By Honor Bound Part 12

Patric spared one last glance for the purple hills of his homeland. They s.h.i.+mmered in the late summer haze.

Farewell, Alba. I will think of you constantly until I return.

Farewell, Elen. If I think of you, I will go mad. I will never think of you again. Never.

PART II.

A.D. 1040-1057.

MACBETH'S PEACE.

August 1040.

A great feast was held at Forres Castle to celebrate the victory over Duncan. Thorfinn the Mighty was there, and Bancho of Lochaber with his son Fergus, a slender seventeen-year-old fresh from his first battle. Conal mac Duff and Fionna were present, sitting with Conal's friends, the Thanes of Mar and of Angus, at a long table placed near to the king. The three successful leaders-Macbeth, Thorfinn, and Bancho-sat in the high seats at a raised table.

At a table halfway down the hall, Elen was squeezed onto a bench between Fergus and Talcoran. She tried to make conversation with Fergus, but he was infuriatingly uncommunicative. Fergus answered a simple yes or no to each of Elen's questions and picked at his food as though he feared it would poison him. On his other side, the vivacious Crania, now a lady to Queen Gruach, met with no better success as she fluttered her long eyelashes and smiled and tried to flirt with Fergus.

Elen gave up. Her heart was not in the effort to make clever conversation. Let Fergus find his own way. She had tried to be kind to him for his father's sake, but she would make no further attempts. It mattered not at all. Since she had learned that Patric had left Alba, nothing mattered. There was a constant dull ache in her bosom, as if her heart had been torn out of her body, and lately she had begun to feel the simmering anger of badly damaged pride.

"Are you ill, lady? You do not eat." Talcoran examined her with the intensity she had come to expect of him. She had not spoken to him since he had stalked out of her bedchamber three nights before. She blushed, remembering that he had seen her in her nightdress.

"I am not hungry," she snapped at him. "Do you grieve because Patric mac Keith has been proclaimed a traitor?"

"Do not speak to me of that monster!" "In Patric's eyes, we are the traitors," Talcoran said calmly. " Those whom we call loyal men or traitors are dependent upon the fortunes of their leaders. Had Duncan won the battle, I might be the exile."

"Not you. You would have died on the battlefield, like a man. Patric mac Keith did not even draw his sword." Elen spat out the last sentence like a sour fruit.

"Bitterness does not become you, lady. Patric was following his king's orders. Do not question his honor. " Talcoran bestowed a sardonic smile upon her. "I remember that you, too, preferred Duncan until I forced you into your cousin's camp at knifepoint."

Elen glared at him.

"I hate you," she said between clenched teeth. "I hate all men."

"That will pa.s.s. In time, your pride and your heart will heal. You will forget Patric and love again."

Elen regarded him with scorn. What could Talcoran possibly know of a woman's heart?

"Your cousin is about to speak," Talcoran said.

Macbeth had risen. In his red silk tunic, with a jeweled gold belt and a heavy gold chain across his broad chest, wide gold armbands on either wrist, he looked every inch a king. The rough gold crown he wore suited him better than a more elaborate, daintier circlet would have done. The crown gleamed softly atop Macbeth's thick yellow-gold hair. His beard was neatly trimmed, his blue eyes sparkled, his ruddy face glowed with happiness and triumph. He was all that a king should be. Everyone in that hall, friend and former enemy alike, felt the force of his personality. When he stood, the hall fell silent.

"I welcome you to my table," Macbeth said, raising a jewel-encrusted goblet. "I drink to your health and happiness, and to the well-being of the Kingdom of Alba."

"To Alba! To Macbeth!" Everyone in the hall rose, cups and tankards and goblets lifted high. "Macbeth! Macbeth! Macbeth!"

When the tumult had quieted a little, Macbeth continued.

"This day I have made a new agreement with my ally, Thorfinn of Orkney. Henceforth, Alba and Orkney will live in peace. There will be free and safe pa.s.sage across our borders, and free trade between us. To Thorfinn the Mighty!"

Again the cups were raised, as another cheer reverberated around the hall. Thorfinn's men shouted and banged their cups loudly on the table-tops. A few tall Nors.e.m.e.n even leapt onto the tables, raising their arms toward the roof, stamping their booted feet, and shouting at the top of their lungs.

"Thorfinn! Thorfinn! Thorfinn!" Macbeth threw back his head and roared with laughter, the sound carrying to Elen's ears over the noise of the exuberant crowd.

"Yet another cup must be drunk!" Macbeth cried. "To my loyal friend and the first general of my realm. To Bancho of Lochaber."

"Bancho!" Cups were emptied once more as the cheers continued.

"Bancho!" The cry went up from officers and common soldiers alike. "Bancho! Bancho!" Cups and fists drummed on tabletops. Young Fergus came suddenly to life, cheering and pounding with the rest. " Bancho! Bancho!"

Macbeth reached out a hand and pulled Bancho to his side. He flung a brawny arm about Bancho's shoulders, drawing him closer. "Bancho! Macbeth! Bancho!" Elen noticed Gruach, standing a little behind her husband. She was smiling an odd little smile as she watched Bancho.

Now Macbeth drew Thorfinn to his other side, and the three men stood arm-in-arm, accepting the acclaim, as the cheers grew louder. "Bancho! Macbeth! Thorfinn!" "I invite you all to Scone," Macbeth called over the din. "To Scone for my installation. And for another feast, even finer than this."

"The king! The king! The king! Macbeth!" Elen felt Talcoran's hand on her shoulder. His other fist was in the air as he, too, raised his voice. "Macbeth! Macbeth!"

Suddenly, forgetting her grief and pain, Elen was also caught up in the hysterical excitement, and she heard her own voice blending with Talcoran's rougher tones as the cheers rang out once more.

"Macbeth! Macbeth! Macbeth!"

The scene was entirely different the next morning, when Elen was in attendance on Gruach. Macbeth had learned it was Bancho who had aided Patric.

"You let him go, let a traitor escape? And with Duncan's body?"

"It seemed the best thing to do. Duncan should have decent burial." Bancho was quiet and calm, apparently unruffled by Macbeth's fury.

"And you think I would not have granted Duncan that? I myself would have taken his body to lona. I would have arranged a royal funeral for him. But you and Patric mac Keith together have made it appear as though I begrudged Duncan even those last rites. You have shown me in a false light before my subjects. I will not forget this, Bancho."

"Dismiss me if you wish," Bancho said stiffly.

"What kind of fool do you think I am? It I dismiss you, your soldiers will go with you, and if you do not revolt against me, they will, for love of you. There will be war in Alba again, and which one of us will be king when it ends, eh? I'll tell you. We will both be dead, and Thorfinn will be king. Do you want that?"

"No, my lord."

"Then do not take my prerogatives to yourself. I was elected King of Alba, not you. I have your oath of fidelity. See that you keep it."

"I will, my lord."

"As for this matter of Duncan's body, we will say that when I made you commander of Forres Castle, I gave you leave to dispose of Duncan and his family in whatever way you saw fit. What you did, you did with my permission. We must appear to be united in this."

"I understand you, my lord."

"Would that you had understood me before you signed those safe-conduct pa.s.ses for Patric!"Bancho bowed his head in silence."Let nothing of this kind ever occur again, Bancho. I will tolerate no insubordination. I have too much work to do. You have my leave to go "Bancho left, his back rigid with injured pride"You should have had him arrested," Gruach said."I would have liked to, but I could not. You heard the crowd cheering him last night. Nearly half the army belongs to him. I need him, and his soldiers."

"You are right, of course," Gruach conceded. "But be careful of him. He is too powerful, and toopopular with his men. He could unseat you.""Not now. I am firmly in control. But in the future? I will heed your warning, wife. We shall see."

Stroking his golden beard, Macbeth turned to Elen. "You are pale and quiet, cousin, since your lover

broke his vows and left you."Elen raised her white face to his. "I have forgotten him already," she said. "Have you, indeed? I hope so,for I have better plans for you than ever Duncan had." Macbeth frowned. "Have you kept yourselfvirgin?"

Before a startled Elen could answer the blunt question, Gruach intervened.

"She is untouched, I can vouch for that. My servants or I watched her whenever she and Patric werealone together. There were kisses aplenty, and a fumble or two with his hands, but nothing more.""Good. Well done, wife." Macbeth placed a resounding kiss on Gruach's ever-ready lips. "Our young cousin is a valuable a.s.set. I know which of my men I will reward with the t.i.tle Thane of Laggan, once I

am officially installed as king."

Macbeth regarded Elen with satisfaction and a good deal of genuine affection. "What do you say, Gruach-shall she have a new silk dress for my installation at Scone? Green, I think, with gold embroideries, such as the princesses in the old legends wore."

"Bancho?"Elen stopped the familiar figure. "I have not seen you since-""Since my quarrel with Macbeth?" Bancho moved back into the light of the window where she could see his face. "Don't be shy, Elen. Say it.""He was unkind to you.""He is the king. He must rule. From time to time some of us may not like his way of ruling, but we must accept it.""I have no love for Patric mac Keith," Elen began."No?" Bancho looked at her with a sad smile."But I do think Patric was right to give Duncan burial, and to save his sons from death, and you were right to help him. Macbeth should not have insulted you for that.""Aye." Bancho squared his broad shoulders. "That cut me deeply. I will not soon forget that insult.""Be careful. There are those who are jealous of your power and of the love your men have for you.""What do you know, la.s.s? What have you heard?"

"Nothing but a murmur. Oh, how I wish life were simple again, the way it was before I came to court.

Now nothing is what it seems to be, oaths are foresworn, and I am pulled in ten directions at once. I am constantly confused. I don't know where my true loyalties should lay. My heart is breaking."

"You could not stay a child forever. No one can, though some of us might wish it."

"Be careful, Bancho," Elen said again. "Guard yourself well. I fear for you."

September 1040. Scone.

The kings of Alba enjoyed no priestly protection, no anointing or crowning by any priest's hand. Each king was inaugurated in a ritual that had its roots in a pre-Christian past so distant no storyteller or historian could recall its origin.

At dawn on a September morning in the Year of Our Lord 1040, Macbeth mac Finlaec was formally enthroned at Scone of the High s.h.i.+elds, on the bank of the River Tay, where a mound of earth marked the ancient spot.

The crowd had begun to gather before the sky was light. By the time the ceremony began, it numbered several hundred people.

Elen, in her new green silk gown, and Fionna, in blue silk, walked in procession with Gruach, who was clad in rich draperies of cloth-of-gold. A new, richly bejeweled crown sat upon Gruach's golden, braided coiffure. She was weighted down with heavy gold rings and bracelets, necklaces and earrings, and a wide gold girdle. Her gold brocaded cloak was lined with red-gold silk and fastened with two gold brooches and a gold chain.

Elen marveled that she could walk at all under the weight of her ornaments, but Gruach moved with stately grace until she reached her a.s.signed position at one side of the mound. The queen had no real part in the ceremony, but her presence as a witness was important nonetheless. Through her father, Gruach had her own claim to the throne of Alba, and that claim strengthened her husband's right to rule. It was also Gruach's duty on this day to display both her beautiful person and the magnificent wealth which Macbeth possessed.

Once the queen and her attendants had taken their places there was a pause, and Elen looked around her. Although by ancient Gaelic tradition anyone was free to attend this ceremony, the ordinary people were in the background. The n.o.bles, each man carrying his sword and s.h.i.+eld, and a few wealthy landowners cl.u.s.tered nearer to the sacred mound.

The Stone of Destiny on which Macbeth would sit was directly in front of Elen. She could see it over Gruach's golden shoulder. It was a large stone, hollowed out, like a round chair, and decorated with strange carvings: circles and triangles and other markings Elen could not identify. It was said that the Picts, who ruled Alba before the Scots of Dalriada conquered them, had made this ancient relic.

Perhaps Talcoran could tell her what the carvings meant. He was half Pictish; he might know.

Now the king's procession appeared. In contrast to his gorgeously adorned wife, Macbeth wore a simple white linen robe, bound at the waist with a white silk cord. He was barefoot. He wore no crown. The rising sun cast its rays upon his hair and beard, making them s.h.i.+ne like beaten gold. An appreciative murmur rippled through the crowd.

Macbeth was surrounded by his closest friends, all in their finest clothes and bearing ceremonial swords and s.h.i.+elds. Conal mac Duff was in rich dark blue trimmed with silver, his brown hair and beard carefully combed, his handsome face solemn. Bancho of Lochaber wore bright orange-red. His greying beard and hair were a bit untidy, as though he needed a wife to brush and smooth him. Elen regarded him with deep affection.

Then she saw Lulach, pale and nervous and looking younger than his twelve years as he marched beside Bancho. He caught Elen's eye and gave her a quick smile.

There were others, all splendid and glittering, but now Elen's eyes lighted on Talcoran. He looked straight ahead as he walked, and in spite of his short stature, his dignity equaled that of the taller lords. He wore a grey wool tunic narrowly edged in silver and a darker grey wool cloak, caught with a magnificent silver brooch set with amber. His square Pictish s.h.i.+eld was only lightly ornamented with silver.

How like him, Elen thought, admiration stirring in her. He will not robe himself as some of these courtiers do, in silks and gold and glitter. Talcoran is an honest soldier, and he will never try to be anything he is not. Perhaps that is why Macbeth loves and trusts him so much.

The n.o.bles disposed themselves in a wide circle around the king. Macbeth stood alone before the stone, waiting for the ceremony to begin.

Elen knew that the day before he had been scrutinized in accordance with tradition. Elen and Crania had been excluded because they were both maidens, but Fionna and two other of the queen's married ladies had, with ceremonial formality, examined the naked king and p.r.o.nounced him without blemish. Gruach had told her that this custom had something to do with the fertility of the land, but Elen had been unable to ascertain the particulars from her guarded comments Privately, Elen thought the examination was a heathen practice, and she wondered what Macbeth would have done had one of the women declared him physically defective and therefore unfit to rule.

But then, she was certain Macbeth would have told her that this entire ceremony had nothing to do with Christianity. His enthronement was, rather, intended to establish publicly that Macbeth's legitimate claim to the crown of Alba had the support of all his n.o.bles.

Macbeth now held a gold and silver staff of office in his right hand. As a solemn hush fell over the crowd, he seated himself upon the Stone of Destiny. In total silence, Conal macDuff and Bancho of Lochaber draped about his shoulders a gold-edged mantle of royal purple.

An aged seannachie, an historian-orator, stepped forward. To authenticate his right to the succession, Macbeth was addressed with all of his t.i.tles, and with the names of all of his ancestors back to Scota, daughter of Pharaoh, and then back to Noah. When this long recital was finished, Macbeth stood. Lifting the hem of his robe so all could clearly see, he solemnly placed his bare right foot onto the soil of Alba.

"All hail Macbeth," the seannachie intoned, "Married to Alba, High King of Alba. Hail, Macbeth."

At the orator's words, every warrior present drew his sword and clashed it upon his s.h.i.+eld again and again, to proclaim Macbeth's power far

Elen and wide. A shout went up, the same cheer had first heard at Forres Castle."Macbeth! Macbeth!"Behind Gruach's back, Fionna leaned toward Elen."The famous melodious s.h.i.+elds make more of a clatter than music," she whispered, her joking words effectively breaking the spell that had held Elen entranced.

In the queen's chambers her ladies fluttered about, primping while they waited for the royal procession tothe banquet hall to begin."Elen," Gruach said, "come with me. The king wishes to speak with you in private."She took Elen's hand and led her through a door into Macbeth's private room. Elen caught her breath, dazzled at the sight of him.

Macbeth had changed his garments. He was now wearing a knee length cloth-of-gold tunic. A heavily

wrought golden crown, set with amethysts and rubies, sat upon his head. A gold-trimmed mantle of royal purple swung from his wide shoulders in graceful folds.

Elen would have knelt, but Macbeth caught her by the shoulders and held her upright.

"No, cousin," he said, "let your obeisance wait until the banquet. I have asked you here to tell you