Macbeth the King (9 page)

"You have been avoiding me," he charged, walking over to the window. "Keeping your distance."

"Not avoiding, no," she demurred. "I dine at your table, do I not? Walk in your orchard..."

"Not alone. Never alone with me. Do not let us play with words, Gruoch. Although you nursed me close as your own child, now you seek not to be alone with me."

She did not speak.

"I know why, to be sure. You fear that I will speak of marriage again. Why?"

"I told you before. I have had sufficient of marriage." 

"To Gillacomgain, yes. But I am different." She mustered a small smile at that.

"It is true, Gruoch—is it not? I am not like Gillacomgain, am I?"

"You are not like Gillacomgain," she agreed.

"Well, then. Marriage with me would be quite different."

"Perhaps. But that is not to say that I must needs embrace it."

"No. But—it is suitable. You need a husband. To protect you and the boy. To give you a home fit for a princess. And, and you are young yet. And beautiful."

"All this you have told me before."

"But it is true."

"And it all means that I should wed MacBeth?"

"Why not? Am I so ill a match? So displeasing?"

"Not so. You are sufficiently personable! And, save in some respects, well-spoken of. I am sure that you would make a fair enough husband. Were I looking for one!"

He frowned at her, biting his lip. He looked tougher, sterner, than he knew.

She sat down, beside her wools. "You cannot conceive of a woman not wishing to wed you? No?" 

"No!" he exclaimed. "That is nonsense! Folly!" 

"Hush—or Lulach will awake."

"A plague on Lulach! If you think so ill of me, why did you come from Rosemarkyn to save me?"

"I did not save you. I told you—it was Neil who saved you. And the saints of God."

"
You
saved me," he said heavily. Then a thought occurred to him. "You said, back there, that I was well spoken of. Save in some matters. You said that—save in some respects. What did you mean?"

"Few men are well spoken of in all things..."

"Do not cozen me. What tales have you been listening to?"

"I do not listen to tales, MacBeth. But the Mormaor of Ross has a certain
...
reputation. Like other men of rank. It would be strange if he had not. There is, see you, the matter of the Lady Annabella."

"Ha! That! There is nothing to that. A, a passing fancy only." 

"Sufficient to upset two thanes, I am told. Her father and her husband."

"Both fools!" he asserted strongly. "She is Breadalbane's daughter. I was young—we both were young. I found her...friendly. Then she was married to that oaf, the Thane of Kyle. I did not see her for years—Kyle being in Strathclyde. Then we met again. At a council at Lochaber. Kyle was drunk—as ever. She, she sought me out."

"Sought you out sufficiently to run off with you! Or so I heard."

"Who has been telling you all this? Neil? That serpent! It was nothing. Came to nothing. She is a woman of, of sudden passions. Blows hot and cold. I took her back to Kyle. He scarce noticed that she had been gone, I swear! And that was two years back."

"She might seek you out again, this woman of passions!" 

"I think not. Nor would I meddle with her again. She has a child now." 

"Yours?"

"God's death—no! I, I—see you, do I ask
you
all these questions? Of before we knew each other?"

"Perhaps you should. Marriage being a serious matter. For the woman, at least!"

He bit that lip again, staring at her.

"Other reputation MacBeth the Mormaor has—apart from his way with women!" she went on. "I am told that, though in general quiet, patient even, he can be harsh, ruthless. If offended, a terror!"

"Who said that? I punish wrongdoers, persistent wrongdoers. As must any mormaor and thane.
You
know that. But I seek to be just, fair. Only an unfriend could say otherwise."

"Unfriend? I wonder! Did you not once have a man's tongue cut out?"

"He slandered two honest women. Of malice." 

"And another's right hand cut off?"

"It was that, or his head. I gave him choice. He had slain a man, in robbery, and should have hanged. But he had a wife and five bairns..." He paused. "These things I think only one man could have told you. I do not see the Princess Gruoch listening so to servants! It must have been Neil, my brother?"

She did not answer.

He looked away. "I counsel you to consider well how much heed to pay to Neil Nathrach," he said slowly. 
"He has great virtues. He would die for me, yes. You yourself have said that he loved me but was loth to accept your aid in nursing me. Do you not understand? He loves me and watches over me—but feels, I think, that I
belong
to him! As I do not! Others must not, cannot, love me as Neil does. He was my father's bastard, you see. Three years my senior. Had our father but wed his mother,
he
would have been the mormaor. He cannot forget it, I fear."

"I see. So—he is not called Nathrach, the Serpent, for nothing?"

"Do not mistake. He is the loyalest of all. But—he judges some things differently. And he has a strong will. So I must needs watch him. Always."

"All men require watching!" she commented.

He wagged his head. "Can you think of any other, and better, reasons why you should not wed me?"

"It is scarce so much why I should not, surely? But why I
should!"

"It would be fitting. Appropriate. Convenient. The answer to many problems. It may even be expected of us, situate as we are."

"Then we should change that situation. And promptly. Since we must not disappoint expectations, must we? It is time that I left your house."

"No!" he cried. Leaning forward he grabbed her shoulders, actually shook her. "Woman—will you stop such talk! How can I reach you? I love you, dote on you, need you! You are all I want, all I shall ever want. You are the beat of my heart, the blood in my veins, the light of my life. You are the fairest, most beautiful woman God ever made, and I cannot live without you! I love you beyond all telling and all things. And you, you but mock me!"

She swallowed. "Mock—never!" she got out.

"Mock, yes. Put me off. Say me nay."

"But—why did you not tell me this before?"

"I have been telling you. For days."

"No. Not this. Not of love. And caring. Of need and, and true loving. Only of suitability. Of convenience. Of what would be best. Of my great need of a husband. Even of gratitude. Nothing of love."

He was still gripping her shoulders. But now she had risen from her window-seat and was therefore standing very close to him. He gazed into her eyes.

"What of it? You knew I loved you, surely? I have never hidden it."

"You never said it."

"What difference would it have made?"

"Oh, you fool, you fool!" she all but sobbed. "Can you not see? I am a woman. Not just a princess, an heiress of kings. I need love, caring. The rest—it counts for little..."

"You are saying that you have been waiting? Waiting only for this? A few words! To say that I loved you?"

"Of course, of course. What else? How could I tell?"

"Then, then—if I had said so, at the first? Told you how it was with me. What then?"

"Then it would have spared us both much pain and distress, heart of my heart!" she said simply.

"God be good—you mean...? Gruoch, you mean...?"

"My dear, my dear!" she cried, and flung herself into his arms.

Almost unbelieving, he clutched her to him, wordless.

"My heart's darling—how could you be so foolish, so blind?" she demanded. "I have been yours, from the start. For the taking."

* * *

They were married within a few days, on the Feast of Saint Cyr. Neither were of a nature for fuss or delay. They might not have waited for even those few days had it not been for two men, whom it was advisable to have present, or politic, at any rate—the Abbots of Applecross and Deer. These were not to perform the wedding ceremony—that was done by the old Bishop Dungal; but it was scarcely thinkable that a Mormaor of Ross should marry without the witness of the O'Beolain of Apple-cross; or the widow of Moray and mother of the heir of line, without the Abbot of Deer. These two, between them, demonstrated much of the state of the Celtic Church, which was very different from and quite independent of the Romish polity It was the Columban Church, based on a monastic system of government, not a diocesan. The great Columba himself had been first Abbot of Iona, the fountain of the faith, and no bishop; and on abbots he had founded the Scoto-Pictish Church five centuries before.

Unfortunately there had been degeneration—as in other branches of Holy Church. Marriage was not forbidden to priests and presbyters—although it was not encouraged—and as the churches and monasteries accumulated lands and influence, certain priestly families began to adhere to them, generation after generation, and in time they became hereditary fiefs, the abbots powerful nobles. Such were the O'Beolain Abbots of Applecross, on the Wester Ross Hebridean seaboard—as were the mormaor family of Atholl, Abbots of Dunkeld, calling themselves Primate. Deer, in North Buchan, however, founded by a Mormaor of Moray, was still a true monastic centre, a notable place of scholarship and learning, its abbots churchmen first and foremost, however influential.

The wedding took place at Rosemarkyn, the main church of Ross, before quite a large and distinguished company, despite the call for simplicity. Neil Nathrach acted groomsman for his brother, with modified enthusiasm. MacBeth would have wished Thorfinn to be present, but his whereabouts were unknown, hosting in the Hebridean or Irish Seas.

For her part, the bride made no complaint.

The Moray situation
, of course, was not forgotten, never forgotten. While MacBeth had certainly not wished to give the impression that his marriage had anything to do therewith, he was much concerned. Gruoch herself indeed had to be, since the mortuath, in any honest assessment, belonged by rights either to her son or to her husband. The King, whilst anything but discreet, had not attempted to appoint any new mormaor. Crinan, Duncan's father, was still nominally in charge of the territory.

MacBeth by no means sought warfare, any more to win Moray than to gain vengeance on his alleged poisoner. But weighing up the situation that autumn of 1033, he came to the conclusion that the chances were that he might not have to fight to gain the mormaorship. None of the Moray thanes were in any good position to claim it for themselves; and moreover were still more unlikely to unite in favour of any one of their number. Crinan was equally unlikely to attack unless spurred on by the King. And when MacBeth heard that Duncan had gone courting in Northumbria, almost certainly on his grandfather's instigation, he felt fairly sure that there would be no call to arms against him meantime. He decided to make a move into Moray.

Perhaps he might have thought twice about any such venture, so soon after his wedding, and preoccupied as he was with the delights of love, had it not been for the fact that he might take Gruoch with him—indeed, not so much might as ought to. For he planned a progress rather than any sort of invasion. They would both go, and young Lulach with them, with a sizeable company but no army, and show themselves to Moray and its people as the rightful inheritors thereof. But a strong host would be mobilised, and wait behind, just across the Ross border, in case of trouble.

They set off from Inverpeffery on the Nativity of Saint Mary, a fine and colourful mounted company about 200 strong, men and women, with flags, banners and symbols, even a party of priests under the Abbot of Applecross and Bishop Dungal, to emphasise the peaceful nature of their visit. Neil Nathrach remained behind, with a large armed force ready for swift action.

Inverness was not the traditional centre and capital of Moray, which was much further east, at Spynie on Spey, in the Laigh. But Gillacomgain, like his brother before him, had made it his headquarters, finding Spynie much too close to Thorfinn's Moray toehold of the Borg-head of Torfness, for comfort. Approaching the town where the unhappiest years of her life had been spent, needless to say was something of an ordeal for Gruoch; but she was not the sort to make any fuss. Their reception here might well be significant, and she had an important role to fill.

MacBeth had made no secret of his intentions and journey, and nothing was more sure than that their arrival at the mouth of the Ness would be no surprise. In the event, as they approached, they could see that the town area was packed with people.

Inverness was an only slightly less strategic site than was Stirling, 150 miles to the south. Glen More, the great and deep valley system which clove through high Drumalbyn, the mountain mass of Highland Scotland, reached salt water, in the north-east, here, at the Moray Firth. Twenty-five miles of that cleft was filled with the deep and mile-wide Loch of Ness. The short but strong and broad Ness River ran from the loch-foot to the firth, six miles, with only the one bridge or practical crossing—at Inverness. So that for over thirty miles there was no way across Glen More, from the southern Highlands to the northern, save here. Unless by boat, and boats were kept notably well-guarded.

The town straddled both sides of the bridge; but most of it, and the oldest part, lay on the south side, where the river-bank was flanked and dominated by a long curving ridge, of no great height but sufficiently steep to command the crossing. On the crown of this ridge, at the eastern, seaward end, rose the old stone dun, on the site of the one-time fort of the Pictish King Brude—for this was the capital of ancient Pictavia. This was the strongest position. Next to it were the blackened ruins of Gillacomgain's rath and Gruoch's former home, timber-built, clay-coated, within its broken stockade. And nearby was the church and monastery of Saint Baithen or Bean. Below, the town spilled down the slopes in terraces and steep lanes, and lining the river-bank.