Macbeth the King (41 page)

"We have never said so..."

"Then do so now, when it may serve some good. As I say, play the King. This is how kings play their games, brother. But offer to yield your rights in this matter to Sven. Out of love—and if he appoints me governor."

"He would laugh at me! Unless he is a fool..."

"Would he? Or that mother of his? They are not to know the full truth. He is new to kingship. And he is Canute's nephew, and now, in part, successor. The Emperor of the Angles, Saxons and Scandinavians, was it not? With that woman behind him. She is the power, I swear. Aye, and I swear too that he will not laugh."

MacBeth shook his head. "I do not know. I must think more on this. It all seems folly, swording with shadows. But...we shall see. And you will require to summon all your patience..."

At the repast which followed, MacBeth was placed between Sven and his mother, Thorfinn on the other side of the Lady Estrid, and Farquhar on the King's left. So there was no opportunity for Thorfinn's discussion, since he and the lady scarcely exchanged a word. But afterwards the earl forced the pace. He declared bluntly that they had a long voyage ahead of them, to win to Rome, and it behoved them to deal with the issue, which had brought them to Denmark, forthwith. Sven's suggestion, that it could wait for the morrow, and that surely, after days being shipbound the visitors would wish to ride abroad, hunt, hawk or see the land, fell on deaf ears. At length their host acceded to at least a preliminary discussion at once.

They went to sit outdoors beneath the apple-trees, Sven and his mother, with two or three of his councillors, and Thorfinn, MacBeth and Abbot Ewan. Uncaring for royal usage or protocol, Thorfinn made the running from the first. Nor did he beat about the bush. He declared, without preamble, that the Icelanders were a danger to the peace of the northern seas, threatened his islands, the Orcades and the Hebrides, and must be controlled.

"Iceland?" Sven said, with a wondering glance at his mother. "No doubt but you are right, Thorfinn Jarl. But how does this concern me? The Icelanders are a law unto themselves. Many hundreds of miles from my shores. And a stubborn folk. Why come to me? Should they heed me?"

"They do not heed the King of Scots."

Sven's brows rose, as he looked from one to the other. "Why should they do so? Do they trouble
you.
Highness?"

"No," MacBeth admitted. "Not...as yet."

"Then I do not see..."

"They trouble
me"
Thorfinn interrupted. "And they are some man's men, are they not? My brother's, or yours—which?"

"I do not understand you," Sven said, frowning. "I have not considered the Icelanders to be any responsibility of mine. And I cannot see how they can be that of King MacBeth."

"Orkneymen, Zetlanders, Scots, were settled in Iceland before our Norsemen came. It was ruled by the Keledei—the people of the abbot, here. My brother could claim Iceland as rightfully his."

"And do you...?"

"That would
be
foolishness!" the Lady Estrid put in. "I cannot think that the Lord MacBeth would be so...unwise. My brother claimed Iceland as his. As did my nephews Harald and Hardicanute. So did Magnus Olafson. Where comes Scotland into this?"

"Canute claimed Man also, lady. As did the others. But Man is in the Sudrcys, the Southern Hebrides. Part of the Kingdom of Scotland. Is that not so, Brother?"

MacBeth smoothed his beard. "I might make fair claim to Man," he said carefully.

"But—what
is
this, Thorfinn Jarl?" Sven demanded. "What do you seek? I cannot accept that Iceland belongs to the King of Scots. If it belongs to any, it belongs to me. Of Man, I care not. What are you asking of me?"

"Asking nothing, Sven Ulfdarlson. Offering! I offer you Iceland. Just as I offer MacBeth mac Finlay Man. If you will appoint me governor there. Your viceroy."

"Soul of God!"

There was silence for a little, under the apple-trees, as they considered the implications of that. Thorfinn, who was standing now, folded his arms and actually turned to stare away from them all.

MacBeth spoke, slowly. "My brother puts it bluntly, Highness. But there could be sense in this, I think. If you lay claim to Iceland. Do you?"

Again the King's swift glance at his mother.

"He cannot do other than assert his right to Iceland," that lady said. "As King of Norway, Norsemen dwell there. This of the Scots being there first is nonsense."

"I would be prepared to resign any claim," MacBeth mentioned, flatly.

"Why do you wish to be
my
governor, Thorfinn Jarl?" Sven asked. "The Raven Feeder sails under his own banner, does he not?"

"If it
is
your territory, better that I descend upon it in your name than as your invader. Is it not?"

"And you arc decided upon at attack on Iceland?"

"I am decided that they shall not attack
me
again. I but seek my own people's safety. But it could be to your advantage."

"You must convince me of that, I think."

"It is simple. At present, Iceland is beyond your grasp. Even though you may claim it. If I go there in your name, with my longships, they will have to accept me. And so accept you also, as overlord. You have gained a right and authority, in name, without having to lift a hand. Is it not so?"

"And you gain...?"

"I gain only what I fight for?"

"We shall have to consider this," Estrid said, and rose, to show clearly that she at least had had enough for the moment. The others stood up likewise.

"To be sure," Thorfinn nodded. "But—we sail tomorrow." He paused. "With the King of Scots' assent!" He bowed mockingly to his brother, and turned to stroll off.

Estrid Svensdotter looked from her son to MacBeth. "My brother did not trust him," she said. "Should we?"

"None may force him, or cozen him," MacBeth answered, after a moment. "But all may trust him at least in this—to do as he says!"

They left it at that meantime.

There was entertainment and much drinking of mead that evening—which had to be interrupted so that Thorfinn and his lieutenants could hurry out into the town and try to bring some order to the streets where his longships' crews were showing the Danes what real Vikings were like, and cracked heads and bloody noses were the order of the night. This exercise seemed greatly to improve the earl's spirits, and by the time he was ready to seek his couch, he was amiability itself, very drunk and making rude suggestions even to the Lady Estrid, before finally making off with a plump serving-wench and singing hugely.

MacBeth reassured their hosts—but warned that this did not mean that his potent brother would be any easier to deal with in the morning. When he himself retired, Sven and his mother were in earnest conference with the Danish Kanzler, Drost, Marsk, Jarl Einar and other high officers.

MacBeth was talking with Farquhar, who had a small room next to his own, before settling to sleep, when the Abbot Ewan came knocking at the door. He had been approached, he said, by his opposite number, the Drost, or High Bailiff. It seemed that King Sven—or his mother, more likely—was inclined to accept Thorfinn's proposition, provided that they could be assured that the earl did not intend any trickery or deception. The King could scarcely ask another monarch directly for assurances that his own brother was honest in this matter—so he, Ewan, was being used as go-between.

MacBeth nodded. "Tell the Drost that 1 am not my brother's keeper," he said. "Say also that I have already told them that

Thorfinn may always be trusted to do what he says—although often somewhat more than that! But you can say that I can see no hurt to King Sven and his interests in this—and that is the truth. Meantime he has no least hold on Iceland. Whatever claims his predecessors may have made. Whatever gain Thorfinn may win out of it all, it cannot be at Sven's cost. And he will certainly much increase his claims to sovereignty there if Thorfinn acts in his name, as governor. And, to be sure, if he esteems Thorfinn to be at fault at any time, to be acting against Denmark's interests, he can always withdraw his royal authority and proclaim it so. Tell him that I can see what he may gain, but not what he could lose."

"My own view, lord King—although I fear not for King Sven but for the Icelanders!"

"Yes. But they are a strong and independent people. Thorfinn may find them harder to herd than he thinks. He may well have to come to terms with them. But that is his business..."

In the morning, Thorfinn was formally informed by the Kanzler, or Chancellor, Karl Alvarson, that King Sven was prepared to give him a charter appointing him temporarily as governor and commander of his province of Iceland and the Faeroes, withdrawable at the King's pleasure. And to King MacBeth an assurance that Denmark yielded all claims to the Island of Man.

Having gained what he wanted, Thorfinn became affability itself, a prince of visitors, dispensing largesse and even going so far as to bestow a handsome golden serpent-bracelet on the Great Bracelet-Giver himself, however doubtful the propriety of this—or the origins of the bracelet. He also declared that he might put off his departure for another day, as a gesture of esteem—and although the Danes looked somewhat doubtful about this, after the previous night's riot in the town, they could scarcely urge otherwise.

Possibly it was as much as anything to try to get the Orkney-men away from Roskilde's streets, ale-houses and brothels, that Sven proposed an excursion to Jellinge, some miles round the fiord on the east side, where there was a sacred grove to the pagan gods, with runic stones, where traditionally the Danish monarchy was supposed to have originated, and where Harald Blue Tooth had set up a monument in memory of his father Gorm the Old and his mother Tyra Danmarksbod who built the great wall known as the Danevirke. Clearly Sven was very proud of this place. But all the many hundreds of Thorfinn's men could hardly accompany their betters on this trip, so Paul and Erland, with Farquhar, were left behind to organise boat-races, rowing contests and other diversions out in the fiord, well away from the town—MacBeth for one not entirely sanguine as to results.

Jellinge proved to be interesting, with its standing-stones and runic inscriptions—although most of the alleged earlier links with the royal house were patently imaginary. Even Thorfinn however forbore to point this out to Sven, who as High Priest as well as monarch was cheerfully enthusiastic about it all.

On their return journey, long before they reached Roskilde all could hear the noise. The sports and races were evidently over and the Orkneymen back in town, and celebrating, presumably victorious. If the night before had been wild, this was doubly so, with smoke already rising from some of the fiord-side warehouses and what amounted to almost set battles going on in the streets.

Thorfinn did not seem greatly perturbed, but Sven and his people did.

MacBeth drew his brother aside. "Thor," he said urgently, "if you wish to keep that governor's commission in your pocket,
I
would counsel you to get your men out of the town and back to their ships forthwith. Aye, and sail thereafter! This is too much."

"It is but high spirits, man. This mead they make here is heady stuff."

"I will tell Sven so—that they are not used to it. But go you—or our journey here will have been wasted..."

So a vigorous hour or so followed, blowing horns, breaking up fights, clearing ale-houses, haranguing, threatening direst consequences, and herding tipsy Vikings back to the jetties. Also, on MacBeth's part, apologising to their hosts; and on Thorfinn's, unfairly berating his sons, who had proved quite incapable of controlling the crews.

For once his brother took MacBeth's advice and sailing orders were broadcast—although it meant lying up in the fiord overnight somewhere, for few ships' companies were in a state to put to sea. Farewells therefore, with Sven and his mother, were somewhat abrupt and hurried—but it was noticeable that their hosts made little attempt to restrain them.

In the early June evening, then, the flotilla was heading raggedly northwards into the fiord, this time lacking all escort. Tuneless if vehement and unco-ordinated singing, so different from the rhythmic rowing chants, echoed across the calm waters from the longships—but none from the shore.

"The Danes will not soon forget the visit of Thorfinn Raven Feeder—even though they will scarce remember the King of Scots, I think!" MacBeth observed grimly to Abbot Ewan as they looked back. "Sven will be considering anew whether he has been wise in this of the governorship."

"Perhaps," that grave man acceded. "But I think not. I judge him rather to be well enough pleased with himself. Over all."

"How that?"

"Because while the Earl Thorfinn considers that he has won the day in this matter, got what he wanted—so does King Sven. For now Thorfinn of Orkney has admitted Sven to be his king, himself only a governor under him, a vassal. He may not see it so, but Sven does. So now he can claim not only Iceland as his, in name, but Orkney also. Something even Canute could not do!"

"So-o-o! Yes. Yes, I see it. Save us—you could be right!"

"So who wins, my lord King?"

"I do not know. But...we will not mention this to my brother meantime, I think, friend Ewan!"

They lay overnight at the far end of the fiord narrows, and sailed heavily for the open sea at first light. As they passed out between the twin horns of the Isefiord's mouth into the Kattegat, locking back they saw the Jarl Einar's fleet lined up far astern. No cheers crossed the water, to send them on their way.

The voyage to
Rome took thirteen days. Although it was usual for shipping to follow the coastline where possible, at a safe distance, there was nothing like that about Thorfinn, and he headed straight out across the Norse Sea, south-westwards. Indeed, after the low Jutland coast faded behind them at the Ness of Hirtshals, they did not see land again until the equally low-lying Friesian Islands were sighted two days later, after much rowing to sweat the ale and mead out of the Viking pores, for now they were fairly consistently heading into the prevailing winds, light as these were at this season.