Macbeth the King (49 page)

Thereafter the 500 made better speed, despite growing weariness, the sturdy, shaggy garrons once again proving their worth. By the Clyde they rested, but only for three hours. Then over the hills between Douglasdale and Tintock, the Hill of Fire, to the Clyde again, having cut off a great bend. Then up the Potrail Water through the Lowthcrs and down the Pass of Dalveen to the Nith. There, many almost asleep in their saddle they had to halt again, for longer, over one hundred miles covered in thirty-four hours, day and night immaterial.

A mere four hours and they were on again, climbing once more, all against the grain of the land, up into empty uplands and heather moors of Glencairn and Lochurr and the Glenkens. Another two dozen miles of this and they came down to the Water of Ken, and Saint John's Town of Dairy, where one of the new Keledei monasteries from Loch Leven had been established as part of the campaign to keep Galloway Scottish. Now there were only a score of miles, down Ken and Tarff, to the Dee and Kirk Cuthbert's Town on that estuary, capital of

Galloway. Fifty hours after leaving Fortrenn they straggled into Harald Cleft Chin's headquarters, all but exhausted, man and beast.

They found only Sween Kennedy there. His young cousin Paul, with about 1000 men, was in the mid-Nithsdale area, seeking to hold that line, with Harald himself and the main Galloway strength holding the coastal plain where the Nith reached Solway. The word was that they had held the two-pronged enemy assault along the Nith. He, Sween, was collecting and despatching onwards more men.

MacBeth was thankful at least that the invaders had got no further, and that the main mass of Galloway was as yet not overrun. It was fear of this that had spurred him on so urgently these last days and nights. The Nith line was about thirty miles east of this point. Until his main forces reached him from the north, he could offer only moral support to Harald and Paul. Sween was singularly vague as to which might require aid most urgently, or indeed as to what stage hostilities had reached; presumably the actual fighting-men did not feel that he was worth keeping fully informed. He was sending on companies of reinforcements more or less equally to the two fronts as they became available.

It was not in the King's nature to wait idly by, however weary. He felt certain that the veteran Harald would have chosen to put himself in the position of most significance, if he could, and sent the youthful Paul to deal with the less vital assault—if he knew which was which. After one good night's rest, then, leaving his 500 to recover, MacBeth was off again, with his two sons and only a small escort, heading east by north and skirting the Solway's many shallow indentations, for the Nith estuary.

Cleft Chin was not hard to find. Some score of miles along the coast from the Dee the great isolated hill mass of Criffel, the Split Fell, rose abruptly from the lowland, stretching inland, northwards for some eight miles, although its greatest and steepest height towered above the southern shoreline, overlooking the Nith estuary. Here it left only a very narrow strip of carseland between tide and hill, easily defendable. But only a small proportion of Harald's force was here, a company strengthening the naturally strong position by digging defensive ditches, building barriers of felled trees, and, on the higher ground, gathering rocks to hurl down. This was for the main strength to fall back upon and hold, if the river-line broke.

They found Harald, grey-haired now but more villainous-looking than ever, some four miles further north and east, at Saint ConaPs Kirk, another newly-established Keledei establishment just above the marshy flats where the Nith changed from estuary to river, his men deployed to stretch northwards as far as eye could see. Half-a-mile to the east, across the water and more marshland, the enemy army was in clear view, occupying a similar position, They too were drawn up in seemingly endless ranks up-river. No fighting appeared to be taking place at the moment.

The Viking was much relieved to see MacBeth. Not so much because he was plainly outnumbered by the host opposite but because he was unhappy and somewhat mystified over the strategic situation. The enemy had sat over there, idle, for three whole days, he declared. They did not seem to be gaining any additions of strength. Why should they wait for that anyway, when all too clearly they were at least four times his own numbers? There had been the preliminary skirmishes at that side of the river, but no major attempt to cross after he had done so, only one or two probes here and there, not sustained. The same situation prevailed further up, facing young Paul, who was holding the river-line east of the Troqueer and Terregles Hills, outliers of Criffel, ten miles or so northwards, opposing a somewhat smaller force that was equally inactive. Obviously Siward was waiting for something. What?

MacBeth could not answer that. It made him uneasy likewise. It could be that a sea-borne invasion was planned for their rear—Echmarcach of Dublin again perhaps. But it was not like the fierce and bold Siward the Strong to be so careful when he was in strength himself, to be waiting upon another. It could be, of course, that it was Siward himself whom the enemy was waiting for, that the earl had not yet come up, delayed somewhere. But that again was not Siward's style, to launch this long-delayed invasion before he himself was ready to join it.

Harald was not to be blamed for his doubts and forebodings.

Puzzled, the King left him to ride on up the riverside. Harald's people lined the low-lying and swampy banks all the way, fairly thinly strung-out inevitably; but since only in a few places was the river shallow enough to ford, and to launch a sufficient crossing by boats would give time for concentration of defenders from elsewhere, this was not too serious. Opposite the quite large township of Dunphreas, which clustered round its former Pictish fort, and where the river
was
fordable,

Harald's and Paul's forces joined. All the way, on the other side, the enemy was as evident, waiting. It was a crazy but ominous situation.

When eventually he reached his nephew, in the Terregles area, Paul however exhibited a quite different attitude and found little wrong with the state of affairs. The wretched English were afraid, that was all, he averred—cowards. They had double his numbers, but dared not attack across this river. He was considering whether he ought to attack, himself. Cross over and show them how to fight. He, Paul Thorfinnson, was getting tired of waiting here.

His uncle commended his spirit, but suggested patience. Reinforcements were on their way. They might as well do all properly.

Almost scornful, the youth hinted that the King was as bad as old Cleft Chin—the creeping caution of old age, he implied. Farquhar and Luctacus tended to agree with him. Evidently, despite his father's earlier strictures, Paul had a good deal of the Raven Feeder in him. He pointed out that these English opposite were poor creatures anyway. Not true warriors, not even real soldiers. They were no more than an unruly horde of peasants and soil-turners, scarcely an armoured and helmeted man amongst them.

This observation, at least, registered with his royal uncle. The Nith was narrower here, and consequently the enemy not so far away. And staring across the King did gain the impression that this was less than a disciplined and well-equipped force facing them, strong in numbers but having little appearance of quality, scarcely the sort of army that Siward would be likely to use as spearhead for his invasion, however many flags and banners flew amongst them. Moreover, they gave the appearance of being encamped over there, rather than drawn up in any line of battle.

More thoughtful than ever, and commanding Paul to make no move meantime unless attacked, MacBeth rode back to Harald's Saint Conal's Kirk.

He spent the night there. And although sentries patrolled every yard of the riverside throughout, there were no developments. Nor did the morning show greater activity. Leaving a perturbed Viking to watch and wait, he returned to the Dee and Kirk Cuthbert's Town.

The first instalment of his main force from Fortrenn had arrived just before him, under Colin of the Mearns, tired but thankful not to have missed anything, another 800 men, horsed. They announced that they had passed Pentecost and the heavy cavalry some ten miles or so back, coming down Tarff Water. They should arrive shortly.

In fact, next to appear were not the Normans but two dishevelled couriers from Glamis, the Constable, so way-worn as barely to be able to speak. Incoherently they gasped out their tidings. Siward had crossed into Scotland on the east in major strength, over Tweed from Northumberland and was marching on Fortrenn with many thousands. A great host, and reported as under Scotland's own Boar standard, they had already crossed the Merse into Lammermuir and Lothian.

Set-faced MacBeth stared at the messengers. So—this was the answer to their Nithside questions! He had been outwitted. This Galloway thrust was a mere feint, to draw him and the main Scottish strength away across the width of the country to this remote corner, so that Siward could strike directly at the heartland and with only secondary opposition. No doubt these English facing Harald and Paul were indeed no more than the scourings of Siward's manpower, mere numbers to counterfeit an invasion. And, like a fool he, MacBeth, had fallen into the trap.

At least, there were no doubts now as to what to do. He had to turn all his weary travellers round and send them back whence they had come—and faster, if humanly possible, however much they might protest. Every day, every hour, would count. Others on the way must be turned back. It was the only action now, however desperate. One gleam of hope there was only—Siward the Dane, like the Saxons also, had no tradition of the large-scale use of horses in warfare. So, save for a few leaders, his army would almost certainly be marching on foot, comparatively slow-moving however hard they might push.

Sir Osbert Pentecost's and his Normans' faces were a sight to see when they arrived, to be informed that they must turn their brutes round and retrace their steps forthwith.

It was late afternoon, but the King never so much as considered waiting until morning. All must start back right away, whatever their state of fatigue, making the best speed they could. Two moves he set in hand before he himself started off northwards again. He instructed Pentecost to acquire a couple of hundred Galloway ponies, a local type of garron, short-legged but barrel-chested, in plentiful supply in this green-pasture country, and to use these to ride back on, leading the heavy chargers unburdened save to carry the armour. This ought to improve their pace considerably. The second instruction went to Harald Cleft Chin, informing him of the situation and commanding him to send as strong a detachment of his men as he could spare—since he was unlikely now to have to do any major battling with these people facing him—eastwards, by the dales of Annan, Dryfe, Esk and Teviot, to the Merse, to threaten the English rear and seek to cut Siward's links with Northumberland. It was a gesture which might possibly have valuable results.

Thereafter it was just hard and endless riding for Scotland's monarch.

* * *

That was a nightmarish journey across the backbone of the land, of unremitting effort, gnawing anxiety and major discomfort as well as near prostration, for the weather broke down to rain driven by unseasonable winds. MacBeth made no attempt to keep any large force with him, but pressed determinedly ahead, all but killing his horses, leaving others to make the best pace they might. He halted and turned back one force of some 600, still on its way to Galloway; and twelve appalling hours later caught up with another and still larger company, under Lachlan of Buchan, who had had one of Glamis's messengers and had turned back on his own initiative. This was in mid-Clydesdale. Taking command himself, the King speeded this force considerably on its way, treating all grumblers harshly.

Two nights and a day after leaving Kirk Cuthbert's, he was back at the Kelvin, in mid-Scotland, with some 1200 red-eyed men—the rest of his forces trailing behind, scattered across the spine of the land. His aim was to cross the Kilsyth Hills into the Forth valley and turn eastwards, hoping to reach Stirling and that vital river-crossing before the enemy did, there to try to hold up Siward as his grandfather had held Canute. But in Strath-kelvin the King and his dead-weary followers were brought up short by further messengers from Cormac of Glamis. A large English galley-fleet had sailed up the Tay, Siward himself with it. This in addition to the army marching from Tweed. Fortunately the Scots fleet summoned from Torfness, with the Moray-men under Neil Nathrach and a Viking contingent under Gunnar, had reached Tay just the day previously, and had been able to halt the English ships before they got into the river itself, blocking the channel. But Siward was landing men by the thousand on the Fife shore of the estuary, and more ships were arriving. Neil's force had joined Glamis's own reserves to line the Carse of Gowrie shore opposite Fife, to repel any crossing if they could, to protect the realm's base area of Scone and Dunsinane.

MacBeth, almost too tired to think straight, nearly wept in his chagrin and disheartenment. He, who had been forewarned and prepared for this for so long, had failed in the end, failed Scotland and all that he held dear. Siward had out-thought him and out-manoeuvred him at every turn, made a fool of him. What could he do now? What in God's name could he do?

Flogging his reeling wits to practical, purposive thought, he sought to banish all regrets and irrelevances. Desperately as he needed men for this side of the Tay, he nevertheless decided to split his present numbers and send the larger part, under Lachlan of Buchan, to try to hold the Forth crossing at Stirling, as intended. Even detaching two-thirds, 800 was a ridiculously small number for the task, but he dared not spare more. The army advancing through Lothian must be halted, if at all possible—and Stirling, with its bridge and causeway, was the place to do it. There would be some local men, of the Lennox, whom Lachlan could enlist. If he had time. So this contingent was sent off direct for Stirling, to hold Forth to the end. MacBeth despatched couriers back to hasten the oncoming companies and stragglers, especially the Normans, who were to follow
him
northwards for the Tay. Then, with only 400 now, he also headed over the hills for the Forth valley, but west of the others' line. The great Flanders Moss, twenty miles long by five wide stretched as a vast barrier before them there, waterlogged, impassable. But a few miles west of Stirling there was a little-known way across at the Fords of Frew, a Clan Alpine cattle route, which Lennox had shown him once. This could cut off miles.