Macbeth the King (42 page)

Thereafter they skirted the Flanders, Normandy and Breton coasts until, turning almost due southwards between Cap de St. Mathieu and the Isle of Ushant, they could leave all land again for a further two days, across the Sea of Gascogny, noted for its storms. But the summery weather held, the light westerly airs on their quarter now, aiding the rowers, and they sighted the Galician mountains of the Kingdom of Leon sooner than Thorfinn had expected.

After Cap Ortegal, heading ever more directly southwards, they went no less expeditiously but rather more warily. Hitherto Thorfinn had been supremely confident that none would be so unwise as to challenge or seek close contact with any flotilla displaying the dreaded emblem of the Raven Feeder. Now however they were nearing the Moorish lands, and after Leon they would be skirting the great Caliphate of Cordoba and the Emirate of Granada for three or four days, and these fierce Islamic infidels might not know what was good for them, the Berbers in especial. But although they saw much shipping, their tight group of longships was not assailed nor even approached.

By the time that they turned eastwards at last, beyond Cap de St. Vicente, it was their eighth day at sea, and the men were much in need of a spell ashore. But Thorfinn was for once concerned that his high-spirited crews should not cause any disturbance to the local people in these Moslem territories, as they were so apt to do, which could result in a fleet of Barbary galleys descending upon them. So they followed round the great Gulf of the Kadis until they found a chain of small islands off the Algarve shore, only scantily inhabited by sardine fishermen, and here they landed for half a day and a night. Unheard of, they paid for all they received—or at least Thorfinn and MacBeth did—however much it went against the grain for the Vikings. MacBeth was interested to find that the folk were of the Celtic race, relics of the older people before the Iberians and the Moors.

They sailed again next day, leaving no animosity and with no call for reprisals.

Now they approached the famed narrows of the Jebel Tarik, where Iberia came to within nine miles of Africa, and a mighty rock dominated the Straits of Hercules. The passage of this was, of course, the key to the entire Middle Sea, for entry could be closed at will by the Moorish Caliph and his Kadis, or the Berber pirates—hence Thorfinn's unlikely caution hitherto. A close-knit and strong squadron such as theirs was unlikely to be assailed or even forced to pay toll, unless the local authorities on either side had been alerted previously and gathered sufficient strength to challenge them.

In the event, they passed the straits without incident, quite close under the towering 1500-feet rock with its powerful Moorish castle, although two or three feluccas and other strange-looking craft came near enough to inspect them carefully. But the fierce aspect of the longships, their bristling barriers of shields, gleaming armour and large numbers of men in evidence, perhaps even the confident singing, kept them all at a discreet distance.

Now they had a direct sail of almost one thousand miles north-eastwards to their destination. With the breeze fairly consistently westerly, sail was the operative word and rowing not usually necessary—which was a welcome relief, for now it was warm, with a heat few there had ever before experienced. So the men were often able to laze through the sun-filled days—shorter days however than in their own northern summers, for here the sun sank earlier and rose later—as they drove through the intensely blue waters, out of sight of land almost wholly, save when they passed sundry islands, large and small. Oddly, they made their greatest speed during the evenings and mornings, for when the sun sank and before it rose to any height, it was surprisingly cold, and the men were glad to row. Despite the lazing, a sharp look-out was kept, all the time, for the Bar-bary coast was none so far to the south, haunt of more corsairs and pirates than the rest of the world put together; and these could unite to form major fleets. But though they saw much shipping, and not a few craft which less formidable groups would have been well advised to steer clear of, nothing sought to interfere with the longships. Possibly the fame of the Vikings had reached even the Middle Sea.

The fourth day beyond Jebel Tarik they sighted lofty mountains ahead which Thorfinn claimed to be the heights of Corsica or Cyrnos. Entirely confident as to his own navigation, he declared that there were in fact two great islands here, separated by a narrow strait, the southern one, called Sardinia, somewhat less high, although larger. He aimed to sail between them. As they drew nearer, many even of his most trusting companions began to express the opinion that they were off course, that there were no islands ahead but a major land stretching in a vast barrier of mountains as far as eye could see north and south blocking their way. But the earl had infinite faith in himself and sure enough presently what had seemed to be a vast bay narrowed into what was practically a funnel between two land-masses—the Strait of Bonifacio. With the sun setting behind them they passed through into the Tyrrhenian Sea, Thorfinn almost beside himself with satisfaction. Rome, he assured, was now directly ahead about 150 miles. They would be there this hour next day. Had any of them ever heard of so able a navigator?

Actually pride had something of a fall, for next afternoon when they did make their final landfall, in unsuitably hazy weather, they came upon a most flat and dull coastline with no major features to guide them. Rome was supposed to be built on seven hills, but nothing like a hill could be seen up or down that level seaboard. There should also be a great river estuary, the Tiber, Thorfinn complained; but although they beat up and down the coast for some hours, they could see nothing of the sort, not even a discoloration of the water. At length, behind a low headland, they put in at a fishing-haven of small white houses, beached boats and drying nets. The folk were distinctly alarmed at the descent of the tall, fair-haired strangers, and either backed away into the vineyards clothing the slightly rising ground behind, or shut themselves into their houses. But one old crone in black, drawing water at a well, seemed fearless, indeed cackled at them derisively when Thorfinn spoke to her, asking where they were in very bad Latin. MacBeth tried, with no better result. But Martacus of Mar managed to get the word Roma across to her, and this produced hoots of scorn at their ignorance but a gnarled finger pointing definitely southwards. When they tried to discover how far south they had to go, however, they achieved nothing. Thorfinn declared that the tidal flow in this Tyrrhenian Sea must have set them grievously northwards.

They sailed on down what was presumably the Latium seaboard, now amidst much coastal shipping.

It certainly seemed no inspiring approach to the capital of the western world, a flat coastal plain of extensive marshes lifting only very gradually to the most modest of hills, scores of miles of it. To men used to the dramatic shores of Scotland and the Orkneys, of mountains and cliffs and skerries and sea-lochs, it was all a grievous disappointment. It was only after two hours of rowing that the setting sun's levelling rays lit up for them what appeared to be the mouth or mouths of a greater river than any they had seen hitherto; and since many fishing-boats and other small craft were homing into this, the chances were that it was the Tiber, Rome's famed river. Certainly the ground rose to rather more recognisable heights some miles inland here. There was no real bay.

As they steered in, and the other shipping drew heedfully aside to give the formidable strangers passage, they could see two squat stone towers or beacons set on headlands, no doubt marking the entrance to the main channel.

A mile or so up, on the south side, they passed the vestiges of the abandoned harbour and town of Portus, which had succeeded the greater Ostia, as the port of Rome when the river silted up and the sea receded. Now both were only ruins. The sluggish river wound and twisted through the extensive marshlands, its waters foul, its banks black mud. In creeks opening off were drab little communities crouching amidst the towering but crumbling masonry of great buildings, now only wooden shacks on piles and stilts, presumably fishing-hamlets. A sort of miasma hung over all in this high summer season. Presently another arm of the river, almost as wide as their own, joined on the north. Evidently the Tiber had two mouths.

"They say that the Roman legionaries hailed our Tay as a second Tiber!" MacBeth commented. "They must have lost their wits, or been pining for home out of all understanding. Although perhaps it improves higher."

Darkness overtook them, and with navigation uncertain, they pulled into a shallow creek to anchor. The consensus was that they would be asking for death of fever if they sought to go ashore. If this was the heart of the Holy Roman Empire, they said, then the emperors, the popes or for that matter the caliphs and infidels, were welcome to it.

In the morning however, in clearer light, they began to see further and better, with a modest range of hills on the eastern horizon and great ruins multiplying everywhere. Along the riverside and stretching as far inland as eye could see the ruins proliferated, the wrecks of mighty structures such as none of the newcomers had ever seen, pillars and columns, tombs and colonnades, towers, temples, plinths, statues, bridges, canals, aqueducts, stretches of stone-paved highways, all broken, shattered, some in complete isolation, many even rising out of the reedy marshland where cattle wallowed. So this plain had once been very different, reclaimed and drained, splendidly engineered and built upon, but now left abandoned and reverted to its original state. More than mere abandonment, of course, for such havoc in such mighty structures must have been the work of deliberate and furious destroyers, presumably the Vandals, Suevi and Visigoths of whom the story-tellers told. Impressed despite themselves, the Vikings, with their own reputation as destroyers, became less critical, indeed often fell silent in sheer wonder.

Gradually, after some dozen miles from the river-mouth, the ruins as well as growing ever denser began to be neighboured by buildings and structures and houses which were not broken and abandoned, but used and occupied. These displayed a notable variety, from proud palaces and tall churches of stone and what looked at a distance like marble, to huts and hovels of timber and clay and mud, squalor and magnificence seemingly side by side. There were people now, the smokes of fires and many small boats plying the filthy waters.

The longships aroused much interest, even excitement. Probably ships of their size were but seldom seen thus far upstream, their shallow draught unusual. Soon they were rowing into the centre of the city proper, although even here mighty ruins were almost as prevalent as modern buildings.

When they could go no further by reason of a great many-piered bridge spanning the river, below which their masts could not pass, they pulled into stone-lined banks, now much gapped and weed-hung. There were the remains of quays here, broken-down warehouses and a general air of decay. Also an overpowering smell and stifling heat. Although many idlers watched their arrival, children screamed at them and dogs barked, it appeared to be nobody's business to receive them or enquire their business. The visitors looked in vain for the famous seven hills also. There appeared to be a few eminences about the place, covered in buildings, but nothing which could be called a hill, even by Orkney standards, nothing higher than some of the masonry columns and church domes and towers which rose on every hand.

What to do now was not obvious. Clearly Rome was an enormous city, far larger than any community the northerners had ever seen or visualised. They might be nowhere near the Pope's house. Moreover, they were not entirely sure as to who actually ruled the city. The Pope was Bishop of Rome and ruled the Church, yes; but Rome was in theory also the capital of the Empire; and although the Emperor Henry the Third was a German and lived at Aachen, Charlemagne's city, he might have a governor here. Moreover there were the so-called Papal States, with Rome the principal, semi-independent of the rest of the Empire; but whether the Pope ruled them directly was doubtful. MacBeth had heard of a magnate called the Count of Tusculum who was reputed to be the major secular force here. Just what his position might be was equally uncertain.

Uncertainty was utterly foreign to Thorfinn's nature, to be sure. He declared that they would leave half of their force at the ships, meantime and with the other half march strongly through the streets, and whenever they came across anyone in authority demand to be conducted to the Pope's house, this Lateran or whatever it was called. His brother, who had made up his mind that here in Rome
he
must take the lead, and keep it, if his mission was to be successful, had to concede that at this stage he could think of no better procedure. So leaving Biorn Bow Legs in charge—Thorfinn was not risking his young sons in command again—with strict instructions that even such miserable creatures as these locals were not to be interfered with or aroused meantime, the leaders and some 500 Vikings set off on their march.

It made a strange progress through the most famous city in the world, the stranger for it seeming to be quite oblivious as to their presence. People stared at them, of course, even pointed, hooted and jeered at their odd appearance, ungainly size and fair hair; and they gathered a following of children and dogs. But as far as the Roman authorities were concerned, it seemed that they might not have existed—a new and unflattering experience for the Vikings.

MacBeth was indeed afraid that his brother, in consequence, might make his presence felt by behaviour of a nature certain to attract the attention of the civic powers. Fortunately the appearance of the city itself helped to preoccupy them all. The amazing size of it all, the mixture of grandeur and decay, spendthrift magnificence, shabby and wretched building and sheer grinding poverty and degradation, was everywhere present. The stench was stomach-heaving, the heat all but prostrating for the northerners. Wonderfully paved streets and avenues were deep in refuse, in which ragged children played and pigs and poultry rooted and scratched. The effects of disease and starvation were evident on all hands, in deformed bodies, blindness and hideous sores. Beggars were unnumbered—and indeed the only folk who actually approached the newcomers, with clutching hands and incessant appeals for alms. It was from these, to whom he distributed some small part of the money he had brought with him for the Pope, that MacBeth continually asked, in his stiff Latin, the way to the Lateran Palace. There was little understanding of his speech, or their replies; but the word Lateran clearly was generally understood, and fingers pointed in an easterly direction.