it, Gruoch on his arm and adjusting his stride to her's, eyed this palladium of his people. It stood seat-high on its plinth, black, gleaming, the intricate interlaced Celtic carving, with which it was adorned, reflecting the sun—for it was made of some very hard, dark stone susceptible to polish, probably indeed a meteorite. Some had called it the marble chair, although it was not of marble. It was oddly-shaped, rounded at base but squared-off at the top to the oblong, with curving volutes at the two ends to facilitate carriage, these also finely carved. It would be very heavy. The top, or seat, had a hollow in the centre, which could well have been used to hold holy water. Mysterious, unique, it stood there in the sun, symbol of power and majesty down untold generations.

The other stone, a few yards to the west of it was vastly more simple, merely a lump of natural grey granite in which the imprint of a man's right foot had been cut to the depth of over an inch. Nothing more than that.

The Sennachie, Bishop and Abbot led the little procession past the stones, to the west, where all halted, to turn and face the east—not, it is to be feared towards Christ's birthplace but in a still older gesture of worship, towards the sun's rising. The six mormaors, Thorfinn towering above the others, lined up in a crescent, in the midst of which MacBeth and his wife placed themselves, flanked by Malduin of St. Andrews and Cathail of Scone. The High Sennachie—none other than Farquhar O'Beolain Abbot of Applecross—stepped forward. All this while the cheering of the crowds all but drowned the choir's singing.

The O'Bcolain held up a hand for quiet. As both shouting and chanting died away, acolytes blew lustily on bulls' horns in a long wailing ululation. Thereafter he spoke.

"I, Farquhar O'Beolain, appointed High Sennachie of this realm, do declare to you all, high and low, noble and simple, that following upon the death of Duncan mac Crinan, High King of Scots, the mormaors of Alba, as was their undoubted duty, and theirs only, have selected and chosen to occupy the vacant throne MacBeth mac Finlay, Mormaor of Moray and Ross, grandson of King Malcolm of potent memory. Moreover, I declare to you that the said MacBeth will reign hereafter in concert with his wife, the Lady Gruoch nic Bodhe mac Kenneth, of royal descent, as King and Queen of Scots, not as King of Scots and consort. This to be known and understood by all. In token whereof I now do rehearse to you their true and lawful descent, as proof of their right. Thus. MacBeth son of Donada, daughter of Malcolm the Second, son of Kenneth the Second son of Malcolm the First. And Gruoch daughter of Bodhe, son of Kenneth the Third, son of Duff, son of the said Malcolm the First. And thereafter, jointly, thus..." Once again came the long recital of names back and back into the mists of antiquity, far enough back to reach the mythical ancients of legend, the point being to demonstrate that the new Ard Righ Albann was descended from the primordial gods of the race, and so sacred in his own person.

If this lengthy enumeration wearied the huge company, none showed it—save perhaps the Earl Thorfinn, whose patience for more than genealogy was apt to be quickly exhausted. A resplendent figure, he fidgeted, tugged his forked beard, scratched his head and stared around and even behind him.

At length O'BeoIain was finished. "I now present to you the Lord MacBeth," he said.

That man bowed deeply to the east, north, west and south, and then to Gruoch, who curtsied low.

It was now Bishop Malduin's turn. Stepping in front of the royal couple, he administered the oath, MacBeth repeating after him, hand on an illuminated book of the Scriptures, that he would maintain the true worship of God as appointed by the Church, protect the realm from all its enemies, uphold the laws of the land, do justice without fear or favour, cherish the widows and orphans, the poor and the weak, and be in all things a loving father to his people. Then, signing to the pair to kneel, the Bishop placed a hand on each lowered head. His own eyes upraised towards heaven, his lips moved in silent prayer—and everywhere men and women all but held their breaths. The Laying on of Hands in the apostolic succession was a vital and most significant rite in the Celtic Church, without which none of the rest of the coronation service could proceed. In a loud voice he cried, "In the name of God the Father, God the Son and God the Holy Ghost, receive ye the Holy Spirit.

The Spirit come upon you and the power of the Highest overshadow you. Receive ye the spirit of wisdom and understanding. Receive ye the spirit of counsel and might. Receive ye the knowledge and the fear of God. In the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Ghost."

As a long sigh rose from the gathering and the couple rose, the Abbot of Scone moved over to lay a coverlet of purple silk on top of the
Lia Faill.
Then coming back, bowing, he held out his hand to MacBeth, who took it, and was led slowly forward and up the two steps, there to stand and face the huge company.

A hush fell on all, any ripple of movement ceasing. This was the moment of destiny. The man who stood there, so utterly simply clad in the
leine crotch,
the saffron kilted linen tunic, with the gold-linked mormaor's belt its only mark of distinction, was still only a man amongst men, a great noble yes, but one of many. But when he sat...

For long moments he stood so. Then, leaning forward and up—for the abbot was a small man—Cathail pressed a hand on each of the broad shoulders. MacBeth sat.

The shout which rose and maintained echoed to the very surrounding hills. The trumpets which blew a triumphant fanfare were barely to be heard nor was the traditional clashing of shields, so deafening was the acclaim of thousands. On and on it went. The Scots had a King again.

The bishop brought Gruoch to stand behind the Stone.

MacBeth knew an extraordinary exultation of the spirit, allied to a profound sense of unworthiness. It was not so much the realisation that he was now transformed from subject to king, but the fact that here he was actually sitting upon the Stone of Destiny, the lawful and accepted incumbent of the
Lia Faill,
that mystic and enduring token of authority—and would, must, continue so until his life's end, for there was no abdication or surrender from that seat. He was all unworthy. But, to be sure, unworthy men had sat on this Stone before him, the last probably the most unworthy of all. God aiding him, he would do better. That he swore to himself. He had taken the solemn coronation oath, yes, made his public promises. But this was his own personal and private oath. He would not debase the Stone of Destiny and what it stood for.

His heart full, he half-turned to grasp his wife's arm.

When the abbot thought that he could make himself heard, he raised his hand, to declaim the time-honoured words:

"The Scots shall rule that realm as native ground,

Wheresoever shall this Stone be found."

As this also was acclaimed by the crowd, Cathail beckoned to MacDuff of Fife. That bovine, high-coloured young man paced forward, frowning, bearing the simple golden crown of Scotland on its cushion. There had been some doubts as to whether he, who had put the crown on Duncan's head, should do the same for MacBeth whom he had made no secret of disliking. Indeed Thorfinn had himself wished to do the crowning, as suitable. Others had suggested that Bishop Melduin should do it. But MacBeth had insisted that it must be MacDuff. Fife was the second mortuath of Alba, after Moray; and since Moray had usually been the seat of the reigning family themselves, the holder of Fife was traditionally accepted to be the rightful man to be Hereditary Inaugurator. MacBeth had determined that all should be done in due order, without innovation save for Gruoch's part. Moreover, it might be wise to have MacDuff seen by all to be positively involved in the crowning, for the sake of united support of the throne.

So MacDuff came and placed the crown on MacBeth's head, with minimum ceremony, bowed briefly, and returned to his place with the attitude of an unpleasant task dutifully accomplished.

Thereafter one by one the mormaors came over, Thorfinn with the great sword, which his brother took in his right hand, the others giving him the sceptre, the Book of Laws placed on the Stone at his side, and the purple robe of royalty draped round his shoulders. Then Cathail brought Gruoch round from behind the Stone to the front, where Bishop Malduin placed another circle of gold, specially made, on her head.

MacBeth rose to his feet, still holding up the heavy sword and the light sceptre, beside his wife. So they stood together, while the trumpets blared, the cymbals clashed and the very Moot Hill itself seemed to shake to the shouts of "Hail the King! Hail MacBeth! Hail the King and Queen!"

But all was not done yet. The second stone had its part to play. Laying sword and sceptre on the
Lia Faill
and flanked by his mormaors, the new monarch paced over to the granite boulder. There each of the mormaors drew from some pocket a small pouch or bag and, led by Thorfinn, proceeded to open these and each pour a dribble of soil into the deep carved footprint, earth from each of their mortuaths. Kicking off his right sandal, MacBeth placed his bare foot on the top, pressing down the symbolic earth of his provinces—save, in this instance,

Atholl unrepresented—High King of Scots and of Scotland too, there being a difference.

There remained the homage, a lengthy procedure, wherein all the principal men, officers and land-holders of the kingdom filed up on to the Moot Hill to kneel before the monarch and make their oath and gesture of fealty, hands within hands. First the
gradflaith,
the territorial nobles led by the thanes and lords, then the clan chiefs, toiseachs and captains, followed by the smaller landowners and lairds, the judges and officers. It took almost two hours, and MacBeth sat on the Stone throughout, Gruoch standing at his side, Lulach and little Farquhar brought up to stand there likewise, a tiring business. But at last it was done, ceremonial over, and it was time for rejoicing, entertainment, feasting.

When the company was replete and the wine and ale flowed freely, the O'Beolain beat on the high table to demand silence for their liege lord. The High King would make the first address of his reign.

MacBeth rose, and bowed formally to Gruoch at his side.

After he had given his general thanks to the assembly, he paused and looked round. "In especial, I have to declare the mighty aid given by my own good half-brother, the Earl Thorfinn of Orkney, Mormaor of Caithness and Sutherland, whose stout heart, strong arm and great sea-power have been my unfailing support. Whether I could be standing here
without
that support, I do not know. I hope that his support may continue. But this I say to you, and to him. That hereafter it can only be accepted where it is offered freely and given without price demanded. I say this hard thing that all may know that this kingdom, or any part of it, shall not be traded for the strength of any, brother or other, while I sit on the Stone of Destiny. You all hear me, MacBeth—and I say it out of a full heart. The Raven Feeder knows it. Now so do you all."

At first only Thorfinn himself dared applaud, as men eyed each other doubtfully, even in something approaching alarm. But the earl's hooted acclaim, slightly ribald as it was, set others beginning to nod their heads and murmur about wisdom, prudence and the like.

"For those who supported me, then, my thanks. They will not find me otherwise ungrateful. To those who did not support me, I say that it is the realm which is important now, not what is past. I shall not seek to punish or revenge. That would be empty foolishness. Some will have to be replaced in their office, but there will be no ill-usage. With the late King's close kin I have no quarrel—after all, they are my kin also. The Mormaor Crinan, my aunt's husband, is not present, but I wish him no ill and would have him my friend. His son Maldred likewise and his grandson Donald. The Lady Sybil shall be provided for if she chooses to remain in Scotland. As for the boy Malcolm, whom they call Canmore, the miller's daughter's son, he need fear nothing from me—save that he cannot remain, as he should never have been, Prince of Strathclyde and Cumbria. That title and position now goes to my stepson, Lulach mac Gillacomgain—whom God preserve."

There was a corporate gasp throughout the hall at this declaration. The King was naming as his heir-apparent not his own son Farquhar, but his wife's son by his late enemy. Nothing couid more clearly emphasise his belief that she had the greater right to their throne, and that his insistence on their joint reign was no mere token.