Tim Severin - King's Man

'And did the priests suggest a cure?' I asked, unable to resist adding, 'They seem to think they have the answers to every human condition.'

Mac Bethad stood up and went across to where his wife sat. He bent and kissed her gently, then eased back her hood so he could reach down and remove an amulet hanging on a leather thong around her neck. As the hood fell back, I saw that Queen Gruoch must have once possessed a striking beauty. Her hair was unkempt and wild, but it was still thick and luxuriant and shot through with glints of reddish gold, though most of it was faded to a dull bronze. From her left temple a strange white streak extended back through her hair, giving her a strange and unsettling appearance.

Mac Bethad laid the amulet upon the table in front of me. It was a small tube of brass. I teased out the tightly rolled scrap of paper and smoothed it on the table so that I could read the words written there. They were penned in a combination of three scripts - runes, Greek and Roman lettering. 'In nomine domini summi sit benedictum, thine hand vexeth, thine hand troubles thee, Veronica aid thee,' I read.

'The priest who prepared this note said that my wife should wear this close to her left breast,' explained Mac Bethad, 'and for it to be effective she must remain silent. But as you observe, it has had little effect. At least it is less harmful than the other cures that have been suggested. A different priest claimed that my wife's affliction could be controlled if I used a whip made of porpoise skin to beat her every day and expel the demons that have possessed her.' He grimaced with distaste.

I recalled the twitch that had passed across the queen's cheek, and remembered how the young Basileus Michael in Miklagard had trembled uncontrollably in the moments before his spirit had strayed. In Miklagard, too, ignorant priests had diagnosed devilish intervention. Other physicians, however, had been more practical. Long ago, in Ireland, I had seen a drui use herbs and potions to treat convulsions among his patients.

'There are no devils, nor dark elves in possession of your queen,' I assured the king. 'What is written on that paper is worse than foolishness. If you wish to ease your queen's suffering, throw away the amulet, let her speak when she wishes, and if she is distressed, give her potions to drink of warm vinegar in which henbane or cowbane has been soaked, or a light infusion of the plant called deadly nightshade.'

Mac Bethad paled. 'But those are plants known to be favoured by witches and warlocks — and the Wyrds,' he said accusingly. 'You are leading her towards that dark world, not away from it.'

I shrugged. 'I am an Old Believer,' I reminded him, 'and I find no fault in using them if they are effective.' As I spoke, I found myself wondering if Gruoch knew that she had seidr powers. And if she did know, whether she had suppressed or denied them because she was a Christian. If that was the case, the tension within her must have become insupportable.

'Will the medicine cure my wife, as well as ease her suffering?' he asked.

'That I cannot say,' I warned him. 'I believe that her spirit is in turmoil. Divided between the White Christ and the Elder Way.'

'The White Christ has been no help,' said Mac Bethad. 'Four years ago, when I was really worried about the queen's condition, I took her to Rome on pilgrimage. Sought out all the holy men, prayed, gave alms in abundance, but with no result. Maybe I should now turn to the Elder Way. If it cured my wife, I would give up my Christian faith, knowing that no harm can ever come to me.'

His words sent an alarm signal. I knew there was something not quite right.

'What do you mean by "that no harm will come to you"?'

'The final prophecy of the Wyrds was that I could not be killed by mortal man, and that my throne was secure.'

'And did they offer some sort of guarantee or proof?'

'They stated that I would not lose a battle until the wood of Birnam came to this stronghold. But Birnam is half a day's travel away. That is impossible.'

But I knew that it was possible. Even as Mac Bethad told me the prophecy, I understood that his kingship was doomed. Perhaps the country folk back in Vaster Gotland were right and I was some sort of sage, because I already knew that a prophecy of a moving wood had proved to be a sure sign of defeat to come. Travelling in Denmark some years earlier, I had come to a place known locally as the Spring of Carnage. Intrigued, I had enquired the reason for the name. I was told it was the spot where a king of Denmark lost his final battle to an enemy who advanced into their attack carrying the leaves and shrubs of trees to hide their numbers. The place where they had cut the fronds was still called the Deadly Marsh.

Composing my features to hide my consternation, I looked at the king of the Scots in the half darkness. There was no doubt in my mind that the prophecy of the Norns was an augury for Mac Bethad, not a surety. Odinn had allowed me a glimpse into Mac Bethad's future, but had denied it to the king. There was nothing that I could do to alter Mac Bethad's fate. It was his orlog, his destiny. I wondered what to say to him. I chose the coward's course.

'Be careful,' I cautioned Mac Bethad, rising to my feet. 'A single tree can destroy a king. Magnus of Norway who shared the throne with my liege lord Harald was killed by a single branch which swept him from the saddle. He too was a Christian.'

Then, burdened with a sense of foreboding, I said I was tired, asked Mac Bethad for permission to return to my chamber, and left the room.

Next morning I did not trouble to request for a second audience with the king, because I knew that any alliance I made between Mac Bethad and King Harald would prove futile. Instead I asked for permission to return to Norway for further consultations with my liege lord, and even as I was waiting on the coast for the ship that would carry me back to Nidaros, I heard that Siward and his Northumbrians had made a sudden strike across the border and overrun Mac Bethad's stronghold on the hill. I did not doubt that the advancing troops had carried branches from the wood of Birnam. Mac Bethad himself escaped the battle, and was to survive for two more years before he was hunted down and killed in the glens of the Mounth. How he was killed when he had been assured that no man born of a woman could kill him, I never found out. Nor did I hear what happened to his Queen Gruoch and whether she converted to the Old Ways or remained torn between the two faiths, tormented by her doubts.

'You COULD ALSO have warned Magbjothr that even the divine Baldr, whom the Gods thought was unassailable, was killed by a branch of mistletoe,' Harald observed shrewdly when I reported the failure of my mission to him.

His remark was typical of his familiarity with the Old Gods. Baldr was the most handsome of all of them. When he was born his mother asked all potential sources of harm that they would never hurt him. She obtained the promise from all things that might harm him - fire, water, disease, all animals, including snakes. She even asked the trees to give her their pledge. But she made an exception of the mistletoe, which she considered to be a plant too young and slender to be a risk. Confident of this protection, the other Gods amused themselves at banquets by pelting Baldr with rocks and stones, throwing spears at him and shooting arrows. Always the missiles fell short or were turned aside, until the trickster Loki made an arrow from mistletoe and gave it to Baldr's brother, Hod. Unthinkingly, Hod, who was blind, shot the arrow and killed his brother.

'Odinn the Wise One told us that it is better that men do not know their fate,' I answered, and quoted a verse from the Havamal, the Song of Odinn:

'Medium wise should a man be