Banquo's Son (A Crown of Blood and Honour Book 1) (10 page)

‘When I was in Fife, I heard talk about the thane Macduff. That he’d lost all the inhabitants of his castle to the sword. Some fiend, which they think was Macbeth, had ordered their slaughter. They said Macduff, who killed the tyrant, knew the workings of that madman’s mind. Perhaps if you travel to Fife, you may seek an audience with him. He may have information that could help you. I think you’ll find him a trustworthy soul for I’ve never heard a bad word against the thane.’

‘I remember the name,’ Flea replied. ‘My father spoke highly of him; but why do you think he could help?’

‘Well, the story goes that Macbeth was pacing his castle shouting that none of woman borne could harm him and then Macduff shouts out that he was not of woman borne.’

‘How can that be?’ Fleance asked, puzzled at the riddle.

‘He was cut from his mother’s stomach. Macbeth comes onto the balcony and looks down upon Macduff and says, “I have too much blood of yours on my hands”.’

‘God in heaven,’ Flea exclaimed. ‘That means he must have murdered Macduff’s entire family.’

‘Aye, so it seems. Macduff tells him to surrender and give the crown to Malcolm but Macbeth says he would not be like a Roman fool and die on his own sword. So off they went, sword to sword into the bowels of the castle until Macduff appeared with Macbeth’s head to lay at Malcolm’s feet.’ Blair propped himself on a barrel. ‘Shouts could be heard but no one could make out what they were saying. Perhaps Macduff can tell you some confession Macbeth made.’

Fleance was amazed. ‘You’ve not lost your art of storytelling, Blair.’

Blair shrugged. ‘’Tis a pretty powerful story to repeat.’

Fleance thought for a moment. ‘This master of yours . . .’

‘Blair!’

Both Fleance and Blair jumped. It was Wallace, the young soldier. ‘What are you doing? You are missed in the kitchen.’ Wallace glared at them. ‘I have been sent by cook to find you. A lowly task for a soldier, methinks, and one I don’t want to repeat.’

‘Sorry. I was just ensuring our guest was well accommodated.’

‘That is not your brief. Back to the kitchen.’

Blair gave Fleance an apologetic smile before walking out of the stable. Wallace stood staring at Fleance for some minutes before returning to the mist.

Chapter Thirteen

T
he night was clear of cloud and the moon was rising, a swollen ball of yellow above the horizon. ‘Do you think, Flea, that fate controls our lives or that we have the freedom to choose our own path?’

‘I’d like to think I was in charge of my own destiny but,’ he hesitated, stroking Rosie’s hand, ‘often I feel that my life is not my own – that I don’t have the freedom you speak of.’ He turned to her. ‘What do you think?’

She thought for a moment. ‘I think that we are not alone.’ She stared at the moon. ‘There’s someone – something – watching over us.’

‘You mean God?’

‘I suppose but more of a feeling that there are powers guiding us a little like an autumn breeze with a thistledown tossed about. That, if things are meant to be, they will be.’ She looked up into his face. ‘This same power brought you to me and, no matter what life brings, I know it will keep us together always.’

His heart swelled with deep affection. Her words named his secret hope.

‘Do you ever get that feeling that, even when you are by yourself, that someone or something is aware of you?’ Rosie asked.

Like a cold finger down his spine, Fleance felt her words chill him for she had spoken out loud his very fear.

It was still dark when Wallace, the young soldier, came into the stable carrying a flaming torch. ‘Magness!’ he called. ‘Magness of Fife. ’Tis time for you to leave.’ It took a few moments for Fleance to realise the soldier was speaking to him.

‘Aye, I’m awake.’ He sat up groggily. The night had been full of dreams and visions and he’d not rested well. He flailed around for his boots and instinctively reached for his dirk. It was not there – of course, they’d taken his weapons. ‘Thank you for the timely alarm.’ Though, of course, Fleance understood well enough that the soldier had intended to unsettle him.

His kind comments seemed to fluster the young soldier who had obviously tried to be intimidating. ‘We will escort you to the place we found you.’

Fleance was on his feet and gathering his things. It was clear it would be too much to expect some food before he set off. Still, at least Willow was well fed and watered. He could top up his water skin and later happen upon some wild fruits until he came to
a town.

Willow, alerted by the light and the noise, stamped his feet. Fleance saddled him and put on his bridle, gently speaking kind words to settle the animal. Willow did not like early mornings, a fact which Fleance had learnt many years ago and which, as the horse had aged, had become more obvious.

He led his horse out of the stable and, as they walked into the clearing, looked towards the castle. Lights were blazing from almost every room. Why would this be at such an ungodly time?

As if reading his thoughts, Wallace spoke. ‘A messenger has come to say the master’s on his way.’ It occurred to Fleance then, that this soldier was not trying to intimidate him but to rescue both himself and Fleance. For a stranger to be found on the property when obviously strict instructions had been given to the contrary, would not bode well for the old soldier and Wallace.

Out of the dark, the old soldier appeared, carrying Fleance’s weapons.

Fleance spoke. ‘I thank you both. I enjoyed good rest and repose as did my horse. I am certain that God in heaven will reward you for your kindness.’

The soldiers said nothing but shared a furtive glance. The three trudged on up the steep incline, the only sound their footfalls and Willow’s annoyed snorting. At the ridge where he was met yesterday, they stopped. The old soldier handed him the crossbow, dirk and then sword which Fleance secured in the scabbard. The dirk he put in his belt. He put one foot into a stirrup and gathered the reins. As he swung up onto Willow, he tucked the crossbow into the strap on his back. He turned to the soldiers. ‘Again, I thank you. I hope one day to meet you again under less difficult circumstances.’

‘Indeed,’ replied the old soldier and, flicking Wallace’s arm, he turned back and marched stiffly down the road.

It was difficult to see where he was going but coming to Lochaber had not borne the fruit he’d hoped for. Yes, it had been good to see Blair; yes, it had been good to see the castle. But it was not good to know that there were dark lords still in power around the country. It would be several days before he made it to Perth where he hoped to rest and then another few days’ travel till he reached Fife. He would stop in at Michael and Agnes’s cottage one night as they had suggested; neither he nor Willow would last the distance.

About mid-morning, Fleance dismounted to give the horse a rest and continued walking along the road. His eyes scanned the fields on either side in the hope he would find something to dull the ache of hunger which had been gnawing away for the past th
ree hours.

Being late autumn, there may still be something, Fleance thought. After thirty minutes, the search yielded nothing save a bird-pecked berry hedge. He would have to set up a camp soon and do some hunting. He had seen plenty of rabbits running across the heath and the pock-marked holes in the dusty road told the tale of their workings.

He spied a cluster of trees down in a valley so he led the horse off the road, taking great care to avoid the treacherous rabbit holes. As he expected, there was a small body of water, a swamp which gave life to the crop of trees. He tethered the horse, removed his crossbow and loaded it with a bolt.

‘I won’t be long,’ he said to the horse, patting him fondly on the neck and went out in search of his breakfast, dinner and supper.

Already the mist was coming in so he needed to work quickly. He spied a colony of rabbits across a small valley. Unfortunately, it was too far to attempt a shot so, as quietly as he could, Fleance jogged down the hill and, keeping up wind (not that there was much), he came around to the right of the rabbits, which were grazing.
He looke
d over them and found the fattest. He took aim, squeezed the trigger and instantly the bolt found its target, the force sending t
he rabb
it further up the hill. The rest scattered and Fleance ran up to his kill. It was still struggling so he picked it up by
the hin
d legs and swung it against a nearby rock, shattering its skull and putting it out of its misery.

He removed the bolt and wiped it on the grass. Then, with the rabbit swinging upside down, he jogged back to his camp and Willow.

The water looked unpalatable so he chose not to drink it;
however
, he used it to clean the rabbit and his weapon after gutting and skinning his kill. With his dirk, he dug a hole in the ground and buried the skin and entrails. Though the skin would have fetched a very good price, this was not the time nor the situation to bother with such enterprise. The waste grieved him.

It took a while for the fire to light as the fog made the twigs and leaves damp. He found a sharp stick, skewered the rabbit and then set it between two upright sticks. It would be some time before the meal was ready so Fleance pulled his cloak tighter and sat, staring into the flames.

As he fed the small fire and turned the rabbit, he remembered the first time he’d felt true hunger.

Nearly a week after his father’s murder, Fleance had left the ruins and was almost delirious with hunger. His head ached and his lips were chapped and swollen. He had managed to find water but nothing to eat. He’d left his crossbow back at Macbeth’s castle. Though he still had his father’s sword, it was too heavy to lift. As Willow plodded on, Fleance sunk into himself. He could not allow himself to sleep – he might fall but worse, he might be set upon.

The sun was beginning to go down and still he had not found shelter or a friendly cottage where he might ask for supper. He came to a rise in the road, clambered off and sank down against the rocks. Willow snatched at the grass, ignoring his young rider.

Suddenly, Fleance was overwhelmed. Tears spilled down his face and great, choking gasps escaped from his mouth. He felt as if his heart was tearing in two. The sound of his father’s cries and his murder, the shock at his loss and his burning hunger all caught up with him. He wept for his father. He wept because he had been so afraid and he wept because he did not know what to do.

He was in a foreign part of the country with no friends, no kin and too disturbed to make sense of the last few days. Such was the sound of his sobbing that he did not hear the approach of a cart and horse. It wasn’t until Willow alerted him with his whinny that Fleance looked up to see it was almost upon him.

His heart jolted with fear but his body held no strength to flee.

‘Whoa, there,’ a man’s deep voice cried. The man pulled on the cart’s brake and jumped down. ‘What have we here?’

Fleance struggled to get up but he could not do it on his own. The man held out his hand and Fleance took it, certain that this was to be the end. He would be taken back to Inverness and meet the same fate as his father, of this he was sure.

However, the man pulled him up and studied him intently. ‘Miri,’ the man called, holding him as Fleance was too weak to stand unaided. ‘This wee lad needs some help.’ Fleance had been unaware that the cart contained two people – a man and a woman.

Miri climbed off the cart and came around. ‘Oh, you poor wee babe – I can see you’re starving. Magness, get the boy some bread and wine. I’ll help him back on the grass for a bit.’

Her husband spoke gently to him. ‘What’s your name the
n, boy?’

Fleance turned to him and in that moment he made a decision: he would keep his identity a secret until he was old enough to understand what had happened.

‘Flea,’ he said – the nickname Blair had given him from an early age when the boy had a stutter and could not finish pronouncing Fleance’s name. ‘I am Flea.’

Magness went to the back of the cart and came back with food and drink. ‘The name suits you, lad – small and jumpy.’

Miri helped him take a sip of wine. It burned his throat and he coughed and spluttered. ‘There, there, lad. Just take it slowly.’ In silence the couple watched him eat. After a while, Miri took the food away. ‘Looks like you haven’t eaten in days. If you eat too much now, you’ll bring it all back again and that would be a waste of my cooking.’

Fleance nodded and wiped his mouth. ‘Thank you,’ he said.

‘Where are you going?’ Magness asked quietly. Fleance shrugged. ‘Where is home, lad?’ Again Fleance shrugged. A look passed between the couple. ‘Would you like to travel with us for a wee while?’ He looked into the eyes of the man and saw kindness and compassion. But also something else: a look of one who had seen much and who had experienced deep sorrow.

‘We’re going across the border to England,’ Miri said, and Fleance was troubled to see her eyes fill with tears.

‘I have no kin,’ Fleance said. ‘I have no one now to take care of me.’

Miri patted his arm. ‘Looks like the Lord has seen fit to give you some new kin.’ She helped him to his feet. ‘You can ride in the cart. I’m sure your horse would appreciate a rest from its rider.’

They tied Willow to the back of the cart and Magness lifted Fleance as easily as if he was a small child and laid him in the wagon. And that was the start of the next part of his life’s story.

Chapter Fourteen
Glamis Castle

D
uncan awoke to the sounds of his father shouting in the courtyard. ‘Up, you lazy fellows. Did you not hear the cock crow? Awake!’

He opened his casement and looked down upon the frantic scurrying of the stablehands. His father was standing in the middle, giving orders at the top of his voice. Preston and Calum were nowhere to be seen. It was quite likely that Donalbain had not gone to bed and had slipped into that feverous state of a man who lacks sleep – nature’s balm for disturbed minds.

Duncan dressed quickly and went downstairs. Donalbain’s tirade had awoken the whole castle, so that servants were rushing to and fro to their duties in case their master demanded something of them as well at this godforsaken time.

The shouting stopped abruptly, and in the strange quiet there was the sound of a horse galloping out of the castle gates. Duncan suspected his father was heading to the weird sisters and wondered if he would be back later that day for supper, or whether they could enjoy a meal with laughter and light conversation.

It was to be as Duncan had hoped, and he and his sisters enjoyed an intimate and happy supper with Bree telling tales and teasing Duncan and Rachel, scolding them good-heartedly.

Rachel summoned one of the servants. ‘Call the nurse to take Bree up.’ She turned back to her sister. ‘It is well past time for you to be in bed.’

Bree frowned. ‘But I’m not tired, Rachel.’

‘You never are,’ Duncan said. ‘You’ve as much energy as Zeus after he’s been lying in the catnip.’

She giggled but stopped when the doors to the dining chamber opened and her nurse came forward. Bree put her hands on her hips. ‘I don’t want to go to bed,’ she howled and stomped her foot. ‘It’s not fair that you get to stay up late and I have to go to m
y room.’

‘Bree, you are only a child. This is the time for all children to be in bed,’ Rachel said calmly.

‘But I’m special,’ she said.

‘And that you are, my dear, and because you are, we must ensure you get enough sleep to grow tall and strong.’

Bree hesitated. ‘What happens when you sleep?’ she asked.

‘The angels come and sprinkle your head with growing dust.’ Bree looked from her sister back to her brother, her frown betraying her uncertainty.

‘It’s true. Why don’t we measure you now, and in the morning, I warrant you will have grown,’ said Duncan.

Bree walked to the large oak door and stood against it. She was very still and Duncan could see she was holding herself as tall and straight as she could. Solemnly, he marked the spot above her head and then put his hand under her chin. ‘It won’t happen, Bree, if you don’t sleep.’

Bree refused the nurse’s hand. ‘We shall do this again before breakfast to prove that you are not a liar.’

‘You know I am not.’

‘Night then, Duncan.’

‘Sleep well, chook. I will see you, no doubt, very early in the morning.’

Bree turned to her sister. ‘But can I still have your story tonight, Rachel?’

‘Of course. We can’t leave our hero wandering the moors for too long.’

That seemed to satisfy her and she was surprisingly obedient and followed her nurse through the door.

Duncan signalled for the servants to clear the dishes. When the table was cleared, he stood up. ‘Will you join me after the story for a warm drink in the blue room?’ The blue room had been called that by the children from the first day they arrived back to the castle. It was a smaller room than most in the castle but their mother had lined the walls with thick tapestry, the most overwhelming colour being blue with pictures of seas and lakes and lochs and all who lived on them and under them. It was a room their father hated for he said it reminded him too much of their mother. Rachel and Duncan adored it.

The fire had been burning for some time so there was a cosy warmth that contrasted with the chilly dining hall. Rachel returned, took her place in her chair and accepted a goblet of warm wine from one of the servants. Duncan did the same and then dismissed them.

It was a relief coming to the end of the day.

‘Where did Father go?’ Rachel asked.

‘I don’t know. He was in a right mood this morning. I asked Calum but he was none the wiser either. Seems, though the aides tell Donalbain a lot, he tells them very little.’

Rachel shot him a look. ‘Remember what I told you, Duncan; ’tis not your worry.’

‘Aye, but I can’t just sit about waiting for things to happen.’

‘Why not? You’re not the king and you’re not the head of this house . . .’

‘I may not be the king,’ he shot back at her. ‘And I may not have the title of lord of this manor, but in all my deeds and work, I am.’

Rachel sighed and took a sip of her drink. She stared into the fire for so long, Duncan became concerned he had offended her. ‘Rachel?’

She looked at him. ‘Sorry, I was just remembering.’

‘Oh?’

She flashed him a sad smile. ‘The time when neither of us had to be anything other than what we were.’

‘That was a long time ago and so much has happened to this family, I fear, that it will never go that way again.’ Duncan stood up and put more wood on the fire. ‘I just pray Bree can be saved from having to carry the same burdens we have these past ten years.’

Rachel looked at him, her blue eyes made slate grey by the dull light of the room. ‘Perhaps it is God’s plan that I remain here until all is settled.’

‘What do you mean, God’s plan?’

‘That I . . . that I have not married . . .’ Her voice trailed off.

He stood up. ‘Rachel, the reason you have not been married is because
our father
has spurned every suitor who has sought your hand, or interfered with any chance you may have had of love and happiness.’

‘Duncan, be not so agitated.’

‘Why?’ Duncan knelt before her and gathered up her hands. ‘You are the most beautiful girl in Scotland.’ She shook her
head. ‘No
, it is true. And your beauty is not just in your face but in your heart. Had it not been for you, sweet Rachel, this family would have wasted away to nothing save mad servants and raving cooks.’

‘I’ll tell Morag you said that,’ Rachel said with a smile.

Duncan looked at her and smiled. ‘You understand my
meaning
.’

‘Aye, but there’s no good in dwelling on what could have been; what might be; what should be.’ She now smiled at him but he saw the raw pain even in that.

‘He was a worthy suitor, Rachel.’

Tears sprang to her eyes. ‘Don’t talk of it, Duncan,’ she said, harshly.

‘Sorry, dear sister. But you have not grieved for him.’

She stood up, angry. ‘I will not discuss this with you. God’s will has been done and His direction for my life is written. I need o
nly wait.’

‘Until what? Until when?’

‘Until He brings another. I have faith, Duncan, that there is someone yet to come.’

Duncan laid his hands on her shoulders. ‘’Tis still permissible to weep for loss.’

‘So, does that apply to you as well, dear brother?’ she said sharply, her cheeks red. ‘You, who constantly pace these halls trying to make all things right; trying to fix all the wrong.’ She picked up her goblet and drank deep. ‘We are not all so inclined to control the lives of every person.’

‘That’s not fair, Rachel.’

‘So now you talk to me about what is fair. This is fair, Duncan. We live in this godforsaken castle with terrified servants and a mad father. We wait till he is crowned king and fear that day because we both know he is not fit to rule Scotland. Yet, it is God’s will and what power do we have to counter that?’ Tears streamed down her face but she was oblivious. ‘I have faith, like Uncle Malcolm, that our divine Father has plans for each of us and it will all work to our good in the end.’ She sniffed and reached for a cloth from the bowl. As she wiped her face she said, ‘I, like you, have met with grief and loss but I will not let it cripple me into a place of misery.’

Rachel stood proud and lifted her chin as she looked at him. Duncan was filled with a renewed pride in his sister. This woman could be a queen. ‘’Tis time for bed,’ she said and swept out of t
he room.

Duncan sat back on his seat, his heart aching – not just for Rachel’s grief but for all future worries that would come before them.

Again, he was woken by shouts. ‘Long live the king!’ came the cry. It was too early. Duncan had stayed late in the blue room and thought about what Rachel had said and also on what could be done to make it better for both his sisters. He’d crawled to bed long after the moon had descended.

Now, to be woken by noise! The knocking was like a mallet on his skull. One of the stablehands was banging on his chamber door. ‘Sire,’ he called. ‘There is a messenger from the king.’

Duncan crawled out of his bed and opened his door. This was not right that a stablehand had access to the castle rooms. But then this castle did not run by normal standards. He pulled open his door. ‘What, man?’

‘Beg your pardon, Sire, but there’s a man here who would speak to the master save the master is not here.’

‘Aye. Tell him I will be down shortly.’ The stablehand bowed and disappeared down the corridor. Duncan pulled on his
clothes an
d shook his head. If only he could be allowed to take control now, then things would run as they should do.

The messenger, a bright-eyed and keen fellow, smiled at Duncan. ‘The king would have me say: his kin is invited to Forres to share a meal.’

Duncan frowned. ‘Is he not dying?’

‘Aye,’ said the page. ‘But he wants to leave this world with his dearest close by, having had his last supper with them.’

‘Tell the king: Donalbain is from court but the news will get to him and we will be there as soon as the Lord allows.’

The messenger smiled, not aware of the meaning behind
Duncan’s
words. ‘That I will.’

He didn’t know on what compulsion he did it but he called for his own horse and set out to follow his father. He should have sent the stablehand but this was a duty he alone needed to fulfil.

The day was as gloomy as the mood inside the castle – the wee ones were misbehaving, Bree and Morag’s two youngest children; they sensed the tension in the household, Duncan suspected. Even Rachel’s songs and stories were not having much effect on their moods. He was glad to be out of it.

He mounted Phoenix and encouraged him down the path his father often rode. Phoenix was reliable. His father was not. Duncan did not know how bad things were. But in his heart he hoped there might be something redeemable for the people of Scotland.

He rode all morning and cursed himself that he had not asked Morag to prepare something for his journey. He had tried the three places he had heard the strange women were known to frequent, but only cold fires and strange symbols splashed on stone were
evidence
of them being there.

Duncan was about to give up and turn back when, through the mist and fog, he saw his father’s horse. Because he was still some distance back, and because of the weather, Duncan was able to approach undetected. Still, he was wary. Who knew what possessed Donalbain’s mind on such occasions?

Duncan dismounted and immediately heard a chanting. No, a singing. A humming? A noise from women that did not bear any resemblance to songs he knew. The sound was somewhat enchanting and he was mesmerised.

And just as this thought came to him, he shook his head. He was being bewitched by the songs. He needed to find his father. He needed help to pull him away from such creatures.
Duncan
leant against some desolate stone ruins and shook his head.
No,
he thought.
These agents of darkness are not for me. I must come agains
t them.

Duncan crept through the remnants of the long forgotten Roman stronghold and came upon a cluster of three women who were singing and chanting. His father sat in the middle of a stone circle, a black blindfold over his eyes, his back against a short wooden stake. One of the witches looked up and saw Duncan but instead of saying anything, she grinned and blew him a kiss.

This was insane. Who were these creatures? They were using their place among the fears and worries of a disenchanted people to work havoc.

Suddenly, out of the cold, misty air, a voice rang out: ‘Hail to thee, King of Scotland!’

Then, another voice: ‘Beware the son of a murdered father.’

Then another: ‘Do not fear, Donalbain, son of Duncan. For no man will harm you.’

‘More,’ Donalbain roared. ‘I have not paid you gold for childish prattle. I need to know more. Who are my enemies?’

The witches were silent but held hands around the seated prince. They began to sway, at first slowly but then became more frenzied.

‘What’s going on?’ Donalbain shouted. ‘Take this damn blindfold from me.’ That was when Duncan saw his father’s hands were tied behind his back.

The three released their hands and danced away from Donalbain. Then the one with a cropped skull knelt down before him and licked his face like a cat. Donalbain, startled, tried to move away. The woman grabbed his shoulder and said, ‘Your friends are your enemies and your enemies are your friends.’

‘What?’ Donalbain began but the woman put a hand to his mouth.

‘Shhh!’

The second woman came forward and knelt before him and began stroking his thighs. She moved higher up so that Duncan was appalled to see she was touching his father’s manhood. ‘Donalbain, Donalbain,’ she said in a child-like voice, still caressing him. ‘Your greatest strength will be your greatest weakness.’

Duncan swallowed. This was the strangest thing he had ever witnessed. He had always suspected they gave his father foolish counsel but nothing could have prepared him for what was playing out before his eyes.

Finally, the third woman came forward. She, of all the three, looked more like a skinny old man than a woman. She stood behind Donalbain and pulled his head between her thin thighs, her dirty fingers massaging his skull. ‘Because of Donalbain, a new Scotland will be born.’ She released him and stood back. ‘Come, sisters, let us go.’