Macbeth the King (46 page)

Gruoch was in a nervous state for the next ten days, imagining all kinds of disaster to befall their sixteen-year-old son's first real responsibility of any importance. But in the event all went according to plan, and the flotilla arrived back in the Tay only a day or two later than anticipated owing to a longer wait off Mercia than they bargained for, to pick up a second group of Normans who had to come from London, in addition to those from Peterborough.

No fewer than eighteen knights had elected to come to Scotland, with their esquires and body-servants. They made an impressive party, although some had had to leave hurriedly without their fine armour, colourful heraldic insignia and panoply of war. Also, of course, their powerful chargers, which could not have been transported in the galleys anyway—so that remounting them would be a problem. Sir Osbert Pentecost, their leader, was a striking figure of a man in his mid-forties who in full armour undoubtedly would require a mighty horse to carry him. Despite present misfortunes he appeared to be of a cheerful disposition. Sir Hugo Despard had come with him, a younger man bearing a striking resemblance to his brother in Rome, but lacking one eye from some wounding. Their companions all gave the impression of being effective, capable and disciplined men, of the sort that were very much to be preferred as friends than foes. Young Farquhar already seemed to be under the spell of their single-minded military dedication. MacBeth imagined that these were men that England could ill afford to lose, and recognised that he should be grateful for the Saxon-Norman enmity.

He feasted them at Dunsinane and installed them meantime in the old fortress-palace on the hilltop there.

The provision of suitable horses for the newcomers was now a preoccupation and priority. Fortunately the problem was eased by the fact that although such animals were not to be found in Scotland, the Normans had their own sources of supply, in Flanders especially, where they bred these great destriers capable of carrying heavily-armoured men, and protective armour for themselves; and the Scots had close trading and shipping links with the Low Countries. It was decided to send a purchasing mission, under Sir Hugo, to Flanders, in the first convenient trading-vessel from the Diseart of Saint Serf in Fife. It would all cost MacBeth a deal of money; but his finances were in fair shape and he looked on the Normans as something in the nature of an investment for the future. One day the Earl Godwin, an old man getting, was going to die, and Harold his heir was of a very different character. Siward then was going to be freed of his danger in the rear, and being the man he was, would almost certainly turn his fierce attention to Scotland. A corps of trained cavalry would then be an invaluable weapon of defence.

Meantime, with neither the King nor Pentecost in favour of idleness, a training area was marked out, near Dunsinane Hill, for the practice and tuition of cavalry tactics, manoeuvres and tourneys—for competition in arms was as good a training method as any. They had to make do with light Scots garrons and dismounted exercises for the time being. To these were summoned many of the younger generation amongst the nobility, chiefs and landed men. Although he took a keen interest himself, MacBeth wished to put Lulach, as tanist and heir-apparent, in nominal command of this development, as a means of bringing him out and into more national prominence. But that moody and withdrawn young man showed little interest and less aptitude, and his half-brother Farquhar was substituted. Pentecost, of course, was really in charge; but the young Scots nobles were not to be expected to take orders from a mercenary Norman knight.

Lulach and his future were tending to become one of the very few points of disharmony between the King and Queen. He was now approaching his twenty-first year, and his coming-of-age would have to be celebrated in some suitable fashion. He had grown into a rather good-looking young man, in a fine-featured way, who looked delicate but was not. But the guarded, wary look of his childhood had never quite left him, although it was now largely hidden beneath an almost permanent air of abstrac-1 tion, as though he was really hardly with the company he was in. This, needless to say, had caused considerable comment and criticism for the Prince of Strathclyde; and indeed the forthright and impulsive Farquhar had already been involved in an unsuit able fight with a contemporary who had referred to his half-brother as Lulach the Fatuous. The prince was in fact far from fatuous; but he appeared to live in a world of his own, and evidently scarcely a happy one. Nor did he seem to make any effort to make himself more acceptable. His popularity therefore was minimal. It was all a source of considerable distress and worry for his mother; and of anxiety of a different sort for his step-father. For if MacBeth was to die or to be slain, what sort of a king would Lulach make for Scotland?

One day in the autumn of that year, after delivery had been taken of the first batch of Flanders horses procured by Sir Hugo, with a number of suits of armour also acquired, and a trial of the new animals and equipment made on the tourneyground, the matter of Lulach came to something of a head. The prince had not attended the exercise but, returning to the palace afterwards, a group of the young nobles had met him coming with his falconer from a hawking—he was keenly interested in falconry, more in the birds themselves than in the actual sport. Lachlan of Buchan had made some derogatory remark, Lulach had ignored him, and the new Mormaor of Strathearn, Malpender, had suggested that falconry would not be of much service in defending the kingdom if and when Siward the Dane struck. Lulach had said something brief and dismissive about playing at soldiers, and uproar had followed with both Buchan and Strathearn challenging the prince to armed combat, in the Norman style, to see who did the playing; and young Farquhar had stepped in, as before, to take up the challenge on his brother's behalf. When Buchan had declared that men did not fight with boys, he had been slapped across the face. So next day Farquhar was to fight Buchan, horsed, with lance and sword, in the lists. Friendly bouts were to be encouraged, of course; but there was bad blood here, and Lachlan of Buchan was a difficult man of uncertain temper, and being married to the Princess Cathula, Duncan's sister, was no friend of the present royal family.

MacBeth, when told, was angry, declaring that he would not have the future leaders of his army fighting together in hot blood and childish temper. That was not why he had brought the Normans and their expensive horses and armour to Scotland. He ordered Farquhar to apologise to Buchan for striking him, and told Buchan that there would be no contest and to guard his tongue towards the princes in future.

But this did not solve the basic problem of Lulach the misfit, and that night in their own bedchamber MacBeth and Gruoch debated the matter, and less amicably than was their usual.

"What am I to do with that young man?" he demanded. "This cannot go on."

"Are you called upon to do anything, my dear?" his wife asked, with just sufficient emphasis on the word
you
to make clear her protective mother's role. "He is not of your warrior's mind. But why should he be? He is not your son."

"J am no warrior—as well you know. But I have a realm to protect. And I require the heir to my throne to aid not to hinder me."

"The heir to
our
throne," she reminded.

He shrugged. "Does that make any difference? When it is his turn to reign, he will not manage it with falcons! Nor by offending his mormaors."

"He is young yet..."

"He comes of age in two months. A grown man. And we shall have to signal that event in some way. God knows what would serve, in these circumstances!"

"I am but two paces from you, my heart! There is no need to raise your voice."

"I
...
I am sorry." MacBeth turned to pace the floor. "It is customary to give a young man some added title and authority, on such occasions. To arrange a marriage, if he is not yet wed or betrothed. But Lulach shows no more interest in women than he does in command or rule or the will to lead...
"

"He saw sufficient of the will to rule and lead as a child!" she interrupted tensely. "When he watched his father burn that Duncan might rule."

"M'mm. He was only two years. That cannot be the cause on this...
"

"It has affected his whole life. He dreamed of it for years—he still may do so. So terrible a thing...!"

"Yes. To be sure. But—that is done and cannot be undone, my love. What are we to do with him? Now. Or
for
him? He is Prince of Strathclyde and Cumbria already. I cannot make him more than that. I had hoped that I might have given him some command in Galloway, under Thorfinn. In especial now that Thor is less well in health. But—can you see it? Can you see either of them working together? Anyway, Lulach would not thank me."

"No, that is not for him." She shook her head. "Not soldiering, not commanding armed hosts. But, see you—some other sort of responsibility, authority, might serve better. I have thought often of this. Being Prince of Strathclyde is merely a style, a title as heir to the throne. It carries no real duties, no lands or wealth. If he was a mormaor, now, with a mortuath to rule? Farquhar is Mormaor of Moray, Luctacus of Ross..."

"I cannot make mortuaths out of nothing. And to seek to create a new mortuath anywhere would demand a strong hand indeed to make it other than a mere name. Or, would you have me take Ross away from Luctacus and give it to Lulach?"

"No. Not that. But there is another..."

"Atholl? Lulach could never control a hostile Atholl. The Athollmen would crucify him! I have left Atholl in Bethoc's youngest son's keeping, Malmore, since Crinan's death. Whilst his mother, my aunt, lives. He is harmless. His brother should be mormaor now, Maldred..."

"Not Atholl either. Lulach would have no right there. But there is another—Fife. MacDuff has abandoned it, and is forfeit, a traitor. I am heiress of Clan Duff, and Lulach my son. He
should
be Mormaor of Fife. Make him so. It might well be what he needs. A territory of his own, for which he is responsible."

MacBeth frowned, and chewed his lip. "See you, my dear—I am
Ard Righ,
High King, yes. But that does not mean that I can make or unmake the lesser kings, at will, like some tyrant emperor. MacDuff is Mormaor of Fife. He may be my enemy, fled the country—traitor, if you like. But he is lawful mormaor. More so than is Maldred mac Crinan, who has never been installed as such by his thanes and chiefs. It is not for me,
Ard Righ,
to topple the order on which our Scots realm is built—but to protect it. Fife is being administered by a council of thanes. I cannot make Lulach their mormaor."

"Or will not?"

"I have managed to work with the Fife thanes. As is necessary. It is a rich and powerful province. To do as you say would much offend them. You know that. We have ruled this kingdom for a dozen years now. You, of all, know how it has to be done."

She was silent.

He eyed her consideringly. "What I might do, what might be possible...is to put Lulach in
charge
of Fife. Meantime. Not mormaor but perhaps as a governor. Since none of the thanes is higher than the others, it could be said that Fife requires a master, lacking MacDuff. In the interests of the realm, and the mortuath itself. Indeed that is true. The thanes probably would prefer to have the Prince of Strathclyde placed over them than one of their own number. And one who is heir to Clan Duff. I might make Lulach Governor of Fife?"

"Yes. Yes—that would serve, I think. It would give him responsibility, opportunity to make his mark. To consider the needs of other than himself. There is nothing wrong with his wits. Or his will..."

"We could try him. If he shows no interest, there is little harm done. I can revoke the governorship. But he
could
do much there. The churchmen at St. Andrews are showing the way, developing trade and shipping, panning for salt, setting up smoke-houses to cure fish and so increase the trade of fishing. Building boats also. It has been my desire to increase peaceful crafts, and the wealth and well-being of the realm. It must not all be left to the churchmen and merchants. Perhaps Lulach, who mislikes soldiering, would find this more to his taste?"

"Oh, I pray so! I will talk with him, show him how much he could achieve." She paused. "And there is something else, my dear. I have thought of this many a day. Of marriage. A young woman might be what Lulach needs. But he has shown no interest, although I have sought to put more than one in his way. It seems that if he is to wed,
we
shall have to choose his bride. And, with this of Fife, there is one suitable indeed. Malvina nic Gillachrist MacDuff, sister to the Abbot Ewan. She is a pleasing girl and comely enough, daughter of the Thane of Lindores and kin to MacDuff. Such marriage would aid in this matter."

"M'mmm. She is a bonny quean enough, yes. And I would think, good-natured. It might please the Fife thanes. But—have you considered that whosoever Lulach weds will one day be Queen of this realm? Queen-Consort, though not Queen-Regnant. Would this Malvina be suitable for that? Of the stature? Or the rank? There are mormaors with daughters who might look askance at but a thane's daughter."

"She is kin to a mormaor. And a MacDuff. Indeed she is kin to myself, although far out. Can you think of other? More apt?"

He shrugged. "I have not considered it. If only Thor's daughter, young Ingebiorg, was older..."

"She is but eleven years! No, one day my love, you may be
forced
to find a new mormaor for Fife. This union would greatly help you."

"And what of Lulach himself? Think you he will find Malvina nic Gillachrist to his taste? If he has
any
taste in the matter!"

The travellers eyed
the towering cliffs of Hoy, ahead, with mixed feelings. This was not how they had ever anticipated visiting Orkney. They had talked often of coming, but somehow

"Leave Lulach to me..." she said.

The travellers eyed the towering cliffs of Hoy, ahead, with mixed feelings. This was not how they had ever anticipated visiting Orkney. They had talked often of coming, but somehow they had never achieved it, for one reason or another, with so much else to be done and a kingdom to rule. And now they had next to left it too late, by all accounts. Thorfinn had been ill again, and although he was now somewhat recovered once more, it was clear that he was no longer the man that he had been, and was liable to take more of these attacks—and who could tell which might possibly be the last? Ingebiorg had sent word that Thor wanted to see his brother and that if they wanted to see
him
again in anything resembling his old self, MacBeth and Gruoch should come soon. That ominous message was not to be ignored.