Queen macbeth, p.6
Queen Macbeth, page 6
By the time Aife returns, we’re all too much on edge even to speak to each other. ‘We can do it,’ she announces. ‘The only possible problem is a burn that goes off to the side of the river. But there’s a ford, and it barely covered my hooves. I think the slipe will make it.’
She’s almost right. We’re nearly across when the heavy horse stumbles. The slipe’s load shifts, and for a terrible moment, it looks as if we might lose it all, until Angus jumps off and pulls on the horse’s harness to help it right itself. Our supplies survive. But Angus is wet and cold now; I insist we stop for him to put on dry clothes. There are some quiet murmurs of dissent, but Eithne speaks up. ‘We need Angus. We won’t make it if he falls ill with a fever.’
There’s no shelter here, just waist-high reeds, but Angus is swift. He strips off his wet clothes and dresses in whatever comes to hand. They’re not as warm but they’ll have to do till the others dry out. At last we’re on our way again.
The track widens once more and it’s mostly flat, so we make good progress. We pass through a village with no sign of life; not even the sound of our hooves rouses anyone to come to the door of their hovel. I feel more secure now we’ve managed to negotiate two settlements without a problem.
‘We’re in the lands where the Picts and Scots came together,’ Angus said. ‘Your descent from Kenneth MacAlpin carries weight in these parts. They will feel more kindly disposed towards us than towards Malcolm.’ It’s a comforting thought and I recite the line of descent in my head to the rhythm of my mount’s steps.
The moon puts in an appearance again when we reach the place where the river emerges from a loch. It illuminates an extraordinary sight. A single dilapidated wooden structure at the end of a long pier jutting out into the loch like a man-made island. It’s too big and too solid to be a fishing hut. ‘Do people live here?’ I ask.
‘They used to,’ Angus says. ‘Back in the olden days.’
On another day, I’d be eager to explore. But there’s no time for that, and besides, even kissed by moonlight, the pier doesn’t look very safe. If nothing else, this flight is revealing my country to me. How empty it is, how beautiful in its starkness. I wish Macbeth was with me; he could tell me so much more than even Angus knows.
On we press, along a shore that seems to go on forever. Dawn is breaking and we’re still not quite at the end of the loch, though we can almost make it out as the darkness lifts. There are trees to the right of us, and we manage to find a way through them to a clearing. Gratefully, we dismount and settle down for the night. We agree that only one person need keep watch; there has been no sign of life for miles.
I stretch my stiff muscles and settle into the familiar congruence of limbs I’ve shared with my women over the years. As I drift into sleep, I almost forget we’re fugitives. It’s a blessing I won’t be able to hold on to for much longer.
I waited for another month to pass before I revealed my pregnancy to Gille Coemgáin. I wanted to put time and space between Macbeth’s visit and my state so as to allay any suspicions my husband might entertain. I didn’t suffer from morning sickness, thanks either to my own constitution or, if you believe Eithne, to the quantities of ginger and peppermint tea she plied me with at every opportunity. Either way, it helped the deception.
I managed to hold my tongue until I was summoned to his chamber. When he laid hands on me, I backed away. ‘My lord, you must not!’ He stopped in his tracks, astonished at my temerity. ‘I am with child,’ I said simply, my face wreathed in smiles.
‘You’re carrying my child?’ Pure delight lit up his eyes and a slow grin spread across his lips. I almost felt a moment’s guilt. Almost. He seized my hands and kissed me with enough force to split my lip. ‘But this is glorious news. We must have a feast!’ He pulled me to him, but I wriggled free.
‘No, my lord Gille! You must not crush me so. It has taken so long for this to happen, we must take no chances with my precious burden. I could not bear it if our carelessness caused . . .’ I manage to sound piteous.
He jumps back as if I’d prodded him with a hot fire iron. ‘Forgive me, my love. I wasn’t thinking. You’re the most valuable creature in my realm, I will take care that no harm comes to you. You are the vessel of all my hopes, my beloved Gruoch.’ His repetitious delight grew wearisome very quickly, and I excused myself, claiming I was overcome with emotion and needed to lie down.
But not before he’d insisted that we have a banquet and that he send messengers to all the important figures in Moray and beyond to invite them to celebrate with us. That saved me the difficulty of trying to communicate the news to Macbeth. I felt sure he would understand the truth of the matter.
A month later, the compound was filled to bursting with everyone who wanted to stay in Gille Coemgáin’s good books. Our quarters were piled high with gifts for the baby. Once the guests were gone, I planned to distribute most of the practical presents to the women of the clan. It was as good a way as any to keep them on my side if rumours were to start at any point.
I left Aife strategically making honey cakes with the baker, keeping an eye on the entrance to the courtyard so we’d know when Macbeth arrived. He brought only ten of his men, a clear indication that he came in goodwill. Aife excused herself and found me in the physic garden, where I was using ‘helping Eithne’ as an excuse to be out of the way. And also as a reminder to Macbeth of our first private encounter.
‘He’s here,’ she said, a little out of breath. ‘And you’ve never seen a better turned-out troop. Bright blue lèines that look new, hunting jerkins buffed to a sheen, matching calfskin boots too.’ She grinned. ‘If I didn’t know better, I’d say he was trying to make a good impression.’
I gave her a friendly buffet on the shoulder. ‘If you should happen to cross his path, you might mention I’m down in the garden picking pot herbs for the banquet.’
She made a mocking bow and skipped off before I could take revenge. Eithne and I shared a smile, and I carried on picking the best of the sage leaves. I’d filled my basket and moved on to the thyme before a pair of polished riding boots stepped into my field of vision. I straightened up, a hand in the small of my back, and looked into those ice-blue eyes. His expression was more solemn than I’d expected. My heart thumped in my chest, and I felt faint.
‘My lady Gruoch,’ he said softly. ‘I rejoice to see you again.’
‘Eithne, you should take the herbs up to the kitchen, the cook will need to season the meat soon.’ Without looking away from Macbeth I blindly held out the basket. Eithne took it and we were alone again. ‘My lord Macbeth,’ I said. ‘Thank you for coming to share our celebration.’
His eyebrows rose at my stressing the word ‘our’. ‘I wondered,’ he said. ‘I hoped.’
‘Does that please you?’
His face opened in a generous grin. ‘I’m bursting with pride and happiness.’
I felt tears welling up. Pregnancy had stripped me of my stoicism and made me prone to all kinds of emotional outbursts that I struggled to hide. ‘That is a relief. I feared you might not welcome the understanding.’
He shook his head. ‘Gruoch, not a day has passed without thoughts of you filling my head. I have never missed anyone so much. I talk to you when I’m alone. I dream of you when I’m asleep. I have never felt like this about a woman before.’
He loved me. It was knowledge I had not dared hope for, but it was what I’d craved more than anything.
‘It’s been the same with me, Macbeth. Carrying your child feels like a blessing. It makes you a part of me that I can never deny.’
‘I want to be with you,’ he said. I couldn’t quite credit the speed we were moving at. But we both knew we didn’t have much time. We were still standing a distance from one another. Any watcher would only have seen a casual conversation between distant cousins.
‘I think of that every day. There must be a way.’
He nodded. ‘And we will find it. I do not want my child raised by Gille Coemgáin.’
I raised my eyebrows. ‘That brute doesn’t deserve the honour. Now, you must return to the hall. You’ve spent long enough congratulating me. Your absence will be noticed. Go, at once.’
He bowed low. ‘Can I come to you tonight?’
‘It’s too dangerous: there are too many eyes. But soon, I promise.’ I watched him leave through the herb plantation, a spring in his step, his hair bright as the very sun, his shoulders squared to carry the burden of whatever lay ahead.
He loved me.
By next morning our luck has dwindled. A fine smirr of rain wakes us, dripping from the leaves above. We all know from harsh experience how quickly we’ll be soaked to the bone in weather like this. We hastily pack up and venture deeper into the woodland. ‘We need proper shelter, Angus,’ Ligach says. ‘We’ll not make it in this. The horses will soon tire and so will we.’
‘We’ve not passed so much as a shepherd’s hut for hours,’ Angus says gloomily. ‘But there’s a settlement at the head of the loch. We can likely find shelter there.’
‘How far is it?’ Eithne asks.
‘No more than a couple of miles,’ he says. ‘If we cover most of the ground now, I could go on ahead and see whether it’s safe. Make arrangements for us all?’ He looks to me for an answer; I am still his queen, I am expected to take decisions. I’d rather leave it to Eithne, to be honest, but there’s no time for that.
‘Let’s do it.’ What choice do we have? News travels slowly out here on the edges of the kingdom. It’s hard enough trying to feed and house a family; there’s no time to spend on frivolous visits to the neighbours. The few inhabitants are so widely scattered, they often don’t hear what’s happened in the next glen for months. Nobody from round here will be leaving their home ground till they move their cattle to better grazing in the spring. I can’t believe the news of Malcolm’s slaughter of Lulach and his snatching of the Scottish throne will have made it across these hills already. As far as anyone around Loch Earn will be aware, I am still the Queen Mother, Gruoch of the house of MacAlpin. When I have to, I can bury my grief and my fear and play that role.
So we weave through the trees, Angus’s woodcraft sufficient to keep us more or less on track. When we reach the edge of the forest, we can see a huddle of houses and barns, one a shade bigger than the rest. I count them quickly; I make it thirteen cotts, three with thin threads of smoke rising through the roofs, four byres, what looks like a granary, a slow-turning watermill and the red glow of a smithy. The Big House is actually smaller than our barn at the monastery. There’s no sign of any war band, not even an archery butt or a training dummy for swordplay.
‘Considering they’re on the very edge of the kingdom, they’re not preparing for battle any time soon,’ Ligach says.
‘It’s a wee bit out of the way here,’ Angus tells her. ‘When we turn north to A’ Chrìon Làraich – that’s the pass where the glens to the north and the west meet – it’ll be a different story. That’s where we’ll have to watch out. News is as much currency there as siller.’ He dismounts and we follow his lead, bending and stretching.
Aife pulls a face. ‘How do you know all this stuff, Angus?’
He looks at me. ‘Can I tell them?’
I shrug. Enough time has passed now for there to be no danger from the knowledge. I’ll be surprised if he hasn’t told Ligach. ‘It’s your secret, Angus. I don’t think it has the power to hurt now.’
He casts a quick look at Ligach. ‘I’ve never told, my queen. It wasn’t my place.’ Visibly he pulls himself together. ‘When I was a boy, Macbeth chose me for a household servant and placed a special trust on me. He chose me to be the bearer of messages between himself and his kinsmen.’
‘We know that,’ Ligach says impatiently. ‘That’s how we got to know you.’
‘But I was more than that. I didn’t just deliver word to the likes of Gille Coemgáin. I carried the messages between Macbeth and my mistress, the queen.’
Ligach looks astonished. ‘You never!’
‘I did. Whatever passed between them for the best part of a year passed through my hands.’
Aife frowns. ‘But I never saw you talk to her.’
Angus shrugs. ‘I delivered messages in the language of flowers.’
Aife laughs in delight. ‘How did none of us know about this? I thought we knew all your secrets, Gruoch.’
‘And how did you avoid being caught out?’ Eithne asks.
‘The one place I could be without raising suspicion was the stables. I always made a fuss of my horse, all the stable lads knew that. I’d settle her down and talk to her till I was alone. My lady’ – a nod to me – ‘kept a game bag with a concealed pocket in the stables. It used to take less than a minute to swap my floral message for the one that was already there.’
They all gasp. And no wonder. It was an enterprise that could scarce have been more freighted with risk. But Angus had played his part with aplomb. I remembered Gille’s groom sarcastically saying, ‘That boy Angus’ll never marry unless she’s got four legs.’
‘Macbeth told me he had a herbalist on Mull the first time we met. I knew then that he had someone who could translate the messages in the flowers.’ My smile was tinged with sadness. ‘And I had Eithne.’
Eithne was shocked. ‘I thought you were genuinely interested.’
Wry, I said, ‘For once, your intuition let you down, Eithne.’
She looked cross. ‘So it goes when we know someone too well; we reject an instinct that runs counter to what we know of them.’
‘It would only have endangered you if you’d understood my reasons.’ I turned back to our guardian and guide. ‘I owe you a debt of gratitude, Angus.’
He shakes his head. ‘No, I’m the one who owes you, my lady. All the lads I grew up with, they’ve had dull, predictable lives. I’ve had excitement and adventure. I’ve seen more of the world than any of them. From Rannoch Moor to Rome and back again.’
Ligach tousles his hair. ‘And now it’s time to explore the fleshpots of Loch Earn and find us food and shelter till the weather turns back in our favour.’ She gives him a friendly skelp on the arse. ‘Go on, get us sorted.’
He grins. ‘I swear you sometimes think it’s you that’s the queen, Ligach.’
‘No, she’s just the queen of you,’ Aife bats at his retreating back. We watch him go. ‘We’re lucky to have him,’ she says, tucking her arm into Eithne’s.
I can’t help feeling a stab of jealousy. Ligach has her Angus, Aife her Eithne. But tonight I’ll sleep alone, even if I’m tucked up alongside my women. It has been a long four years since Malcolm vanquished my king once and for all at Dunsinane. Empty bed, empty arms, empty heart.
We settle ourselves under the trees and Eithne gets out her runes. She has us all rapt, under the spell of her casting. She throws them once, then twice, then frowns. ‘That makes no sense,’ she mutters. ‘The one contradicts the other. Like day and night.’
Aife leans in towards her. ‘Maybe not a contradiction? Maybe an order of events? Which comes first, my love? Day or night?’ Her voice is gentle.
Eithne gives her a blank look. ‘That’s not how it works. They sit alongside each other in the runes. Time runs differently there, you know that, Aife.’
Ligach’s lips tighten. She sometimes struggles with how Eithne sees the world. I understand that; I can’t make sense of it either. The difference is that I don’t feel the need to nail it down at all four corners as Ligach does.
She stirs herself and fetches her fishing rod from the slipe. ‘I’m going to see what the burn has to offer,’ she says, stomping off through the trees to the brook we can hear nearby.
Eithne seems dismayed. ‘I wish she’d pay attention,’ she mutters. ‘It’s not as if it doesn’t affect her.’
‘She doesn’t want to know what’s ahead of her,’ I tell her. ‘Ligach dwells not in the past or the future but in the here and now.’
‘Poor Angus,’ Eithne says.
I exchange a look with Aife that tells us both we have no idea why Angus is poor. At last he reappears on the other side of the rough ground between us, and ‘poor’ is the last word that comes to mind. He’s almost skipping across, an elderly woman struggling to keep up behind him.
‘This is Mhairi,’ he announces, drawing the woman into our circle. ‘She remembers when Macbeth became the Mormaer; he made a progress through the countryside.’
I remember it too. I was supposed to be in mourning for Gille. But at least I had wee Lulach as an excuse for my good spirits. He was less than six months old and such a good baby. The wet nurse said she’d never had so easy-going an infant in her care. And meanwhile, his natural father was busy establishing his right to the Moravian kingdom, so we could all three of us live in peace.
This old woman had seen my man in all his glory, and I know how impossible it would be to forget that. I produce my most gracious smile. ‘Macbeth loved the west of the country best,’ I lie easily.
‘Mhairi here is a widow now. She has room enough to offer us shelter until the weather lifts,’ Angus says, reaching for the halter of his horse. Then he frowns. ‘Where’s Ligach?’ Stricken, he seems on the edge of panic.
‘Gone fishing,’ Aife says, then raises her voice in a shout. ‘Ligach, get yourself back here! Your man is asking for you.’
‘Aife, behave,’ Angus explodes. ‘She won’t like that, and you know it.’
‘We’re not in the monastery now, Angus. You don’t have to hide the fact that you’re keeping Ligach warm at night whenever you get the chance.’
Mhairi is bemused by this banter, it’s clear. I take her to one side. ‘Pay them no mind, they’re like children penned indoors for too long. Mistress Mhairi, as your queen, I thank you for your service.’
Ligach pushes through the trees to join us. She’s caught nothing but she takes Aife’s teasing in good part. We follow Mhairi to the steading, where some of her neighbours have found excuses to be outside in spite of the rain. The doors of the smithy and the mill stand open; they’ve both become surprisingly popular for a mid-morning. Mhairi waves to everyone and most wave back as we pass.
