King Hereafter

by Dorothy Dunnett

  The boy Erlend was quiet, but did not show his fright, for these things happened to every person of rank, and an Orkneyman should not behave with less dignity than other princes. So the Lady Godiva, Alfgar’s mother, receiving him, respected that dignity and neither consoled him nor commented on his red eyes of a morning, but provided for him light-hearted days filled with new friends and new occupations.

  Accordingly, the youngster who greeted his father that summer when Thorfinn paid his first visit to Bromley was brown and bright-eyed and cheerful and had some new words of Saxon to show off already.

  Thorfinn stayed with his son and Godiva for three days, and then, acquiring a courtesy escort, set off further south still, to find Alfgar.

  Alfgar, when discovered, was unaccountably jumpy.

  ‘You’ve seen Erlend? A good boy. No trouble. My two eldest are a bit beyond him, but Edith is about the right age. I didn’t know you were coming to Coventry,’ said Alfgar.

  ‘Well, I’m hardly likely to cross into Mercia without sanction from the Earl your father,’ Thorfinn said. ‘I thought he was here, with Sheriff Aethelwine.’

  ‘Yes. No. That is,’ said Alfgar, ‘they were here, but they’re away for a day or two. Are you staying long?’

  ‘Evidently not,’ Thorfinn said. ‘I think it’s going to rain.’

  ‘Oh. Please,’ said Alfgar. He snapped his fingers, and the steward waiting at the door sent forward the two grooms standing beside him and disappeared himself inside the priory guest-house. ‘Please come in, and bring your men.’

  ‘If it’s convenient,’ said Thorfinn politely, dismounting. ‘Are we going into the hall? I thought, if your father and the sheriff had gone, that the meeting must be over,’

  Alfgar stopped, causing other people to stumble against him. He waved them irritably on into the hall and remained where he was on the threshold, staring at the unmoved face of his visitor. He said bitterly, ‘I might have known my mother would tell you.’

  ‘That there’s a conspiracy afoot against the Godwins of Wessex? Every swineherd knows,’ Thorfinn said. ‘Earl Siward, I’m told, left here the day before yesterday, and the wise-women with the cauldron and the spells vanished only this morning. I have a bone to pick with you, Alfgar.’

  His voice rumbled over the yard, and all the lines resident in Alfgar’s ruddy face, between the resplendent fair hair and the beard, became abruptly apparent. He said, ‘For Christ’s sake. All right. My chambers are over there.’

  Thorfinn stood still. ‘You offered to take Erlend, and I accepted your offer,’ he said. ‘There was no word then of Siward of Northumbria sharing the same house.’

  ‘It was only for a day. Nothing happened. Siward came straight on from Bromley to Coventry. Do you think I would let a son of yours be killed or captured under my roof?’ Alfgar snapped.

  ‘It isn’t your roof yet. Your father Leofric wants an alliance with Siward. Siward is uncle to the late Duncan’s sons, and even uncle of the half-blood to mine. I understand,’ Thorfinn said, ‘that Northumbria and Mercia are disturbed by the growing power of the house of Earl Godwin, but I will not have my sons used as decoys.’

  ‘With Godiva there?’ Alfgar said. ‘Don’t belittle your powers. What could happen to you or your sons so long as your women are there to protect you? In any case, we didn’t need to offer the lavish bribe of your youngest son. If we had needed to buy Siward, we had something better to offer.’

  He gave Thorfinn no time to reply. Instead, striding off to his quarters, he flung open the door and waited until his guest, at a more moderate pace, had caught up with him.

  ‘Go in,’ said Alfgar. ‘Since you have decided to call, you and my other visitor might as well take time to become acquainted.’

  The inner door was closed with a tapestry. Pulling it aside, Thorfinn walked into the room, gloomy after the daylight save where a lamp glowed on the woodwork, and the rushes, and the chest and stools and wall-benches set with deep cushions.

  On one of the benches, a figure was lying, now perfectly still; although a misplaced cushion and a dying rumour of sound hinted that, a moment before, matters had been otherwise. There was no one else in the room.

  Thorfinn, standing quite still, looked at the occupant of the bench.

  ‘I have disturbed you,’ he said. ‘Alfgar tells me we know one another.’

  For a little time, nothing happened. Then, turning its head, the recumbent figure raised one languid arm and, tucking it under its neck, subjected the King in the doorway to an unhurried scrutiny that would have been insolent in a much older man, never mind this lad of just over twenty, with the shaved hair and clean chin of the Normans, against which the angry, mishandled spots of his puberty stood out like molehills in winter.

  ‘Well, my uncle,’ said Duncan’s son Malcolm. ‘What smell of quick profit has tempted you south from your mouse-hole? Are you still building cathedrals? They said you were silly with age-sickness.’

  ‘So the King has been here,’ Thorfinn said.

  Behind him, blocked from his own doorway, Alfgar fidgetted. ‘Malcolm rode with him from Gloucester and decided to stay for a day. There is no question of Siward being allowed to take Malcolm north yet: don’t misunderstand me. In any case, Malcolm wouldn’t want to go. He enjoys Edward’s court. Don’t you?’ said Alfgar to the bench.

  The boy Malcolm ignored him. Eleven years had passed since his father King Duncan had died from a wound by the hand of this man who now ruled his kingdom. For eight years now, Malcolm, once price of Alba, had lived at the English court as guest, as hostage, as refugee with King Edward, separated from his youngest brother Maelmuire at Dunkeld, and his younger brother Donald in Ireland.

  Up to the age of ten, he had been the oldest son of a king. Not, it was true, much of a king. He soon came to know that men thought his sire stupid, and, indeed, shared that opinion. It was not enjoyable to hear Duncan talk of his subjects and then find, issuing simple orders oneself to those subjects, that the kingdom so airily claimed included only this land and that, and an overlordship or two of the most intangible nature, not to mention one or two lands where the natives openly laughed if he tried to assert his rights.

  He would not, when he came of age, allow any people to laugh at him.

  Nor did they now, for his reply to finding himself a penniless lodger at a French-Saxon court had been to rival his betters at least in the skills he could perfect: to become a better man with the sword, with the spear, with the axe, with the bow, than any of them. He had spent two summers learning how to run on the oars of a longship.

  So, when he was insolent to men of his own age, he rarely paid for it. As for men of power, he was careful not to offend. One day, this King Thorfinn-Macbeth his uncle would die, and his two sons by the red-haired woman were far younger than he was, and only interested in the north.

  There was a time when he had wondered, when the returns from his miserable estates were even smaller than usual, whether or not to leave England for Alba and persuade Thorfinn to accept him as heir. He was of the blood; he had all the skills; he was the right age. He could win over the dissaffected who might still blame Thorfinn for his brother’s death. And in return, surely, Thorfinn would shower him with riches.

  It had seemed, briefly, a good idea. But Edward of England and the Lady Emma when they came to hear of it, had been quite outspoken in their condemnation of it, and of him, and it had taken him a long time to regain their favour, such as it was.

  He had not tried again. And as time went on, he saw how childish he had been. If Orkney had been promised to the children, then the overlordship, in return for Arnmødling support, would be promised to the stepson Lulach, who was a grown man with an heir of his own. Crossing the border was not the way to position. It was, more likely, the way to ambiguous death.

  So now he said to Alfgar, ‘But the King my uncle hasn’t replied to my question. Doesn’t he understand the Frankish tongue? Shall I try Saxon? Really, I forget what people sa
y to one another in the north.’ He had made no effort yet to rise from the bench.

  ‘In the north,’ Thorfinn said, ‘children speak when they are spoken to, and rise when their elders enter a room, whether ailing or not. Failure to rise, indeed, will often settle, one way or another, any doubts on the matter of age-sickness.’

  There was a pause; and then Malcolm smiled. He had a small mouth lined with bright rose-colour, and his lashes were so fair that his eyes appeared without rims. ‘Whatever happens in Forteviot,’ he said, ‘it is not usual in Winchester for an uncle and nephew to be seen brawling on the floor of a priory. My lord King, I am happy to see you.’ He rose. ‘When are you leaving?’

  ‘I thought you and I might have a talk,’ Thorfinn said, ‘If Alfgar would excuse us.’

  There was a pause.

  Alfgar said, ‘Must you? They are serving food in the hall. It will be over in a few minutes.’

  ‘Then should we not go?’ Malcolm said. ‘Courtesy would seem to require it.’

  ‘So thoughtful a guest,’ Thorfinn said, ‘Indeed, you are right. When you sit down, convey our apologies.’

  The silence this time was a brief one.

  ‘Indeed, I shall,’ said Malcolm shortly, and walked forward. Thorfinn and Alfgar stood aside and watched him leave the tapestried door, and the main one, and make his way over the yard.

  ‘So easily scared?’ said Thorfinn.

  ‘What were you doing at twenty-one?’ Alfgar said. ‘No. What a stupid question. Fighting. And honing the edge of your cunning. We are alone, so that you can draw me into telling you all about the plans against Godwin. So much I understand.’

  ‘Well, you’d be a fool if you didn’t,’ Thorfinn said. ‘Edward is courting popularity. Edward has paid off some ships, and rescinded some taxes, and now is showing some interest in curbing the power of Wessex. But Edward is an idiot, and Emma his mother is nearly seventy and not what she was. You might not get East Anglia. You might lose everything.’

  ‘Sit down,’ said Alfgar. ‘Indeed, lie down, if you’re going to dictate to me, and then I won’t be tempted to knock you over. Emma may not be what she was, but she is still capable of pushing Edward where she wants him to go. The Godwin Queen hasn’t produced a royal heir, so the four candidates for the succession are natural supporters for any scheme to oust the Earl and his sons.’

  ‘The four candidates?’ Thorfinn said. He sat down where his nephew had lately been seated and, lifting his booted feet to the cushions, crossed them and lay back peacefully, his arms folded over his tunic.

  ‘ As if you didn’t know,’ Alfgar said. He sat, with vehemence, on a low stool and shoved his hands on his knees, his back stiff. ‘Harald of Norway, your wife’s cousin’s husband. King Svein of Denmark, nephew of King Canute and also of Earl Godwin’s lady. Any one of the Godwins: the Earl himself or one of the Queen’s older brothers: Swegen, Harold, or Tostig. And Count Eustace of Boulogne, the vassal of Flanders, to whom Emma has just married her middle-aged, once-widowed daughter.’

  ‘You’ve missed out one contender,’ Thorfinn said.

  ‘I’ve missed out dozens,’ said Alfgar rattily. ‘The world is full of second cousins who would like to be King of England. What matters is whether or not they have the backing. Who do you mean? Not yourself? You don’t seriously imagine …?’

  ‘I don’t seriously imagine,’ Thorfinn said, ‘I meant William of Normandy.’

  The shutter creaked. A cart rumbled into the courtyard and began unloading staves for barrels. A monk in a brown gown wandered out of a doorway and crossed to it, his sandals crunching the dust.

  Alfgar said, ‘You bastard. You difficult bastard. What do you know? What are you meddling with now?’

  ‘Nothing,’ said Thorfinn. ‘Duke William is two years older than Malcolm. His pimples and his barons are going to settle down some day.’

  Alfgar said, ‘Is it true that you are in the money-market? That you picked up Crinan’s network? They say you’re exploiting the Alston mines, and Winchester never sees a penny of mineral fees.’

  ‘And how much money does the Wardrobe see of your salt-taxes?’ Thorfinn said. ‘You were talking, I think, about Eustace.’

  ‘Before you caused a diversion,’ Alfgar said. ‘Of course, he’s the likeliest candidate. Norway and Denmark are at one another’s throats, William can hardly hold on to his dukedom, and Edmund Ironside’s surviving son, I seem to remember you telling me, was in failing health with only two daughters to follow him. Boulogne and Hainault and French Burgundy are all currently in one another’s pockets, and there is nothing Count Eustace would like more in this world than to have control of both ends of the shortest crossing between England and the Continent. He wants Dover and Folkestone, and if the Godwin family weren’t there, Emma his mother-in-law would have presented him with them, if not the whole Kentish coast.’

  ‘Would you say,’ Thorfinn remarked, ‘a high price for getting rid of the Godwin family? What did Siward say?’

  ‘Siward has York to trade from. We have Chester. With Harold Godwinsson out of the way, we should also have Bristol. We’re not greedy,’ said Alfgar with virtue.

  ‘Would you have Bristol? Earl Ralph holds the Hereford border. And he is Count Eustace’s stepson,’ Thorfinn said.

  ‘On the other hand,’ said Alfgar, ‘as you seem to have forgotten, I have spent rather a long time cultivating the friends of Earl Ralph and of Eustace. Osbern of Eu. Alfred of Marie. The Bishops Ealdred and Hermann and Leofric …’

  He halted.

  ‘That took a long time,’ Thorfinn said.

  ‘You couldn’t have foreseen that,’ Alfgar said. ‘You couldn’t have known that Edward and Emma were going to make a marriage alliance with Boulogne and …’ He stopped again. ‘Did you come across a man called Robert le Bourguignon on your travels?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Thorfinn. ‘Adèle of France’s young and numerate offspring. The brother of Tonnerre and Nevers and the husband of Hadwise of Sablé. Lulach talks of him. Why?’

  ‘Lulach?’ Alfgar said. He waited, and then said, ‘Well, thank God there’s something you don’t know. There’s been a battle at Credon, or Craon. The place by the Loire. The winner was Geoffrey of Anjou. He’s made your friend Robert le Bourguignon hereditary seigneur of Craon under his lordship.’

  Gratifyingly, Thorfinn sat up. ‘Which links both parts of Burgundy with Anjou; with the Aquitaine; with the Cotentin; with the Pays du Caux; with Coucy and Marie, Cambrai and Lille … Alfgar, you will make a very intelligent Earl of Mercia,’ Thorfinn said.

  Through the years, Alfgar had become at least intelligent enough to recognise that questioning Thorfinn about his machinations was perfectly useless. He said, following his only lead, ‘Then what does Lulach say?’

  Thorfinn said, ‘Lulach says that because of a nephew and a great-grandson of Robert the Burgundian, there sprang a new line of kings for England and Scotia, and some love-songs.’

  Alfgar leaned forward and embraced one hand with the other. ‘Then it’s a marriage?’ he said. ‘You’re making Lulach your heir?’

  ‘He also says,’ Thorfinn continued, ‘that because of Robert’s great-nephew, the seats of Lulach’s descendants were occupied by Jerusalem, although against the monks of Loch Leven even Jerusalem failed.… A marriage? Perhaps. My heir for Scotia? I have not yet declared him. The kings that are to come? They will not spring from me, nor from Lulach. Does it matter? I have trouble enough with the problems I have. How do you expect to get rid of the Godwin family?’

  Alfgar let his hands slip between his knees, where they dangled frustratedly. ‘I don’t know,’ he said, ‘how you have patience to hear out that rubbish of Lulach’s. I could find you an old woman any day who would be more entertaining, and even capable of a shrewd guess now and then, if you must dabble in that kind of thing. The Godwin family? Well, the King’s made a start against them already. That’s what the meeting here was about.’ Alfgar’s skin had turned pink. ‘Tho
rfinn, I can’t tell you the details.’

  ‘Then don’t,’ said Thorfinn unemotionally. ‘Just tell me which of his heirs the King has invited to visit him. And when.’

  ‘Eustace of Boulogne, Emma’s son-in-law. In September. A visit to his stepson in the West Country.’

  ‘But since Godwin is strong in the West Country, that is not where he will meet his challenge. May I guess?’ said Thorfinn.

  ‘My God, no,’ said Alfgar, getting up. ‘You know too much already. I only told you because I was sure Emma would find a way of sending a hint. You ought to be warned.’

  ‘No. Eachmarcach ought to be warned,’ Thorfinn said. ‘When you own the whole of central England, from the west coast to the east, what will you do with it?’

  ‘Divorce my wife,’ said Alfgar. ‘Do you still want yours? You could marry my mother.’

  ‘There must be other remedies,’ said Thorfinn. ‘You might send to King Svein, He always has some girl he is trying to get rid of. At the very worst, they could teach your wife a thing or two. I don’t know how he or King Harald find the energy to make war on one another. It is, I suppose, lucky for Eustace.’

  ‘Married to Emma’s daughter?’ said Alfgar. ‘I don’t think even Dover—’

  He stopped.

  ‘Now you are going to worry,’ said Thorfinn kindly. ‘Perhaps I should get on my way before you drop any more secrets. Would a cup of wine be too much to expect?’

  Shrewsbury was not much out of the way on the road to Alba from Coventry, and Thorfinn had a troop of armed men and a safe-conduct.

  Sulien, who was waiting for him, needed neither. In a little chamber lent by the abbot, he said, ‘Yes. I shall let Eachmarcach know. Be careful. Leofric and Siward are not a good team, and the King can only reflect Emma or react against her. You have a good man in Bishop Jon.’

  ‘I thought so. The other one, Hrolf, should be there by the time I get back,’ Thorfinn said. ‘With any luck, we shall keep them. Do you hear much of Thor of Allerdale?’

  ‘Nothing to worry you,’ Sulien said. ‘You can’t put a bishop in Cumbria yet. But at the same time Thor is far too interested in power and money to strike up a friendship with Siward. I should say, however, that you might expect your Bishop Malduin to make a recovery soon.’