What had been a confrontation of two kings, each with his circle, each intent on the business of extracting and offering safeguards, extracting and offering concessions, had changed. The opposing circles had blurred, and their intentions. Age and experience and cunning had united them in their own eyes as well as in Sulien’s, isolating the three young men and discounting them, as Eachmarcach was isolated as a foreigner. Only Sulien observed that Leofric’s son and the Dubliner occupied the real attention of the antagonists only briefly, whereas the Earl Thorfinn beside him now held the centre. It came to Sulien that he should have restrained Alfgar from coming here, and that he should not have come here himself.
King Canute was speaking, through his interpreter. He had a matter to raise, in Norse, with the Earl Thorfinn of Orkney. He would have his translator sit by King Malcolm. A grandfather would no doubt wish to know what his grandson was saying. My lord Thorfinn?
The young man got up. It was not easy to stand still on the deck before Canute, braced against the sway of the vessel. Earl Thorfinn was so tall that he could close his hand over the struts of the awning. In the sickly green light, his brow hung like a lantern, with his eyes lost altogether in the shadow beneath. King Canute said, ‘I hear that you, Earl Thorfinn, are pledged a vassal of Olaf of Norway?’
Somewhere beside Malcolm of Alba, someone fidgeted. The Earl of Orkney neither shifted nor blinked. He said, ‘Six years ago. I hoped to be given my proper inheritance of two-thirds of Orkney, just as Eachmarcach here hopes to become King of Dublin when his uncle should die. Unlike me, he has so far received no patronage and therefore has had no disappointments.’
‘I am surprised,’ said Canute, ‘that, having received so small a return for your homage, you should not have thrown off the yoke.’
‘I have done what I can,’ said the youth thoughtfully. He swayed peacefully with a lurch of the deck, his skin boots squeaking a little. ‘I have refused to join Brusi my half-brother in his attempts to deny food and shelter to those at war with King Olaf. With my stepfather dead and Moray denied me, I have no resources for more. I cannot defy King Olaf. I have little money. I have to sail every summer as it is, to bring cattle and corn for the winter, and I lose half of these to raiders. With the ships I have, I can defend nobody, not even myself. Eachmarcach is in the same case.’
‘I know a little,’ said Canute, ‘of the talents of Eachmarcach. His uncle, as I remember, ruled Ireland for eight years after King Brian died. But of you, alas, I know nothing. I have here a letter from your half-brother Duncan which asserts he owes no homage for Cumbria since such is the right of none but English-born monarchs. He has since reconsidered, he tells me. But perhaps you in the north share his feelings? Perhaps you would prefer to be ruled by Norwegian-born kings such as you are used to?’
It was too fast for Sulien. The interpreter muttered in King Malcolm’s ear, and, between that and his own poor vocabulary, he could do little but guess at the dialogue. But he heard that remark, and the pause that followed told its own story. Duncan’s eyes, he saw, were fastened on the Earl’s back.
Earl Thorfinn said, ‘I am sure my brother’s letter was written before he met my lord King. As for me, the Norse blood that I share with King Canute no more decides where my sword falls than his does.’
He was eighteen. No one laughed. Sulien swallowed. Canute said, ‘And what does your Celtic blood suggest that I can rely on? You have been told, I take it, of the death of the lady your mother, whose tongue, it appears, is beyond you?’
He needed a shield, the Lady Godiva had said, and she was right. But for her, the news would have reached Earl Thorfinn here, with all the impact that Canute intended. You could see the King’s eyes watching the youth; and behind him, unaltered, the vague, tranquil features of Crinan, the dead woman’s husband. With some un-Christian pleasure, Sulien waited to hear her son cheat them of their expectations.
The Earl Thorfinn said, ‘The Lady Bethoc is dead? Indeed, I am sorry to hear it. News takes a long time to travel these days and, as perhaps you will have gathered, I am little in touch with my mother’s kin.’
There was a small silence. Sulien had heard men speak of a dead dog with more emotion. Then King Malcolm said, haste in his voice, ‘Since the death of his other stepfather … Since the Mormaer of Moray was killed, the boy has had no settled home.’
His grandson’s gaze did not move, nor did Canute’s. Thorfinn said, ‘Does that suffice for my answer? As others do, I take the path that will serve me best. And so long as it serves me, I will keep to it.’
Godiva had given him a shield, and he had turned it into a spear to injure his grandfather. The interpreter’s voice fell into silence. The crown on the Danish King’s head glittered green under the awning, and his features, heavy with thought, were shadowless as those of a man in a mist.
No one spoke, even Malcolm. The time for questions was past, and the time for debate, it was clear. Whatever King Malcolm’s status in Alba, he was here as a vassal, and his two grandsons with him. What they were about to hear now from the monarch of Denmark and England was the passing of judgement.
Canute said, ‘I address first my lord Earl of Orkney. Sit, and hear me.
‘I can be a generous King, although you will have heard that I am not slow to act if those to whom I am generous do not respond as they should. Many magnates known to you in Norway, Earl Thorfinn, have become my men and are either awaiting the day when they may throw off King Olaf’s rule or are already here in the west, ready to cross the sea with my gathering army.
‘If you will be loyal to me: if you allow my ships what shelter and provisions they need on those shores of Caithness and Orkney which your steward controls, I undertake that, when I am ruler of Norway, you will hold beneath you the two-thirds of Orkney to which you say you are entitled.’
Over the beak of his nose, the Earl of Orkney’s brows made a single black bar. ‘Two-thirds of Orkney?’ he said.
King Canute said, ‘Your entitlement, so I understand. While Earl Brusi your brother still lives.’
There was another silence. Then Earl Thorfinn said, ‘I agree.’
Sulien did not watch him accepting that invitation to murder; discarding his oath to King Olaf. He stared at the deck while King Canute, summoning Eachmarcach now before him, gave and received the same kind of promise: in exchange for loyalty to his interests, the King of the Saxons would support Eachmarcach’s rightful claim as next ruler of Dublin. Only when, his tone altering, King Canute finally addressed the King of Alba and Duncan his grandson did Sulien bring himself to look up.
‘My lord King of Alba and my lord Duncan of Cumbria. You have already told me that, except for service in war, you will do homage for these lands of Cumbria to me and to the monarchs who follow me as rulers of England, whatever their birth. I am prepared to accept your pledge on these terms, with one extra condition.
‘Yours, my lord Malcolm, is not an easy country to rule, divided as it must be by nature and by its different races. Cumbria in the south you hold, as we have established, under myself through the lord Duncan. Caithness in the north is held by your other grandson who is also, in his own right, an Earl of Orkney. Alba, which lies between the two, is held towards the north by the brothers Gillacomghain and Malcolm, ruler of Moray, who owe allegiance to you, but act independently at times also. Of their friendship I have had to assure myself separately.
‘South of Moray, the provinces are under their own leaders or mormaers, as you call them, who acknowledge yourself as their over-king. The heart of your kingdom, if it has a heart, is there in the centre of Alba, in Fife and Angus and Atholl where lie your principal palaces and your holy places, Scone and Dunkeld.’
He looked round, and back at King Malcolm. ‘I have studied these things, for weakness in your lands, my lord, lays us both open to the intruder. I propose therefore that there should be returned to the councils of your kingdom the strong intelligence and good sense of my lord Crinan, your daughter’s firs
t husband, and that the abbacy of Dunkeld, vested in him on behalf of your daughter, should not be granted away on her death, but that my lord Crinan should enjoy its rights and its privileges, together with the duty to protect and foster this abbey for life. On that condition, and on those we have already agreed, do I offer you the peace that you seek.’
No one spoke. Outside, Sulien could hear the pooling sound of the river embracing the vessel, and the hiss and splash of plying small boats and skerries. Outside the awnings, the men of the ship and the servants of both Kings and the Bishops talked together in whispers.
More than fifty years since, on this spot, an English king had exacted obedience from his vassals as Canute was doing, and at the end of the conclave had had himself rowed for the oath-taking, with his vassal kings at the oars, to the church of St John round the river-bend.
The present summons to Chester, following that, had been an insult. The fact that Malcolm had come had told Canute all he wanted to know about the course of this meeting. So Malcolm, who had come to pay homage at a price, was being asked to pay more than he wanted. He was being asked to take into Alba one of England’s great moneyers, Crinan the mint-master, whom accident had made the father of Duncan, but whose interests and acumen had led him to more lucrative regions long since.
The stewardship of the monastery of Dunkeld had never been denied him, nor a fair amount of its dues. But, formally installed in such a monastery at the head of the great waterway of the Tay, the lord Abbot of Dunkeld would hold for Canute a base in the centre of Alba from which all Alba might be controlled.
But a base, after all, surrounded by the armies of Malcolm. The veined eyes gave nothing away, but the old King’s hands worked at the knees of his robe as he thought, assessing it all. Then he lifted the weight of his beard. ‘My lord King, on that I shall agree,’ he said; and the interpreter smiled at his master, repeating it.
It was over. The awning was drawn and men rose, saying little, watching approach the slim royal ferry that was to take the principals, as on that other occasion, to the church of St John for the service of thanksgiving and the ratification upon the altar-table of the new pact. Although this time, as King Canute said smiling, none would be required to labour for him at the oars.
SIX
ULIEN HAD NO special wish, this time, to be near his friend Alfgar or the Earl of Orkney or King Sitric’s nephew as the transfer from the big boat to the shallower began to take place. He saw that Skeggi, the Earl’s standard-bearer, was already in the long-ship awaiting his master. The prince Duncan joined him, crossing with unexpected agility. Even more unexpectedly, he turned and hailed his half-brother, Thorfinn of Orkney, whose cloak he held in his hand. ‘Brother! Here is a seat for you!’
Forgetfully, he had used Gaelic. Gesturing belatedly to explain his meaning, Duncan brushed into the water his brother’s neat, folded cloak. It lay blown on the waves for a moment, and then the river drew it away, the one exquisite brooch glinting as it swirled below and was gone.
Earl Thorfinn paused, saying nothing. Then he stepped down and sat by his brother, followed, despite his intentions, by Sulien. Such seats as there were, at either end of the boat, had been taken. Unnoticed, Sulien stood and listened to the prince Duncan, in the Celtic tongue, baiting his brother.
‘Your poor, old-fashioned cloak with its cheap pedlar’s brooch!’ said Duncan cheerfully. ‘How can you forgive me, you lout? You must let me buy you another. Two. And a Thor hammer for feast days. They tell me that’s when you breed on the mares.’
There was no interpreter within earshot. Clearly, he thought himself safe. He waited, smiling up at his brother, preparing for some futile sentiment in the Norse language.
Earl Thorfinn turned his head. ‘It’s better, I suppose, than breeding on midgets,’ he said in resonant Irish-Gaelic. He had good lungs.
Across the deck, King Malcolm’s head made a small movement and checked. Near at hand, Duncan had, it seemed, forgotten to breathe. His eyes moved to where his grandfather was.
‘Go on. Tell him,’ said the Earl of Orkney. His expression was not unamiable. ‘You don’t have to be polite to me any longer. I have, I hope, made it quite clear that I don’t belong to this family, nor do I propose to be adopted into it at moments of conveniences.’
Now Duncan was breathing quickly, and there were spots of colour high on his cheeks. ‘That’s new,’ he said. ‘You kept running to us for help over Orkney.’
The Earl Thorfinn considered. ‘Six years ago, yes. Don’t you wish you had given it? I should hold all of Orkney; you would be my accredited ally, and we could both ask Canute for anything we wanted, and get it.’
‘Or the promise of it. Do you imagine he trusts you?’ Duncan said. ‘The moment he fails to take Norway, you switch back to King Olaf. If you ever left him.’
‘I should be a fool if I didn’t,’ said his brother. ‘And so would Canute, if he didn’t realise it. Get Crinan your father to explain it to you. He didn’t have much to say in there, did he? Don’t you get on with one another?’
‘He remarried when I was two years old,’ said Duncan. ‘You at least ought to know that. He found he could make more money in England.’
‘I’ve seen some of it,’ Thorfinn said gravely. ‘Doesn’t he have a daughter? How would you like to have me in the family twice over?’
He could have been serious. Duncan said, ‘I think my lord Crinan has a match a good deal more important than that arranged for Wulfflaed. Why not a thick Danish wife, or a fine, dung-smelling Wend? King Canute would find you someone suitable. Or maybe your Viking friend has a niece or a daughter in Dublin? What a pity,’ said Duncan, getting reckless, ‘that Sitric’s mother is too old. She married everyone in Ireland in turn, didn’t she? Even your father, if he hadn’t got himself killed trying to win her. I wonder what our late mother thought of that?’
‘What woman minds sharing her husband if he brings her the chance of a kingdom? The Lady Emma came back to marry King Canute on exactly those terms.’ The boat bounced as it crossed someone’s wake, and the glare of the sun on the red Roman walls doubled itself in the long, running furrows that spread to the bank.
Even out of his hearing, it was not wise to speak thus of King Canute. Sulien, glancing about, caught sight of the stalwart figure of Eachmarcach making his way towards the brothers as if he had heard them. They saw him, and knowing him for a Gaelic-speaker, Duncan fell silent.
It was Earl Thorfinn whom the Dubliner wanted. He called to him as he came. ‘Skeggi says you can do Olaf Tryggvasson’s trick.’
That, certainly, King Canute heard: his head turned. The other King sat without moving, impacted among the golden glitter, the silk and jewels of both royal parties. The longship, painted and carved and wreathed with silk streamers, overcame the next wake and then stroked smoothly forward to the pull of the oars. Both riverbanks were filled with people, talking or calling, who clearly did not know they were vassals. The Earl Thorfinn looked up at the Dubliner standing splay-legged before him. ‘Sometimes,’ he said.
‘Prove it,’ said Eachmarcach.
‘Why not? On the way home,’ the Earl of Orkney replied.
‘On your own ship, with your own oarsmen? What sort of feat would that be?’ Eachmarcach said. ‘I’ll wager my axe against yours that you couldn’t do it on this boat.’
People were beginning to listen. At sea, by themselves, Sulien could guess how the matter would resolve itself. Here, a boy among peers on a day of imperial ceremony, the Earl of Orkney had to find another way to deal with his importunate friend. He said, ‘Everyone knows that you are braver than King Sitric, and I am cleverer than Earl Sigurd, and Skeggi could run Freswick better than Thorkel. You don’t have to prove it.’
‘Look at them,’ Eachmarcach said. He jerked his head towards the crumpled velvets and silks. ‘They’re rotten-soft. I want to show them.’ Under the teazled, rust-coloured hair, his eyes glittered. Someone, somewhere, Sulien deduced, had a flask of wine un
der his robes and had been a little too hospitable. In the distance, King Canute spoke to his Bishop, and Lyfing, turning, began to thread his way aft.
‘If they’re soft, then you’re drunk,’ Earl Thorfinn said. ‘In any case, here comes King Canute’s veto.’
But Lyfing brought not a veto but a summons to explain to the King. Listening, in the crowd that gathered round Canute and Leofric, Sulien found Duncan, too, at his elbow. Related, the unspecified challenge sounded ridiculous. It was therefore to Sulien’s total surprise that he heard the King turn to Earl Leofric, his nominal host, and say, ‘If you will allow it, it would please me to see such a contest.’
Leofric said, ‘My lord, I do not know what feat they speak of. But if it would give my lord King pleasure …’ Beside him, Alf gar his son was whispering noisily, his fair head jerking back and forth.
‘It would,’ Canute said. ‘It is an exercise for the young. I have seen it done twice. Bid your oarsmen stop rowing.’
The oars lifted, dripping and parallel, and heads scraped round, among all the gold wire, to find out the reason. The Earl Thorfinn said in Norse, ‘I have not agreed.’
‘Yes, you have,’ Eachmarcach said. ‘Skeggi heard you. He is going to do it as well. And your axe is safe. Canute’s offered a gold one, and prize-money. We’re to run in pairs, one to each side. A knock-out contest, the axe to the winner.’
Alf gar of Mercia said, ‘What is it? I want to do it.’
The Earl of Orkney looked him over. ‘Can you swim?’
Seized with madness: ‘He can swim very well,’ Sulien said. ‘And so can I.’ He knew what it was, and he knew the feat was beyond him: was beyond all of them, probably. But Canute wanted it done, for a reason. He wanted to know what Canute’s reason was.
King Hereafter Page 6