Banquo's Son (A Crown of Blood and Honour Book 1) (5 page)

BOOK: Banquo's Son (A Crown of Blood and Honour Book 1)
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Chapter Six

A
lmost from instinct, Fleance flicked his dirk at the man in front of him. He was surprised to see that the blade went deep into the man’s throat before he even had a moment to cry out. As he fell backwards, Fleance lunged forward and grabbed the sword from the dying man who had relinquished his weapon when he clutched at the wound in his neck.

Fleance looked around towards William who was now engaged in a fierce struggle but there was no time to help because the third man was charging towards him, his claymore swinging. Fleance barely had time to get himself into a position where he could defend himself.

He brought the sword up just as his enemy’s came crashing down. The power and weight of the sword hitting the one he now held caused a painful jar in his forearms and shoulder but Fleance was strong enough to hold back the pressure bearing down on him. He inhaled and, roaring with all his strength, pushed his assailant’s weapon around to his right before spinning away to his left.

The man regained his balance and charged again. It was clear to Fleance that this man was not a skilful fighter but rather someone used to using brute force to win fights. This time Fleance was ready for him so, just before the man reached the spot where he stood, Fleance skipped out of reach. The weight of the claymore, and the lack of a solid target, sent the man off balance. He stumbled and Fleance used this moment to bring his own weapon down on the other’s back.

The man fell forward with a heavy thud.

Fleance was shocked at how easily the blade went through the man’s body, but worse was the sound of the man’s screaming. This was not some rabbit, boar or stag. This was another human being.
Magness’s
words came to him.
Once you’ve downed your foe, lad, you must finish him off. ’ Tis dishonourable to let even an enemy linger in pain
.

Palms sweaty now from the shock of combat, Fleance pulled the weapon from the man’s back and swung it again so that it sliced through his neck, silencing him for good. Then he went to the first man and, though feeling ill, removed the dirk from his body.

Breathing hard and shaking, Fleance was roused from his thoughts by the sounds of William and the first intruder.

Their cautious movements showed both men were seasoned fighters. Though obviously much older than his foe, William was strong and light on his feet. Fleance could only stand and watch – this was not his fight now – though he kept a wary eye on the woods in case there were more of them.

‘I told you, you’d be in trouble if you messed with me,’ William taunted the Scot. ‘You have nae idea who you’re up against.’

‘’Tis a weak Scot who needs to boast ’bout his talent,’ the man panted but brought his sword in a sideways arc towards William’s exposed flank.

William twisted away, using the force from the blow against his sword to push the man off-balance. William lunged forward and smashed the handle into the Scot’s face, toppling him onto his back. The man’s sword fell out of his hand and William kicked it towards Fleance.

With the tip of Fleance’s sword pressed into the throat of the Scot, William bellowed, ‘Name an’ county.’

‘Kelvin of Clan Mitchell, ’ he stammered, eyes wide with terror.

‘Well, Kelvin, you and your wee friends chose the wrong campfire to raid. And, I did warn you.’ He stepped away from the prone man and kicked his foot. ‘Up!’ The man’s nose and top lip bled and he tried to wipe away the mess as he scrambled to his feet. ‘Flea – get his dirk, there,’ he added pointing to the knife which was tied to the man’s leg. With the Scot’s own sword pointing at him, Fleance nipped in and removed the weapon.

‘I should kill you for the trouble you put me and the lad through but ’tis not honourable to attack an unarmed man. Put your hands behind your back. Flea, there’s some rope in my satchel. Get it and tie this bugger’s hands.’

Fleance did as he was instructed and, with sweat on his palms making him fumble so that he cursed, he bound up Kelvin’s wrists. ‘Sit down,’ William told Kelvin. Fleance pushed him to the ground in front of a tree. ‘Bind his ankles as well, lad. We don’t want him coming after us again.’ When Fleance had finished and stepped back, William continued. ‘Now, we’re going to break camp and leave you here with the bodies of your companions. If you’re lucky, one of your kind will come rescue you before the wolves sniff out the blood.’

Kelvin glared at William and then spat at him, ‘You should have killed me too. See if I don’t find you and come at you again.’

‘I dinna know why you raided us, man. We’ve got nowt to offer,’ William said as he shrugged on his cloak.

‘Both of them horses are fine specimens,’ Kelvin growled. ‘
A reive
r can get a lot more and go a lot further with four legs u
nder him.’

‘I’m pleased, then, that the lad and I have helped curb your wicked ways.’ William hoisted his saddle onto his horse and, while strapping up the girth, continued to taunt Kelvin. ‘Perhaps ’tis time you considered a change in occupation. You don’t seem to be very good at this one.’

William prepared a makeshift torch by wrapping an oiled cloth around a small branch and using the dying embers of the fire to ignite it. He swung up onto his horse and Fleance, who had mirrored William’s preparations, did the same. ‘Let this be a warning to you, Kelvin of Clan Mitchell. Things are not always what they appear to be. I think your friends there,’ he nodded in the direction of the bodies, ‘have learnt this the fatal way.’

William nudged his horse on and Fleance followed.

About half an hour later, William pulled up his horse. ‘You all right, lad? You’re very quiet.’

Fleance had started shaking about fifteen minutes after they had left the scene, and now he was feeling weak and sick.

‘Was that your first kill?’ William asked quietly.

‘Aye,’ Fleance replied. ‘I’ve been learning swordsmanship since I was a wee lad but I never imagined myself pitted against real
people
.’ He was finding it difficult to get rid of the scene from his mind. ‘There was so much blood,’ he added.

‘Aye,’ William said. ‘Man is a messy animal. You were right, though, about your skills. It’s been a long while since I’ve seen such in one so young.’

‘Magness, my adoptive father, I have been told, is one of the best with sword and dirk. But I’m better than he is with my crossbow. He says it’s because his eyesight is dimmed with age.’

‘Ah, well. As to the business behind us: put it from your mind, lad. Thinking too much on it will make your brain sick.’ William gathered up his reins. ‘’Tis almost dawn. We should be near to the wall soon.’

As his horse walked on, the ache in his arm and shoulder reminded Fleance of a particularly gruelling session with Magness. He would have been about fourteen and it was his first time with the claymore – a heavy, long-bladed sword which was almost as tall as he was. Magness had made him practise swinging in a figure eight, over and over. When he felt he could do no more, Magness demanded he start again. ‘A fight with a man lasts an eternity, boy. You need to train your muscles to have a long memory.’ Later that evening, Miri had rubbed linseed oil into his burning muscles while Fleance tried to hide the tears which spilled down his face.

The next day, he had to do it all over again. Magness did not relent. That was one of the few moments he almost felt hatred towards the man.

The light began to shift and, with it, the sounds of bird calls. William extinguished the torch and tucked it behind his saddle. As they came out of the forest, Fleance looked at the vast plains which spread out before them. Away in the distance, he could make out some sort of long fortress. It stretched west to east as far as the eye could see.

They headed straight towards it and, as the sun rose, the view became clearer. Though impressive and higher than it first appeared, Fleance could see that there were gaps in places. This must be Hadrian’s Wall that his father had spoken of. He remembered many times his father would come into his chamber before bed and tell him stories of warriors, wars, mighty deeds and insane rulers.

‘The foolish Roman emperor,’ Banquo had told him, ‘thought he could contain the marauding Celts out of his conquered
England
. The people on either side of the wall had to pay taxes to pay for the cost of building the wall as well as the soldiers who man
ned it.’

‘But, if he hadn’t built the wall in the first place, the emperor wouldn’t need taxes to pay for it,’ the young Fleance had said.

Banquo had ruffled the hair on Fleance’s head. ‘You’re a clever wee man.’ He’d stood up then. ‘Now all that the wall’s good for is for folk stealing pieces of it to build houses for their pigs.’

The memory was one of the many Fleance could recall of his father’s practical approach to life and his commitment to teach Fleance the best way to live safely. Like the time Willow was bought – a sapling stallion, stroppy and difficult. Banquo told Fleance that, though it an uncommon practice, it was best for his purposes the horse be gelded despite his son’s reservations. ‘Fleance,’ he’d said, ‘he’s a fine specimen of a horse but a stallion is better with brooding mares than winning battles and riding with the king. This is the reason he was purchased. Mark my words, lad, Willow will be more use to our family as a gelding than a rutting stallion.’

These words were proven true many times over in Fleance’s life.

Willow followed William’s horse faithfully as it picked its way through a wrecked section of stone. The high, damp walls towered over them on each side, blocking out the sun and causing a chill to flow over them. On either side, rocks and boulders had been scattered by some unknown force and lay embedded in the soil at the foot of the wall.

It was only when they were through the other side that Fleance realised he had been holding his breath. With relief, he let it out and patted Willow’s neck.

‘You care for your horse, then, Flea?’

‘Why do you ask?’

‘I see you’re mighty tender and kind to him.’

‘He was my father’s horse,’ Fleance replied. ‘He and my sword are all I have left of him.’

‘You don’t see many with his size and colouring,’ William said, staring at Willow, a thoughtful look on his face. The old man took a deep breath as if he might be about to say something else. Fleance tightened his grip on the reins and stared ahead. He would give no answer to the invitation to talk about his father’s horse.

Instead, they carried on in silence and the worm of worry Fleance had at the back of his mind, now that they were on Scottish soil, came to the fore. He didn’t actually know how to get to his home having not mentioned to a soul these past years the place of his birth. He looked ahead at William. Perhaps he could ask directions without giving too much away.

‘William,’ he called. William turned to face him as he pushed Willow forward so that they rode side by side. ‘The place I’m going. I’m afraid I don’t exactly remember how to get there. Would you be kind enough to give me directions?’

William grinned. ‘You’re not afeared I’ll chase you down and rob you, then?’

Fleance returned the smile. ‘No. The place is Lochaber. Do you know it?’

William was quiet for a bit. ‘Aye. I’ve been there once or twice. ’Tis in the western Highlands, on the way to Inverness. It’s a har
d ride.’

‘I shall travel with you until we must part. Are you fine wi
th that?’

‘Sure and there will be folk enough to keep you in the direction. I’m glad of your company for the next few days.’

It took them seven days and nights to reach the outskirts of Glasgow. In that time, Fleance was able to glean almost forgotten stories about the troubles. Though William did not divulge his exact role in the events which lead up to Macbeth’s death, it was easy to tell by his demeanour he had been right in the thick of it. What was not clear, however, was William’s current feelings about Scotland’s tenuous political state now that the king was dying.

William eventually left Fleance alone at a tavern while he continued on towards the castle at Forres. ‘I thank you for your company, Flea. I wish you all of God’s blessings and good fortunes as you travel.’

Fleance bowed his head as a sign of respect for the man. ‘Thank you, William. You have made my journey less wearisome.’

‘I hope our paths will cross again, lad. Farewell.’

Fleance watched as the old man and his horse walked off down the road and then he took Willow to the stables for a well-earned rest before the next, and probably hardest, part of his journey.

Rosie
England

The wagon lurched from side to side as Dougal urged the horses through the muddy ruts in the road. The rain had stopped by mid-morning but everything was still damp. Though she was constantly thrown into the side beam of the wagon, Rosie was numb to any pain. She stared without seeing, her eyes stinging and dry from hours of crying. There was a painful lump in her throat which hurt every time she swallowed. Despite her mother’s urging, she had not been able to eat since the night of the feast, though a little water gave relief from the tightness of her chest.

How could he do this to her? Why had he never said he had responsibilities elsewhere? Even in the short time they’d spent together, they talked about the present and their future. Never about his past though she had entertained him with re-enactments of her own childhood pranks.

He had told her he loved her. She shook silently and another batch of tears slid down her face. Her stomach ached and the sharp pains in her chest dug in tighter so that the sobs came back.

Her mother reached over and embraced her. ‘Shhh, darling
girl. Shhh.’

Rosie buried her face into her mother’s neck and cried. Dougal flicked the reins angrily but said nothing, for what was there to say to make the situation better?

By midday, they came to a tavern and pulled up outside.
Dougal
climbed down from the tray. ‘We will rest ourselves and the horses.’ He pulled out his small bag of coins and went into the building.

BOOK: Banquo's Son (A Crown of Blood and Honour Book 1)
5.3Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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