Macbeth the King (3 page)

The good bishop thereof sat, well-placed, at MacBeth's table now, comfortably liquored, amiable.

Unlike the new southern and English fashion of dais-table on a platform at the head of the hall, with the other tables running at right angles to it below, MacBeth maintained the old Highland custom of all eating at the same lengthy board, with himself, his kin and guests, in the centre and facing each other. They all sat relaxed now, the woman having retired early, to be with her fretful child.

Thorfinn, sprawling on MacBeth's right, the bishop on his left, yawned cavernously. "You must show some sign of life in the matter, Son of Life," he declared, slurring a little. "Hopeful inactivity..." He had some difficulty with that phrase. "Hopeful inactivity will avail nothing. You have her in your house. All Scotland will know it by tomorrow. Malcolm the Destroyer will know it before he sleeps tonight."

"What of it? And
you
brought her to me."

"Only because she asked it."

"I shall do as I told her. Give her refuge, for so long as she requires it. I can do no less."

"You can do a deal more. And will be expected to do so. By herself, who knows? She is a notable card in your hand. To play."

"And If I do not seek to play the cards? Leaving that to you!"

"You
must,
man. You cannot help yourself. That Gruoch and her son are the keys to Scotland. Hands will be outstretched to grasp them. Not only Malcolm's and Duncan's. So long as you hold them, you must fight for them." He drank deeply. "Either that or cast them from you." 

"Where should I cast them?"

"I will take them again, if you wish. I am a Mormaor of Scotland and a grandson of the King, God damn him, equally with you! I could play this card, likewise."

"She rejected your offer."

"Women have been known to change their minds. Or have them changed for them!" There was a pause.

"More important than the Lady Gruoch, there is Moray." That was Neil Nathrach from across the table. "Has it escaped your lordly notices that there is now no Mormaor of Moray?" As a son, albeit illegitimate, of the former Mormaor Finlay, he was entitled to make the point.

"Until Malcolm Foiranach appoints one, Serpent!" the earl said.

"Aye. But Moray, lord, will not just tamely accept any camp-follower of the King. As a Morayman, I know. We are not the easiest folk to manage. And it is the greatest mormaordom in Alba."

"So?"

"The High King will not find it easy to find a man. Too many who might have suited he has already slain. And until he does, Moray is wide open to MacBeth mac Finlay!"

"You have the glimmerings of sense, now and again, in that black snake's head of yours, Bastard! Is it not what I am saying? In part."

"Wed the Lady Gruoch, claim Moray in her name, her son's and our father's—and march in. And perchance this Viking might support you—at a price!" Neil Nathrach was no kin to Thorfinn.

"Careful, Ill-Begotten!" the big man rumbled.

MacBeth eyed the amber contents of his goblet. "You are generous with your advice, both of you," he observed. "So concerned for my future. And hers."

"You need the advising. Sitting there when you should be up and doing."

"Doing what, Orkneyman? Where?"

"Go you up to her, man. Take her. Here and now. She will scarce be surprised, since she has thrown herself upon you. Take her. Wed her after, if you so wish. But show her, and all men, who holds Gruoch nic Bodhe now. And the brat. That is what matters. And there is more than Moray at stake."

"God be good—she was but widowed yesterday! Do you take me for a brute-beast?"

"Better now than later. I say that she must expect it. Had she not asked for you, I would have had her, myself. Every day will make it more difficult for one so lily-livered as the Mormaor of Ross! Women need firm handling, like horses or hounds. They take advantage, else."

"Hear Thorfinn Raven Feeder, the great woman-handler! Save us—she is a princess of the line of Alpin! And the finest woman in Scotland!"

"The more reason..."

"No. She sought my protection, not my arms and loins! She shall have it, while she needs it. Say what men will. You hear, Malduin?" He turned to his seneschal, sitting next to Neil. "The Lady Gruoch will receive every courtesy of my house. And the child. At all times. Until I tell you otherwise. Neil, you will behave towards her better than your usual! Keep your tongue between your teeth! You hear me? Now—enough of this. Have the fiddlers to play, Malduin..."

* * *

For the present, the threat to the North was past. King Malcolm's army started out on its long march south. Crinan of the Hounds, Mormaor of Atholl, Hereditary Abbot of Dunkeld and Primate of All Scotland in the Celtic Church, Malcolm's son-in-law and father of Duncan, was left in charge of Moray, and was unlikely to seek any major trial of strength with MacBeth and Thorfinn.

There were still two months of the hosting season, and the Vikings' feet, or rather their sword-hands, were itching for more exciting and profitable voyaging. Thorfinn was for off, north-abouts. He would leave a stand-by force at Duncansby, his Caithness base, which could be with his half-brother in a day, at need. The longships sailed from Inverpeffery, much to the relief of the inhabitants, dropped MacBeth and Neil Nathrach at Udale, and headed for the open sea, a headache for others.

At Rosemarkyn, the Lady Gruoch had spent most of the warm summer days out of the hall-house, up in the deep wooded ravine behind, where the Rosemarkyn Burn came rushing, in a series of cascades and shady pools, from the upland. MacBeth went seeking her, presently, alone.

He found her in a green glade beneath the soaring crags and scaurs, sitting with her feet dabbling in the swirling frothy pool of a waterfall, her skirt kilted above her knees, while her son splashed naked as a trout in the shallows. Because of the noise of the fall she did not hear him coming, and he stood for a few moments watching as fair and peaceful a scene as could delight the eye of any man. She was quite breathtakingly lovely.

Not wishing to alarm her, he waited until the child Lulach looked up, when he waved a hand reassuringly. Eyes suddenly wide, the boy ran to his mother, stumbling on the stones. She looked round.

"It is only myself, MacBeth," he called. "Come to pay my respects, Princess."

She did not take fright, hastily draw down her skirts or otherwise rearrange herself—that was not the style of this woman. She considered him almost thoughtfully, unsmiling.

"Why do you call me princess?" she asked. "It is long since anyone did that."

"Because you
are
a princess and you
look
a princess," he answered, moving to her side. "Lulach—is he well? More content?"

"He is better, yes. More himself. I thank you."

"It must have been a grievous thing, for a child. Did he...did he see anything?"

"He saw more than sufficient, yes. Fire. Blood. Dying. Enough to remember."

"I am sorry. Sorry indeed. And for yourself, lady. It was an evil deed. And you...bereft."

"Bereft? Scarce that. But it was evilly done, yes. No man should be locked into his own house and burned alive. Even Gillacomgain!"

He was silent at that. Stooping, he picked up a pebble to toss into the peat-dark pool.

"You think me hard to speak so?" she asked, but quietly still, in the same almost meditative voice. "Perhaps I am. But I cannot mourn my husband. I never loved him. I never knew him, save as master. Nor he me, save after the flesh. I did not choose him. He
bought
me, six years ago. When I was fifteen years and he fifty-two."

"I am sorry," he said again, spreading his hands helplessly.

"You have no need to be. Such is frequently the lot of women. In especial, princesses! I tell you, only that you do not expect me to act the widow too sorely. I have lost something, yes—houses, servants, position, all worldly goods. But I am scarcely...bereft. I have my child—even if he is his father's also. Do you think me so strange?"

"I think you a woman of great spirit. Brave. To be so young."

"Young? I was never young, I think. I have lived all my life with the shadow over me. The shadow of Malcolm the High King. That one day he would come for me. Either to spill my blood, or to marry me to Duncan mac Crinan. After he had murdered my grandfather the King, my uncles and my brother. It had to come."

He nodded. "A great man, a warrior, a great King, gone wrong. Strength turned sour, to evil. He would have Duncan wade through blood to his throne. But—he is gone now. Gone south again with his host. You are safe, meantime."

"But only meantime," she said. "So long as he lives, and Duncan lives, I shall never be safe. Unless to wed Duncan—and I would sooner die."

"Fear nothing—I shall protect you," he promised.

She turned to look at him, directly. "Why?"

He cleared his throat. "It is...what I must do. What any honest man must do."

"And you are honest?"

"You said so, your own self. The day you came to me. You said that you had heard me to be honest. So you came."

"Honest as to the generality, yes. But this matter is scarcely that, is it? To challenge the King. To put yourself and your people at risk. By protecting, holding, one whom the Destroyer wants. To do so much, even a passing honest man must have a reason. Moray? Or...more than Moray?"

Frowning, he took a turn away along the bank, and back. "You speak...most directly, Princess. To answer you in like fashion is not easy. Moray, yes, one day, perhaps. The other—who knows?"

"And I am a stepping-stone to both."

"To be sure. But—I am not seeking to protect you for that. Or..."

"Or, MacBeth mac Finlay? Let us hear how honest you are, in truth!"

"Or, not
only
that, I thought to say."

"Yes. So there we have it. You wish to be Mormaor of Moray, as well as of Ross. As indeed could be no less than your right, as your father's son. And one day you might even be King of Scots. I prefer when men are honest. So Gruoch nic

Bodhe, despite her dangers, has her uses. Weighed well, considered, she is worth the hazard?"

"Have it so if you must," he told her flatly. "But I say to you, that is not all of it. I would aid you without all that. I could do no less. We are kin, distant but of the same blood of Alpin. I am more Cruithne, Pictish, you more Scot. But we are sib. And you are a woman, alone. In need of help. And very beautiful."

"And if I had been ill-favoured? It would have been different?"

He brushed that aside with an impatient gesture of his hand—he who was a determinedly patient man.

"No—let us remain honest, my lord mormaor," she went on. "Better that way. If I had been ill-favoured, you would not be considering wedding me?"

His quick-drawn breath betrayed him. He looked away, and it was moments before he found words. "I did not say that," he got out.

"No—for that would have committed you. And you are not fully decided, I think. You hesitate—as well you might. Yet you fear that if you do not, another might. And gain what you seek."

He shook his head, unspeaking.

She gave a small and humourless laugh. "But do not so fear, my friend. The grievous choice need not be made. For I do not intend to marry again. You, or any man. I have had a sufficiency of marriage. So spare yourself the agonising, my lord mormaor."

MacBeth swallowed audibly. "This is...foolish talk," he said.

"Perhaps. But at least you know where you stand, where all men stand. Not wed to Gruoch nic Bodhe!"

"But—what then is to become of you? A woman alone. Young as you are."

"I have Lulach. I shall seek some quiet far place. Where none shall know me or mine. Live there, a simple woman with a child. Until Gruoch, grand-daughter of King Kenneth is forgotten. Aye, and after that."

He shook his head again. "I understand your feelings. You have been sore hurt. But—it is not possible. Not for
you.
You are a princess, one near to the throne. The most near, many would say. Your son the true heir. Think you that you can hide yourself away, like some cottar-woman, and not be sought? Many would come looking for you. Yourself, you say that other men will seek to wed you. For who you are and what you can give. You must needs have a protector,
some
protector. It is not possible, I say."

"You are telling me that there is no place in all the wide North, in your own Ross even, where I could dwell hidden, secure? Some lonely glen, some far shieling, an island even, Mormaor of Ross?"

"Would you turn eremite? Recluse?
You!
Live in a cave or a cabin?"

"If need be, yes. Rather than, than..."

"Than marriage to such as myself!"

"Yes."

"You mislike men, Princess?" 

"Have I cause to like them?"

"Perhaps not. But all men are not brutes, monsters."

"No doubt. But how, and when, does a woman find that out? Before marriage, or after?" She turned directly to him. "See you, my friend—if so you would indeed be—I will make a compact with you. I have naught against you—indeed, did I not come to you of my own will? Find me some place, quiet, secure, within your protection—and I will yield you all my rights to Moray. I cannot
give
you it, for it is not mine to give. You must needs take it for yourself, if you want it. As others have done in the past. But I can give you my support. And yield you Lulach's claim to it, in his father's name."

"You would do that? So much?"

"Yes. For peace, safety, quiet. Besides, I would rather you held Moray than others I could name."

"And the child? What of his future?"

"I would expect him to be...considered. His rights. One day. God knows what will be best for him—
I do
not. He has a right to the throne. Better perhaps that he had not—or never knew of it. An accursed heritage. But—that is for the future. A future which may never dawn. Meantime he and I require sanctuary. Will you find it for us, MacBeth mac Finlay? In exchange for Moray?"

"I will find you sanctuary, yes," he promised. "As for Moray, we shall see."

Presently he left them there, and returned to his house.