Banquo's Son (A Crown of Blood and Honour Book 1) (16 page)

Fleance started and then re-read the last line. What did
it mea
n? How could Banquo father kings if he were dead? To father k
ings? Th
e only child Banquo had fathered was himself, Fleance. It was mad talk and nonsense. How could a grown man take such words seriously?

He continued reading:

When I burned in desire to question them further, they made themselves air, into which they vanished. While I stood rapt in the w
onder of
it, there came messengers from the king, who all hailed me ‘Thane of Cawdor’, by which title, before, these weird sisters saluted me, and referred to me, as if making a promise for the future, with ‘Hail, king that shalt be!’

This have I thought good to deliver you, my dearest partner of greatness, that you might celebrate with me these great honours and also know what other greatness is promised you. Lay it to your heart, tell no one and farewell.

What did this mean? He looked it over quickly again. Banquo had been caught up in this as well. The victorious battle Macbeth spoke of must have been the one against Norway and the rebels. So, Macbeth, with Banquo, had met some prophets? Witches? They promised him rank beyond his dreams. Was this reason enough for murder? Murder of kin?

The other parchment was another letter from Macbeth to his wife: it was addressed to her as Queen and this time in a madly scrawled hand.

I must explain to you what has presently been shown so that you can make urgent preparations for the coming time. I sought further counsel from the secret and midnight hags; not from their mouths but their
masters
’, for a king is in need of higher power than these. The first apparition, an armed head, held a warning: ‘Macbeth, beware Macduff. Beware the Thane of Fife.’ The second, a bloody child, gave better hope telling me to be bloody, bold and resolute; scorn the power of man for none born of woman shall harm Macbeth.

Be of good cheer, my love. Your husband and king shall not be easily overthrown. But the third, though also a promise, brings me to my instruction. The third apparition was another child, crowned, holding a tree in his hand. He exhorted me to be lion-mettled, proud, and take no care of rebels or treasonous advance because Macbeth will never be vanished until Great Birnam Wood comes against high
Dunsinane
Hill.

I sought more from them though they warned against it. I desired to know whether Banquo’s seed would ever reign in this kingdom. What I saw grieved my heart for there came sight after sight of crowned men so like the spirit of Banquo, eight in all with the last one holding a mirror which showed me many more. Finally, the bloody ghost of Banquo appeared again and smiled at me with triumph on his face.

So, though there are promises that I am safe, Fleance lives and while he does, I hold a barren sceptre in my hand, keeping warm the throne until the son seeks to overthrow my fruitless crown. We must away from Inverness for how can trees pull up their roots and march like soldiers? To ensure the certainty of our fate, we must be doubly safe.

Therefore, my dearest Queen, make hasty arrangements to move all to Dunsinane castle. Take all fellows who would come and leave behind all that is not needed – servants, letters, trinkets – for, when this is all over, we can return to Inverness.

I will go before you.

All speed, my dearest chuck.

There was just one more parchment. A recorded list of bizarre statements which were in a different hand. Was a servant or his wife recording the mad ravings of a tyrant? The list was most interesting: names, his father’s, Banquo, at the top and second his own, Fleance. Next, added to as time went on were others: Macduff; Angus; Caithness; Ross; Lennox.

Macbeth had decided to murder all who might challenge him to the throne.

Fleance fell back against the stone wall. So, here it was, exactly as Lennox had described – Macbeth killed his father because he was afraid that Banquo would usurp him. This was why his father had been murdered and his own life challenged. He took in a deep breath and tears came to his eyes. Finally some answers to what and when and why things had been so bad.

He swallowed and angrily folded the letters before putting them inside his coat. He held onto the list. He remembered his own encounter with witches. They had said some things which sounded fair. Perhaps . . . ? Fleance shook his head again. How foolish to think one was above the natural order of things.
If a man lives by honour, then he is in need of nothing else save food, clothes, a roof over his head and, if fortunate, the love of a family.
His father had told him this many times and the proverb was ingrained into his thinking.

Come what may, whether the prophecies had any kernel of truth or not, he would do nothing but what he had to do. According to these letters, the witches had given Banquo prophecies just as they had Macbeth, yet he did not use these pronouncements as an excuse to act dishonourably. His father had made the decision to continue on the right path, the one ordained for his life – whether by the hand of Fate or God. Macbeth, though believing in what the witches had said, still took action to make doubly sure the prophecies came true. With bloody consequences for many.

Fleance remembered now after the banquet in this castle’s great hall, coming down the stairs and encountering Macbeth.

It was very late and he hardly managed to keep his eyes open. They stopped so that Banquo could put his cloak on, for the weather had turned foul. ‘I cannot understand why it is so dark,’ he said. ‘Here, take this torch for a moment as well.’

Fleance stood on the steps, leaning against the wall, holding his father’s heavy sword and then the torch. Banquo, despite laughing a lot, looked pale and tired. ‘Are you fine, Da?’ he’d asked.

Banquo secured the cloak and rubbed a hand over his eyes. ‘I haven’t been sleeping so well, son. Bad dreams.’

‘Perhaps you should take some of Ma’s remedy,’ Fleance suggested. Their eyes met. ‘There is none left,’ Banquo said quietly. They hardly mentioned her of late. Just then Macbeth appeared. ‘Are you still awake, my friend? I’m to bed. But it was a good feast and the king was in particularly good spirits.’ Banquo reclaimed the sword and torch from Fleance. ‘You’ve been blessed by his generosity tonight.’

Macbeth smiled. ‘I do feel his gestures were extravagant because we had barely time to prepare for his royal attendance and so many guests.’

‘As always, Macbeth, you and your lady outdo yourselves. ’Tis always a pleasure to be hosted by you.’ They began walking down the stairs and Banquo lowered his voice. ‘May I speak plainly to you?’

A startled expression flicked over Macbeth’s face before he composed his features. ‘Aye.’

‘I keep having dreams about the weird sisters. To you, some of what they have said has come true.’ He lowered his voice further. ‘Are you bothered too?’

Macbeth patted Banquo’s arm. ‘I have not given them another thought. But, listen, after all this is over, perhaps we can meet and talk over what happened. Try to make sense of it.’

Banquo nodded. ‘That would help, I think.’

This time Macbeth lowered his voice. ‘If you follow my advice and do what I say, I think you too shall see the fruits of those mad women’s rantings.’

Banquo nodded again. ‘So long as the action is honourable and my conscience remains clear, I am your servant.’

‘You and the boy sleep well,’ Macbeth said, ruffling Fleance’s hair.

‘And you, Macbeth.’ Then they walked across the courtyard, up another flight of steps to the first level and went into their chamber.

How innocent and benign that conversation had seemed. It was difficult readjusting his boyhood interpretation of that time. Up until a few days ago, he had not even sensed the horror which was to come at the hands of the man who had so kindly and graciously welcomed them. How was it that one man chose one path and another the opposite? Why hadn’t Macbeth done as his father said? If God wanted it to be, then it would be.

He pulled out the first parchment again and studied it, looking for answers to his questions. It made less sense than the other two but he placed it also inside his coat. He stood up. He would win Duncan’s challenge but no eyes other than his and Duncan’s would see these for now. They contained too much potency at this unsettled time.

Fleance made his way back up the stone steps to the kitchen and the cupboard. He walked through the kitchen and into the outer room before stumbling upon the open courtyard. The corpse of another animal lay just outside the door. Pig or wild boar, he could not tell but it did not carry the stench of the recently d
ead wolf.

Taking a deep breath, he looked around the castle walls. All was silent. Nothing stirred. He’d had enough of adventure
and in hi
s pocket were treasures. Time to leave this cursed place and find h
is friend.

Willow was chomping on grass and, by the way he struggled against Fleance, the horse was most put out that his rider had arrived so quickly. ‘Hey, Willow,’ Fleance said. ‘So you’ve been resting?’ The horse gave him a guarded look. ‘I was occupied, all right? We can’t always be saviours of every moment.’

The horse stamped his hoofs and turned so that Fleance got a well-deserved view of his backside and tail and returned to the grass. Fleance laughed. ‘You, my dear steed, are overreacting. You need to trust me more.’ Willow continued to pull roughly at the grass, ignoring his rider, perhaps to make sure Fleance understood his
disapproval
.

Duncan turned up a few minutes later with a sword. ‘Look at this,’ he said. ‘I can’t believe the scavengers missed it. Surely it was Macbeth’s?’ His eyes sparked with excitement.

‘I found something as well,’ Fleance said. He pulled the letters from his pocket and gave them to Duncan.

Duncan lay the sword on the ground and began reading, his lips moving silently. Every few moments he looked at Fleance, a shocked expression on his face and then went back to the letter.

After a few minutes, he quietly folded the letters and handed them back to Fleance.

They stared at each other. Fleance waited for Duncan to say what needed to be said.

Duncan swallowed. ‘Father must never see these,’ he said.

‘Duncan,’ Fleance started. ‘I need to tell you some things.’

‘I know,’ Duncan said. ‘I know who you are, Flea. You are
Banquo’s
son, Fleance, are you not?’

‘Aye.’

Duncan sat down on a rock. ‘Macduff hinted something to me last night and this letter,’ he tapped it on his knee, ‘names a Fleance.’ He looked up. ‘What are your thoughts? Do you think you can speak freely with me?’

‘Duncan, I’m sorry for keeping it a secret, but I have been hiding for so long and didn’t know who my enemies were. Those,’ he said pointing to the letters still in Duncan’s hands, ‘tell me why my father was murdered. But, as Macbeth is dead, I am free to be myself.’

Duncan stood up and handed the letters back to Fleance. ‘I think these best not be seen by anyone else.’

Fleance nodded. ‘Agreed.’

‘Did you find anything else?’

‘Just carcasses of dead animals,’ Fleance replied. He mounted Willow and was awarded with an impatient shudder. Duncan, after retrieving the sword, also mounted and Fleance noted that he did not favour his arm any more. ‘Your wound has healed quickly,’
he said.

‘Aye,’ Duncan said, holding up his arm. ‘I have Rachel’s balm to thank. Father thinks it has some magic potion in it but I have watched her make it and it is a simple natural remedy.’

‘Perhaps she secretly whispers a spell when you’re not looking.’

Duncan laughed out loud. ‘If you met my sister, you would know there is not a speck of darkness on her soul. She is very devout, much like Queen Margaret.’

They moved off at a good pace for it was at least three hours back to Forres and, though neither said so, they both felt it desirable to be at the castle before the light left the day. They trotted on for a while and then Duncan slowed his horse to a walk; Fleance followed suit. ‘I was thinking about what you said back then,’ Duncan said.

‘What?’

‘About the dead animals.’

‘Aye, what about them?’

‘Almost every room I went into there was either a large dead bird or animal. We saw the wolf, and there was the boar, in the courtyard outside the entrance to the gallery. I also came across a couple of badgers – even a deer. Most strange.’

Fleance thought on this, trying to think of a reason why a deserted castle with no food to scavenge had attracted such creatures only for them to die. ‘Maybe the well was poisoned,’ he offered. ‘Sometime when they arrived they drank and the water killed them.’

‘That is very likely,’ said Duncan. ‘When I told the stablehands where we were going today, one of them was most upset. He told me the castle is cursed and no living creature who enters leaves alive.’

‘We’re alive,’ Fleance said. ‘But I did not drink anything there. What about you?’

Duncan shook his head. ‘No, but the burn on the west side of the castle – did not the horses drink from there?’

‘They did but it was safe – Willow has a sensitive nose.’ At the sound of his name, the horse’s ears twitched. ‘He wouldn’t touch something to make him sick – of this I can be sure for he has many times saved me from bellyache by refusing a stream.’

‘Do you take mind of such things, Fleance?’

‘Willow? Aye, I’m best to if I know what is good for me.’

Duncan smiled. ‘No, I mean, curses and signs and things?’

Fleance stared ahead, constructing a reply. ‘I think there are more things in both heaven and earth than we could ever hope to fully understand. There are things no one can explain and only God knows their origin. Others are the result of obsession or madness.’ He patted Willow’s thick neck. ‘Why do you ask me this?’

It was Duncan’s turn to stare ahead. ‘My father, Donalbain, he . . .’ He took a deep breath. ‘I saw him with the three strange women I spoke of before. They bound his hands and put a blindfold on him.’