Conquest (15 page)

Hereward had gambled that beneath Macbeth’s irascible, disheartened facade was a decent man and a good king.

Macbeth offered Hereward his hand, an honour rarely given to a man of modest birth. ‘It took great courage to speak as you did. Now make my army as strong as you are.’

The training of the army went on through 1056 and into the early months of 1057; only the deepest snows of winter brought a temporary halt.

Macbeth and Earl Duncan did exactly the same training as their men, and word spread throughout Scotland that the army had regained its pride, and that the discipline, though hard, was fair. Men started to arrive almost daily. By the beginning of March 1057, the army numbered six cohorts of highly trained men, plus seventy recent arrivals, who were still undergoing training. There was an entire cohort of cavalry, every soldier had a full complement of weapons and two of the cohorts were trained archers.

But Macbeth’s army was still relatively small. If he was to face Malcolm Canmore in a full-scale battle, he would need several hundred more men. Word arrived that Malcolm Canmore was moving north with a large force. Once again, he had the support of King Edward and the English, this time in the guise of Tostig, the new Earl of Northumbria and the brother of Harold Godwinson.

Hereward advised caution, but Macbeth was impatient to regain the throne.

After many months of peaceful preparation, Macbeth began the march south to meet his enemy.

Events began to take on a sudden momentum when messengers arrived with news that a large force of allies of Malcolm Canmore had sailed up the Firth of Cromarty and landed on the Black Isle, near Dingwall. This was in the heart of Macbeth’s homeland, where his people were largely unprotected. Canmore knew that Macbeth would have to turn back towards the north-east and fight. It was an attempt to outflank Macbeth’s army, which duly turned and began the long march northwards up the Great Glen of Mor.

They made a fine sight: the cavalry rode the flanks with small reconnaissance parties of horsemen peeling off on scouting missions; the infantry marched in closed ranks in double-time, occasionally breaking into a trot when the ground allowed it. The rhythmic din of feet and hooves and the clatter of the baggage train reverberated for miles around the peaks and troughs of the mountains.

After three days of marching, scouts returned with news of the strength of Canmore’s forces. The northern contingent included over 100 English light cavalry, almost 200 housecarls sent by Tostig, an assortment of Celtic archers, mercenaries from Ireland and several squadrons, at least 80 men, from Denmark. Canmore’s main force in the south was a large army of lowland Scots, well in excess of 1,000 men, which was moving north to rendezvous with his allies.

Macbeth knew he could not defeat both armies; his only chance was to strike at the head of the beast and confront Canmore and his main force.

He spent several hours in private, mulling over his strategy,
before announcing the audacious plan to turn east, traverse the Mountains of Monadhliath and cross into the Grampians. Canmore would not believe anyone would attempt such a bold move, especially with the remnants of winter still making the mountains treacherous. The baggage train was sent the long way round and told to meet in two weeks’ time at Inverurie on the Don.

As the days passed and Hereward became familiar with the terrain, he realized how daring Macbeth’s route was. Some of the passes were lethal, with progress only possible in single file. There were steep and precarious climbs and descents and exposed crags and ridges where footholds were difficult to find. Nevertheless, late in the afternoon, after five days of hard marching unique in the history of Scottish warfare, they found Canmore’s main army making its way north towards the Howe of Alford along a small tributary of the River Dee near the settlement of Lumphanan.

Macbeth’s army appeared from the mountains, to the amazement of Canmore and his men.

Canmore’s force was stretched out over a wide area and it would take them some time to become organized. Macbeth ordered Hereward and Earl Duncan to lead his cavalry in a lightning attack. The tactic worked: the well-disciplined horsemen, riding in tight formations, inflicted heavy casualties on scattered groups of Lowlanders.

Hereward was at the vanguard, creating a maelstrom with his axe and driving large gaps in Canmore’s infantry. Macbeth looked on in wonder as Hereward’s exploits became more and more prominent. Men were drawn to him like a magnet as he drove deeper into the enemy ranks.
His great axe, and the massive arc he could scythe with it, created a devastating killing ground around him.

Eventually, as nightfall approached, Macbeth signalled to his cavalry to disengage. Both armies made camp in the forests above Lumphanan, Macbeth to savour a victory in the initial skirmish, Canmore to lick his wounds.

Before first light the next morning, Hereward pleaded with Macbeth not to launch a frontal attack. He had barely 700 men and was outnumbered almost two to one, but Macbeth had rediscovered his conviction, was flushed with the success of his march through the mountains and euphoric from victory in the previous evening’s cavalry charge.

‘You have trained the army well; they are ready to fight, and so am I. No more talk! Today I will wear my crown again.’

By dawn, the two armies had formed up on either side of the narrow vale of Lumphanan. The scene was set for a formal pitched battle, but events took a surprising turn.

When Canmore surveyed his opponents, he saw a royal army that looked like a force to be reckoned with. Its march across the mountains had impressed him, and last night’s bloody nose had unnerved him. He was also conscious that the forces of his allies were a long way away.

Canmore strode out more than fifty yards into the no-man’s-land between the two armies. For several minutes, he paced up and down, peering at the ranks of Macbeth’s forces. He could see how uniform and steadfast they were; this was an army ready to fight. His own force was ill prepared, having expected to trap Macbeth much further north. He feared that his numerical superiority might not be enough to ensure victory.

He needed a new plan and, within minutes, had decided on a bold gamble for the throne of Scotland.

He sent an envoy galloping across the open ground with a message for Macbeth. It offered a personal duel – a fight to the death for the crown – in front of their armies.

It was an extraordinary move, but there were precedents for it in the traditions of conflict in northern Europe. Canmore’s reasoning was sound: he was young and virile; Macbeth was much older and the best of his fighting days were long gone.

The odds were heavily in Canmore’s favour.

Macbeth thought long and hard about the challenge and turned to Hereward for advice.

He was forthright. ‘Sire, let us stand our ground here. It will be many days before Duncan’s army of cut-throats arrives from the north. We’ve grasped the initiative; that’s why Canmore has issued the challenge.’

‘But I have a chance to resolve this here and now. It is my throne; I can win it back myself and prevent more bloodshed. Remember, I need to keep my army intact. King Edward has greedy eyes for Scotland and has been plotting my downfall for years. If too many Scots kill one another here at Lumphanan, who will stop Harold Godwinson’s housecarls when Edward orders them to cross our borders?’

The King had made up his mind. He rode along the ranks of his men as word of the challenge filtered through to them.

At first, there was silence, then a cry went up: ‘Hail, Macbeth, King of the Scots.’

A retort soon came from the opposing army standing 500 yards away: ‘Hail, King Malcolm.’

As the competing chants echoed around the glens, Macbeth turned to the messenger. ‘Tell Malcolm Canmore that I accept his challenge for the Throne of Scone. All weapons, treasure and the loyalty of their men go to the victor to unite Scotland under a strong king. We will meet in fifteen minutes.’

Macbeth chose Earl Duncan and Hereward as his seconds, while Canmore chose two Lowland earls from the English borders.

Macbeth was almost forty years of age; Canmore was fifteen years his junior and a much more powerful man.

The preparations for the contest were meticulous. Tridents were placed in the open ground, midway between the armies, to receive the combatants’ cloaks and weapons. The duel would begin with swords and shields, but axes and spears were placed in the tridents and could be used at any time.

When everything was ready, the two men faced each other.

As the seconds retreated, Hereward placed the Talisman around Macbeth’s neck.

‘What is this?’

‘It is an amulet of kings from many generations and many lands. It is said that it has been worn since the days of Rome. You should wear it as the true king.’

Macbeth looked at it. ‘Not the most attractive of charms!’

‘No, but a very powerful one.’

‘Thank you, Hereward, for all you have done for my army … and for me.’

Earl Duncan spoke the final words before stepping away. ‘For Scotland, my Lord King, for the Throne of Scone.’

Canmore and Macbeth eyed one another warily.

Macbeth spoke first. ‘For the throne of Scotland, Malcolm Canmore.’

‘For the throne of Scotland, Macbeth of Moray.’

A long and gruelling struggle followed.

Canmore began impetuously, and Macbeth was able to parry his attacks with ease. After a while, some blows began to land on both men, but their mail coats prevented deep wounds. There was a passage when each held the other’s sword arm and cuts and bruises were inflicted in a scuffle of shields and sword hilts. Both men became soaked in perspiration, the steam from which rose in a haze around them. They discarded their helmets, revealing their sweat-soaked hair and matted beards. Both armies roared and hollered for their leader as they witnessed a fight fit for legend by two kings battling for the throne of their domain.

As Macbeth began to tire, he found it hard to fend off the blows. Suddenly, Canmore’s sword glanced off the King’s shield and made a deep gash in Macbeth’s forehead. Blood flowed down his face, making it difficult for him to see.

Canmore attacked ferociously as Macbeth wilted, until, unable to defend and parry any more, he was struck through the midriff by the full thrust of Canmore’s lunging sword. He sank to his knees, the sword still embedded in him, his blood spewing through his mail coat and cascading on to the ground. He could not speak and had only moments to live. His rival, not satisfied with his opponent’s imminent death, went for his axe and, as he knelt before him, decapitated Macbeth in one mighty blow.

A great cheer swept across the valley from Canmore’s army.

In a final act of cruelty, Canmore picked up Macbeth’s head by its hair and raised it to his army.

‘This is the head of Macbeth, once King of Scotland. I am Malcolm Canmore, King of Scotland, Lord of the Isles!’

His army began to run towards him in a frenzy of excitement; the spoils were theirs, without having to spill any of their own blood. Canmore threw Macbeth’s head on the ground, where it left a trail of blood as it rolled away. The soldiers laid down their weapons as Canmore’s stewards rushed to unload Macbeth’s gold and silver. A horse was brought for his body and his head was placed in a hemp sack.

Hereward was bereft.

There was nothing he could have done to help Macbeth: the rules of combat were unbreakable; no one might intervene, no matter what happened between the two men.

He collected the Talisman from the ground where it had fallen. It was covered in blood, which he chose not to remove. Nor did he place it around his neck, but carefully folded its chain and slowly pushed it into his belt pouch. He resolved to give it back to Torfida.

He was sorry that he had given it to the King – whatever its powers, it had not been of much help to Macbeth.

Following the tragedy at Lumphanan, the four companions accompanied Macbeth’s family and Earl Duncan to the distant island of Iona for his burial.

It was a moving and solemn occasion, as the mourners sang the ancient melodies of the Scottish kings and the horn players sounded the final lament. The island was a
lonely, windswept land, a holy place for the Scots and a mystical sanctuary that held the remains of many generations of their nobility.

As the horns sounded their final notes, the wind swirled around the mourners and rain started to lash their faces, mingling their warm tears with the cold outpouring of the western skies. The assembly stood in silence for several minutes until the squall subsided. Then a small fissure opened in the black clouds of the horizon and the setting sun paid its homage to a dead king.

Earl Duncan, Lord of Ross, raised the King’s sword in salute and then passed it to Queen Gruoch, who laid it gently on his body. Six of his hearthtroop, led by Donald of Moray, lowered the elaborately carved lid of his stone sarcophagus on to his tomb.

Then there was silence.

Macbeth’s widow, a woman of beauty and charm, bade them farewell. She granted Hereward a parchment endorsing his bravery, as well as a significant gratuity from her estates.

Hereward had given the Talisman back to Torfida after Macbeth’s death, saying that he never wanted to see it again.

Torfida had quickly become very animated. ‘You gave it to him as a lucky charm, an amulet to ward off evil. That’s not what it is. You still don’t understand, do you? It’s a symbol of wisdom and kingship, not a lucky charm. The wisdom must come first, then the warrior may wear it and harness its power – because he understands its meaning.’

‘You talk in riddles. The damned thing is just a lump of amber. The only mystery is how it hoodwinks apparently intelligent people like you.’

Torfida had stormed off in a fury, leaving Hereward to look back on the sad events in Scotland.

It was something he would do many times in the months and years that followed, as they travelled far from Scottish shores.

As Godwin of Ely completed his story of the demise of Macbeth, King of the Scots, he breathed a prolonged and mournful sigh.