Banquo's Son (A Crown of Blood and Honour Book 1) (17 page)

‘Some men, I’m told, do enjoy such adventure.’

‘No, it wasn’t like that. They are considered by many to be witches. They certainly have bewitched my father and his brain becomes wrought with the incantations they sing. They tell him things he wants to hear and he believes them to have power more than nature intended any human.’

Fleance was remembering again his encounter on the road past Glasgow. Instead, he offered Duncan what he thought he might like to hear. ‘I do not put any store in such gabbling nonsense. Do you?’

‘No. I think it is foolishness and dangerous. The king is right to try to rid the country of such creatures.’

They walked on in silence and Fleance thought about what Duncan had said earlier about the parchments. He was right that they should not show others what he had found. It would only confirm what Duncan said about the power of influence over those who choose to trade and traffic with the devil. It would be another secret to keep but it was more than that. It was something tangible for Fleance to use to put together the fragments of his past and maybe even discover the task his father still demanded of him.

Chapter Twenty

F
or the first time in a very long while, Duncan felt great delight. He’d spent a number of days with Fleance and then a few in consultation with the king. Just being away from the heaviness of responsibility for those in Glamis castle made his heart lighter. Having a companion who was both entertaining and intriguing made for a pleasant week. Finding Macbeth’s sword (for Macduff had confirmed it was so) was an excellent trophy. It was a perverse motive, he knew, that made him so pleased. He had the very weapon of the man who had caused such heartache in his family. The one he had perhaps used against Macduff and failed, and these facts meant some measure of triumph for Duncan. The letters were another matter – their contents would only serve to aggravate his father’s temper. Had
Donalbain
learnt the contents he would treat his new friend as a threat rather than welcome him as a lost member of the extended family.

This morning he had been summoned yet again to the king’s chamber. Malcolm, though in his bed, was rosy faced and happy. ‘Your father will be king,’ he said. ‘But it is thought by many who are wise that he is not ready to take the role of sovereign. It will be up to you, Duncan, to try to guide him in the right direction – you and the Lord.’

Duncan studied his uncle’s face. Malcolm had aged rapidly this past year. His long hair, formerly a burnt red colour, was almost white and now fanned out against the pillows. Under his eyes were bruised smudges and his body, previously lithe and strong, was bloated and yellow.

Still, his eyes were clear and his smile ready. ‘I have faith,
Duncan
, that you, like your grandfather before, have the honour, grace, wisdom and strength to see that the right thing is done for the people of Scotland.’

‘Uncle,’ Duncan said. ‘Am I not free from the demands of the kingdom just at this time?’

Malcolm shook his head. ‘No, but you and your father will bring Scotland into strength.’ He coughed violently for a few moments. ‘Water,’ he asked and Margaret put the chalice to his lips. He took a drink, wiped away the drops and looked at
Duncan
. ‘You will be the one who changes and secures the royal house. Your father, my dear brother, I know has ambitions, but I do not believe they rest well with the time. He has always been a formidable presence and often I have locked horns with him over matters.’

‘Still,’ Malcolm continued, ‘he is for Scotland as I know you are and that is the thing.’ The queen dipped a cloth into the basin beside the large bed and dabbed the king’s forehead and mouth. ‘We are not alone and we must look to the east where our good Lord was born for there lies not only our guidance through Rome but the possibilities of prosperity for our nation.’ A coughing fit came again and Duncan wondered whether to leave his uncle to his illness but a look from the queen told him to stay. Malcolm took a wheezy breath before he continued. ‘As it stands, do not be so quick to trust the King of England despite how they have helped us in the past. Scotland has better friends at this time. But you will need to find these alliances yourself because I do not think my brother understands how things are.’

‘I have heard rumours of displaced men who did not come back at my welcome but are now looking to usurp the throne.’
Malcolm’s
hand sought Duncan’s. ‘Be careful, lad, for there are daggers in men’s smiles.’

Margaret took up the lecture. ‘It is not an easy role to be royal, Duncan, which is why God appoints and anoints for His good
purpose
. Many a time, a king has had to make difficult decisions to save the greater good.’

‘My grandfather, Edmund Ironside, was once the King of
England
but, when he died, the people chose Cnut to be their king. My father and his twin brother, both infants, were sent to King Stephen in Hungary for their protection for it was believed Cnut was afraid of them. Sadly my father’s brother died but my father, Edward, went on to marry and have a happy life – producing myself and my brother and sister. At the time, it felt a terrible thing to live in exile but it was all for the best. Though we have had our share of struggles, God has always been our guiding hand. For that I am ever thankful for He brought me to Malcolm.’ She leant over and gave her husband a gentle kiss on the cheek.

‘Margaret is right,’ Malcolm said. ‘I look back over my life and see that even after tragedy, good comes from it in the end. That’s God’s way.’

Malcolm had honoured his brother though; through the numerous conversations Duncan had had with his uncle, he knew he had chosen poorly but, he thought, morally. Donalbain was the next in line to the throne and from Duncan’s line, so it had to be. ‘I trust in God’s holy plan. We have to do it this way, Duncan. Whatever may come, He will make it right in the end,’ M
alcolm said.

Duncan nodded though he did not have the faith of his uncle. He believed enough that if a man acted faithfully and true, the world would be as it should. Still, he did feel a bit uncomfortable with this conversation. Not that this type of conversation was new to him for Rachel too held such firm beliefs. He just didn’t agree with the idea of surrendering oneself over to an unseen power – it smelt of reneging one’s responsibility as a person. Though the laws of the church were good for guiding moral living, a man also needed to seek strength within himself to help those around him.

‘Thank you for your wise advice,’ he told them both and they smiled at him. ‘I give you my word that I will do all in my power – and in God’s power,’ he added to please them, ‘to keep Scotland at peace, as a country of honour and justice.’

The thing was, he
did
want to make it right. He wanted to be in charge because he saw that his father was no good for Scotland but neither was Uncle Malcolm. Both men, wounded by the murder of their father, had chosen paths which may have helped heal their hearts but were not good for the country and therefore not good for its peoples.

‘When I go to my heavenly rest, know that Macduff, a kind and trusting man, has much wisdom in him for he has the remembrance of times past. You can go to him for good counsel. He feels deeply for things but is not swayed by events. Trust him above all others, save the Lord.’ Malcolm closed his eyes and the queen pulled the cover up over his chest.

‘If it pleases you, Your Majesty, I shall give you time to rest.’

‘Thank you, Duncan. I will call if he wishes to talk some more.’ The queen stood and Duncan took her hand and kissed it. ‘A good evening to you,’ she said.

Duncan bowed and left the room.

Outside, he breathed deeply. Though he had not been around death very often, he sensed the king had little time left. This would mean going back to Glamis and helping the household prepare for Donalbain’s coronation and the move here to Forres. He walked towards his sleeping chamber. There must be some way to convince Father that the move would not serve Scotland well, he thought. Perhaps the fact Forres was so far away from the main trading
centr
es and from England would be enough of a reason.

He tried to recall exactly what it was the three old hags had told his father but the memory was foggy and disjointed. Duncan felt the familiar dread of his family – the responsibilities of and risks for the three children of a father in thrall to creatures who savoured ministrations from those beyond the grave.

The next morning, just one week before the start of the new year, the bells tolled loud and clear and the cry went through the palace: ‘The king is dead. King Malcolm is dead. Gone to his
Saviour
. God bless his soul.’

Duncan threw off his bedclothes and sat up. It was too soon. He was not ready for the weight of this. Only twenty-one summers had he lived and now, though he was not yet to be king, the
responsibility
of that role would fall on his shoulders. Duncan sighed and got up. He splashed water on his face and stared into the mirror with the bells and the cries of the pages ringing throughout the castle.

There was a discreet knock at his door. ‘Come,’ he called, still trying to wake fully.

Instead of a page, it was Fleance. ‘I’m sorry for your loss . . . Sire.’

Duncan stared. Already it had started. He placed outstretched arms on the table beside his bed, leant forward and took a deep breath. ‘I am Duncan. I would be pleased if you treated me no
diff
erently to how you did yesterday.’

He was aware of Fleance standing just inside the door. His friend cleared his throat. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said quietly.

Duncan looked across at him. ‘Thank you, and I am sorry for many things which have been and will be.’ He straightened. ‘
Malcolm
will be laid to rest at Iona but I must away to Glamis to help my sister ready the castle for the shift in power. My father will leave much for her to do.’ He wiped his face clear with a towel. ‘I am very sorry that I must abandon you to your quest while I endeavour to work at my own.’

‘I
can
accompany you, if you want,’ Fleance said.

The offer was generous but Duncan shook his head. ‘You have more important business than me. I could not ask it of you.’

Fleance persisted. ‘I would be honoured to help you to carry a heavy burden as you say.’ He went over to the stool by the casement and sat down. ‘I think my qualifications allow me to make such
an offer.’

Duncan frowned. ‘What is it that you say?’

‘Who knows which wolves might be lying in wait for you.’

It took a moment for Fleance’s comment to register and then Duncan smiled. ‘A joke tires when used too often.’

Fleance stood up. ‘Ah, but I don’t think it has done its course. There are more of these still to come.’

Duncan sat down on his bed. Maybe what Margaret said was true: that it would all work out. Still, he was now thrust into the responsibility. Even though on the surface his father was to be
the ne
w king of Scotland, it was to him, Duncan, that they would all look to for guidance. Did anyone know how difficult it was going to be with Donalbain’s obsession with the supernatural?
Perhaps
enlisting a reasonable fellow was timely and wise.

He turned to Fleance. ‘In truth, your company will be most welcome. It is agreed. You will come with me to Glamis. But, be warned, it is not an easy domestic arrangement, although I have no doubt my sweet sister will charm the life out of you.’

Fleance bowed low. ‘As you command, my liege.’

But Duncan did not miss the wry smile of his friend’s face. ‘Please, Fleance, between us let us behave as brothers.’

Fleance nodded in agreement. ‘Whatever you say, my friend,’ he smiled.

Because Duncan was required back at Glamis, he could only offer a brief goodbye to his uncle the king. Margaret was stoic and when she said goodbye, held him firmly in her hands and extolled him to trust in The Almighty. Then, she’d turned from him to
foll
ow the procession of the body to the sea where it would be placed on a boat and sail to Iona, the resting place of Scottish kings.

That afternoon, he met Fleance in the courtyard. ‘Are you ready, then, to make this journey back?’

Fleance smiled at him. ‘First, can you promise the journey will not be beset by wolves and weather?’

‘Not at all.’

‘And tell me again why I suggested this?’

‘For God and country.’

Fleance snorted. ‘Yes and . . . ?’

‘Our cook is incredible and Rachel is to love,’ Duncan quipped.

However, a grim expression came over his friend’s face. ‘I look forward to the meals,’ he said, his face suddenly closed.

Some part of the secretive life of Fleance, Duncan thought as he watched him mount, was now making itself known to him. He knew that look – it came with unrequited love and rejection, something he had felt too keenly himself. No mind. A small part of his heart was excited at introducing Fleance to his sister. That he would fall in love with her immediately was expected, for all the young men did. And she would find him as charming and intriguing as Duncan did. Perhaps at least one of us can have personal happiness and forget the disappointments of the past, he thought ruefully.

Duncan shook such thoughts from his mind. This was not the time to dwell on what had gone on before but to focus on the present for it held enough problems of its own.

While they made their way south, the cries went out across Scotland. Duncan knew that though the people were kind in their comments, and though this was the king who had destroyed the notorious tyrant and his fiendish queen, he had not been able to restore Scotland to its former time of peace and prosperity. A king, it was known, who sent soldiers into Ireland and
England
to gather crops, in the name of God, and collect livestock to replenish the depleted royal lands. In the quiet rooms of the cottages, the words ‘gather’ and ‘collect’ were replaced with ‘loot’ and ‘steal’.

Still, this was not the moment to air such thoughts and Queen Margaret had been a generous and kindly queen. That she had no children survive infancy was a heavy sorrow for those old enough to remember the days before the troubles.

Malcolm had already proclaimed on his deathbed that the sovereignty was to go to his younger brother, Donalbain, so with the announcement of the death, another one followed soon after of Donalbain’s coronation to be held at Scone in a week’s time.
Duncan
had to get home as soon as possible to help Rachel. Who knew what state Father would be in?

He and Fleance had gone from tavern to tavern. Under his suggestion, Fleance thought it best Duncan ride anonymously. The news that Donalbain would now rule Scotland would not be to everyone’s liking. Not that his life was in danger; on the contrary, many already spoke bravely aloud that they wished Duncan had been named the Prince of Cumberland – the title given to the waiting monarch.

Would it make a difference, though, to his life? Yes, he could ensure those under his care were kept safe and be free to prosper. But what about his heart? Would he find someone who had
captured
it as she had?