Macbeth the King (19 page)

This was late June. Fortunately Duncan in fact gave them ample time. That would not be his intention, but he would be waiting for the Irish and other remote contingents. Also he might well be wishing to ensure that the Orkney fleet was well away on its summer sailing. At any rate, Thorfinn arrived at his borg of Torfness in mid-July, in furious style with exhausted oarsmen, spoiling for a fight, to something of an anti-climax, with Moray lapped in high summer peace, bell-heather blooming and the harvest beginning to ripen. MacBeth all but apologised.

His brother was not critical. Time he required. He had only a dozen longships with him and less than a thousand men. Thorkell Fosterer would be bringing on the main Orkney strength in a few days. Let Duncan delay.

Although MacBeth still would not commit himself to actual fighting, they planned strategy in the event of an attack on Moray itself. The Moray forces were divided into three groups, to play a watching and flanking role. The main body was based on Forres, one division was on guard in the Fochabers-Dundurcas area a dozen miles to the east, to defend the crossings of Spey; and the third, smaller, sent to the high inland passes of Badenoch, in case Crinan of Atholl elected to aid his son by coming up behind them, in a back-door assault. Thorfinn commended these arrangements, but argued that the principal assault would almost certainly be by sea—for Duncan was a lazy man in his person, however ambitious, and was unlikely to choose the long wearisome marching by land if he could sail comfortably in a ship. On the other hand, after his complete defeat off Deerness, he would not be apt to risk another sea-battle against longships; so the chances were that he would disembark somewhere along this Moray coast—if indeed he was aiming at MacBeth, before proceeding on to Caithness and Sutherland, and then over to Orkney—and he would, of course, be concerned to join up with his overland forces. But the Moray coast, with its endless miles of shelving sands, interspersed with fierce-cliffs and reefs, was a difficult seaboard to land an army on, save perhaps from longships which could run their prows up on to the strand. There were few havens, at the mouths of Spey and Lossie and Findhorn, with Torfness the best, of course. They should have their forces placed so as to contest landings at these points therefore, in the first place—but watching their backs. Glamis' reference to Torfness itself did not necessarily signify anything. After all, it was the best-defended position on the east coast of Scotland.

This seemed sound reasoning, and the available manpower was redistributed.

Thorkell Fosterer arrived with almost 3000 Orkney, Caithness and Sutherland men in the main Viking fleet—and almost at the same time word was sent from the Spey that an army estimated at as many as half that again was approaching through Strathbogie and Strathisla, from Buchan. Much now would depend on timing; but clearly the campaign was on.

The vast majority of the longships were sent away from Torfness, to hide themselves in the great landlocked bay of Findhorn, with many of their people disembarked. All forces were alerted, and arrangements made to switch men from one front to another swiftly, as necessary. MacBeth declared that still he had no certainty that he, or Moray, was Duncan's objective.

That evening, as the light was fading, a scattered fleet was reported off the mouths of Spey. In only hours now they would know what the future held.

* * *

Glamis had been right in the rumours he had intercepted. Torfness was the first target. It seemed a strange choice, the most heavily defended feature on the entire seaboard. Perhaps

Duncan thought that he could overwhelm it, by surprise, in the first assault, with Thorfinn himself presumably elsewhere; and once taken it would give him an excellent harbour and base, and deny the same to the Vikings. At any rate, at sunrise he attacked from the sea, with diversions along the beaches to east and west—and without waiting for his overland army, which was presumably being held up by the Moraymen, under the Thanes of Brodie and Alness, at the wide barrier of Spey.

Thorfinn, waiting on the little hill amongst the wide woodlands of Kinloss, near Forres, could scarcely believe his good fortune. He had not many more than the usual garrison in the borg and township of Torfness, and these had instructions to seem to give ground a little, to encourage the enemy, at this stage—although never to allow penetration of the fort itself, of course. Now he waited, allowing old Gunnar to seem to work out his own salvation.

After a while, he turned to MacBeth. "Are my people to do all the fighting here, or are you convinced this time, brother?" he demanded. "Duncan has landed in Moray, without your leave. Do you require more?"

"Torfness is yours, not mine. All know that. It is in Moray, but scarcely of it."

"And what of the host seeking to cross Spey? Is that not your territory? You shall have to make up your mind."

"Yes."

It may be that Thorfinn deliberately delayed his counter-stroke so that Duncan would advance further around Torfness, into what was indisputably MacBeth's terrain—although he said that it was to get the maximum numbers of the enemy force committed—before he had the beacon lit on Kinloss hillock to send its smoke-signal to his fleet-captains, hiding in Findhorn Bay, to throw themselves into the attack. At the same time he ordered his Viking host to advance from the woodlands to the east, where they had remained hidden. The serried ranks of the Moraymen were held back. They were in reserve, they were told—to their chagrin. MacBeth himself, however, went forward with his brother.

Thorfinn's timing was excellent. His marching men covered the three miles or so to the neck of the half-mile-long Torfness peninsula just as the longship fleet appeared off its point. The noise of the battle for the borg-head area was loud and fierce, but by no means all the King's troops had yet disembarked—for although it was a good and fair-sized haven, the heterogeneous southern fleet was so large, and with few shallow-draught vessels, that they were having to queue for landing facilities.

Duncan had managed to get some of his smaller craft to land round the west side of the peninsula, as far as halfway along, so as to put in an attack on the borg from behind—so these people were between Thorfinn and Gunnar. He pointed it out cheerfully to MacBeth as a further invasion of Moray territory. Not that these would survive for long, he assured.

It made a curious battle and battlefield, a long, narrow tongue of land with fairly steep sides, jutting into the sea, with the Viking forces attacking north-westwards from the land and south-eastwards from the sea, Duncan's people doing much the same but having to turn and face the assaults behind them, and the borg defenders in the middle, now themselves turning to the attack. Numbers would be approximately even although fully one-third of both hosts were still in their ships.

Thorfinn, as ever, led his men into the fight well in the forefront, wearing a gilded winged helmet, sword in one hand, stabbing spear in the other, a gigantic and fearsome figure, yelling challenge. Immediately behind him a brawny standard-bearer carried the great raven banner of Orkney. It was strange indeed that there was never any lack of volunteers for this honour, for the tradition was that this terrible flag spelt victory for him over whom it was carried but death for the carrier. It was not always so, needless to say; but Thorfinn's father, Earl Sigurd the Stout, having grasped it from the dying hands of its bearer at the great battle of Clontarf, had died himself moments later, still holding it. Because of his enormous stature, Thorfinn always required a tall flag-carrier, or the banner's folds got in his way. Not for him the cool and judicious control of battle from some commanding centre. He was, in fact, no general but a brilliant captain. MacBeth, with much more of the mind of a general, stood aside meantime.

The first impact, inevitably, was overwhelmingly in the Vikings' favour. They had the numbers concentrated, the impetus and the fact that their enemies were aligned to fight in the other direction. It was not long until these, occupying the shaft of the peninsula, broke and were swept aside.

The Orkney fleet, now, had made contact with the King's ships which still lay off, and near-panic and confusion prevailed, considerably distracting the forces already landed. Some vessels were burning, and an onshore breeze blew their smoke further to confuse the fighting at the borg.

This fort was very strong, both in its position, size and fabric, crowning a rocky eminence—the original Jarl Rognvald had ensured that, strengthening the already mighty defences of the earlier Pictish stronghold with the three rings of vitrified stone ramparts. The invaders had managed to take most of the town, but were making little headway against the citadel itself, into which Gunnar had withdrawn his people. The descent of Thorfinn and his horde, of course, transformed the situation—and the fact that the King's troops were marshalled to surround the borg much handicapped them now. They had to regroup under attack—and Gunnar was ready, as they did so, to counter-attack from above.

It would have taken a much better and more experienced commander than Duncan mac Crinan to regain control of that situation. His men fought well and lacked nothing in courage; but they found themselves split into five different major groupings and many smaller ones, with little linkage. Moreover the sea-battle preoccupied them grievously, as well it might—although it was no real battle in fact, but rather a massacre of shipping, with the longships efficiently savaging what was basically only a vast flock of transports.

MacBeth, watching it all, was in a state of agitation. Every instinct urged him to be in there with the rest, fighting. To stand idle in a battle, watching one's friends, was of all things most soul-destroying for any man of spirit. And he knew that his own troops, drawn up back there in the Kinloss woodlands, would be feeling the same, and cursing him, possibly despising him. On the other hand, he told himself that obviously Thorfinn did not require his aid. If he had done so, he knew that he would have gone in. What then of his principles?

He was so cogitating with half his mind, whilst the other half concentrated on the fighting, when one of Brodie's men reached him, panting. The inland royal army, under the King of Dublin, had broken through all their attempts to hold it, at Spey and elsewhere, he reported. They were four or five times Brodie's numbers. Now they were streaming westwards through the Laigh, by Innes and Meft. They could be as near as five miles, by now.

At last, there was no more hesitation and faltering on MacBeth's part. An invading army was marching through his Moray, assailing his own forces—and under Echmarcach of Dublin, to whom he owed nothing and whom he did not like. Moreover, on the line it was taking it would pass close to the

Loch of Spynie and his Gruoch and children. That was enough for MacBeth mac Finlay. He hurried back to Kinloss and set his waiting host in motion, eastwards, amidst cheers.

They marched through his own familiar territory, along the south shore of Spynie Loch, by Kintrae and Findrassie. Passing the Hall Isle, he sent a messenger to reassure Gruoch and to tell her that if there was any danger, or worsening of the situation, he would come to her.

He was making for a specific spot—and hoping that he was not too late to reach it. The River Lossie, which had partly created this loch, now, because of blown-sand movement, had found its way to the sea about a mile east of the loch-head, making something of a dog's-leg bend. That mile between was swampland, former salt-marsh, and together with the river itself formed an effective barrier. After the line of the larger Spey, it was the best place to try to hold up an advancing army in all the eastern Laigh.

Despite his haste over the six-mile gap, he was concerned, as he neared the head of the loch, to see much activity ahead, this side of Lossie. However, closer approach proved it to be his own people, Brodie's force, preparing to make another stand here.

MacBeth had almost 2000 men there, all told, to face something over double that number, reputedly. He was told that King Echmarcach was proving a fairly cautious general, however—and possibly was being somewhat restrained by Glamis, whose banner was prominent amongst the many in the opposing host and who was the most experienced commander Duncan had. His reluctance for this adventure could be an important factor here.

Any commander who was not a fool would be cautious approaching this position, of course. The Lossie was not so deep here as to prevent determined men from crossing; but it was still tidal at this point, and like many tidal rivers, it had steep, and slippery mud-banks through the marshland.

MacBeth could see the enemy front now, clearly enough, stretched across the sandy scrubland, armour and spears glittering in the sunlight, flags and banners innumerable, rank upon rank. Scouting parties were nearer, probing the soft land but keeping well out of bowshot.

In the interests of further delay he sent across a deputation under the Thane of Oykell and a flag-of-truce, using two coracles, to ask who dared to cross Morayland without the Mormaor of Moray's leave, what was their intention and where were they heading? Oykell was instructed to take as long about it as possible.

In fact, it was the best part of an hour before he came back—and all the time the tide was making. Perhaps Echmarcach himself was well enough pleased to let time elapse, to see how things went with the royal force at Torfness. For although he had been arrogant and brusque, he had not hurried Oykell away when Angus and Glamis and Lennox had prolonged the interview quite noticeably. Oykell had been told to inform MacBeth that all were here on the High King's business and that he was required to give them undisputed passage to join Duncan who was disembarking at Torfness—that was all.

After a suitable interval, Oykell was sent back, to declare that even the High King was expected to inform his mormaors of entry into their territory—as any of the mormaors with the King of Dublin would confirm. And until such approach was made, MacBeth would feel obliged to deny passage to all armed men. If the visitors would care to lay down their arms, however, it would be different. Would they so do? King Echmarcach might like to come and discuss this matter personally?