Banquo's Son (A Crown of Blood and Honour Book 1) (31 page)

‘And you,’ she said. ‘Fleance, I charge you with ensuring my brother here does no more injury to himself.’

Fleance bowed. ‘I will take care of him, I promise, though the task you set me is a difficult one,’ he smiled.

Duncan gave him a shove. ‘You will worry my sister unnecessarily,’ he said grinning. ‘Rachel, I am capable of looking after myself.’ He took her arm and led her from the tent to the waiting carriages. ‘Give Bree a kiss from me.’

‘Aye, I will. Goodbye, Duncan. Fleance,’ she said as the carriage drove off.

They raised their hands to wave her goodbye and then turned their attentions to the remaining soldiers.

Duncan called his men to assemble and, on top of his horse, his arm in a sling, he addressed them one more time. ‘Citizens of Scotland. This day your king gives you thanks. Your bravery and courage, determination and faithfulness will not go unrewarded. Not only will you enjoy the fruits of your labours by the knowledge of victory but we shall reward each man extra gold. And for our brothers whose lives were lost, their families will receive their reward also.’

A cheer went up from the crowd. ‘Long live the king! Long live the king!’ Duncan allowed the chant to go on but then held up his hand to silence them. ‘Though our loss is great, it has been a sacrifice which secured Scotland’s victory. We have sent a clear message to any country or rebel cause that Scotland is strong. Scotland is brave. Scotland will never be vanquished!’

Again, the men cheered and this time Duncan did not stop them. Instead, he left them and rode back to his tent.

The next morning, Fleance was restless. Blair had not come back and no one could tell him where he was. He would go back into the field and systematically look at every fallen man to see if it were his friend.

The spring morning heralded again only mist and no sound. Occasionally, Fleance heard a cry way out on the heath and his heart contracted. Maybe, in looking for Blair, he might save
othe
rs. He dressed swiftly and went into the mess tent for a bite to eat before his gruesome errand. There he found Duncan.

‘Why are you up so early, Sire?’ he asked. ‘Is your wrist
hurting
?’

Duncan frowned. ‘My wrist is fine, thanks to my sister and her disgusting medicines,’ he said holding up his bandaged arm. ‘But why, after all this time, Fleance, must you address me so formally. Did we not agree we were brothers and friends?’

Fleance tilted his head. ‘Why does it bother you so? Duncan, you are the King of Scotland. You are my liege. My lord. My king. And though I love you, yes as brother and friend, nothing changes the fact that I owe my allegiance to you. Why do you find it so hard to see it this way?’

Duncan, as was his habit, chewed his top lip. ‘I think because I was never prepared for this, Fleance. In my early years, it was always Uncle Malcolm who would be king. I think that I did not take in the seriousness of events when it was clear he could not produce an heir and then got sick. It all happened so fast.’ He spread out his hands. ‘And here am I. Not yet seen twenty-two summers and the reigning monarch of Scotland.’

Fleance studied his friend and understood. Duncan had been through so much in his life that he could be forgiven for not thinking forward. Whereas, he, Fleance, had been constantly wondering about his future because of his father’s ever disapproving presence. He stepped forward and placed his hand on his friend’s shoulder. ‘I am grateful for your understanding. Though many have suggested I am not as I appear to be, you have steadfastly seen me as I am.’ He removed his hand. ‘Duncan, I am not an angel and I am not perfect but I am honest and I am honourable.’

Duncan chuckled. ‘Yes, Fleance. You are all of those things and I know you. And, I know what your heart desires.’ He paused and drew himself some tea. ‘What are your plans today?’

‘Blair has not returned and I wish to find him.’

‘I will come with you,’ Duncan said.

‘This is a mundane task for a king. I am in no need of an escort.’

‘Aye, but would a friend be of use?’

Fleance shook his head. ‘No other companion would I wish but you, Duncan.’

‘Then, it seems, I am about to go once again into the field.’

Fleance could not argue with the king so the two of them set out onto the battlefield.

It was not a pleasant task and with each body they checked, Fleance could see that his friend was hurt and shaken. A young boy who had just weeks before rode in on his village’s horse and enthusiastically declared his desire to fight for his king, lay savagely cut down, his clear young face looking utterly surprised at what had happened. He lay in the mud, eyes and mouth open as if he was about to say
But wait. I have things to finish
.

As they systematically walked through the mist, checking each fallen man, they began to talk.

‘Do you think a man is ever ready to take on responsibility?’ Duncan asked.

It was a question Fleance had been considering of late. ‘Well, I think of the likes of Macduff, Lennox, Ross. They have seen many years of turmoil. Yet, they remain hopeful, by all appearances, and willing to keep going for the good of the country.’

‘Ahhh,’ Duncan cried. He put his hand to his face. ‘How can a body become so disfigured?’ Fleance looked at where his king was standing. Some soldier (who knew if it was for or against
Scotland
) had his face completely sliced off so that only ears and hair remained.

‘War is bad, Duncan. We are young but already we know this.’

Duncan shook himself. ‘No, my friend. Men are bad. Men are vicious, corrupted animals.’

‘Come on. Let’s move quicker.’ He pulled Duncan forward.

An hour later, both exhausted, Fleance found joy. Blair, his dear friend from old, was sitting in the field talking to one of his men.

‘Blair,’ Fleance called. ‘Are you hurt?’

His face white and drawn, Blair tried to smile. ‘You are a sight which gladdens the heart.’

Duncan indicated to the man in Blair’s arms. ‘Who is this man you hold?’

Blair looked down on the dead face of the soldier. ‘This soldier saved my life many times but I could not save him.’

‘Sergeant,’ Fleance said gently. ‘Leave him and go back to camp. Call forth bearers to bring in our dead.’

For a moment, Blair looked unsure but then roused himself. ‘Aye, Sire.’ He gently rolled the dead soldier from his lap and stood up. ‘I will be back anon.’

They watched him walk awkwardly across the heath, tripping over and avoiding bodies. Duncan breathed deeply. ‘You have a loyal following.’

Fleance shook his head. ‘Maybe, but many of the men have connections to those who have chosen to fight on the rebels’ side.’

Duncan stopped walking. Around them were many dead and many who would die. He raised his hands. ‘What do I do with this, Fleance?’ he cried. ‘How do I make this right?’

‘You have, Duncan. You have made it right by winning against any who should seek to bring down the royal house of Scotland.’

‘At what cost? My father wanted Scotland to be progressive. He saw the potential of our lands and our peoples to make much of this world. Too long have we dealt with superstition and misguided religion to operate effectively.’

‘There will always be someone who will seek to destroy you because of their own ghosts. You have not inherited a brand new land but one where many look, licking their lips, to see if they can grab a piece of it.’

‘Well,’ Duncan conceded. ‘We shall see what fate next deals us.’

No sooner had he said this than a shout went out and they were both startled at who confronted them.

Chapter Thirty-Three

C
alum, on his horse, stood beside the butchered body of a soldier, a crossbow armed and aimed at Fleance.

‘What are you doing, man?’ Duncan challenged. ‘All these months and you’ve turned your loyalties?’

Calum ignored him but addressed Fleance. ‘You are a fool,’
he said,
his voice shifting in tone so that, for the first time, a trace of a Nordic accent became more obvious. ‘As was Donalbain. The witches were right. He needed to be wary of the son of a murdered father.’ Calum sneered. ‘He thought it was you. But you are no threat to anyone, Fleance, Banquo’s son!’

Fleance could not understand why this man spoke to him with such bitterness and rage. ‘You are making no sense, Calum. Put down your weapon for the battle is lost by you and won by
Scotland
.’

Calum lifted his head to the sky and laughed. ‘So naïve, you Scots. You forget too easily. I don’t care one iota for this skirmish between our foolish countries. I am here to avenge my father’s murder.’ Fleance and Duncan exchanged looks. ‘For this past year I have served mad Donalbain to ensure that my information is complete. And, how easy it was to ingratiate myself into his,’ he gestured to Duncan, ‘father’s inner circle. The idiot abided by everything I said except he could not kill you – despite my efforts. I wasted money on that foolish assassin and when I could see no other way to get rid of you, I convinced Donalbain to put you in the front line of the army. I had hoped you would be killed in battle but it seems as if even that is a task I will have to carry out myself.’

‘Kill me? But why, Calum? I am nothing to you,’ Fleance said, staring at the pointed shaft of the bolt.

‘Nothing!’ Calum roared. ‘You, stupid boy, are everything that stands in the way of my gaining peace from the plague on my house. You are Banquo’s son. Banquo who murdered my father.’

Fleance held up his hands. ‘Calum, you make no sense. My father was not a murderer. He was an honourable and kindly man. General of the king’s army.’

‘Yes,’ he spat. ‘And that general killed my father.’

Duncan put a hand on Fleance’s arm. ‘I think he’s talking about the battle against my grandfather. The one where Macbeth and Banquo dealt with the rebel leaders.’

Duncan called to Calum. ‘Was your father Sweno, King of Norway?’

‘Yes,’ Calum spat. ‘A more brave and noble king you could not find.’ His face reddened. ‘My father was a great man and he, foolishly, thought he might make a difference in the world but, it seems, he joined the wrong side.’

‘That is the way of warfare, Calum,’ Fleance said.

‘No. When he realised what he had taken on, he attempted to negotiate with the Scottish generals. Your father, though having been told
my father’s
request, denied it and slaughtered him. Just before he died, he gave a message which was to be sent to me:
Calum, this is not finished. This is betrayal. I know you can avenge.
’

Fleance recognised the same haunting he himself suffered. But within Calum he saw something more: obsession? madness? definitely, determination.

‘Can we not change the course of history and forgive the past?’ Fleance asked.

‘You didn’t. You made yourself go across country to fulfil your father’s wishes. This is my brief also.’ Still he held the crossbow aloft and pointed at Fleance’s chest.

What to do? ‘We are the next generation,’ Fleance said. ‘Let us not repeat our fathers’ follies.’ Fleance put down his sword and started to walk towards him.

Duncan grabbed his arm. ‘Don’t,’ he said. ‘He is as crazy as my father. You cannot reason with him.’

‘Calum, I believe that I am no threat to you or your kingdom. Let us just walk away with our lives,’ Fleance pleaded.

‘No,’ Calum cried. ‘You will die to pay for my father’s death. I have saved my last bolt for you.’ He raised the crossbow again. ‘I will have vengeance,’ he said.

It all happened so quickly: Fleance saw Calum squeeze the
trigg
er and tried to move to the left. At that same moment,
Duncan
stepped forward, just in front of Fleance. ‘Here, man, let us
discuss
. . .’

Too late to do anything, Fleance heard the bolt thud into
Duncan’s
chest.

Calum threw down his weapon, enraged.

‘You fool!’ Fleance screamed at Calum, picking up his own sword.

Calum turned his horse around and glared down at him. ‘I had hoped this to be the end of the matter but it seems fate is destined for us to meet again.’ He looked behind Fleance, turned his horse again and galloped away.

‘Coward!’ Fleance cried but it would not change anything. He saw a number of their party running towards them. With his heart beating rapidly he turned his attentions to Duncan who lay on the battlefield, blood leaking from the wound. The bolt had embedded itself just below the collar bone.

‘I’m fine,’ Duncan said, trying to sit up. ‘Just get me to Rachel and all will be good.’

The bolt was a problem. Fleance turned to the soldiers. ‘Take His Majesty to the surgeons – quickly.’ Between them, they lifted Duncan and, as quickly but as carefully as they could, they carried him to the tents.

Duncan said little but Fleance could see that he was in pain. Sometimes he closed his eyes tightly as they negotiated the field. A messenger ran ahead of them to warn the surgeons and to make preparations.

After what seemed like an eternity, they laid Duncan on a long wooden bench and the two doctors began their work. Fleance stood by Duncan’s head and tried to keep him distracted. ‘I guess we’re even then,’ he offered.

‘Why is that?’ Duncan replied, his breathing laboured.

‘You saved my life.’

Duncan closed his eyes and smiled. ‘You’re daft keeping score. I hope that we will have years together to continue to look out for each other.’

Fleance’s stomach chilled and he swallowed. ‘Aye.’

One of the doctors came forward with a drink. ‘Take this, Your Majesty, it will help with the pain.’ He held his head as Duncan sipped the foul-smelling liquid. In sympathy, Fleance screwed up his face.

Lennox rushed in. ‘Your Majesty,’ he cried.

‘I’m all right. ’Tis not much of a wound. Many have had far worse and survived to tell their tale.’

Lennox took a deep breath and helped them to remove
Duncan’s
armour and coat, cutting around the bolt, then stood back.
Duncan’s
chest now lay exposed, pale and vulnerable. The bolt stood firmly, half of it buried in his chest. A deep bruising was already spreading across the chest and, around the shaft of the bolt, the skin had begun to swell.

The other doctor came over with a small stick. ‘Your Majesty, we are going to remove the bolt. You will need to bite down on this because it will be very painful.’

‘Perhaps you should leave it in, then. I could treat it like an adornment,’ Duncan quipped but there was fear and pain in h
is eyes.

He put his hand on Duncan’s shoulder. ‘It doesn’t suit you.’ He gave a gentle squeeze. ‘It will be over quickly.’

Duncan nodded and took the piece of wood from the doctor’s hand and placed it between his teeth. He breathed deeply, coughed and then closed his eyes.

‘Hold his shoulders,’ the first doctor said and Fleance did as he was instructed. ‘You,’ he added, pointing to Blair, ‘hold down his hips.’ Blair pressed his weight down on Duncan’s hips.

One doctor stood to the side with a large bandage at the ready and a bottle of spirits, while the other placed one hand on Duncan’s chest and the other he curled around the shaft. ‘
On the
count of three,’ he said to Duncan. Duncan nodded, his eyes still tightly closed, his pulse beating rapidly in a small vein in his neck. ‘One. Two.’ He yanked hard and the deadly weapon was pulled free.

Duncan screamed between his teeth but the doctors ignored that while they poured some warm wine on the hole which was bleeding profusely and then pressed large wads of bandage against the injury to stem the flow.

Fleance took a cloth and wiped away the thick veil of sweat that had broken out on Duncan’s face.

Duncan removed the wood from between his teeth and opened his eyes. ‘You can’t count,’ he said to the doctor.

‘The bolt came out cleanly, Your Majesty.’ He looked at Fleance. ‘If we keep the wound pure, all will be well.’ They wrapped his chest tightly and brought him a clean shirt.

Duncan signalled for Lennox and Fleance. ‘You and Angus stay behind until every last man is brought in. We will go on ahead with the remaining injured and the Thane of Ross.’

Fleance shook his head. ‘I would travel with you, Sire. I promised your fair sister that I would return you safely to her.’

‘Aye,’ said Lennox. ‘There is but a day’s work left and it would be best if Your Majesty were quickly back to Glamis for rest and the healing hands of your sister.’

Duncan looked first at Lennox and then Fleance. ‘It shall be done then. Come, Fleance, you will ride beside me.’ Two soldiers came forward and helped Duncan into the wagon which had been prepared with a soft bed.

Once he was settled, Fleance called for his horse. He mounted the mare and looked down at Duncan. ‘Are you comfortable?’

‘Enough. I will be better under Rachel’s skilled care.’

‘To Glamis it is then,’ Fleance cried and the party moved off.

They sailed from Edinburgh and made good time. Fleance was worried, however. The wound was bleeding little but Duncan was in pain. By the time they arrived at Perth the following day, the king was breathing rapidly and with difficulty. They placed him on another cart and this time Fleance sat with him, the mare trotting behind.

And, as was Scotland’s custom, it began to rain.

All the covered carts had gone earlier with Rachel so Duncan and Fleance had to endure a quiet but persistent soaking. Fleance removed his cloak and held it above Duncan’s head and chest in a vain attempt to keep out the rain.

‘I have always hated the rain,’ Duncan told him. ‘I dislike feeling wet and cold.’

Fleance laughed. ‘A bit tough for a Scot.’

They were quiet for a while and Duncan slept. Though he looked at ease, Fleance had a nagging feeling of fear at the back of his mind.

Sometime later, Duncan roused. ‘I do not feel so well, my friend,’ he said, breathing hard between words. ‘My heart is racing and I feel faint.’

Fleance grabbed his hand. ‘It has been a hard journey back, Duncan. We are not half a day from Glamis.’ Duncan’s hand was sweaty and it trembled.

‘Witness,’ Duncan whispered. ‘Get another.’

Fleance frowned. He was unsure what Duncan was asking. ‘You want someone else?’ There was an almost imperceptible nod. ‘Stop the wagon,’ Fleance called. ‘The king asks for a witness.’ Blair and Ross came running back. Fleance looked back to Duncan. ‘Blair and the Thane of Ross are here as your witnesses.’

Duncan’s eyes were closed and his chest moved up and down with dramatic movement. Each word was spoken slowly and laboriously, a breathy pause between almost every word. ‘I. Duncan. The Second. King. Of Scotland. Name. Fleance.’ He stopped. They waited and watched as beads of sweat formed on his forehead and above his top lip. ‘Son of Banquo. Great. Grandson of. Kenneth. The Third.’ Again, another wait while he caught his breath. ‘To be my. Successor.’ Fleance and Blair looked at each other. ‘I have. No heir. He is. Next. In line.’

Fleance was stunned. ‘Don’t ask this of me, Duncan,’ he begged. ‘You know what taking that office will mean to me . . . what I will have to give up. Besides you will go on to live a long life and have many bonny bairns . . .’

Duncan turned to him and Fleance now noticed how blue his lips were.

‘Please,’ he whispered.

Fleance wiped Duncan’s face. ‘My friend, we have no need of this proclamation for once we get you to Glamis and in the tender care of Rachel, you shall be laughing with me in years to come about your generous offer.’

Duncan turned to him and Fleance despaired. What was wrong? They said the bolt came out cleanly. There had been little blood loss. Why was he so ill?

Duncan was panting. ‘Rachel. Bree. Now yours.’ He stared hard at Fleance who was more afraid than at any other remembered time.

Then Duncan smiled weakly. ‘This rain. It is not so bad. A bit like Bree’s wet kisses.’

Suddenly, his body gave a violent lurch, his eyes widened and the life went from his eyes.

A cold sweat swept up Fleance’s back. ‘Duncan?’ He shook the king. ‘Duncan? Wake up.’ But Duncan’s pale blue eyes continued to stare sightlessly. Fleance got up on his knees and shook the young man by the shoulders. Duncan’s head wobbled uselessly. A painful ball of grief had lodged itself in Fleance’s chest. This could not be happening. He pulled his friend into his arms and wept, only dimly aware of the crowd of soldiers around the wagon.

Sometime later, he was roused by Blair. ‘We are all very wet, Sire. We must continue to take His Majesty home.’ Fleance looked up, dazed, still holding the now cooling body of his friend. ‘I will go ahead with the news.’ Blair climbed aboard the cart and gently took Duncan and laid him back down on the bed. Then he lifted the blanket and pulled it over Duncan’s head.

A few hours later, wet and cold and miserable, they plodded into the courtyard of Glamis castle. This time, it loomed over him and added to his misery.

The main doors to the castle opened and Rachel, Morag and Charissa came rushing down the steps. Fleance leapt off the back of the cart and stood between the women and the body of the de
ad king.

‘Where is he?’ Rachel cried. ‘Where is he?’ she repeated. She rushed to the wagon but Fleance caught her. ‘Let me see him,’
she sai
d. ‘I want to see my brother.’

‘Rachel,’ Fleance shouted, his own voice choked with sadness. ‘I am sorry.’

There was a hysterical cry from beyond. Fleance looked up to see Charissa had collapsed at her aunt’s feet, wailing. He watched as Morag knelt down and put her arms around her. Charissa, her face distorted with grief, made such a heart-wrenching sound, it sent chills through Fleance.