Banquo's Son (A Crown of Blood and Honour Book 1) (9 page)

BOOK: Banquo's Son (A Crown of Blood and Honour Book 1)
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Within moments of hearing the water, and despite the thick fog which engulfed him, Fleance stumbled upon the small stream which flowed along the path of these rocky outlands.

He filled the pot and turned to face the uphill journey. Getting lost, or at least thinking he might have been and feeling anxious, was a small sacrifice for him compared with what these poor shepherd folk had offered: hearth, hospitality, a haven.

As he trudged up the hill, he went over the events of the night before when Agnes had screamed at the sight of him. He’d learnt so much but he still needed to sift through the details.

 

Later that morning, as Fleance tacked up Willow, Michael approached. ‘Lad,’ he said. ‘The manor is not as you remember. There be strangers who lord over the castle and the battlements. These are not men who care about your father or the king. Do not declare yourself but, if you keep eyes and ears open more than your mouth, you are certain to find some information without risk to you or to your quest.’

Fleance turned towards the old man. ‘Thank you again for your hospitality and kindness. It seems to me that the righting of truth and restoration lies not with single acts but a combination of fellows determined to make the world right.’

Chapter Twelve

M
ichael’s words rang true. It was not as Fleance remembered. Despite three days’ trekking, the sight of the castle brought no joy; no relief. Again the mist had sunk low so
that Willow
was the only reliable means to ensure they headed in the right direction. Some things were familiar, however: the strange outcrop of rock hanging over the road, which Fleance had told his father reminded him of a squatting toad and was thereafter referred to as Toad Rock.

When he did reach the place in the road – which he remembered looked out over a tenement – he could, in fact, see nothing for the swirling sea mist had moved in and surrounded everything. It seemed to Fleance as if he was looking out upon a vast lake with only a few peaks jutting up through the water.

He nudged the horse forward and they began the descent into the valley that held Lochaber, the kingdom’s outermost post; the stronghold sited to fend off would-be attackers from the sea. Such was his father’s reputation and valour, that King Duncan had given Banquo this thanage – a fierce and faithful warrior who would protect Scotland’s weakest flank.

All was quiet. The damp mist swirled away from the horse’s movements but muffled all sights and all sounds. Willow stepped deliberately, one careful hoof in front of the other, his large steps jolting Fleance so that the young man rocked from side to side on the saddle. Down. Down. And, with each yard, Fleance’s heart beat faster. Though he was chilled, a warmth travelled up his spine and the back of his neck – a heated sense of foreboding

‘Halt!’ A voice called from within the cloud. ‘Name and county.’

Stupidly, Fleance had not reckoned on an encounter such as this. To stall, and to mask, he replied, ‘County Fife. The name’s . . .’ He hesitated. ‘The name’s Magness. I’m Magness of Fife.’

A lone shadow appeared. Fleance immediately took in the armour, the weaponry. ‘Your business, man.’

Stupid, stupid, Fleance thought. Why had he not worked out
a s
tory, a plan. ‘I lost my way. A shepherd a few days back said I might find rest and food if I kept on.’

The soldier came up to Willow. ‘’Tis a mighty fine horse y
ou ride.’

‘Aye, he was my father’s.’

‘An’ you’re from Fife, you say?’

‘Aye.’

The soldier pulled off his helmet. He was about Fleance’s age. ‘That don’t explain why you’re on this road, coming to this castle.’

‘I’m on a pilgrimage,’ Fleance said. ‘My father oft visited these parts as a lad. I’m looking to honour his memory.’

‘He’s dead then?’

‘Aye.’

The soldier eyed him suspiciously. ‘The master does not
welcome
visitors.’

Fleance sighed wearily. ‘Well, man, can I not just water my horse, get some food and have a day’s rest? I’ll not be any trouble.’

There was a moment’s hesitation. ‘The master is away at this time. He would not care to know that a stranger had taken
advantage
of his manor.’

Fleance pressed on. ‘Surely, the Master of all masters commands us to open our homes to strangers and the needy.’

He saw the soldier stiffen. ‘Aye, but we are not a monastery.’

Still, Fleance could see he was making inroads into this young man’s conscience. ‘Come on, man. My horse and I are in need of a good night’s rest. Surely, your household can accommodate me, just for one night.’

The soldier stood straight in front of Willow. ‘I think it would be unwise, sir, for you to proceed.’

‘I’m no threat. I’m just looking to feed and rest my horse. For God’s sake, please grant me access.’

‘What ho, Wallace? Who goes here?’ Another shadow ca
me forth.

‘’Tis a man who says he is on a pilgrimage and just wants rest for himself and his horse.’

Another armed soldier came forward. This man had no face armour and his hair was as white as the mist which surrounded them all. ‘Greetings,’ he called to Fleance. ‘Is what young Wallace says true?’

‘Aye, father. I am from Fife.’ (The lie stung Fleance.) ‘A
nd I kno
w my father, who died in battle for King Duncan, came to these parts. He spoke often about them.’

‘’Tis his father’s horse,’ Wallace offered, obviously eager to add to the story.

‘And you are wanting, what, from our place?’

‘Rest, food and repose, so please you.’

‘All because your father came to these parts?’ the old sold
ier asked.

‘Aye,’ said Fleance.

The old man and the young man looked at each other and moved away from Fleance’s hearing. After a long time, they came to him, Wallace speaking. ‘Magness of Fife, you are welcomed to Lochaber.’

Fleance bowed his head. ‘For this, I am most grateful.’

‘But you will surrender your weapons.’

Fleance gave over his crossbow, his father’s sword and Magness’s dirk. He was uncomfortable entering this place unarmed but he could ask no more of these suspicious people.

‘And will I get these back when I leave?’

‘Indeed,’ the old soldier replied. ‘Now, if you would dismount your horse.’

Fleance did as he was told, quietly relieved to use his legs. He lifted the reins over Willow’s head and followed the two soldiers down the track.

As they came upon the flat, Fleance’s eyes stung. This was so
familiar
. This was his home. There were the cottages of those who worked the fields. There was the stone wall he’d sat upon and cried when his mother had died. That was the oak tree which he’d climbed to hide from his father the day he’d smashed the first crossbow he’d received.

The old soldier spoke. ‘This crop is ripe for harvest and we are well pleased. Many years ago, the previous thane declared it important that each field have a different crop which should be
rotated about the seasons to save nutrients and to encourage growth
. It was good counsel and the current master has kept the practice.’

Fleance knew this because he had been there when his father had argued with the workers about how they should till the soil and make it produce. Despite the sea mist, Fleance could see a strong stand of barley and he felt pleased. His father’s quiet wisdom and patience was still having a positive effect even ten years after hi
s death.

Then they came upon the castle. Fleance’s heart lurched and ached. This was his home – and yet it wasn’t: his father was not here and his nurse was not here and there were now none who knew him, who were tolerant of his tempers. And he was no longer a boy but a man. Fleance wanted time to mourn for his place in this setting but that would betray him and his purpose.

Instead, he was compliant and went to the stable to bed Willow down. The horse knew his way and made it easier for Fleance. What else could he do to ensure his father’s horse was treated to the best?

‘I will send someone to you with food and drink,’ the young soldier said.

‘Many thanks,’ Fleance said, ‘I will stay with my horse for a while – to settle him in.’

The older soldier nodded towards Willow. ‘Seems well settled already. He’s got an air about him as if he’s the lord of these stables.’

Willow stopped munching on the hay and turned his head around and gave the soldier a look. Then he snorted again and went back to his dinner. The soldier laughed. ‘And it seems he can
understand
us.’

‘Aye, he can.’ Fleance rubbed Willow’s rump. ‘He’s a faithful beast but we have arguments sometimes.’

‘We must return to our post. Supper will be along soon.’ The two guards, carrying his weapons still, walked out of the stables and were engulfed by the mist, though Fleance could still hear their tramping feet and the sound of their quiet conversation.

The stable was almost deserted. A small horse stood dozing in an end stall, disinterested in the new arrivals. In his time, it had always been filled with horses and stablehands. Perhaps the new master was away with a group of his men. That would explain the state of the building.

Who was this new master? The soldiers had not named him. Why were they so distrustful and nervous? It would bring some satisfaction at least to learn the name of the one who now resided in his home.

Fleance pushed a pile of dry and dusty straw into one of the empty stalls and laid his cloak over it. A better host would have offered him a warmer bed and perhaps a fire. It looked like he was going to be in for a chilly night.

He looked around the gloomy building – little was different with what he remembered save it seemed more run-down and neglected: long, thick spider webs filled the spaces between the beams and the saddles all looked in need of oiling. Fleance ran his hand down one of the bridles – it was for a small horse, perhaps the one asleep in the stall. Perhaps the master had a child.

There was a cough behind him and Fleance spun around. Standing in the doorway of the stables was a young man, about his age. He carried a tray of food. ‘Your supper, sir.’

When the servant lifted his eyes to Fleance’s face, he paled. It was a repeat performance of the night at the shepherd’s cottage.

‘Flea?’ the young man gasped. ‘Is that you?’

Fleance felt a dreadful clutch of recognition. ‘Blair?’

‘Aye,’ Blair said. ‘’Tis me, Sire. What are you doing here? I thought you long dead.’ Fleance went to him and relieved him of the tray of food. Blair just stared.

Fleance set the tray on the dusty workbench which ran along the side wall of the stable. ‘I’m alive and well, Blair.’

‘I never thought I’d see you again.’ Blair stepped forward and grabbed Fleance’s shoulders. ‘My but you look like your da.’ He grinned widely. ‘It’s so good to see you again. I have missed you.’

Fleance had forgotten about Blair’s tendency to emotion. To hide his embarrassment, he turned to the tray, broke off a chunk of bread and, using the blunt knife (rendered useless as a weapon – he understood the choice of utensil), cut off some cheese. Generously, there was wine in the jug. Perhaps the soldiers meant for him to ge
t drunk.

Blair stood mutely beside him and watched as he devoured th
e food.

As he chewed, swift memories of the two of them hunting sparrows and playing battle games down by the creek came to Fleance. Fleance had always won these because, if Blair should take the upper hand, Fleance’s temper flared and the servant beat a hasty retreat. But Blair had been, despite his low status, Fleance’s best friend.

‘I missed you,’ Blair said quietly. ‘And never for one moment did I listen to that gossip that said you killed your da.’

Fleance looked at him sharply. ‘I loved my father. He was murdered. We were set upon not far from Forres, the night of Macbeth’s coronation.’

Blair looked about nervously and then spied Willow. ‘Can it be?’ He walked over to the horse. ‘Willow?’ Willow whinnied and pushed his nose into Blair’s stomach. ‘Oh, how it pleases my heart to see you.’ Blair had been Willow’s groom. It had been his sole responsibility to feed and groom the master’s horse. Banquo had chosen him because, though he was a young lad, he’d shown a special skill with animals.

‘Aye,’ said Fleance. ‘He’s been my constant companion since that dreadful night.’ He drank down a tumbler of wine. ‘Sometimes he’s been the only thing keeping me in my right wits.’

Blair looked over at him. ‘Why are you here? This place is not like you will have remembered. Now, we all work looking over our shoulders, shielding our backs for fear that we will be sent packing with nothing more that the clothes on our backs.’

Fleance frowned. ‘Who is this master that seems to fill all here with dread?’

‘Chattan. He’s cousin to the Earl of Ross. Some call him the cat because he goes about his business quietly. Macbeth gave him this castle and the thaneship and King Malcolm does not know for sure if he be for or against him. He cannot remove the master but word is he doesn’t trust him either.’

‘Where is Chattan now?’

‘Abroad but we know not where. Some say Normandy; others Norway; some even say he’s carousing with the English.’ Blair stroked Willow’s nose and pressed his face into the horse. ‘Ah, Willow. ’Tis so good to see you again.’ The horse, as if understanding him, quietly whickered. It was not a sound Fleance had heard the horse make since they’d left Lochaber on their fateful journey to Inverness all those years ago.

‘Why did you come back, Blair? Could you not find service in another manor?’

‘Well,’ Blair said. ‘This is my home and where I want to be. I’d worked a few farms beyond the Highlands with my father but then Da succumbed to the cough and I had to travel on alone. ’Twas lonely, Flea, and I didn’t know where I should I go, but one night I had a dream: your da, he came to me and he said “Go back and be bold”. So, that is what I did.’

‘Da came to you?’

‘Aye. Like flesh and blood he stood in front of me and told me what I must do.’

This was almost too much for Fleance. He believed he was the only one to carry out his father’s wishes yet now, in truth, his friend had also been visited by the ghostly Banquo.

Blair wanted more information. ‘Why are you here?’ he asked again ‘What good did you think could come out of it? If they knew who you were, they’d cut your throat as soon as look at you. You’re the rightful heir to this place and would be seen as a threat to th
e master.’

Fleance sighed. ‘Truth be told, I’ve come for information. I need to find out who was responsible for my father’s murder. I thought maybe those who had been invested here might have had a connection to that night.’

Blair ran a hand through his curly red hair. It pained Fleance to see the young man so pale, with dark smudges under his e
yes. He
was thin, too, a far cry from the chunky boy Fleance worked hard to wrestle to the ground. Blair, though, seemed unaware of his physical state and was keen to answer Fleance’s question. ‘But it was Macbeth who put the master here. Do you think he killed your father?’

Fleance nodded. ‘He was at the castle but perhaps one of his supporters saw my father as a threat. I don’t know for sure.’

BOOK: Banquo's Son (A Crown of Blood and Honour Book 1)
2.27Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
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