Authors: Jackie French
But the Mormaer had said Thorfinn was a hero too.
Could there really be a world without war? Could the Mormaer really change things so that men like his father didn’t have to die?
The Mormaer was watching him. ‘Come on, lad.’
Lulach paused to pull up his stockings. He couldn’t meet his father’s murderer with wrinkled stockings. Then he followed the Mormaer, who was already striding out the door and calling to the hostel-keeper’s wife that they would eat her fine food later.
The Mormaer walked across the green, cowcropped grass, Lulach on one side, Kenneth on the other. Lulach felt for the dagger in his belt. It was a new one, a present from the Mormaer last Michaelmas. A dagger wouldn’t be of much use against Thorfinn if he were armed, but it was a comfort all the same.
If they try to take me hostage I’ll fight them, he promised himself. For a moment he imagined himself single-handedly keeping Thorfinn at bay, and all his men as well, while the Mormaer and Kenneth were already prisoners…
And then he saw them, far along the muddy road. A group much like theirs, with one man out front, his red hair bright as the flames in the hearth they had just left, like the Mormaer’s, but bushier; he was broad as a bear and fat as a chicken after stuffing.
Thorfinn, thought Lulach. He looked too fat to be a hero. But he didn’t look like a villain either.
The two groups drew closer together. Suddenly Thorfinn held up his hand. It too was fat. Rings sparkled on each finger.
At this signal his guard stood back. The big man walked on alone.
The Mormaer nodded to Kenneth. Now he and Lulach walked by themselves too.
The wind began to gust. It blew icy air onto their faces. The trees swayed like they were trying to swim into the wind. The sudden cold made Lulach’s nose run. He wiped it on his cloak.
He and the Mormaer were only six lengths from Thorfinn now. He could see Thorfinn’s stomach sway as he walked. Thorfinn’s huge nose was crooked as a fish-hook.
The Norseman put one hand down to his scabbard and drew out his sword, while the other pulled a white-painted branch from his belt.
‘Well!’ he called. ‘Which do you choose? The sword or the stick?’
The Mormaer smiled slightly. ‘You called this meeting, Thorfinn. I choose the white stick of truce. What do you want to say so secretly?’
Thorfinn grinned. His teeth were long and very white. He slipped his sword into its scabbard again.
‘I think you know. Your great King Duncan has started five wars in five years and lost them all.’ Thorfinn’s grin grew wider. ‘Two of them were against me and my people. Now he’s heading north to fight us again.’
Lulach’s stepfather nodded. ‘Well?’ he asked.
‘I’ve been told,’ said Thorfinn slowly, ‘that Alba’s
chiefs asked Duncan to step down as high king. But he refused.’
‘You’re well informed.’
‘If Duncan died in battle,’ continued Thorfinn, ‘
you
might be elected high king.’
‘I might. Duncan’s brother might too.’
‘Face facts, man!’ cried Thorfinn, rapidly losing patience. ‘Duncan is
mad
! No one is going to vote for a madman, nor for his brother! The Moray Clan is as strong as Duncan’s. The people will follow your lead!’
Lulach glanced up at the Mormaer. His face was expressionless, as though waiting for Thorfinn to say more.
Thorfinn flung the white branch down so hard that it broke. ‘Admit it! Your people are starving! There are hardly enough men to bring your harvest in! Crops have been burned year after year!’
‘And you’ve done much of the burning,’ said the Mormaer grimly.
‘Aye. War is war. But you and I could come to an agreement. Both of us against the King now. And afterwards, when you are king…’
‘
If
I am king…’
‘Neither to attack the other’s lands. Moray and Orkney to come to each other’s aid if one of us is invaded. I have trouble enough from Norway. The last thing I need is a land-crazed southern king snapping at my heels.’
‘And that is all?’
‘One more thing. When you are king…’
‘
If
I am king…’
‘When you are king, your son to marry my daughter. Well, what do you say?’
Son? thought Lulach stupidly. He means me! That’s why he wanted to see me, to make sure I’m not lame, or a halfwit. He wants me to marry his fat, ugly daughter!
Lulach watched as his stepfather held out his hand.
It began to rain.
By the pricking of my thumbs,
Something wicked this way comes.(
Macbeth
, Act IV, Scene 1, lines 44–45)
The bus was late. Luke stamped his feet as he waited at the gate, trying to keep warm. The bus was always late. One day, Luke thought, it’ll be on time and half the kids will miss it.
He couldn’t get Saturday night’s dream out of his mind. It had been even more vivid than the first time. But different too.
Things hadn’t been as simple back in Lulach’s time as he’d first thought. Someone like Thorfinn might start off as your enemy and then become your friend, or at least your ally. For some reason something Sam had said on Saturday night came into his head. ‘Sometimes you have to make compromises, mate.’
Nah, thought Luke. That’s different. The Mormaer was protecting his people. Sam just thought about his precious job.
What had happened next? Had the Mormaer become king? Had Thorfinn kept his word? he wondered.
Luke had hoped the dream would come again last night, but it hadn’t.
It
was
just a dream, he reminded himself, as the bus rounded the corner and pulled up in front of him.
Mrs Reynolds was driving. She smiled at Luke, showing a few too-white false teeth next to her yellow real ones. ‘Saw your stepdad on TV this morning. He really gave the Prime Minister what for. Politicians should tell us what they’re really going to do when they’re elected! Can’t trust them as far as you can throw them, in my opinion. You tell Sam from me he’s doing a great job.’
As if! thought Luke as he made his way down the bus. Old witch, old shark, old velociraptor. When Mum had been really broke, Mrs Reynolds hadn’t even let her ride on the school bus so she could take that checkout job in town.
What was that bit in the play?
Double, double toil and trouble: Fire, burn; and, cauldron, bubble
. That was Mrs Reynolds, all right. She probably had a cauldron in her laundry and went out at midnight stealing stray dogs and hacking bits off black snakes…
‘Luke! Oy! Luke!’
Patrick was waving from the back of the bus. Megan was sitting beside him.
‘What were you dreaming about?’ demanded Patrick, as Luke sat down next to him.
‘Oh, nothing,’ he said.
‘What did Sam say?’ asked Megan eagerly. ‘Will he put our case on TV?’
Luke hesitated. Why wouldn’t the words come? He wanted to say, ‘The bastard won’t do it. He’s scared of
what the advertisers will say.’ But what if Patrick told someone else? And they told a reporter and it got into the papers? Hurting Sam meant hurting Mum. And Sam could hurt him now too.
What would Pat and Meg think when they heard the truth? Maybe they would think he just hadn’t tried hard enough to convince Sam to help them. But how could he argue with Sam while his own grubby secret was hanging over him?
Coward. And Patrick and Megan were still waiting.
‘I…I asked him. He said he’d see what he could do.’ The words came out before he realised he was saying them.
More than a coward. Liar. Cheat.
Again
.
Megan beamed. ‘That’s fantastic!’
‘You’re the best!’ said Patrick.
‘No, really.’ Luke tried to backtrack. ‘He may not be able to do anything! The producer has to agree. Maybe they just won’t think it’s interesting enough for the whole country.’
‘They will,’ said Megan confidently. ‘There must be things like this happening all over the place, not just here. Big developments forcing people out, using all the resources…’
‘Yes, but…’
The bus stopped again and more kids got on. ‘Hey, Jingo!’ called Patrick.
Jingo lumbered down the bus. ‘Hiya!’ he said, dumping his bag at Luke’s feet. ‘Heard your dad asking the Prime Minister about terrorists this morning.’
‘Stepdad,’ corrected Luke.
‘Whatever.’ Jingo glanced at Megan, then pretended he hadn’t. But his voice grew louder as he deliberately didn’t look her way.
Huh, thought Luke. Showing off.
‘We should just nuke them, dude,’ he announced. ‘That’d show them!’
‘Nuke who?’ demanded Megan.
‘Those Iraqis,’ said Jingo. ‘They’re all terrorists, aren’t they? Get rid of the lot of them.’
‘Why? Aren’t we supposed to be liberating them? How can you nuke someone and liberate them at the same time?’
Luke grinned. He knew Megan really meant it. She wasn’t just showing off back at Jingo.
‘It was all a lie, anyhow,’ said Megan, shoving her hair out of her eyes. ‘All that stuff about the weapons of mass destruction.’
Jingo shrugged. ‘So? Saddam Hussein was a crook and we went in and got rid of him. What does it matter what it took to get us in there?’
‘But it wasn’t true!’ objected Megan.
‘Yeah, okay. But what if everything’s better because he’s gone?’ argued Jingo. ‘The Iraqis have elections and stuff now. What if everything works out for the best and they finally have peace after all these years? Isn’t it worth a few lies?’
‘Politicians say stuff that isn’t true all the time,’ Luke put in. ‘Or they use spin doctors to try to make things sound better than they really are.’
‘That doesn’t make it right!’ said Megan.
‘Why not? I bet you say things that aren’t true,’ insisted Luke.
‘I don’t!’
‘I bet you do! Like on Saturday, when you said you couldn’t remember what “will” meant in Shakespeare’s time. I bet you could.’
‘What
does
it mean?’ Jingo actually sounded interested, not like he was just showing off.
‘Something rude,’ said Luke. ‘But Megan won’t say.’ He turned to Megan again. ‘Look, I bet you’d tell Briony her haircut was cool even if she looked like a loser.’
‘But that’s different!’ insisted Megan. ‘That’s…that’s just so I don’t hurt her feelings!’
Suddenly it seemed desperately important to prove to her that some lies were okay. ‘Yeah, well, I bet that’s what politicians say. “It’s just to make people feel better. It’s just so we can get into power and get some good things done.” That’s how they win elections.’
Megan was silent for a moment. Luke was worried he’d offended her.
But then she said slowly, as though she’d really been thinking, ‘Maybe you’re right. It’s not just black and white, is it? There are times when it’s okay to tell a lie. But sometimes you
know
it’s wrong, when truth really matters.’
‘Maybe it’s only okay to tell a lie when it doesn’t hurt someone. If you think you’re doing it for a good reason,’ said Patrick suddenly.
Luke blinked at him. It wasn’t like Patrick to think about things like that.
Patrick shrugged as everyone looked at him. ‘It’s just what Nanna used to say,’ he said. ‘“It’s only all right to lie when you don’t hurt anyone.” That was when I put a cow’s tooth under my pillow for the tooth fairy…’
The bus pulled up outside the school.
Not in the legions
Of horrid Hell can come a devil more damn’d
In evils, to top Macbeth.(
Macbeth
, Act IV, Scene 3, lines 55–57)
Luke stared out at the pigeons strutting around the garbage bin, then forced his attention back inside the classroom. He tried to concentrate as Mrs Easson read from
Macbeth
.
He didn’t mind the play now—bits of it were good, he’d decided. But it was all so far away from what was really on his mind. This morning’s conversation kept going round and round in his head.
Maybe lies
were
all right if they didn’t hurt anybody. And no one was hurt by his winning the scholarship, were they? Except maybe the kid who
would
have won the scholarship. Luke thrust the thought away. Mum was happy, Sam was happy; the only person really hurt was him. He’d have to go to St Ilf’s now.
Maybe if he really worked he wouldn’t do too badly there. Maybe Mum was right and he wasn’t
dumb, he’d just lost so much school with Dad being sick.
Everyone lied sometimes, didn’t they? So what did one more matter?
And what about the lies you didn’t actually tell? Sam pretending that he made up everything he said on air but really only saying what someone else had written for him. Politicians not mentioning what they
really
planned to do after an election. Was there such a thing as a lie that wasn’t there?
He’d never actually
lied
about the exam, had he? He just hadn’t said, ‘I had the answers all prepared.’ None of it was his fault, he hadn’t wanted it to happen. So maybe…
‘
“Aroynt thee, witch!” the rump-fed ronyon cries
,’ read Mrs Easson.
What’s a ‘ronyon’? wondered Luke.
Maybe Shakespeare wasn’t as out of it as he’d thought. Shakespeare seemed pretty sure about lies, at any rate. Evil people like witches lied, Macbeth lied. Good guys like King Duncan told the truth. Hey, that was one of the names out of his dream, wasn’t it? There’d been a King Duncan, just like there’d been witches (or old ladies with beards, anyway).
So what? That’s what you did in dreams, he supposed. You mixed up real things with dumb things, like being able to fly.
He glanced over at Megan. Her eyes were on her book. But somehow she had lost some of her brightness since last week.
She’s really worried about the development, he thought. And now I’ve lied about that too.
Lulach’s stepfather would have raised an army to drive the developers out, or thought of some cool trick to get rid of them. But he was just dumb old Luke…
There had to be some other way he could help the Fishers!
Where are they? Gone?—Let this pernicious hour
Stand aye accursed in the calendar!(
Macbeth
, Act IV, Scene 1, lines 133–134)
It was Tuesday night: two days of lying at school. No, not lying, Luke told himself as he lay in bed and watched the moonlight make shadows on the wall. Just not telling all the truth…
Funny, he’d always hated going to bed before. But now sleep was a refuge.
Well, not just sleep. The dream.
It was like having your own virtual-reality machine. Somehow he knew he would vanish back to that world tonight, even though the dream hadn’t come for two nights now.
Lulach’s world was turning out to be more complicated and interesting than he’d thought. If only he had a stepfather like the Mormaer, instead of Sam…
Luke shut his eyes. And waited.
The world changed. The sounds changed. The caw of the rooks in the roof of the Hall, the
snick snick snick
of sickles slicing through the ripe stalks of barley all around him.
Lulach stretched out his sickle and cut another armful of grain. Normally only women cut the barley. The men would tie it into sheaves and stack them to dry for threshing. The grain was kept for bread and stews, the bran to make sour fermented ale, and the straw for beds.
But once again there were no young men to tie the barley, or to cut the bracken to make beds for the cows in winter, so women had to do their jobs instead. It was only two months after the Mormaer’s meeting with Thorfinn. But already the men had marched away to war again.
Men had marched away to war every summer of Lulach’s life. But this time the men of Moray were fighting against King Duncan, not for him.
The clear sky stretched above him, with not even a bird to break the blue. Up on the hills above the fields the cows chomped and tore at the grass, lifted their tails and left their droppings, nudged their calves then ate some more. A cow’s world never changes, thought Lulach. No matter what happens in the world of men, cows just keep munching grass.
Lulach’s arms ached, and his back and knees as well. He was the youngest child working in the field today. Even Knut was gone now, to study at the monastery.
The women were silent as they swung their sickles. The older women spinning on the doorstep of the Hall had stopped their gossiping. It was as
though war had sucked away their songs as well as all their men, and all the women could do was wait till the battle spat them back.
Will he return? And how? Blinded? Scarred? His arm hacked off by a broadsword blow?
It would soon be the time of the feast when lots were drawn to see who would farm what bit of land over the next year, and which bits would be farmed communally to help the poor and sick. But no one had the heart for a feast now. What would they feast on, with the men away and no one to hunt or fish?
Something on the horizon caught Lulach’s attention. He straightened and squinted into the distance. The speck on the road grew larger.
A runner, coming this way! In this world of mountains and few roads a man on foot could take a message as fast as one on a horse.
Lulach felt his heart leap like a salmon in the river.
The women had seen the runner too. One gave a cry, then clapped a hand to her mouth, as though the cry might bring bad luck.
A runner meant news. News of the war. News of their men.
Was the battle lost or won? How many would come home this time?
The runner was nearing the field now, his feet and legs bare beneath his smock, loping steadily along the muddy track. As he passed them Lulach thrust his sickle into a sheaf and ran after him.
The runner nodded to Lulach, but didn’t stop. He looked flushed with tiredness, and dust mingled with his sweat. But it took all of Lulach’s strength to keep up with him.
‘What news?’ he panted.
‘My news is for the Lady Gruoch.’ The runner’s voice was almost too soft to hear. He had learned how to keep his breath for the run.
‘I’m her son!’
‘Then you’ll hear the news soon enough—if you don’t make me waste my breath by talking.’
‘But…’ Lulach shut his mouth and tried to keep up as they ran through the courtyard and up to the Hall. But his brain was pounding even faster than his legs.
Was the battle over? Had they won or lost? Was his stepfather all right? Surely nothing could ever happen to a man as brave and strong as he was…
A sudden vision of his father’s blackened skull flashed before him. His father had been strong too…
Women ran towards them from the fields, from the cow yards, the dairy. ‘A runner! A runner’s come!’
The Hall door was open, to let in light. Lulach followed the runner inside as his mother hurried from the storeroom. Her hands were clenched so hard the knuckles were as white as her apron.
‘What news?’
The runner stood panting. ‘Victory, my Lady.’
‘Thank goodness. Oh, thank goodness.’ The Lady Gruoch’s face lost half its tension. ‘And the Mormaer?’
‘Unhurt, my Lady.’
‘Ah.’ It seemed to Lulach that his mother grew softer all at once, as though the strings that had held her taut were suddenly cut. She must really miss him, he realised suddenly. He had always thought that his mother had married again because it was her duty. But no one looking at her face could think that now.
‘My Lady, there is more news. The King…King Duncan is dead.’
Gruoch nodded, as though she had expected the news. ‘How?’
‘In battle, my Lady.’
‘By whose hand?’
‘Thorfinn, Earl of the Orkneys. Thorfinn challenged the King to combat. The King tried to flee, but Thorfinn slew him anyway. Once the King was dead the field was ours.’
‘Duncan fought and fled too often. His men would have had little heart for battle,’ his mother said, seemingly lost in thought. ‘Well said and well run,’ she told him at last. ‘Meröe, get bread and mead for the runner, and whatever else he wants.’ She hesitated, then pulled a bracelet from her wrist. It was twisted silver and had belonged to Lulach’s grandmother. ‘And this is yours, to thank you for the news.’
‘My Lady.’ The runner bowed his head, his hand clutching the bracelet.
Lulach looked around the Hall. Women had crowded all around to hear the news, so many they shut out the light from the door.
Why didn’t they cheer? he wondered, watching their silent faces. Why didn’t the women wave their scarves, as they had when the Mormaer tricked the Norsemen? They had won, hadn’t they? The King was dead!
Now there would be no more wars! The Mormaer had vanquished war, just like he’d vanquished bad King Duncan!
Why were they so still?
He soon found out.
The men began to return three days later. When they left there had been great fanfare—but there were no songs now, no drums or pipers playing as they marched. These men limped, worn and starving. Armies lived off the land. But when they crossed the land too often, the land had no more to give.
Women ran to meet them with tears of joy. Children hid their faces in their mothers’ skirts when their fathers no longer greeted them with laughter, but with blank expressions and hollow eyes.
Other women watched, searching the faces of the men for husbands, sons, brothers, friends. Sometimes they moved among the limping men, asking, ‘Have you seen him?’ ‘Is he hurt—or did he fall?’
But mostly they just waited, wanting to keep their hope alive just a little longer.
Lulach kept his eyes on the road. But there was no sign of the Mormaer riding his horse high above the limping men.
The first to come home were tired, nothing more. They were the ones who could walk.
The next day brought the wounded: men who could still hobble, if their comrades helped them, with wounds that gaped and oozed despite being wrapped in bloody rags, or eyes gouged out by a sword. The women ran for fresh herbs and bandages.
And still the Mormaer didn’t return.
The third day was the worst. Men on stretchers, carried by their friends. Bodies huddled together in an ox cart, still and bloody, with flies crawling on
their wounds—so impossibly maimed it seemed that they were dead, till one man groaned and you knew that he, at least, still lived.
And then Lulach saw the Mormaer. He rode with his guard, high on their horses. Lulach stared at him. He was unhurt, just as the runner had said, though his face was thinner and there were shadows under his eyes. But there was something more.
The Mormaer led another horse, carrying the body of a man. Lulach stared. Was it a body? How could a corpse sit in the saddle, staring out with…with…
Lulach thought he would be sick. No, it wasn’t a corpse. It was a man with half a face, one eye gone, the skin around it a burned red scar.
His stepfather reined in his horse, dismounted, then helped the wounded man down. The scarred man moved as he was guided, but nothing more.
A woman screamed in the doorway of the Hall. It was Meröe. Lulach had never thought that she could scream like that. Suddenly he realised why. The man was her son.
Kenneth.
How could any man look like that and live? What had Kenneth lived through, that would turn him into that?
Another woman ran from the cheese room, her hand pressed into her mouth to stop her sobs. Kenneth’s wife. She and Meröe took Kenneth’s arms. He stumbled between them to the Hall.
Lulach was dimly aware of his mother greeting her husband, of his stepfather saying something, anything…
And then he ran.
Ran to the hill, to the chomping, normal cows, and lay among the heather and the cattle droppings, surrounded by the familiar smells of dirt and cow. Anything to get away, to wipe out the stench of blood and death.
He lay face down, sobbing, till he heard a sound above him.
He looked up. It was a curlew, high in the sky. How many times had he called to a bird with Kenneth’s pipes?
He sat up and pulled the pipes from his pocket. The bone was shiny now, from years of rubbing by his fingers. He put it to his lips and blew.
High above him the curlew called back, rising higher and higher in the sky.
At last Lulach put the pipes down. Tears still rolled down his cheeks. But they were easier now.
‘Lulach.’
It was his mother. She must have come up the hill behind him.
‘Go away!’
‘Lulach, come back. It’s your duty.’
Lulach shook his head. ‘I don’t care. Kenneth did his duty and look what happened!’ The sobs were shaking him again.
His mother hesitated, then sat on the cow-cropped grass beside him. ‘Your father said it was a sword thrust. It went right though Kenneth’s helmet into his head.’
‘But a sword cut doesn’t look like that.’
‘No. But he was dying. They had to burn the cut with a red-hot iron to stop the bleeding.’
‘And now he has no face!’
‘But he has his life,’ his mother said softly. ‘Your father said Kenneth struggled when they tried to lie him on the cart. He insisted on riding. One day, perhaps, he’ll understand the world again. And Meröe will have her son and his wife her husband.’
Lulach shook his head. ‘It’s the Mormaer’s fault,’ he said hoarsely. ‘He agreed to fight with Thorfinn. He said there’d be no more war! But this war was worse than any of the others!’
‘Was it?’ asked his mother quietly. ‘You’ve seen men come back from war before. Maybe this one seems worse because you’re growing up.’
‘But…but the Mormaer started this war! Duncan started the others, but this one was the Mormaer’s fault!’
‘If your father hadn’t taken our men to war this time, Moray would have had to fight again anyway, with Duncan, against Thorfinn. We’d probably have lost again. Even more men would have died.’
Lulach didn’t reply.
His mother hugged her knees, staring down at the Hall. Lulach suddenly wondered if she had ever sat on a hill like this as a girl, watching the cows, waiting for the news of war. Then, as though she read his mind, his mother said, ‘I was your age when my father died, fighting King Malcolm’s wars. I saw my brothers, then your father, die fighting for King Duncan. Lulach, I could have been mormaer here when your father died. I could even have stood against Duncan when they elected him king. But I knew that I could never send men to war.’
‘Then you
should
have been mormaer!’ said Lulach fiercely. ‘That way Kenneth would have been safe!’
His mother sighed. ‘No, Lulach. Most times war comes to you. There’s no escape. Sometimes you have to fight. Your stepfather has protected Moray better than anyone else could have. I knew that when I married him.’ She touched his hair lightly. ‘And now perhaps there’ll be no more war for any of us.’
Lulach shrugged. The future was far away. But the man with half a face was here and now.
His mother continued. ‘Do you know who the true heroes are?’ she asked him softly.
Lulach refused to answer.
‘The ones who hate what they have to do, but do it anyway. It’s called duty, Lulach. Duty is watching your husband ride away and wanting to scream at him, “Don’t go!” But you don’t scream at him. You hold the words back. Duty is waiting, smiling so no one sees your terror, making sure the cows are milked, the sheep are shorn, the fish are dried, so that there is something for the men to come back to. And when they do come back…’ She bit her lip. ‘Lulach, do you love Kenneth?’
Lulach look up, surprised. ‘Of course!’
‘If you were Kenneth, what would comfort you the most? A boy who ran away from you? Or one who schooled his face and helped him? That’s duty, Lulach. Doing what you have to do, no matter how hard it is.’
There was silence on the hill for a while. A hare peeped out from a clump of heather, its ears twitching.
‘Did I hurt Kenneth, running away?’ asked Lulach at last.
‘He didn’t notice,’ said his mother gently. ‘Not this time.’
She stood up and held out her hand to him. ‘Come on, Lulach. You’re going to be the Tanist of Moray. The people need to see that you care about them.’
Lulach looked up at her. ‘I don’t want to be tanist. I…I want to study, like Knut. I want to go to the monastery too.’ The idea had just come to him. But it seemed so good suddenly, to live among books, away from all the decisions of the world…