Banquo's Son (A Crown of Blood and Honour Book 1) (15 page)

But why was he still being plagued by dreams and visions? If the one who was to be avenged against, Macbeth, was killed years ago, what more could he do?
What revenge can I take?
he thought. Perhaps his father meant something different. Banquo would not have known his murderer’s fate.

Sighing, he removed his boots and coat. He might not be in danger but he still had to put his energies into working out what it was he was meant to do to stop the nightmares and return home to Rosie.

He crawled into bed and waited for yet another night of
troub
led sleep.

Chapter Nineteen

S
omeone shoved Fleance and he woke instantly. The sun was streaming in through the casement and Duncan stood beside him, grinning. ‘Are you up for some adventure, Flea?’
Duncan
asked.

‘What did you have in mind?’

‘I have to go to Inverness.’

‘What or who is at Inverness?’ Fleance asked, sitting up and scratching his head.

‘A haunted castle, if you would believe the servants.’

‘You’re mad.’

‘But it will make for a great story to take back to the wee one: attacked by wolves, rescued by a handsome stranger.’ Fleance rolled his eyes and pushed Duncan out of the way as he got out of bed. ‘A deserted castle famous for its most foul murder of the king of Scotland.’

‘Are you serious?’ Fleance could not work out whether his friend was teasing him or not.

‘No, not about that but I do have to go to Inverness. Word has come from my father that I am to go there and find a treasure.’

‘Treasure?’

‘Aye, he doesn’t know what it is exactly. It seems the prophets say that hidden deep within Macbeth’s castle is something that will strengthen Scotland.’

Fleance stopped lacing his boots and looked up. ‘Macbeth’s castle?’

‘Aye. One and the same. I hear it is deserted so we won’t be trespassing.’

Fleance thought for a moment. The castle where King Duncan was murdered. The castle where it had all begun for him and his father and their fates. Could it be that the ghost of Banquo was somehow directing his path? Helping him to gain information that would eventually fulfil his promise and lead him onto the hope of his future – Rosie?

He frowned at Duncan. ‘It’s a bit vague, don’t you think?’ he asked. ‘It could be anything.’

Duncan chewed his bottom lip. ‘Well, such is the thinking of my father and the weight he puts in the words of three hags who prowl around our county.’ By the look on his face, Fleance could tell Duncan was not impressed with this.

Three hags? Could it be they were the same who had accosted him on the road north? ‘What are these hags like?’ he asked.

Duncan looked at him sternly. ‘You should take no mind of them, Flea, for they are evil and poison men’s minds. A more disgusting trio of females – though they look less human and more beast – I have never seen. They are trouble.’

Fleance put up his hands. ‘You will get no argument from me there, my friend. My father often warned me against such creatures.’

While Duncan waited, Fleance wrapped the last of the leather straps around the top of his boots and stood. ‘Fine. I will go with you – who knows what predicament you will get yourself into without me to help.’

Duncan smiled broadly though Fleance caught a flash of anxiety in his eyes. ‘It will be a merry distraction from our concerns. Father may or may not get his treasure but you and I will make the most of our assignment.’ He stood by the open door. ‘I will meet you at the stables,’ he said and dashed out of the room. Fleance shook his head. The optimism, energy and enthusiasm startled him. It was as if, by being here, a load had been taken from Duncan’s shoulders. He had no idea what things the king had told him yesterday but whatever it was, it had lightened the young prince’s mood despite the clearly frustrating command from his father.

The castle of Inverness was surprisingly as he remembered it except that it was now deserted. On the night he had arrived with his father and King Duncan, there had been much activity and a lot of effort had gone into ensuring the castle was decorated and adorned worthy of a royal presence. Fleance remembered how the pretty Lady Macbeth had blushed when the king presented her with a diamond, right on these very steps where he now stood.

Fleance looked about the courtyard. Nothing living remained. All the occupants had either been killed or had fled during the tyrant’s reign. Livestock had gone, so only broken and worthless carts or urns or barrels littered the messy yard. There were signs of many years of disuse and the weather had done its damage. Still, there was something about the height of the castle and the architecture which was defiant. High, solid walls stood silently, their narrow casements like dark eyes looking down at them, wary.

‘Come along,’ Duncan said. ‘Let’s explore. I’ve always wanted to pay tribute to my grandfather at the place where he was murdered – to honour him and say to his spirit he is not forgotten. When I told Uncle Malcolm of our plans, he asked if we would light a candle in remembrance of the souls taken by Macbeth.’

Inside the castle was as messy as the courtyard for there were large holes in the roof and no one to repair them. Bird droppings bleached stripes down the rough-hewn walls, and straw and rubbish cluttered the stairwell. They came to the first level and it was smaller than he remembered. Still, then he had been a boy and now he was a man. A balcony ran around the entire first floor so that one could look down into the yard from any vantage point.

Silently, they made their way along this and then Duncan ducked through an archway which led straight to an interior hall – it ran parallel to the balcony. Off this were doors. Duncan opened the first one they came to. It opened easily enough at first but then came up against something behind the door.

‘Help me push this, would you?’

Both of them put their shoulders to the splintered wood and pushed. There was a queer scraping sound and the door inched open. Duncan was the first to squeeze through the gap. ‘That will explain that,’ Duncan’s muffled voice came behind the door. ‘What a stench.’

Fleance squeezed himself through as well and closed the door. What they had struggled against was the carcass of a wolf. ‘How did that get in here?’ Fleance asked, putting his arm over his nose and mouth.

Duncan pointed to the claw marks on the inside of the door. ‘It no doubt came wandering in looking for food or shelter, perhaps in bad weather, and the door closed shut.’ He looked about the room. ‘It looks like he’s tried other ways to escape. Poor creature.’

‘This must have been a sleeping chamber – the remains of a bed.’ Fleance pointed to a far wall. ‘It’s clear the place has been looted many times.’

‘Well, let’s leave this wolf’s grave and continue on.’ Duncan opened the door and passed through. Fleance followed. As they went along the corridor, they saw some doors had been smashed off their hinges altogether or were hanging drunkenly. All the rooms
in th
is part seemed to be sleeping chambers. The last one at the end, though, had an antechamber before the large main room.

There was an area where presumably servants or chamberlains slept or guards stood. The inner room, which was clear of all furniture or furnishings, was bathed in bright light for the roof had almost completely gone. Duncan stood in the middle of the room. ‘I think this was the room,’ he said. ‘Uncle Malcolm described coming in from the second chamber so this must be the first for it is the largest.’ He took a deep breath. ‘This is where it all began.’

‘Will you light the candle here?’ Fleance asked. ‘It might go some way to restoration for the suffering started over ten years ago. Though,’ he added, clearing a space in the dirt and rubbish for Duncan to set down the candle, ‘I wager betrayal and murder have been part of our history since the beginning.’

Duncan gave him a wry smile as he set the candle down and struck the flint to the wick. ‘You are right. What I meant was, this is the beginning of where things changed for my family.’ He scuffed his foot on the dusty floor around the burning flame. ‘I sometimes wonder how different my life would have been if my grandfather had not been murdered that night.’

Fleance nodded. ‘Aye, so many things would have been different had one man made a different choice.’ He went to the doorway. ‘Come on, let’s keep exploring.’

On the opposite side of the castle from where the sleeping chambers were, sat the great hall. Like the balcony, it was smaller than he remembered. Back then, the smell of roasting pork, a roaring fire and the sounds of booming laughter and music had made the room seem such a festive and welcoming place. There, the king had sat next to his sons; there, his father had sat, deep in discussion with a lord. And there, Fleance had stood, right in the centre, where he had sung a folk song much to the king’s delight.

From that time on, however, he had not sung again, even with Rosie’s insistence he join her in a song that evening of the carnival. It all looked rather pathetic now. In his dreams and memories, this palace was a place of fear, of danger. But it was not that at all. It had no power. It was just an empty shell where tragic events had occurred.

It was a disappointing end to their adventure. ‘Let’s look in the dungeon. Perhaps we’ll find some skeletons to scare your sisters,’ he laughed.

Past the great hall was a landing with stairs leading into the belly of the castle. They followed it down, stepping carefully over fallen debris. When they came to the ground floor, it opened out into another centre space with numerous doorways leading off in all directions.

‘Shall we make a game out of this? For I’m sorry to say, apart from the wolf, this has not been much of an adventure.’

‘What do you propose?’ Fleance asked raising his eyebrows.

‘I propose,’ Duncan began, ‘that we go separate ways and the first to find anything of significance, anything that might be this treasure Father asks for, is the winner.’

‘And the prize?’ Fleance asked.

‘Satisfaction.’

Fleance laughed and looked around him. ‘I can not see what either of us may find which would fit with your father’s request. Yet, your proposal will add an edge to our search.’

Duncan returned the smile. ‘True. So are you up to the
challenge
?’

He nodded. ‘When shall we meet again?’

Duncan thought for a bit. ‘When you feel the sun at her highest, let us wait for each other outside the walls of the castle.’ He lit two small torches and handed one to Fleance.

‘Thank you,’ Fleance said. ‘Good fortune, then.’

They went their separate ways but Fleance was really only humouring Duncan. What he most wanted was to be gone from this place for it held nothing of significance and the time here was wasted. What a disappointment. Was he putting too much store in signs? Was he reading too much into events which may or may not have a connection to his quest? It was too hard to tell.

On the one hand, he considered himself a man above superstition and dependence on the supernatural. On the other hand, he was seeing ghosts; he had met the three witches who told him things that no earthly creature would know. A part of him wanted to believe that Fate was playing out a predestined hand and, held within that hand, was release from his bond to his father and a secured and contented life with Rosie.

Lost in his thoughts and not really caring where he was going, Fleance wandered into the kitchen.

Again, like the other rooms, there was nothing there but rubbish – no sign of cooking utensils or any evidence that a meal had been prepared here in a long while. There were still large storage cupboards which had not been worth removing by the scavengers.

He opened and closed them absentmindedly. As he closed the third one, a gush of air hit his face. He stopped and reopened t
he doo
rs. It was a large cupboard, probably for the storage of huge pots of grain, flour and meal. Fleance put his head in and saw that part of the back of the cupboard had fallen away. Beyond was a black void.

Another gust of air hit him and the flame of his torch stuttered. He was intrigued. What was behind? Fleance put the torch in a holder on the wall, lifted out the three shelves and stepped up into the cupboard. He gingerly pushed the wood which backed the cupboard and it swung away easily. It was a door!

Before him was fresh air but also darkness so he climbed back out of the cupboard and retrieved the torch. Climbing in again, he gingerly put one foot forward. He felt a solid step. Then another. Fleance shook his head. Of course there would be a secret passage in a castle. All good stories told of them. These allowed families under siege to escape.

He couldn’t see much beyond what light came from the torch so he made his way slowly down the steps into pitch blackness. Only the fresh breeze made him feel better; made him continue.

The last step was not on stone but on dirt and there were no others. He was at the end of the staircase but where was he? Fleance waved the torch around and found another protruding from a sconce attached to the wall. He touched it with the flame of his own small torch and it flared instantly. Holding his own above his head he saw, in the shadows, a dirt-floored room. A cabinet leant against one wall and he went to it, holding up the flame to see more clearly.

The contents of the cabinet were a strange mix – a garment which looked like that used for an infant; a strangely decorated bowl; and though smothered by dust, he made out a large silver ring and a thick book. Fleance put his torch into another holder secured to the wall and carefully lifted the book from its place. He blew off the dust and, with his hand, wiped away the residual grime.

He opened the leather cover and peered at the intricate drawings and elaborate swirls of the letters. It was in Latin, a language he did not know. Perhaps it was
The Bible
. Or, given the nature of the owners, a list of spells.

He shut the book and placed it back on the shelf. Then he turned his attention to a carved wooden treasure box which was beside it. Carefully, he lifted it down and, looking around, he spied a stool which he brought close to the light and sat upon.

The box was carved with obscure images which he could not discern except he saw horse, raven, owl, boar and other animals of vicious intent. He opened the lid and inside found three parchments. These he brought forward and laid on his lap. The first was a letter. It was addressed to Lady Macbeth and was signed Macbeth.

They met me on the day of success in battle and I have since learnt by incredible evidence which I will tell you about, that they have more power and insight in them than we could know. To my friend Banquo, who declared he neither begged, nor feared their favours nor their hate, they turned and hailed him as not so happy but happier, not so great but greater, not to be king but to father kings.