Macbeth the King (23 page)

Gruoch reached up a hand to grip his arm, wordless.

"Other appointments I shall make in due course," he went on, level-voiced. "But two I give you now, since they also" are personal to me. The Earl Thorfinn to be Lord of Galloway and Carrick, and also Governor of Strathclyde and Cumbria for the Prince Lulach. And my foster-brother Neil, to whom I owe my life, to be Thane of Cawdor, in room of Hugh, reduced."

He had to raise his voice above the hum of comment at this indication that he could strike as well as overlook.

"Finally, my friends, it is enough if I say that it shall be my endeavour to seek peace with all my neighbours and with all the princes of Christendom. This with all my powers. Yet, I shall not hesitate to draw the sword in defence of any and every of Scotland's rights and interests, against whomsoever, foe or friend. I seek no territorial gains for my kingdom—but will yield none." He paused, and for the first time smiled a little. "Enough. Since 1 am now of the priestly order, made so by the Laying on of Hands, 1 finish by saying—God bless and keep you all!"

He sat down.

Thorfinn jumped up, to still the applause by slamming fist on the table to make every dish and beaker and drinking-horn jump.

"You have a man on the throne of Scotland again!" he shouted. "A man, I say. I may not love all that he says and does, now or hereafter—and nor may you! But, by God, he will say and do it just the same! For he is a King indeed. On your feet, I say, and drink to MacBeth the King, and his lady. MacBeth the King!"

Thorfinn Raven Feeder must ever have the last word, as Ingebiorg pointed out.

Although not as
lovely a spot as Spynie, Dunsinane was a pleasing place in aspect and character. It was one of the two principal royal residences of Fortrenn, the other being Forteviot. Malcolm Foiranach had chosen to reign from Forteviot, as also had Duncan. So it was almost inevitable that MacBeth and Gruoch should prefer Dunsinane, which had been her grandfather Kenneth the Third's palace.

They found it to be more of a fort than a palace, however. It occupied the summit of a grassy hill at the western end of the famous and lovely vale of Strathmore, just over 1000 feet above the Tay, an eagle's-nest of a place, with views to catch the breath.

The views and its defensive potential, were probably the best of it—that and its name,
dunsithean,
the mound or fort of the fairies—for the accommodation, although covering a wide area within the strong ramparts, was inconvenient, in some respects almost primitive, more like a scattered township within a wall than a palace. The great hall, for instance, although large enough, occupied a building by itself, as did two lesser halls, with no sleeping-quarters under the same roof. The royal apartments were little to be distinguished from the garrison's. If at first sight Gruoch's heart lifted, at second it sank—even though she did not say so. Thorfinn and Ingebiorg who, with her father, accompanied the royal couple from Scone to see them settled in, were less inhibited. They exclaimed loudly that the place was impossible, no better than a robbers' hold, and no lodging, much less a residence, for the King of Scots. They should get them over to Forteviot in Strathearn right away, whether that Duncan had defiled it or not.

But there was an obstinate strain in MacBeth, and the more they decried Dunsinane—supported for once by Neil, Thane of Cawdor—the more determined he was to stay.

He did not add, but nor did he fail to remember, that his mother's dream had linked him with Dunsinane, never with Forteviot. Her strange warning about Birnam Wood could scarcely trouble him now that he was here to see the place. Her dream, after all, had been that he would prosper
until
Birnam Wood came to Dunsinane; and Birnam lay fully fifteen miles to the north-west, in Atholl. His first glance, on reaching the hill-top, had been in that direction, and he had been relieved to see that the hills of Auchtergaven and the high Moor of Thorn rose between, not to mention the unseen valley of the Tay itself. For Birnam Wood to come here would demand powers no man possessed. The dream, then need not be a premonition or caution at all, but in fact an encouragement. Here at Dunsinane he would stay—for such time as he must reside in the south part of his kingdom, for he and Gruoch had every intention of maintaining Spynie as their home.

Most of the duties which now fell to him, MacBeth could take in his stride. But quite quickly after the coronation he was faced with a situation demanding more than mere mormaoral judgment. It concerned the mortuath of Mar, and the thanage of Buchan therein. Gartnait of Mar had died at the Battle of Torfness, leaving only a fifteen-year-old heir, Martacus. Matain mac Caerill of Buchan, Duncan's brother-in-law, he who had aspired to be Mormaor of Caithness and Sutherland and whom Thorfinn had slain, had left no child but only a younger brother, one Lachlan .This Lachlan was now seeking to take over Mar by main force, declaring that the fifteen-year-old Martacus was too young, lacking in wits and incompetent to rule a major mortuath; and in this he was being supported by Matain's widow, the Lady Cathula nic Crinan, and one or two of the thanes of Mar. It looked as though open war might be near. The widow of Gartnait, mother of Martacus appealed to the new monarch.

MacBeth accepted that the decision was properly one for the High King, but recognised the dangers, especially at the very start of a new reign. He would consider the case. But instead of summoning the contenders to Fortrenn, he would go north to Mar to hear the matter on the spot, where local conditions and witnesses should make for fair judgment. Moreover, this would all help forward a strategy he was determined to pursue, to seek to shift at least some of the power of the throne from the South, where it had been concentrated for too long, back into the North—for it was, after all, a Northern dynasty. Also, it would provide an excellent excuse to return to Spynie for a spell.

So, in breezy autumn weather, leaving a triumvirate of Lennox, Strathearn and Glamis in charge at Fortrenn, MacBeth, Gruoch and the children rode away eastwards down the great vale of Strathmore.

Mar was one of the most extensive provinces of Alba, comprising the vast basins of the Dee and Don and Deveron, all the coastal plain to the verge of Moray, and inland some of the highest and wildest mountains of Scotland.

It took them two full days of major riding, as much as the children could stand, to reach their objective, the renowned and ancient Abbey of Deer, founded by Saint Drostan, one of the Brethren of Columba, amidst spreading oak-woods. Its Abbot Malbride had blessed their wedding, and they were most warmly welcomed.

MacBeth had already sent out summonses to both parties and their witnesses to appear before him here in two days' time, and although not a man for display, he decided that it would be politic to manage this, his first major royal occasion, to some effect. With Abbot Malbride's co-operation he had the abbey's eating-hall prepared. It did not have a dais, so a makeshift platform was contrived at one end, from the monks' table-boards, covered by sheep and deerskins. On this the establishment's two best chairs were set, side-by-side, as thrones, decked with purple vestments. The hall itself, severely plain like all Celtic religious buildings, was decorated for the occasion with birch and pine branches, the former now beginning to turn a delicate pale gold, much more attractive than the seared oak. There was no other seating; but even with all standing the hall would not hold any large proportion of those who had come, so the main door was left open, that some of those outside could at least hear what went on. All had to be assembled well before royalty put in an appearance.

The abbey could produce no trumpeters, so they had to be content with horn-blowers. A group of these sounded off loud and long, their curious wailing notes echoing from all the surrounding green hillsides. A procession of monks, chanting, led in Deer's three bishops and other clergy, to range themselves behind the improvised platform. Then Abbot Malbride brought in the Mormaor Colin of the Mearns and Farquhar O'Beolain of Applecross—who was making his way homewards with the royal party. These three mounted the dais, to stand behind the thrones, as assessors and advisers. O'Beolain, in his capacity as High Sennachie, took charge, raising hand to halt the chanting and all talk and stir.

"Silence for the King!" he cried. "The Lord MacBeth, High King of Scots. And the Lady Gruoch, Queen of Scots. The Appointed of God and the Protector of Holy Church."

Into the profound hush the royal couple paced, side by side, each with a plain circlet of gold around their brows and a purple cloak over their shoulders, but otherwise simply clad. At their back came the princes, Lulach and Farquhar, Prince of Strath-clyde and Cumbria and Mormaor of Moray and Ross. MacBeth and Gruoch seated themselves, a boy at each side. The family aspect was to be emphasised, for more than dynastic reasons. There was much improvement in the image of kingship necessary after Duncan's reign and the latter part of Malcolm's. This of a royal family was important.

O'Beolain raised his voice again. "Hail to the lord King!" he cried. "Hail the King and Queen!"

Loud, deafening, the company's response rang out. Young Farquhar actually looked a little frightened at the din.

At length MacBeth brought them to the nub of the matter.

"Your late Mormaor Gartnait mac Donald fell in battle at Torfness in Moray. He was fighting in the train of the king of Scots, as was his duty. So no blame attaches to him or his, in this matter." MacBeth paused, to let that sink in. "His lawful son, Martacus mac Gartmait, is aged only fifteen years. But others have succeeded to mortuaths at an even earlier age. I myself became Mormaor of Ross at sixteen. And my half-brother the Earl Thorfinn was appointed Mormaor of Caithness and Sutherland at the age of five years, by King Malcolm himself. So youth of itself does not debar Martacus. Let that be accepted."

Another pause, amidst some shuffling of feet.

"However, Lachlan mac Caerill, now Thane of Buchan, supported by some others, makes protest against this succession. As likewise is his right, as thane, so be it his objections are well-founded and honestly held. He claims that Martacus is unfit to hold the mortuath of Mar, not only by reason of youth but through lack of full wits. This is a hard matter, and difficult of proof and decision—for, to be sure, Martacus and those who know him best, maintain that he is in fact of clear mind and in full control of his wits as any youth of fifteen years. If it could be shown that this is not so, then it would be my duty to declare him unfit to be a mormaor, by our ancient custom and the laws of tanistry, which provide for such circumstances, in favour of good governance. Martacus mac Gartnait, having no uncle or brother nor close male kin, Lachlan mac Caerill declares that he, as senior thane of this mortuath, should be mormaor. This is the issue. Does any here claim otherwise, or that I have stated it unfairly?" None were so bold.

"Then, since it would be unkind as unsuitable for any, boy or man, to appear before us all, at the start, to defend the quality of his wits, and moreover unfair to have a mere youth to testify first, before all, I call upon Lachlan of Buchan to show cause, firstly why Martacus is unfit to hold the mortuath; and secondly why he himself should be mormaor rather than other. Thane of Buchan, stand forward."

A darkly good-looking young man, keen-eyed, with something of a hatchet face, stepped out, and bowed. He had a confident, not to say arrogant, way with him.

"My lord King," he began strongly, "I declare to you, before all..."

MacBeth held up his hand again. "Thane of Buchan," he said evenly. "The Queen of Scots sits at my side. Have you not perceived her?"

The other's face fell. "I...
I
...my Lady Gruoch!" He bowed, more deeply. "I meant no disrespect."

"Proceed," the King said briefly.

Put off his stride considerably, Buchan faltered. "It is my...in this matter I make claim, my lord King—and Queen Gruoch—that it is common knowledge that Martacus mac Gartnait is lacking in wits, and always has been. I..."

"I am not concerned with common knowledge, my lord, but with facts," MacBeth interrupted, at his sternest. "You make a grave assertion. Make it good."

Buchan moistened his lips, frowning. "How may I do that? With words? Try him, I say, Highness. Try him, and see."

"In due course. Meantime we await
your
persuasion. Tell us wherein the Lord Martacus has shown witlessness."

Lachlan shook his head. "I cannot," he admitted. "Only he can do that. But on your second point, my lord King, I
can
show good cause—why I should be mormaor. Buchan used to be a mortuath on its own. It was not part of Mar. Indeed, it could be that at one time Mar was part of Buchan! It is sufficiently large—larger than Strathearn or Lennox or the Mearns. I can name you Mormaors of Buchan right back to the days of the sainted Columba. This Abbey of Deer has a book in which my forebears are named as far back as Beatha the Pict, who welcomed Columba here in the year 575. He was Mormaor of Buchan."

"A proud boast, my lord. You are to be congratulated. But is not this to argue that you should be Mormaor of
Buchan,
not Mormaor of Mar?"

"My lord King—I say that the present house of Mar are usurpers. They come of heathen Norse pirates, who, who..." He hesitated, recollecting the King's Norse half-brother, but went on regardless. "They are Ivorach, of the line of Ivor Flatnose, the Viking, Norse King of Munster, who invaded these coasts with fire and sword and slaughter over a hundred years ago, and made himself lord both of Buchan and Mar, by force. They are not of our own race, but foreigners, and should not hold a Scots mortuath. Norse-Irish Vikings. The dead Gartnait's father, Donald, fell fighting for his kin, the Irish, at Clontarf, a score of years ago." That was vehemently said.

"That may all be so, friend," MacBeth acceded. "But I have not heard that to have Norse or indeed Irish blood unfits any man to be a Scots mormaor. Or indeed king! If it does, then I can name sundry whom you would have unseated! Including, to be sure, the Earl Thorfinn. And was not the late King Malcolm's mother Irish-Norse, from Leinster? Also the former Lords of Galloway were Norse, for four generations."