Macbeth the King (43 page)

Presently the bemused marchers found themselves on a notably wide and imposing thoroughfare which ran approximately east and west, lined with palace-like buildings, churches, colonnades, more ruins, triumphal arches and statues, but also with the booths and stalls of traders and craftsmen under ragged awnings against the fierce sun. Here were many people of the better-dressed sort, soldiers and innumerable richly-clad clerics. From one of these who understood MacBeth's Latin, they gathered that the Lateran Palace was not far ahead, on what sounded like the Caelian Hill—presumably where, on their right front, the buildings seemed somewhat higher.

Martacus of Mar announced that he had now counted his hundredth church of stone, some obviously converted from earlier heathen temples. The citizens of this Rome must be notably pious. They rounded the vast circular bulk of the Colosseum, unmistakable to all.

It was the presence of armed men in fairly large numbers, in the vicinity of a particularly large and handsome church, which gave them intimation that they had reached their destination. The steps and pillared front of this vast building were being used as some sort of a market, with vendors selling many goods, including candles and oil, fruit and vegetables, and poultry and pigeons in baskets, while the soldiers or men-at-arms lounged or sat around gaming, arguing, or sleeping. There was much coming and going in and out of the wide-open doors of the church itself, with little aspect of worshipful intent.

At sight of the regiment of Vikings, there was at last stir and reaction, with the men-at-arms starting up in some alarm, and a few of the tradesmen actually gathering up their goods and disappearing into the church itself. An officer appeared, in tawdry splendour, to demand their business, in the usual bastard Italianate tongue with the dregs of many other languages than Latin in it. MacBeth's and the others' scholars' Latin explanations were just as incomprehensible to this individual; but a richly vestmented priest was brought out, and communication of a sort was established. This was Saint John Lateran, the mother-church of all Christendom, he told them haughtily. If they had come for penance, atonement and possible absolution, matters might be arranged, at a price.

MacBeth explained that they had come to see the Pope.

The cleric stared. Then turning, he apparently translated this to the officer, who guffawed his mirth.

"His Holiness is not the keeper of some wayside shrine, to be seen of all wayfarers!" they were told sternly.

"That we recognise," MacBeth acknowledged, a hand pressing on his brother's arm warningly. "But, humble followers of Christ as we are, we may not necessarily be esteemed as wayfarers, friend. Or, only of a sort. I am the King of Scots. This is the Earl of Orkney. And here is the Abbot of Abernethy, of the Celtic Church of Scotland."

The other looked surprised, but scarcely impressed. "Has His Holiness been apprised of your coming?" he asked.

"Not by us. How could he be? We have travelled far and fast. '

"The Holy Father requires to be apprised before any may have audience."

"Then, Sir Priest, tell us where he is to be found. And we shall go apprise him."

Looking almost amused, in a pained fashion, the cleric pointed to the east, across an open square or paved court, with a fountain and statuary, to what appeared to be the wing of a palatial building.

"That clerk requires schooling!" Thorfinn commented grimly, as they moved across the courtyard.

But now guards and soldiers came hurrying from all directions, as the large numbers of the Viking company descended upon the Lateran Palace and became evident, presumably alerted by the officer who had brought the priest. A group, with other officers, came to bar their way, hands on sword-hilts. Thorfinn's own hand sank to his weapon, as did those of many of his people. MacBeth, on the contrary, raised his high.

"Greetings," he called. "I am the King of Scots come to visit Pope Leo. In peace and friendship. I ask that you conduct us to him."

General incomprehension was apparent. It had never occurred to MacBelh that the Romans would not understand Latin, or at least his sort of Latin, learned from a monkish teacher. Since Thorfinn's was a deal less orthodox, he turned to Abbot Ewan and Martacus. They were proving little more successful when a tall, martial figure came pushing through the throng of excited men-at-arms, an individual in gleaming chain-mail under a white linen surcoat emblazoned on the breast with a black cross surmounted by an ecclesiastical crown, and wearing a small steel helmet with down-pointing nose-guard. This person, clearly authoritative, eyeing the Vikings, gestured to the scowling officers to be silent, and spoke in Norn, the said Vikings' own tongue.

"I am Sir Roger Despard, Captain of the Day in the Papal Guard," he said. "To whom have I the honour of speaking?"

"Thank the good God for a man who can speak a Christian language!" the earl exclaimed. "I am Thorfinn Raven Feeder of Orkney. And this is the King of Scots, my brother."

The newcomer, evidently a Norman—MacBeth recollected now that the new Pope, a German, distrusting Italians, had appointed Norman knights to be his bodyguard—gazed as though he could not believe his ears.

"King...?" he said. "King of Scotland? King MacBeth? And, and the Raven Feeder? The Earl? Earl of Orkney?"

"The same. Thankful to discover one here other than a fool or a scoundrel!"

"I am MacBeth, yes, Sir Knight. We have come far to visit Pope Leo. Can you conduct us to him?"

"Lord King—your servant. Does His Holiness know of your coming?"

"He has not been...apprised!" MacBeth admitted wryly. He spoke the Norn almost as well as he spoke his own Gaelic. "We would have outsailed any courier."

"Yes. To be sure, Highness. I will conduct you to the Papal Chamberlain of the day. I cannot bring you into the Pope's presence, in person. All audiences must be through the Chamberlains. If you will come with me." He looked at the Viking regiment. "These, I say, should go to the barracks of the Guard." He pointed southwards, to the rear of the vast palace area, and jerked a command to the officers. "They will receive refreshment. Highness, will you and the earl follow me?"

The Norman, a well-built youngish man apparently, though his features were hard to distinguish behind the helmet and nose-piece, led them round to the east front of the Lateran, where something of its enormous size became apparent. Never had any of them conceived of so large a building. It stretched before them seemingly endlessly, more like the side of a lengthy avenue than any single edifice, with its arches, pillars, pediments, architraves, tympana and sculpturings, its glazed windows by the hundred, its fronting of terracing, fountains, balustrades and statuary.

"Is all this, this construction, the Pope's house?" Thorfinn demanded. "What is it for? Who can occupy all this?"

"There are said to be over five hundred chambers in the Lateran," their guide informed. "I believe it—although I have not seen a tenth of them.

"When I was in Rome before, I saw the Pope with a deal less trouble," Ewan said. "It was not here, but at the Castle of Sant'Angelo. A mighty building, but less large than this. I cannot see what a man of God requires with so many and great houses."

"His present Holiness occupies only a few modest rooms in one corner of the Lateran," Sir Roger said. "He is a man of simple tastes."

His hearers looked disbelieving.

They passed a number of fine and ornate entrances, all guarded by armed sentries, until they came to the greatest portico of all, with a flight of wide but shallow steps leading up to it, flanked by statuary. Curiously, nearby, standing isolated, was another stone staircase under a sort of pillared canopy, with well-worn treads leading up to nowhere.

"That is the Scala Sacra, the steps of Pilate's palace. Brought from Jerusalem," Despard mentioned. "Up those our Saviour climbed to judgment."

The visitors gazed, silent. Ewan had not been brought to see this before.

The Norman led them up to the portico and into a huge and lofty vestibule, its domed ceiling gloriously painted with saints and angels, its walls marble, its floor tessalated in black-and-white. This magnificent place seemed to be used as little more than a passageway for clerks, functionaries and servitors, although it was larger and more splendid than any hall the northerners had ever seen. Here, after ordering wine to be brought to them, Sir Roger left, to go inform higher authority of their presence.

They had a lengthy wait, which set Thorfinn fretting—although wine and cakes did arrive for their refreshment. But in time Despard came back with a tall stalking crane of a man, attended by a secretary and two acolytes, a sour-faced cadaverous individual in a long robe, richly jewelled and a tiny skullcap, who eyed them critically. The Norman introduced him as the Cardinal Deacon Giovanni Faranelli, Chamberlain of the Day, and referred to him respectfully as illustrissimo. After due inspection, this prelate thrust out a beringed hand towards them, at face level. When there was no reaction from the visitors, Sir Roger murmured, in Norn, that it was the custom to kiss the Cardinal's ring.

Thorfinn snorted. "Not where we come from!" he said. "We reserve our kissing for the women!"

His brother inclined his head, but made no other move. Frowning, the Cardinal withdrew his hand. He said something in the Roman tongue.

"We speak only Church Latin, Illustrissimo," MacBeth said. "I am the King. We have come far to speak with the Pope. Will you inform him of our arrival? He has already seen Abbot Ewan, here. Some months ago. He sent us invitation to come."

The other coughed. "What is your present business with the Holy Father?" he asked flatly.

"That is between himself and us. But
he
knows, in part. It is important. And concerned with Holy Church."

"It is necessary to say more than that. Many say His Holiness has invited them. He does not grant private audience save in especial circumstances and at his own command." The Cardinal Deacon had a rasping voice.

MacBeth's own voice rasped a little. "Does His Holiness ignore the visits of monarchs from other lands?"

"Monarchs are as humble as other men in the sight of Almighty God," the prelate reminded sternly.

"Ah—is that the way of it? But Pope Leo is a man himself, is he not? And therefore equally humble. As are even you, sir—although you call yourself illustrious! And it is not Almighty God we seek in audience!"

Sir Roger bit his lip, looking unhappy. Catching MacBeth's eye, he shook his head slightly.

Thorfinn addressed the Norman. "Tell this old crow that we have not come thus far to stand chaffering with nobodies! I have a thousand men with me, and am named the Raven Feeder. Remind him. Perhaps he will understand
that
language!"

Despard cleared his throat. "That would be unwise, my lord earl. Here, all is done according to strict rule, custom."

Thorfinn grinned wolfishly. "I shall tell that to my heroes!" he promised. "And we shall see!"

In agitation the young knight turned and spoke quickly to the cardinal, in his own tongue, at some length.

The older man did not alter his sour expression. But after a pause he spoke, in Latin. "I shall inform His Holiness of your presence." And turning about, he stalked stiffly off. After a moment's hesitation, Despard hurried after him.

"These miserable churchmen require to be taught manners!" Thorfinn declared loudly. "Perhaps we should offer them some small demonstration! Their soldiery are not fit to sweep out cow-sheds! We could have this city in our hands in an hour or two!"

"Perhaps—and find yourself excommunicated an hour after!" MacBeth reminded. "That is their power, their sanction. It need not greatly concern me, since I am not of their Church. But you are, Thor—after a fashion. Would it suit you to be excommunicate, Brother?"

"Tcha! Words! Mummery! I would trouble more over a sore tooth!"

"It would relieve all men, all of this religion, of their duties, agreements and commitments towards you, man. All be debarred from dealing with you. On pain of excommunication for themselves. As Sven Estridson! The Icelanders would rejoice in that I think."

His brother eyed him blankly, and fell silent.

They had another prolonged wait. Their impatience mounted. It was Abbot Ewan who suggested that they might go outside and inspect the Pilate steps while they waited. There were other relics here at the Lateran, too, he had heard, when he was in Rome before. There was reputedly a fragment of the True Cross. And somewhere what were alleged to be the skulls of Saint Peter and Saint Paul. In the Church, probably...

Since anything was better than this standing waiting like mendicants, they trooped out into the blinding sunlight. And it was on the worn steps that their Saviour had once trod that, humbled and in awe for the moment at least, they were found by Cardinal Faranelli and Sir Roger, presently.

"Despite inconvenience, I have informed His Holiness," the prelate said, thin-lipped. "He is prepared, of his clemency, to grant you audience. In two days time. At the hour of noon."

"Two days...!" MacBeth exclaimed.

"In two days, yes. And you are much favoured."

"Does he say two days?" Thorfinn shouted. "God's Wounds—do I hear aright? This, this German clerk will keep us waiting for two more days! This is not to be borne! He will see us now, I say, or he will learn the price he pays for insolent delay...!"

"That is impossible, my lord earl!" Despard interjected, in major alarm. "The Holy Father is at his devotions. He cannot be disturbed further. Each day he prays long. For Christendom, all Christendom, for Holy Church, for all men. And he has many duties, meetings, councils, other audiences..."

"Not with the Raven Feeder and the King of Scots,
I
tell you!"

"His Holiness has made the decision, my lord. We cannot go back to him. In debate. It is impossible. None may constrain the Pope..."

"As to that, we shall see!"

"Lord King." Despard turned to MacBeth. "Do you not see? To make trouble now will not serve your cause. For whatever you have come to see him. If it is important enough to bring you here, surely better to wait a day or two than to ruin all?"