King Hereafter

by Dorothy Dunnett

  ‘Was that wise?’ said the King.

  ‘I thought so, my lord,’ said Tuathal.

  ‘Go on,’ said Thorfinn.

  ‘Scandlain and the men were taken elsewhere, and I was led to the door my lord Malcolm was using. He came out to the threshold to greet me himself. Inside were a number of men, among them Gillocher the stepbrother of the late Bishop Malduin, and the two young men of Fife we know of, and a number of others we thought had gone south. I have a list of their names.’

  ‘Yes. That was useful. Go on,’ said the King.

  ‘We talked. He asked me if I represented you, my lord King, in coming to him and I said yes. It was necessary. It did not matter whether he believed me. I said that you were concerned about the needless waste caused by the division of the kingdom, and thought the time had come to agree on a proper boundary-line. I said that the Earl Siward had broken the agreement you had made as to the allocation of the lands of Lothian, but that you recognised that my lord Malcolm would find it difficult now to clear such land of those henchmen of the late Earl who had now taken up holdings there. I said that my lord Malcolm would know that north of the Lothians the land was loyal to you and could only be held down by force. I said that you were willing to concede him the whole of the Lothians up to the line of the river Forth.’

  He knew now he had the King’s mind. There was no expression of outrage. Thorfinn said, ‘And what did he say?’

  Tuathal said, ‘One of the Fife men, Fothaid, I think, laughed and said that if King Macbeth thought Fife was loyal to him, it was surprising that he never held court there, or had it rebuilt since it was wasted. My lord Malcolm signed to him to be quiet, and said to me that he was glad his uncle was good enough to offer him what was already his and he thanked him. About the possession of the lands further north, I could see that his men took a different view from my master, but that he himself was never one to turn down an offer to negotiate, and if the King would come south himself, he would be prepared to discuss matters with him.’

  ‘Did he really expect it? Or … No. Continue,’ said the King.

  ‘I said that you were careful, and I was not sure if I could persuade you, but I thought in the end that you might. I am sorry, my lord,’ Tuathal said, ‘but time is what we need.’

  ‘Yes. All right. I understand that,’ said Thorfinn.

  ‘So he said that he was not surprised to hear that his uncle preferred to be careful, as he had heard that there was a good deal of unrest in what used to be his kingdom. He also said that he had heard that the King was a sick man who had never fully recovered from his injuries of eighteen months ago, and that he was surprised that you had never thought of retiring in comfort to the lands that were your own in Caithness and Orkney, and of leaving Alba to those who were of the blood and knew how to run it. He said that, indeed, he had sometimes wondered if that was not what the King might have in mind, since he had preserved the men and lands of the north so carefully from damage in the last war.’

  Thorfinn did not speak. Tuathal said, ‘It is, of course, important for him to try and guess your mind on these matters. I said that, for whatever reason, you were still adamant about not making use of Caithness and Orkney men in the south. I also said that I did not see how he could talk of Alba belonging to anyone else, since your grandfather, my lord King, had been King of Alba, whereas his had not been of royal blood at all. Also that, as inheritor of Moray, which was part of Alba, you would be unlikely to give up what was loyal to you.’

  ‘And he said that the loyalty of the men of Alba was to my wife, through whom my claim to Moray came,’ said Thorfinn.

  ‘I reminded him that you were also Findlaech’s stepson,’ Tuathal said. ‘I also said that your health was good. I don’t know if he believed me. He asked no more about that, but went on to talk about Bishop Hrolf’s visit to Denmark, about which he had heard, and wanted to know what I thought of King Svein. I said I thought he was a man pushed to the limit in his long war with Norway, so that money could be frightened out of him easily.’

  ‘Tuathal,’ said Thorfinn, ‘the day is brighter already. Don’t stop.’

  ‘Then he talked about Earl Alfgar and his attack on Hereford,’ Tuathal said. ‘The King had called Earl Tostig down to help deal with it, but in the end Earl Alfgar sued for peace from the mountains, and Earl Harold Godwinsson agreed to talk with him. As a result, Earl Alfgar has become reconciled to the King and has been given back his earldom of East Anglia without either punishment or conditions.’

  ‘Alfgar guessed right,’ Thorfinn said slowly.

  ‘So it would seem. Earl Harold has had Hereford refortified, but that is all. His brother Tostig, I gathered, was furious. Of course, if Earl Harold and his father hadn’t expelled the best of the Normans four years ago, Osbern and the rest would have thrown Alfgar back with no trouble, and Earl Siward would have found his war against you, my lord, a good deal easier. So, apparently, Tostig is saying. I was asked, of course, if you knew what Earl Alfgar was doing.’

  ‘And you made me seem friendless again,’ Thorfinn said.

  Tuathal said, ‘I said, my lord, that, being cut off from the south, you heard little but rumours, and Earl Alfgar had not been in communication. I said that you have been fortunate enough to be able to reopen some trade overseas, and that I was to tell him that you were not short of money or weapons or other things, as he could see from my garments. He smiled and said that it was only right that the most reverend Bishop of the holy church of Alba should have a fragment, at least, of what was due to his rank. He asked me what I felt about my new position, on which he congratulated me.’

  ‘Tuathal—’ said Thorfinn.

  ‘So I said, my lord King,’ said Tuathal, ignoring it, ‘that I had to confess disappointment. I had hoped when in Rome to see some conversion of the spirit, but, although great promises had been made to the Pontiff, none of them had been carried out, and particularly none of those relating to my lord King’s personal faith. I said I was unhappy about this. I also said I had awaited this preferment for a long time, and had thought to have a larger see than now, it appeared, was to be available to me. My lord, I am sorry.’

  ‘Stop apologising,’ said Thorfinn, ‘and go on.’

  ‘We talked of bishops, and the favours they might expect from those in power,’ Tuathal said. ‘He told me that when Earl Alfgar was reinstated, an order was made revoking the appointment of Bishop Hermann to Malmesbury, which, as you know, would have given him great power south of the Severn and in Sheriff Alfred’s area. He did not say if this was a condition of Earl Alfgar’s return. But Bishop Hermann, seemingly, was much upset and has abandoned both Ramsbury and his nephew and crossed the seas to take a monk’s habit for three years at St Bertin’s. Bishop Ealdred is to supervise his Wiltshire see in his absence, in addition to his own. Bishop Ealdred’s example, I was given to understand, was one to follow.’

  ‘You seem to be following it,’ said the King. ‘He didn’t speak of Bishop Ealdred’s late mission to Cologne?’

  ‘There was a joke,’ said Tuathal, ‘which I did not entirely follow. Have you ever thought it possible, my lord King, that Bishop Ealdred and the Abbot might have been sent to the Emperor with two sets of orders? One, we know, was to request the return of the family of Saxon heirs, the Athelings, whom Earl Harold thought, clearly, he could make use of. But that might not have suited King Edward.’

  ‘You mean King Edward might be capable of action of his own?’ Thorfinn said. ‘Certainly, his half-sister married the Emperor.’

  ‘And he has helped the Emperor in the past. It was my impression,’ Tuathal said, ‘that in private Bishop Ealdred might have asked the Emperor to do something quite different. Such as to temporise agreeably over the return of the Athelings while making quite sure that they remained in obscurity until King Edward wished it. Scandlain, in his chatter with the household, said he received the same impression.’

  ‘Scandlain, too?’ Thorfinn said. ‘What did Scandl
ain learn?’

  ‘A good deal,’ Tuathal said. ‘He says they talked in their cups, and so it’s likely to be true. He says Northumbria lost over fifteen hundred men against us last year, and nearly that number again with the flux afterwards. No one wants more fighting at present. They’re grumbling already at having to follow Tostig south when he wants them. He says that my lord Malcolm knows that if he is to take Alba, he must do it by winning over the men already in Alba, and he is finding it difficult. He says, my lord, that Malcolm has told them that the only way for every man to get what he wants, without having to fight, is to bring him your head. There is a price of three hundred pounds of gold on it.’

  He waited. Thorfinn said, ‘He did not say as much to you.’

  ‘No, my lord,’ said Tuathal. ‘To me he only said that the resignation of Bishop Aethelric of Durham was likely to be asked for within weeks, and that Earl Tostig would be considering whom to appoint in his place. We left very soon afterwards.’

  There was a long silence, during which the King did not allow him to drop his eyes.

  At last, ‘I see,’ said Thorfinn. ‘You have not only made it possible for me to go to Chester while you are away. You have made it advisable. Will you consider unsaid all that passed between us just now?’

  ‘My lord King,’ said Tuathal. ‘For anything that may come between us, you, too, have only to speak one word. It is the same one.’

  Despite all that, it was not easy to leave the kingdom when the time came. But, whether because of Tuathal’s serpentine mission or for other reasons, the country lay overtly placid, with only small twists and upheavals here and there, as before, to indicate what was artificial in the present state of suspension. Malcolm made no move from the south, nor were there any signs that Earl Tostig, with his Godwinsson eyes on his brother, was in the least interested in what happened north of his border.

  Thorfinn provided two ships for Tuathal, of no less splendour than the one he had given Bishop Hrolf, and sent him on his way with his entourage, laden with presents for Archbishop Adalbert.

  He carried with him also a great many instructions, including one to bring Isleifr back with him. Then, Thorfinn chose a dozen armed men from his household, and enough servants to attend themselves and the pack-mules, and rode west, avoiding the land that was Allerdale’s, until he came to the coast and the Orkney ship that was waiting.

  Chester had grown since his last visit, both inside and outside of the Roman walls; and the wharves, which extended much further, seemed to be crammed full of shipping. They also seemed, at first glance, to be in a state of unusual disorder.

  Since no advance warning to the Earl had been possible, Thorfinn’s ship had to wait until the master went ashore for his entry-permit. He came back in a river-boat flying Mercian colours and containing the guest-master of the Earl’s household. With the smoothness one remembered from other occasions, a berth was obtained for his ship, and the King of Alba, his entourage, and his possessions were transferred to the boat and taken to where an escort had assembled already to lead him in state to Earl Leofric.

  Except that, as usual, Earl Leofric was absent on one of his numberless properties, and it was Godiva his lady who received him, in her own chamber bright with sewn hangings.

  He was alone, having left his companions with the guest-master. He took her hand and bent to kiss her lightly, as the custom was, on the mouth. Then, stepping back, he drew from his belt-purse the fine little scarf with the needlework on it.

  He said, ‘My lady? I hope I see you well. I have been seeking a chance to return this.’

  ‘Ah. I wondered what had happened to it,’ she said. Under her eyes, the carved laughter-shelves deepened. She said, ‘Did you notice the state of the wharves? It is what happens when you pay off eighteen shiploads of Irish mercenaries.’

  She must be sixty-four, and although she was still beautiful, she looked weary. Thorfinn said, ‘None of us could ever keep up with Alfgar.’

  Her smile acknowledged the sympathy. ‘Nothing stays the same for any of us,’ she said. ‘He has gone to meet some friends. I have sent for him. He may give you a surprise.’

  ‘I’ve been practising with Bishop Hrolf,’ Thorfinn said. He sat, and accepted a cup of wine from one of her ladies. The girl, whoever she was, stared at him and, when he returned the gaze, coloured. He spoke to Godiva. ‘I expect you met our good Bishop when he looked after Cumbria and the islands.’

  ‘I remember. He used to play tricks. You’re quite right,’ Alfgar’s mother said. ‘I used to think his laugh was even louder than Alfgar’s. He’s well, then? And your own family?’

  She would know all that, from her messenger. So the chamber-ladies were not wholly in her confidence, and Alfgar was going to make trouble for him.

  Not, of course, out of malice. If Alfgar took against anyone, he wouldn’t wait nearly thirty years to let him know it. To his friends Alfgar was loyal. To his own viewpoint he was spliced, as immutably as hemp in an anchor-rope. Thorfinn and Alfgar’s mother talked of nothing while the back of his mind went on thinking, and the girl who had served him wine sat and watched him unblinkingly. By the time the door opened and Alfgar bounded in, he had decided he was going to have to meet Thor of Allerdale.

  It wasn’t Thor at all. First Alfgar, with his hair wild as a hay-sheaf and a round beard to match, trimming a face harder and redder than it used to be.

  Then, stooping a little, another fair-haired man whose hands would not keep perfectly still, and whose obstinacy in spite of it could be felt. He had been half right. Leofwine of Cumbria, whose fingers had trembled like this over the money-bag when he and Cormac stood on the steps of St Peter’s. But of course Cormac was dead, and by failing Thorfinn in that war, Leofwine must carry that, as well as other things, on his conscience.

  The last man to enter was the one he had not expected: had not even thought of for four years, since Eachmarcach of Dublin died at his hand in a silly Welsh brawl over booty.

  Guthorm Gunnhildarson had the stocky build and brown hair of his uncle St Olaf, rather than the Herculean height and fair hair of his uncle King Harald of Norway; but he arranged his moustaches in the willow-fashion King Harald favoured, as was only right in one of King Harald’s dearest cronies.

  Like Kalv, who had once been his comrade, he was a man whose company you enjoyed and also put up with. Like Kalv, his ways had nothing in common with kingship. Because of him, Eachmarcach had died, so that Diarmaid took Dublin and added his grain to the weight that had tipped the balance of fate against Alba.

  Guthorm was the cause, but anger would serve nothing here, even had Guthorm achieved it from malice any more than Alfgar might. Men were what they were. This was your material and you could only do what you could with it. To Alfgar, Thorfinn said, ‘I came to see Leofwine and Guthorm: what are you doing here?’ and saw the hard-drinking face split, like sheaves to the fork, in its joy.

  Alfgar bellowed, his fists on his hips. ‘You are old! Other men shrink when they are old! You are in your forties and old, and you are high as a ship’s mast, and your hair is dyed black. You dye it!’

  ‘Every night,’ said Thorfinn. ‘And my beard-bristles every morning before I get up. Come and see.’

  ‘I have to give you a bed?’ Alfgar said. ‘Have I one wide enough? Look at the saucer-eyes of the girl over there! Thorfinn-Macbeth is all they ever talk about. I tell them you have a red-haired concubine you call a wife and, unless they can outmatch that one, they may as well put up with what Mercia has to offer them. Are you winning?’

  ‘I am alive,’ said Thorfinn. ‘So, it appears, are you.’

  ‘A man of reason,’ Alfgar said. He jerked a thumb at Leofwine. ‘I told him. He thought you would kill him.’

  ‘My lord is mistaken,’ Leofwine said.

  ‘He is not the first to do what he did,’ said Thorfinn. ‘And perhaps will not be the last. Nevertheless, I suppose there is something you want to say.’

  Leofwine put his hands
behind his back. ‘I did not fight against you,’ he said. ‘If I did not fight for you, then neither did your men of Orkney. Perhaps our reasons were the same.’

  ‘That they expected Earl Siward to defeat me? I don’t think so,’ said Thorfinn. ‘And in fact, as you see, we managed to survive, even lacking your help. It seems a pity. Whatever lands you now hold, you might equally have held under my banner.’

  ‘Oh, I can see how it happened,’ Alfgar said. ‘I’m not suggesting it was the right thing to do. After all, as you say, Siward didn’t take Alba. But Leofwine and Thor hold valuable land, and Northumbria is a powerful neighbour. If they’d refused to help and Siward had won, they would have lost everything. As it is, their position next to Tostig is none too happy. That’s why he and Guthorm are here. Let’s go and talk.’

  Thorfinn stood where he was. He said to Leofwine, ‘As it was, you preferred to see Cormac and Ferteth and Eochaid and Malpedar and Gillecrist lose everything.’

  ‘Do you think I don’t know it?’ Leofwine said. ‘I remember Rome. I remember everything. If I let myself think of it, I would be afraid to die. But I had to choose between Cumbria and Alba.’

  Thorfinn stood thinking, perhaps for a long time. No one spoke. Then someone said his name, and he lifted his eyes to Leofwine’s and said, ‘Then I hope you are sure that you made the right choice.’ The misery in Leofwine’s eyes surprised him.

  The Norseman, who had not so far spoken, said, ‘Save your wrath for me, cousin. The saddest day of my life was when I realised Eachmarcach lay dead at my feet and I had lost a friend for some silver. I had the silver made into a statue. It stands over St Olaf’s shrine. But it won’t bring Eachmarcach back.’

  ‘I don’t suppose it will do much to turn Diarmaid out of Dublin either,’ Thorfinn said. ‘But that, I suppose, was not your first thought. Everyone seems to be afraid of dying these days. Perhaps Leofwine should have something fashioned for your St Werburgh, Alfgar? He has the silver. Unless it is all going to Gruffydd?’