King Hereafter (55 page)

The Archbishop said, ‘If you know I am to talk about the church, then obviously you also know why.’

‘Obviously,’ said the King. ‘For the same reason that my nephew Rognvald of Orkney has lately begun to show a novel concern for the souls of his people. We are all talking, I take it, about King Magnús of Norway and his claims upon Denmark and England?’

‘You may take it,’ said the Archbishop, ‘that we are all intended, at least, to be talking about exactly that.’

‘The point being,’ said the King of Alba in the even, rumbling voice that defeated all interpretation, ‘that if Magnús is at war with both Denmark and England, his church will now look towards Saxony. His immediate spiritual lord will be the Archbishop of Bremen. Its overlords will be the King of Germany and the Pope. What do we know of Pope Silvester?’

‘That he wants to abdicate and marry his cousin,’ said Godiva. ‘Or so run the rumours in Chester.’

‘And in Thurso,’ said the King. ‘And what do we know of Henry, the new Emperor of the Romans and King of Germany?’

‘I feel sure you want me to tell you,’ said Edward of England’s chaplain Hermann agreeably, ‘that the Emperor Henry is a young man of deep faith and some acumen, who is not likely to leave the nomination of the next Pope to the counts of Crescenti and Tusculum as heretofore. An active Pope of his choice might feel impelled to do what no Pope with his whole heart has yet done since the heathen hordes overwhelmed Rome. He might seek to draw all the north, including Norway and her colonies, fully into his flock, and to extract the same obedience from those Celtic churches which have so far remained autonomous from the earliest Christian age—’

‘Namely, those of Alba, of Ireland, and of Brittany,’ the King said. ‘Or no. Ireland is wild Irish with oases of Norsemen, and too complicated to administer. But you and I, Archbishop Juhel, would undoubtedly receive a kindly summons from the Coarb of Peter. That is, if there were to be an active Pope. And we should then have to choose whether to remain as we are, with pastoral missionary-priests and roving bishops with no see and no pallium; or pay our dues to Rome and be granted the structure of diocese, writing-office, and local administration; or enter, with Norway and her friends, under the benevolent care of the Archbishop of Hamburg and Bremen.

‘A third choice that you in Brittany, Archbishop, are spared, but which would offer us some advantages. A Saxon mother-church with no harsh requirements in dues; a common tongue; a common understanding; and, for me, the prospect of uniting divergent people from Orkney to Cumbria under one efficient spiritual leadership, well taught and well able to bring my country into better prosperity. Would you blame me if I were to choose as Norway chooses?’

Alfgar of Mercia said suddenly, ‘Thorfinn. Macbeth. You know who is Archbishop in Hamburg now?’

It was interesting that Alfgar of Mercia should know. It was even more interesting that the King should reply without hesitation, ‘If I didn’t, I should hardly be here. The stories about Adalbert were already going the rounds when he was only a well-born sub-deacon at Bremen ten years ago. Now he is in the Archbishop’s seat, with looks, authority, money, and power. He will have Magnús tucked in his sleeve, and likely Denmark and Iceland as well. And who likes Adalbert can count on the Emperor Henry.’

In the harsh-angled face, the brown, slotted eyes moved, and Juhel de Fougères found himself under tranquil scrutiny. ‘And what,’ said the King, ‘can the Lady Emma offer that would serve me better than that?’

‘You are imprecise in your equation,’ said Archbishop Juhel. ‘Alba would not accept the spiritual guidance of a German archbishopric. If you tried to impose it, you would split your kingdom in two. You have two choices only. You stay as you are, which I do not think you can afford to do. Or you extend the paternal authority your people and mine already recognise in the Pope, and accept also the services, the structure, and the dependence that the Roman obedience imposes.’

‘Would you do this?’ said the other man.

‘I may have no choice,’ said the Archbishop. ‘We have stayed worshipping our small saints, as you have, for five hundred years: many of them are the same. But although my people are the rough children they have always been, the world outside our frontiers has changed. Anjou is about to come into new hands, and that means the old Breton lands by the Loire may now be beyond our reach even for trade. And the Emperor has seen, too, where the money lies: he sent Bruno of Toul last year to arrange him a new wife. He has picked Agnes, Aquitaine’s daughter: a stepdaughter of Anjou and the descendant of Burgundy and two Italian Kings.’

‘But Popes always need money,’ said the King.

‘So will you,’ said the Archbishop. ‘And you have two valuable assets: your fleet, and your loyalty.’

‘Provided the churches of Alba remain innocent of any master save only the Pope,’ the King said. ‘If that is the proposition, then I think this time
your
equation is at fault. I can ally myself with Norway without placing my priests under Archbishop Adalbert. In fact, I am not tied to any decision beforehand. If someone happens to want my fleet, they may always ask for it. If someone wants my loyalty for a certain occasion, then I am always ready to listen. My character has altered for the better, you see. There was a time when I would promise anyone anything.’

In his place, it was precisely what the Archbishop would have replied. As the Lady was keeping the balance of power among England’s three leading earldoms, so this man was acting towards all the nations that threatened his borders. It almost looked, as the Lady had hinted, as if he intended to rule, rather than treat Alba as a Viking base to be held under threat for its tribute. And if he did, he had a long task ahead, because he had to find and nurture leaders from the Gaelic lands he had taken over who would cleave to him, and would work in amity with his chieftains and kindred in the north.

Archbishop Juhel, studying the man opposite, slowly reached a conclusion. He said, ‘That, I take it, is what you wish me to tell the Lady Emma, and I shall do so. If you are going to knit the two halves of your kingdom together, I suppose you have already come to the conclusion that neither the Pope nor the Archbishop of Hamburg and Bremen is likely to serve you as yet. Our mutual friend Sulien of Llanbadarn spoke of the Culdees, the small monasteries of holy men following their own ascetic disciplines, that are all you have, he said, of a common church, but at present act independently of each other. You could not build a state upon them, he said, unworldly as they are, but you could unite a people.’

‘A charming notion of Sulien’s,’ the King said approvingly. ‘I was drawn to it. We all were, until we looked to the example of Dol and saw how well business may flourish under prince-bishops who know what they are about. My own Bishop Malduin would tell you the same. He is a strong supporter of a policy you haven’t yet mentioned: that all the churches under his pastoral care should be ruled from Earl Siward’s York. Also a charming idea, but with some disadvantages.’

Juhel de Fougères smiled. With Siward in control of York, only lunacy would dictate that particular resolution, and this the other man knew as well as he did. The Archbishop said, ‘I see there is little an outsider can do, except wish you luck in your deliberations, and success in your eventual course of action. Indeed, all I could with profit offer you, were you ever as far south as Cumbria, would be some considerations on matters of trade. You have referred to it, and I will not contradict what you said. We are knowledgeable.’

‘So I have observed,’ said Thorfinn of Alba.

‘Well? Are you satisfied?’ Alfgar said, when the Archbishop and the chaplain had gone. ‘Juhel is able, and ambitious, and will use you, just as much as he will try to use Emma, for his own ends. So long as you know it, you are quite safe to meet him in Cumbria. He won’t tell Emma anything that doesn’t suit him.’

‘So I judged,’ said Thorfinn.

‘You are using the Culdees, aren’t you?’ said Alfgar. ‘Crinan said Archbishop Malduin was weeping into his wine-cup because you forced him to give up some of his churchlands to support them.’

‘What else is Crinan saying?’ said Thorfinn.

‘He dislikes being barred out of Dunkeld. And he objects to Siward holding his grandsons.’

‘He doesn’t hold them,’ said Thorfinn mildly. ‘Edward of England is taking one into fosterage, and the other’s in Ireland.’

‘What!’ said Alfgar. His eyes glittered. ‘When?’

‘It was arranged this evening,’ Thorfinn said. ‘So you may tell Crinan that Siward is not going to lay hands on Cumbria yet. In fact, unless he miscalculates badly, my lord Crinan may well find himself reunited one day With his abbacy. His third grandson is still there. And it would save me the trouble of protecting it. It will depend, I suppose, on how much influence Siward has over Maldred and Forne.’

‘And on how much regard my lord Crinan has for his son and his son-in-law,’ Godiva said. ‘Don’t you agree? I have been waiting for half an hour to say something perceptive.’

‘You don’t need to say anything,’ the King said. ‘But it’s a delight when you do. Maldred’s a nonentity, I’m told. But Forne won’t cross the border, if I can help it. My lady of Mercia, if I drink any more, I shan’t be able to board ship tomorrow.’

‘You’re going home?’ Godiva said. ‘I hoped—Why? Have you had word of some trouble?’

‘Not yet,’ said the King of Alba. ‘But broken promises always take their toll, or so the priests say. Instead of enjoying your company, I am supposed to be sailing the seas with Earl Rognvald my nephew at this moment.’

‘He will understand,’ said Godiva. ‘It was a matter of state.’

‘He will understand,’ said the King of Alba. ‘And he will act accordingly.’

Y THE TIME
Thorfinn returned to his kingdom, his nephew Rognvald, as he feared, had set out alone on his sailing.

‘So what will you do now?’ said his wife Groa.

‘Foster my toisechs. Cultivate Eachmarcach. And spend the ‘winter in Orkney,’ said Thorfinn.

‘Which you don’t want to do,’ Groa said.

‘No, I don’t. Yes, I do,’ said her husband.

That autumn, led by King Edward, there rode to Winchester the Earls Siward, Godwin, and Leofric. There they called on the King’s mother Emma and removed her private fortune, carrying off gold and silver, they said, without measure. The choicest box, when forced open in Gloucester, proved to harbour the head of St Ouen.

The Lady Emma, they said, wept and raged, but not as much as she might have done had a well-filled ship not left for Bruges beforehand.

Canterbury, worthy custodians of the rest of St Ouen, launched a long, gentle campaign that disturbed the King’s healing-powers through Advent.

That winter in Orkney, the King of Alba’s beautiful wife had cause to mourn, also, for the talents of a different kind that were being squandered.

The Rognvald who returned from his plundering cruise had been an enemy, as had been the Rognvald who had returned humiliated from the enthronement. And what Groa saw enacted around her through Yule and beyond, although she did not know it, was Stac an Armin all over again.

The harsh, bold contests, the extravagant feasting were what a daughter of Finn Arnason knew and expected, and in her, too, vibrated the chords of memory and of love at the warm brotherhood that opened to receive their own kind: the good fellowship and the song and the laughter.

This was part of Thorfinn: the loss of this, she knew, was the highest price he paid in his self-imposed exile. So she knew, too, as the drinking grew out of all bounds and the play became lethal, that a war was being fought and, however it ended, the sport would never be the same again, or the ground it
was played on. At times, too, she thought that Rognvald himself was being swept by the tempest of his own making into a direction he had not meant to follow.

It was a hard winter, rare in Orkney; so that they slid Norse-style on wood from one hall to another, Rognvald’s company and Thorfinn’s company: one from two-thirds of Orkney and one drawn from only a third, and so weaker; and so more belligerent. For the men, too, opposed one another as the Earls did, and if one was traced of a morning only by the blood spider-pink in the snow, another died somewhere else before the next day was out, by the hand of his fellows.

Then Rognvald turned his attention to Groa herself.

Already, she had learned, as all the women had, when to disappear. To stay at home when the horse-fights took place, with the wagers higher and higher, from which Thorfinn came home cheerfully pallid with a displaced shoulder that had been knocked roughly back into place again. Or the day when the cry had gone up:
‘Whales in the bay!’
and every man and every boat and every weapon had taken to sea to drive ashore the great shoal, and each shift of wind from the blood-reddened sands had brought the smell of the killing, and the sound of squealing and drumming from the half-slaughtered beasts. Then, for days, the hot, fishy reek of the rendering blubber, and the night-clouds glaring red over the fires of the fishermen.