King Hereafter

by Dorothy Dunnett

  To the east of two little lochs, on rising ground, was the old timber hall with its palisade in which Paul had been born, with the church of St Finnian beside it. All about, on the wooded slopes rising from the lakes and the marsh, were the summer tents and campfires of Thorfinn’s men, some newly erected and bright, but most soiled and worn from the weeks of their waiting. She said, ‘I’m in the hall. They put a pallet in your chamber. I don’t mind if I don’t sleep.’

  It was as well, for the room turned out to have nothing to do with sleeping, but to be a kind of meeting-place to which he returned periodically, and to which tired men came in, without knocking, to wait for him. She had not undressed. She put the candle out in her corner and sat curled against the wall, her arms holding each other under her cloak, and her hood masking her hair. Mostly, no one noticed her, but sometimes someone she knew well would come across and bend over and speak.

  Then Lulach found she was there and awake, and, when he could, came with news and once a bowl of soup. The hall and cabins were full of men, and the women of the household, she supposed, were long gone. Her own attendants were where she herself ought to be, asleep in a strong tent with a guard to look after them, and old Sinna to heat something over a fire.

  Outside, it was never quiet, even when complete darkness came; and the sound of a galloping horse followed by several others did not make the impression it should, until the rising of men’s voices showed that something had happened.

  Thorfinn was out, and the room was empty except for Gillocher, awaiting him, who had fallen asleep, candle-lit, with his arms on the table. Then Morgund came in. He said, ‘My lady?’ and came to her corner.

  ‘Yes. What is it?’ she said.

  Morgund’s face was smeared with metal-blackness and wood-smoke, and there were white marks where he had been rubbing his eyes. He said, ‘It’s ship-news, my lady. Nothing to do with this war. It seems that things are moving in Norway at last, and King Harald has ordered a fleet to put to sea against Orkney and Caithness, to take them in readiness for a big war against England next year. So my lord King was right, and that answers them all, doesn’t it? If he’d shipped all those men down from Orkney, he’d have lost more than Orkney and Caithness. In the long run, we’d all be done for.’

  He smiled at her and got up, hesitated over whether to waken Gillocher, and then went out, leaving him sleeping. The fate of Orkney and Caithness had nothing to do with this war. The men of Orkney and Caithness would deal with it, with their great fleet and their tough Viking chieftains and the Earl’s two fine sons, Paul and Erlend.

  Her sons. Her sons who, unlike Lulach, were only human. Erlend, untouched by trouble at sixteen, and happy in the care of his foster-kindred. Paul, who trod at his father’s heels through every visit, but who knew, in his heart, that the world of high power and cunning and lonely kingship was not for him.

  Her heart thudded, thinking of them. Then she set her mind to what she had been told, and saw that Morgund was right. Orkney was well prepared for this, and could handle it. And, once and for all, it proved that what Thorfinn had done, as Earl of Orkney and King of Alba, had been right.

  You would think it was news to keep her awake all the same, thinking of the two boys she and Thorfinn had left. Instead, she fell sound asleep, propped like an owl in her corner, and missed Gillocher going out and half a dozen people, no doubt, coming in, and even, she found on waking, the presence of Thorfinn himself, whose cloak lay on the other pallet, creased and moulded as if he had been resting there and had suddenly risen.

  And that, indeed, was what had probably happened, for outside was the hubbub that she now realised had probably wakened them both. News, again, from the sound of hooves trampling. And news that, on the whole, Thorfinn preferred, it seemed, to hear in private, for in a moment the door opened and he brought the messenger in.

  Lulach and Bishop Jon were behind him, and this time she had not been forgotten. Thorfinn said, ‘Are you awake? Groa, this is another ship-message. I didn’t want the men outside to hear until we are ready.’

  He had opened his leather flask as he was speaking and, handing it to the rider he had just brought in, led the man to a stool and sat him down. ‘Now. A message came from Duke William of Normandy.’

  ‘Yes, my lord King. It came up north, by the west seas. He sent one by the east coast as well, but it seemed to be waylaid.’

  ‘By whom, I expect we know,’ Thorfinn said. ‘Drink, don’t sit with it in your hand. Now. A message from Duke William to me? Saying what?’

  ‘My lord King, asking your forgiveness. The duke faces a double invasion himself, from King Henry of France and the Count of Anjou. He has no men to spare. He cannot even tell whether he can survive it. But he says to tell you that no men from Normandy can come to your help, my lord, this year.’

  ‘Well, I doubt if we will need them next year,’ Thorfinn said. Outside in the darkness, you could hear that more horses were arriving, and the half-open shutters showed the glimmer of torches down the slope, and the flash of ring-mail and helmet.

  Thorfinn lifted his head. ‘Is this more of your party? What ship brought you here?’

  ‘Has he not told you yet? Mine,’ said Thorkel Fóstri from the door.

  No one said anything. Bishop Jon, who had dropped to a chest, rose slowly to his feet, the candle-light scanning his crucifix. Lulach looked at his mother. Groa, who had been studying the man on the stool, lifted her gaze to the grey beard and tired face of Thorfinn’s foster-father, and then to Thorfinn, tall as a king-post, his face carved in black and white, thinking. He said very quietly, ‘What have you done?’

  Thorkel Fóstri smiled. ‘You were afraid to call on Orkney. You needn’t have been. I told them their Earl was down here with no troops to speak of, and an English army of eight thousand against him. I told them that Duke William had failed you. They said, There are the ships. Here are we, the Earl’s men. What are we waiting for?’

  ‘You’ve brought them all?’ Thorfinn said.

  ‘They’ll be at Deemouth tomorrow,’ said Thorkel Fóstri. ‘And they’ll be disembarking.’

  Groa covered her face with her hands. If she could have stopped her ears, she would have done so.

  Already the contentment on the older man’s face had started to change. She could imagine, as the empty moments went by, how it must be fading and altering. She could not imagine what was going to happen.

  Thorfinn’s voice said, ‘My foster-father … A message reached us this evening. King Harald’s fleet is on its way to attack Orkney.’

  Thorkel Fóstri said, ‘No. We should have heard.’

  ‘They will know in Orkney by now,’ Thorfinn said. ‘You have perhaps thirty hours to get back.’

  Silence. Thorkel Fóstri said, ‘I still say we would have heard. What report had you?’

  Thorfinn said, ‘Thorkel, there is no doubt about it. How many ships and men did you leave?’

  ‘Almost none. They would be the same to King Harald as you would have been to Earl Tostig,’ Thorkel Fóstri said.

  Would have been. Groa opened her eyes. She said, ‘Thorkel. Where are Erlend and Paul?’

  They were all pale in the candle-light, but under Thorkel Fóstri’s cheekbones and within the coigns of his nose great cavities had blackened and sunk. He said, ‘I did not think this battle-field was for them. I left them in Orkney.’

  ‘This battle-field is not for you, either,’ Thorfinn said. ‘You must go back.’

  ‘Run?’ said Thorkel Fóstri. ‘It was what they said of us, wasn’t it? That we were afraid to come and fight against Earl Siward. Your people have come from Orkney to save you. If you want to spurn them, you will have to tell them yourself. I am not going to lead them back home.’

  She could see Thorfinn’s thoughts turning this way and that. He said, ‘Then you have lost Orkney for me, and killed both my sons.’

  Thorkel Fóstri said, ‘Are you frightening me or yourself? Men such as your sons are not killed: at
worst, they are taken hostages. I don’t believe King Harald’s ships are on their way. But even if they were, we have come to save Alba for you. Is that such a small thing?’

  Thorfinn said, ‘It is worth a king’s ransom, never mind princelings, to know that there are men in Orkney who would do this. I know they will follow you anywhere, but I can’t let them pay the price of losing their homes. Anyway, there is no need. We can’t fight; we have not the power. Earl Tostig knows it. If we ask him to negotiate, he will.’

  He walked across and looked down at the older man. ‘Go back. It will do us no harm. It will be better than letting your army run free where they are not understood. They are needed to protect Orkney. And we can settle this very simply round a table.’

  ‘When?’ said Thorkel Fóstri.

  ‘Tomorrow morning,’ Thorfinn said. Groa, too, could see what was coming.

  ‘You sound confident,’ Thorkel Fóstri said. ‘What do you have to offer that Earl Tostig and his nephew can’t take for themselves?’

  Bishop Jon said quickly, ‘Is it the May prey you’re thinking of, and them jumping about, whirling their axes? The Northumbrians go about things in a cooler way, I’m told, especially if they have Earl Harold behind them. Silver, now, speaks with a very sweet voice. And so does land. The King might have to lose Fife as well as Lothian, and even Angus on top of Fife, but it’s not impossible that another year Duke William will have his duchy trim and in order, and Fife and Angus and more will be put back where they belong. On the other hand, once you let Norway into Orkney, you will have lost Orkney for good.’

  Thorkel Fóstri had never looked away from the King. He said, ‘And you would be content with that? To give away what you have, rather than fight for it?’

  ‘I have fought for it,’ Thorfinn said. ‘And lost. I don’t mean to fight again until I am sure of winning. And to win Alba at the cost of Orkney would be a poor bargain, if by a little guile we can keep both.… My foster-father, let me talk to Malcolm tomorrow. Let me send word afterwards to your ships. If there is to be fighting, I shall call on you. I promise it.’

  It was the one answer that could have satisfied Thorkel Fóstri. It was an answer, at least, that sent him out of the camp to rejoin his men until morning. Left behind, Lulach said, ‘You hadn’t asked for a meeting with Malcolm tomorrow?

  ‘No. But I shall now,’ said Thorfinn.

  Groa said, ‘They’ll know the Orkney fleet is here. Won’t that frighten them?’

  ‘Not a great deal,’ said Thorfinn. ‘Even with all Thorkel Fóstri has brought, the English army is still much the bigger. They’ll try to get what they want without fighting. They may even try to lengthen the talks, if Earl Tostig is on more friendly terms with King Harald of Norway than he is with Earl Harold his brother. But if they don’t get what they want, they’ll certainly fight for it.’

  ‘It’s a south wind,’ said Bishop Jon. ‘If you were to talk fast, the fleet could still get back to Orkney in time. Now, there is a great man, your foster-father; but whatever, in the name of God Who all can, made him do the like of this?’

  ‘I’ve no idea,’ Thorfinn said. ‘Who wants to take a trumpet to my lord Malcolm tomorrow? I suppose it had better be Tuathal. Bishop Jon—’

  ‘I’ll tell him to come to your chamber at dawn. Take sleep, my lord King. And you, my lady. We’ll leave you.’

  The door closed, and on the inside Thorfinn lifted the heavy lever and pushed it home with a thud. He stood and looked at it.

  ‘It would have been enough,’ he said, ‘merely to apologise. He didn’t need to bring the whole Orkney army to make up for it. Whatever I do now, I can’t stop it falling on his head. And on mine. And on yours.’

  He turned. ‘Will you promise me not to hate him for it? No. You won’t. How filthy I am. It comes of turning so quickly in so many different directions. What is the proper weekly order for a king? Sunday for drinking ale. Monday for legal business. Tuesday for chess. Wednesday for watching greyhounds hunting. Thursday for marital intercourse. Is it Thursday?’

  ‘I’m sure it’s Thursday,’ said Groa. She had spread her cloak underneath her on the pallet and was lying, watching him.

  ‘Regina optima et benigna,’ he said. ‘Queen Medb, goddess and giver of drink of the sovereignty of Alba, who slept with many kings. Shall I make submission at sword-point tomorrow, lying flat on the ground with the point of a sword in my teeth? I suppose I could, if the cryptogram demands it. I wonder if I shall ever find out what it spelled.’

  He came to the pallet, the ties of his tunic pulled loose, and knelt beside her, resting his elbows.‘I know where stands a hall, brighter than sunlight… I am too dirty, and you are too beautiful. Will I tell you that I love you? It occurred to me today. It occurs to me all the time, and sometimes you are not there, but I think perhaps you know.’

  ‘I know,’ she said.

  ‘Then live, my strength, anchor of weary ships. My honour, my strong city, my sure peace.’ His head was on her knee, his eyes tight-closed, and she stirred the sooty hair clogged with sweat and dust, and smoothed her hand from ear to neck.

  Then he moved and, in turn, she felt the touch of his hand. He said, his lips against her skin, ‘I want you. I’m so dirty. Beloved, will you take me?’

  It was not, this time, like the lazy, tumbling nights of a northern summer. It came to the first touch, in seconds, and remained sharper than pleasure, like the blazing white wand of a goldsmith. Half-returned, her body vibrated, embroidering its own history of cataclysm, and she knew from his breathing that he, too, had reached the same place.

  Before she was struck with sleep, he kept her by him with caresses, and his familiar voice, close to her ear, made a hermit’s hut of the little room, sealed off by nothing else from the jangling, half-awake circus of war that lay just outside its walls. Then, she did not remember where she had heard him speak these words before.

  ‘O fair woman!

  ‘O Befind! Will you come with me

  To a wonderful country which is mine

  Where the people’s hair is of golden hue

  And their bodies the colour of virgin snow?

  ‘There no grief or care is known.

  Beautiful people without any blemish

  Love without sin, without wickedness.

  O woman! Shouldst thou come to my brave land

  All this we shall share, O Befind!’

  Then the dawn came, and showed her an empty bed, and the spears flashing red in the sunrise.

  The meeting between Thorfinn, King of Alba, and Malcolm his nephew took place, with the prudence of all such events, on an island in the midst of the Dee, the opposing hosts being ranged on each bank.

  It did not take long, and the King of Alba, concluding, was not observed to lie flat with a sword in his teeth. On the other hand, those who returned from the meeting to the hall where Groa had remained were remarkably silent and avoided the room where she stood, as did Thorfinn himself. When, finally, there was a knock on the door and a man entered, she did not know what to expect.

  It was Bishop Tuathal. He said, ‘You have not seen my lord King?’ For Tuathal, his tone was sharp. She said, ‘No. No one has told me what happened.’

  Tuathal said, ‘He will be coming. I thought he was here.’

  Groa said, ‘Have they made peace?’ If they had, the Orkney ships could go. He must know that was the crux.

  Tuathal said, ‘Maelmuire was there, and Forne and Gillocher. And Aethel-wine of Durham, who is bishop there now, like his brother. My lord Malcolm had the Earl Tostig by him all the time, and sometimes one answered, and sometimes another. I went with the King and two mormaers. He had bathed and wore silk trimmed with gold, my lady, and an otter-skin cloak. It made an impression.’

  ‘He would mean it to,’ Groa said. ‘Bishop Tuathal—did they make peace?’

  Tuathal said, ‘My lady, the only terms they would consider were total surrender. Alba to belong to my lord Malcolm, and the King to be sent
to Northumbria, where he would be treated, they said, like an honoured guest.’

  ‘He offered them other things?’ Groa said. There were no possibilities she had not heard discussed, or had not helped with. Everything that had happened had been foreseen and talked out in one way or another. Except that Thorkel Fóstri would bring the fleet and the men of the north. Far-sighted though they had all been, no one had dreamed of that.

  ‘My lady, they would accept nothing else. Surrender the land and his person, or fight.’

  She thought of Orphir, and her sons. She said, ‘He chose surrender. But they would never let him survive.’

  ‘He knew that, my lady,’ said Tuathal. ‘No. He spoke of the killing there had been already, and said that he thought that a king or a would-be king who loved his country might spare it by adopting the old customs. He had done it himself with my lord Malcolm’s father. That was, he said, that the head of one faction should challenge the other to a duel to the death, as the King of France did to the Emperor. If my lord Malcolm won, then he would have Alba with no royal prisoner to care for. If my lord Thorfinn won, then Alba would be his, and Earl Tostig would retreat south until, no doubt, he could groom one of my lord Malcolm’s brothers. The King said that, so far as he was concerned, that was the only offer he would consider. If they failed to accept it, he would land all his northmen and give battle.’

  Tuathal spoke most of it looking out of the window. Groa said, ‘Bishop Tuathal. Why should he make such a proposal? It offered my lord Malcolm nothing. So why in the world should he agree to it?’

  ‘My lady,’ said Tuathal. ‘My lord Malcolm has agreed to it.’

  Because speed mattered so much, Thorfinn saw people quickly while the flat plot of ground was being roped off. Because, for lack of firm ground elsewhere, a duelling-spot near Lumphanan had been chosen, it had been agreed that the Lady his wife should be hostage for the safety of his nephew and enemy Malcolm.