Macbeth the King (40 page)

But it was not the town, its size and spread, which impressed the visitors as they drew near, so much as the amount of snipping anchored there in the basin or drawn up at quays and jetties. There were hundreds of vessels, of all sorts and sizes, lying there, by no means the majority trading or fishing craft. Even Thorfinn fell silent as he counted the longships, skeids, snekkja and skuta, warships all. He might be the terror of the northern seas, but here was a concourse of naval power such as he had never before seen assembled. His counting failed him and he turned to the Jarl Einar, who had remained with them in the dragon-ship.

"Is Sven Estridson mustering for some great project?" he wondered. "A war, or invasion? So many ships...?"

"No," he was told. "Half of the Danish fleet lies here, at Roskilde."

"Half...!"

"Half, yes. The rest lies at other havens. In Jutland, Slesvig, Funen, Langeland and Laaland. And Norway, to be sure. But here is the King's house, so half is here."

"I had scarce thought so many ships existed!" MacBeth admitted—even though his brother would not. "How many?"

"Not sufficient, I say," Einar declared. "Denmark and Norway have a great length of seaboard to protect. Many thousands of miles. Sven has perhaps 500 ships of war. But Canute his uncle had 1200. And even Harald Blue Tooth had 700."

MacBeth looked at Thorfinn—who for once had no comment to make.

Threading their way through the anchored shipping, with most of their escort now left behind, they were brought into the extensive harbour area itself, where berths had been cleared for the six Orkney vessels at one of the central jetties. Here a large company was awaiting them, much of it richly clad. A mighty blowing of horns marked the dragon-ship's touching of the wharf's timbers.

The Jarl Einar tapped MacBeth's arm, and gestured towards the gangway which was being pushed across.

A boyish-looking young man in his mid-twenties came striding up the planking, his curling blond hair all but hiding a gold circlet of much the same colour around his brows. He had an open, freckled face, scarcely handsome, bright blue eyes and an engaging smile. He glanced quickly from MacBeth to Thorfinn and then back again, noting Einar's guiding hand.

"I am Sven Estridson," he announced. "I welcome you to my kingdoms. Do I greet the famed King of Scotland?"

"I am MacBeth mac Finlay, yes, lord King. We use the term King of Scots, not of Scotland, for sufficient reason. I rejoice to meet the King of Denmark, Norway and the Swedes, Great Bracelet-Giver and Lord of the Inner and Outer Seas." He understood that this was the correct style. "And esteem your coming to welcome us as kind indeed."

They grasped arms, Viking fashion.

Thorfinn, at his brother's shoulder, cleared his throat strongly, frowning slightly.

"And this, King Sven, is my brother of Orkney, the Earl Thorfinn, Mormaor of Caithness and Sutherland."

Sven's cheerful smile faded just a little, and looking up, he nodded, but did not extend his arm. "Ah, so," he said. "It could be none other than the Raven Feeder! Greetings, Thorfinn Jarl, since you come in peace."

"Would I have come otherwise?" the big man asked bluntly.

"Who knows? The Raven Feeder has done so much. Lesser men are wise to be...cautious!" Sven turned back to MacBeth. "You also, Highness, we have heard much of. And to your good."

"You are kind. Most men remember that I slew my predecessor, King Duncan!"

"He who poisoned the Danes? Or so my mother tells me. Should I disfavour you for that?"

"Your lady mother is well informed, King Sven."

"She is, and had to be. She was Knut Svenson's sister! But, come—we shall go see her. She awaits you in my house..."

Greetings for the others over, they landed and set off in a procession through crowded streets, to continuous horn-blowing—although it was noticeable that the crowds did not cheer or seem particularly welcoming. Roskilde, like most others in Scandinavia where towns were a comparatively new conception, was little more than half-a-century old, although the royal residence had been there earlier, placed at one of the few localities on the long sheltered fiord where there was a sufficient depth of water for shipping to berth conveniently; also there was a famous mineral spring here, sacred to the old gods, and duly taken over by the Christian missionaries and made a holy well for healing of body and mind, for which that newly-converted and zealous tyrant Harald Blue Tooth had built a large timber church. The other buildings of the town were of wood also, many gaily-painted, which gave an atmosphere markedly different from the stone-and-thatch towns and villages at home—more lightsome but less permanent and settled-seeming.

The Kongsheim palace, successor of the old long-house of Leire of the Gods, was not set apart from the rest, but formed^ one side of an entire street, not so much one as a series of houses, with nothing of the fortress about it. Clearly the Danish monarchs looked on their position in a different light to that of most kings of Christendom, closer to the people, at least to the freemen thereof—but then, of course, the throne had been established for little over two centuries, whereas the Scots and Picts, for instance, traced their royal line back for over one thousand years, if somewhat imaginatively.

Sven led his principal visitors into the palace, which proved to be more extensive than appeared from the street, across a central space or courtyard and into a succession of intercommunicating halls beyond, which opened on to gardens and orchards, the town not encroaching or even visible at this side. In one of the halls, a group of men awaited them. These the King introduced as the remainder of his Hird, or Court, known as the House-carls of the King. They raised hands in greeting.

They appeared to be some sort of company of privileged friends of the monarch, rather than a collection of jarls, chieftains or officers—something not known in Scotland.

Doors were open to the garden, on this day of early June, and the sound of music could be heard in the occasional lull in the talking. Presently men fell silent as a group of women appeared from under the trees, some carrying flowers and greenery, and led by one of striking looks, not beautiful but strong-featured, of middle years, carrying herself with a proud dignity although of slight build. She paused in the doorway, to consider them all, calmly assured.

Sven stepped forward. "Mother," he said, "I have brought our guests. The King of Scots—who will not be called King of Scotland. His son the Prince Farquhar—do I say it aright? His bishop, the Abbot Ewan. And his half-brother the Jarl Thorfinn of Orkney. You will, I think, perceive which is which!" He smiled. "The Lady Estrid Svensdotter."

The newcomers bowed, Thorfinn only marginally.

The lady did not smile, like her son, but considered them almost thoughtfully. MacBeth, beneath her calm scrutiny, felt almost like a boy again, as he had not done for long. Clearly her son felt similarly. It was not that she was daunting or severe, merely that she carried a cool and unquestionable authority with her. He did not realise that he bore a not dissimilar air of his own. Also, at first, he had the impression that they had met before, then realised that it was her resemblance to her brother Canute.

"MacBeth Finlayson, is it?" she said, very much taking her time. "You are younger than I had thought of you."

"I would say the same, lady, if I may," he answered. "I admired your brother. And now, your son. We rejoice to be welcomed to this realm." He turned towards Sven. This was a little difficult, with regard to the formalities, for however formidable, and a King's daughter, the woman was not Queen, her late husband Ulfdarl only a jarl. Although the unmarried Sven clearly treated her as though she was a queen. "This is my brother, Princess—Thorfinn of Orkney."

"Could any doubt it?" she asked, level-voiced. "A brave man indeed—to venture into Denmark. To which he has denied due tribute and allegiance for so long!"

Thorfinn's indrawn breath was audible to all present. "I pay tribute to none on this earth, Estrid Svensdotter!" he gave back strongly. "Nor offer allegiance. Magnus Olafson discovered that—who was less wise than your brother Knut, lady. Friendship, now—that is different. I come offering
that
to King Sven, here."

"Friendship? At a price, no doubt?" She turned back to MacBeth. "Does this pirate jarl yield you no allegiance or tribute either, Highness?"

"I fear not, Princess. But his friendship, apart from our blood-tie, I have reason to value above all others,. I commend that assurance to King Sven!"

"Ah! I see that my brother was right. He said, I recollect, that MacBeth Finlayson wore iron beneath the simple linen he affected!"

"I am flattered that King Canute remembered me, lady. But I have brought no iron beneath my
leine croch
here, I promise you. Only good will, admiration, and some support for my brother."

"Support for what, my lord King?" Sven asked.

"Thorfinn Sigurdson has a suggestion to make to you, Highness—a representation. Of worth, I think. But—I leave that to himself, and a more private occasion. Here is the Abbot Ewan, my High Judex, chief judge of my realm, Princess..."

"The good abbot is welcome. And which of these is the prince, your son?"

"This is Farquhar of Moray. And these are Paul and Erland, sons to Thorfinn..."

Further discussion was postponed meantime, as the visitors were conducted to their quarters in the Kongsheim, Sven personally taking MacBeth to his room. There was mead and refreshment provided, with information that they would eat presently, an hour after noon.

Long before that, Thorfinn found his way to his brother's chamber, and in no affable mood.

"See you, I have had my bellyful of this!" he exclaimed. "I will not be treated like some housecarl of yours! Or what that sister-of-a-dog calls a pirate jarl! I do not bide here to be insulted. If this is to be the way of it, we sail again this very day!"

"That would be folly, Thor. We have come a long way. None invited us. You have a cause to plead. Or, at least, to make. Be patient..."

"Am I an ox? To stand patient under the lash? They treat me as of little account. Not only that woman, but all these Danes. It is not to be borne! You they bow to and smile on—

King MacBeth this, Highness that! Me they ignore. Or decry. Yet, who wields the power, brother—you or me?" That was fierce.

"There you have it, Thor. Do you not see? You they see as a danger, myself none. Did you not fight and defeat Sven's predecessor, King Magnus? And slay many of his men. He claimed that you were his vassal, for Orkney. This Sven may do likewise. So you could be considered his rebel..."

"Would I have come here, offering friendship, offering to treat? If I was some sort of mere rebel—the Raven Feeder!"

"Why
did
you come, then, Thor? I have never been entirely sure. This trouble of Iceland seems scarcely enough to bring you so far."

"I told you. The Icelanders stabbed at my back, when I had done them no hurt. They must not do so again. They have grown over-proud, above themselves.
There
are rebels, if you like! Against these Danes. They need to be taught a lesson."

"You do not usually seek another's permission before you teach your lessons!"

"Permission, nothing! But if I deal with these Icelanders, I want no Danish or Norwegian fleet attacking my rear. Or Orkney. So I treat with this Sven first."

"But...what have you to treat with? Iceland is as independent a land as you have made of Orkney. It is not part of the Danish realm. Nor the Norse. What can you offer Sven there?"

"I can offer him what he could not have otherwise. To be lord of Iceland—in name. Always since the franklins and freeholders fled from Norway and the oppressions of Harald Haarfager near two centuries ago, the Kings here have wished to control them. As they have wished to control Orkney. To make the new land their territory. Some even in Iceland would have it so, I am told. Now, I can offer Sven the name of King in Iceland, at least. If he will name me his governor or viceroy. So my rear is safe. I go there with the King's authority. And never again will the Icelanders assail the Raven Feeder when his back is turned!"

"And would this be just a hosting? A punitive raid you wish to make? Or more than that? Are you seeking to
take
Iceland? For yourself?"

"We shall see, Son of Life!"

"You would add Iceland to all the rest? To Orkney and Zetland, the Hebrides and Galloway. 1 think that you have your eyes on Man, likewise? Is it an empire you are seeking to carve out, Thor? Would you be another Canute?"

"Not me, no. But Sven might think to be! See, I but seek to ensure that never again shall I have Icelanders creeping upon me. Or Danes either. Man I may take, yes. So that Galloway is secure. That Echmarcach needs his lesson, likewise! You should thank me. You will aid me in this? With Sven?"

"I do not see what I can do. Or why I should..."

"You wish to go to Rome, do you not? And have
me
aid you there?"

"To be sure. But...I have nothing to support you with, here."

"Have you not? In
fact,
no, you have nothing. But in words not a little, brother. Play the King, I say! Kings are ever strong on words, names, titles! Tell Sven that you are willing to resign all your claims to overlordship of both Iceland and Man. To him. If he names me governor."

"Claims? Me? I have no claims to either, man. As to Iceland, how could I have...?"

"As good a claim as Sven—in name. The Norse were not the first in Iceland. When they came there, who were there? Picts, Celtic folk from Orkney and Zetland and Scotland. Ruled by priests. Keledei. From Scotland and Ireland. There are still people of that blood there."

"That old tale! That is for bairns...!"

"If the Pope, and the English, can claim Galloway and Whithorn after three centuries. And Canute could claim half Christendom! Or use such tales to justify his wars. Can you not do the same for Iceland? And Man? Man is part of the Sudreys, the south part of the Hebrides. And you claim the Hebrides as part of Scotland, do you not? So Man also should be part of your realm, no?"