King Hereafter (137 page)

‘We heard in Denmark,’ Tuathal said. ‘Alfgar prudently kept out of the way. But King Gruffydd and the Norwegians attacked, and killed the Sheriff of Hereford this time, and the new Bishop. Alfgar’s father, Earl Harold, and Bishop Ealdred of Worcester led an army against them, and there was a parley, which ended in King Gruffydd submitting to England, and Bishop Ealdred receiving in gift the now vacant bishopric of Hereford. I was told by someone,’ Tuathal said, ‘to model myself on Bishop Ealdred. But, however long I live, I feel I can never hope to do half as well.’

‘Tell that to the King,’ the Lady said. ‘He needs news. He has been waiting for you. I won’t ask you what else he wanted you both to do, other than return blessed by Archbishop Adalbert, because I think I can guess. But could you tell me, because I don’t think I can wait any longer, what was the answer?’

He wondered if she really knew, and decided that of course she did, for there was only one way now out of the troubles of Alba.

Tuathal said, ‘The answer was yes. I don’t see what else he could have done. But I hope he never regrets it.’

*   *   *

It was not an autumn anyone cared to remember. A drought at the wrong time had produced burned grass and a scanty harvest and a shortening of tempers that made the unrest everywhere worse. The harvest was bad, but no one was starving, and the exhaustion of battle was lifting. Where there had been apathy, there was the clash of argument, followed soon enough by the clash of steel, as boys turned to youths and, listening, took up their father’s swords.

It could not go on. This autumn, somehow it had to be contained until the winter put its seal on the violence. And then, next year, it would have to be dealt with.

The autumn had passed and the blessed winter was just beginning when the news came to the court where Thorfinn was. He heard it alone, and then brought it to the next gathering of his household. He said, ‘That was a ship from Denmark, bringing news out of Saxony. The Emperor Henry died in October. It will make a difference.’

Tuathal watched him. He showed no signs of concern or alarm. He was still considering, clearly, just how big a difference it would make.

Bishop Jon said, ‘Now, there’s a loss. Would he be forty? I doubt it. And a good man. Before he took a hand in the matter, there was a Pontiff or two whose toe I should have let go without kissing if I could manage it.’

Thorfinn said, ‘His last Pope is to step into the Emperor’s shoes, it seems, until they can form a proper regency for his heir, who is only five. The Emperor asked for his heart to be buried at Goslar, and his body to be laid by his father at Spires. He died with the Pope by his bedside.’

‘Gebhard of Eichstedt,’ Bishop Hrolf said. ‘He’ll manage well enough. When you think of it, there was never a Pope set foot in Germany for a hundred and fifty years before Benedict, and they’ve hardly been out of the place since, except to shake their fists at the Normans. So the child’s mother will be regent?’

‘Subject to her councillors,’ Thorfinn said. ‘I remember Agnes of Aquitaine and Anjou. If she has time for anything other than the immediate problems of the Empire, which I doubt, it won’t be to help us in any way. If Bishop Tuathal hadn’t been to Bremen so recently, I should have had to send him. That trip may save us.’

The Lady said, ‘Adalbert likes consecrating bishops for the north, it’s true, and if ever he’s going to be a patriarch, he’ll have to cultivate them. But he must wonder from time to time if the King of Alba is paying very much heed to the northern half of his property. The cathedral of Birsay may well have fallen down by now, for all the attention it’s getting.’

Tuathal kept his gaze on his hands. Bishop Jon, he saw, was doing the same. Thorfinn said, ‘Thorkel Fóstri keeps an eye on it. Do you think it matters? We couldn’t send anyone north this late in the year. They might not be able to cross back for weeks.’

The Lady said, ‘How long is it since either Bishop Jon or Bishop Hrolf was in Orkney? Three years?’

Bishop Jon said, ‘In the spring, one or two of us could be there and back before you’d know it. You’re right. There they are, tearing their hearts out
building more ships than the sea can carry for weight, and no one giving them a kind word. Also, if Harald of Norway changes his mind, there may be some fighting they ought to be prepared for. I’ll go, my lord King, if you’ll let me. Perhaps you might even find time to come with me.’

Tuathal turned his hands over and examined the other side. Bishop Hrolf, he sensed, was surveying the rafters.

Thorfinn’s voice said, rolling a little, ‘Soft as lead, like the Sarabites, and known by their tonsure to be lying to God. All right. Whose idea was it?’

‘Mine, just now,’ said the Lady. ‘Otherwise we should be making a better job of it. You won’t get an apology from any of us. If Orkney needs a share of your time, you don’t need to refuse it just to show how unselfish you can be. None of us has any illusions about your character.’

‘Not by the time you have finished with it,’ Thorfinn said. His colour had risen, which was unusual, but he did not look angry. He said, ‘How could I possibly go?’

‘Good,’ said the Lady.

Tuathal, who was not married, could not find anything in what the King had said to warrant either that degree of satisfaction or that degree of finality, but he was prepared to believe that somehow an argument had been presented and a case had been won.

He felt, when he thought about it, nothing but the most profound relief.

They had built another
Grágás
for the King and sent it to Caithness to fetch him.

Riding from Canisbay to Thurso, he went down to the shore to inspect the new ships and saw it at once, its prow swooping over its fellows.

It was bigger than
Grágás
, and much more elaborate: built of broad strakes that could only come, through whatever middlemen, from trees felled in Norway. Thorkel Fóstri, waiting beside it for his welcome, was of course the man to arrange that.

The King’s orders to all his shipbuilders had been to make ships that were smaller than the custom, and easy to work with in battle, which in turn meant fewer losses. In place of this vehicle, fit for a King who ruled from Orkney to Cumbria, he could have had two useful longships to counter Harald of Norway with. He went towards his foster-father’s embrace and was moved by the look on the other man’s face to give his thanks as they should be given, and dismiss his ingratitude.

It had been the same, in a way, with the people who had come to greet him everywhere on this journey, round the halls where he stayed and on his way in between. Until the great gale, he had been north almost every year of his life, and of course had met most of the households one way or another, if only settling their quarrels in a meeting for justice, or greeting them at a feast or tribute-time. For the rest, it was leaders like Hlodver and Odalric and their families who served him, and the young men who sailed and fought with him.

It was what he expected, for although he had been only five years old when his father left for the Irish war in which he died, Thorfinn could remember
with a child’s clarity the talk and the feasting in the weeks beforehand as the captains gathered in the great hundred-foot hall in Birsay over which, now, he had built a better. And the sea before they set off, dancing with gold; and the moment when the sails sprang open, with a sound like forest trees whipping in thunder, and the look of the fleet, like foxgloves thrown on the water.

He did not remember the look on the faces of the women or the old men, although he knew it now. He supposed his father had been no more conscious of how they felt than they, in turn, understood what the Earl did when he crossed the sea. Any more than, in his own time, the people of Orkney and Caithness thought about his summer absences south, visiting his conquered earldoms elsewhere. It was the custom, in summer, for young men to go fighting and raiding and tribute-gathering and quelling those who thought, during the winter, that they would like to change masters. He had kept Orkney free. And he came back in winter. That was all they were concerned about.

But now it was spring, and although three years had passed since he had been north, whole settlements came out to meet him. In Freswick, someone called out to know how it had gone in his wars with the English. He could not tell what they had heard. It looked as if they thought he had gone seeking new honours for his earldom, as his father had gone seeking a kingdom in Ireland. He said what came easily to him, and they seemed pleased.

The new ship had received a name already, and of course he agreed with it.
Skidbladnir
, the name of the legendary vessel that had nothing but fair winds; that was big enough to hold all the Aesir, and yet would fold small enough to put in a bag.

He could imagine Tuathal’s cynical stare and was glad, on the whole, that he and Bishop Hrolf had been left behind with his mormaers to strengthen and fortify the Deeside frontier of Mar and Moray, which had been decided on before he left. With him, he had brought only thirty of his own household and Bishop Jon, whose special care the islands were. The company was fewer than the Aesir, and the new dragon-ship carried them with no trouble. Halfway between Thurso and Orkney, standing in the stern between the steersman and Thorkel Fóstri, it came to Thorfinn that he was on the sea in his own ship again.

He turned, and Thorkel Fóstri said, smiling, ‘Your mind was on other things. I know that.’ A little later, he said, ‘Arnór was here, but he left when he heard you were coming. Perhaps it was embarrassment, or perhaps he was afraid of King Harald. He always asks what Irish bard you have now.’

‘A dead one,’ said Thorfinn. To have Arnór in Alba composing eulogies on the battle-prowess of the Earl of Orkney would have been the quickest way, he supposed, to sever the two halves of the kingdom for good. He said, ‘Did Arnór bring some gossip with him?’

Thorkel shrugged. Now the old lameness showed, when he walked quickly, and his hair and beard were quite grey, although well kept, and his dress was fine. After all, he had been given an earl to rear in his household, and had done it properly, despite the Celtic stepfather. As Earl’s spokesman and
cousin of the Arnasons, he was used to the councils of rulers as well as to the life of a sea-lord. The years of power in Orkney had brought him great authority.

The lightness in his nature had never changed, but, fortified by his other qualities, it had never come to matter. They were going now to his great hall at Sandwick, as had become the custom while their own hall-houses were being prepared, and they would find it, as ever, full of cheerful, well-trained serving-people, some of them slaves and some free; some of them concubines and some Thorkel’s sons or daughters by concubines and even small children of the next generation, also of his blood.

In some ways, Thorkel Fóstri had always lived like a Viking lord, as Thorfinn’s father had done. You took a wife if policy required it, and policy had never made that demand on Thorkel Fóstri. The only son he was interested in was not of his siring, and to rear a rival would have been purposeless.

Thorkel Fóstri said, ‘Gossip? He spent all his time talking about a new verse-form he thinks he’s invented. We’ve had nothing but Hebrew psalms and Norse Kenningar in the hall-house for weeks. I was glad to escape it.’

‘Hebrew psalms?’ said Bishop Jon. Obedient even in wind, his hair was composed all round his tonsure as if painted. His eyes moved to Thorfinn. ‘I’ve been looking at the oars. And do you see how they’ve fixed in the mast-fish?’

Thorfinn said, ‘Who else is at Sandwick?’ He saw Groa turn at the tone of his voice.

The years had taught Thorkel Fóstri something about his foster-son. He said slowly, ‘Why? I thought you would welcome him. I didn’t mean you to guess. I suppose the Hebrew gave it away.’

‘Sulien of Llanbadarn,’ Thorfinn said. He knew already, from the surprise in Groa’s eyes, that she knew nothing of it, even before she shook her head slightly, guessing what he wanted to know. Thorfinn said, ‘Apart from the company I already have, there is no one I’d rather meet. Did you send for him?’

‘Send for him? No,’ said Thorkel Fóstri. ‘He was passing, he said.’

‘On his way from Wales to Moville, perhaps. One of Sulien’s special circuits,’ Thorfinn said. ‘The Normans used to have a phrase for it.
I ferait buon l’envier trachi la mort
.’

Thorkel Fóstri knew no Norman-French. He said, ‘What does that mean? A man with no sense of time or direction?’

‘More or less,’ Thorfinn said. ‘It means, a good man to send to find death. It’s a joke. So what is amazing about the mast-fish … ?’

Sulien was smaller and lighter than he remembered, but not in any sense fragile. His first words were, ‘You learned of me, sighing. Now you will have to keep the peace between your three lovers who each long to possess you and Orkney together.’ He paused. ‘No. I am wrong.’

‘You are right,’ Thorfinn said. ‘Why are you here?’

‘Forgive me. At Earl Alfgar’s suggestion,’ Sulien said. ‘That is all.’ He hesitated, and then said, ‘Perhaps you don’t know how tired you are.’

He must be, to be as transparent as that. He stepped forward and said and did what he should have done first, and at the end, releasing him, Sulien said, ‘Where is your sense? Orkney is your medicine. Forget your planning, disregard your people, and take it.’

It was true that his mind was tired, but his body was not; which was just as well, for the medicine of Orkney was not for weaklings. And although he cleared his mind of his planning, for there was nothing else he could do, he did not disregard the people, either those close to him or those who knew him only as Earl, for that, too, was part of the medicine. In the cold, fresh air smelling of salt and of peat, he raced with them, on shipboard and horseback and foot, and plunged over the little hills, hunting, and watched horse-fights and ate round towering fires in the open, with singing and declaiming and laughter, and drinking not by measure at all, but as if no man had studs to his cup.

If Sulien was with him, he kept from him the ale brewed with kelp-barley, with which southern tastes and southern stomachs did not always agree. Often Sulien was elsewhere, and Thorkel Fóstri rode at his right hand. Sometimes he had only his two sons and Groa. He knew, as Sulien did, what was needed of him and, if he could, did not fail them.