Lady Macbeth's Daughter (19 page)

“Beware Macduff,” I say, taking care to alter my voice. “Beware the thane of Fife.”

“You have hit my fear aright, fatal sister. I thank you for the caution,” the king replies, sounding unimpressed.

Of course he already knows that Macduff is against him. I see that it will not do to try to make him fearful. No, I must make him reckless instead, so that pride will be his weakness.

A clap of thunder sounds.

I remember overhearing Fiona say that Macduff was born unnaturally, torn from the womb before his time. This bit of truth will be my bait.

Macbeth stares into the fire again. “What do I see now?” He frowns and stiffens. “A bloody babe? Not . . . not my daughter! Begone.” His hands claw at his eyes.

Rhuven gasps, and Helwain whispers at my ear, “What power you have! How do you do it?”

In fact, I have conjured nothing. All I have done is to think about Macduff as a tiny infant taken from his mother’s belly. What the king sees springs from his own tortured mind.

“Be bloody, bold, and resolute!” I shout. “Scorn the power of men, for none of woman born shall harm Macbeth.”

The king’s body relaxes. He flexes his arms so that the sinews stand out and nods to his men.

“All men are born of women. So live, Macduff. I have nothing to fear from you,” he says with a laugh.

Now I think of that child—whoever it may be in Macbeth’s mind—with a crown on its head, and a branch of a tree in its hand, like a staff. As in my dream, I imagine the impossible—trees pulling up their own roots and moving across the land, Nature herself revolting against the evil tyrant.

And I declare to the king, “You shall not be vanquished until the trees of the great wood come against the high hill.”

The king claps his hands against his thighs and roars like a storm wind.

“That will never be! How shall great Birnam Wood rise from its earthbound roots and climb to Dunsinane?”

His black eyes gleam through the smoke. “Tell me now,” he demands, “shall Banquo’s issue ever reign in this kingdom?”

I remember the procession of kings from my dream. The last one carries a mirror. Closing my eyes, I imagine him with Banquo’s face.

Then I say to Macbeth, “I see a line of kings—”

Macbeth interrupts me. “I see them, too.” Then he speaks to them, looking right through me. “You are too much like the spirit of Banquo. The second like the first, the third . . . like the former.” His voice rises. “Why do you show me this? Another! A seventh . . . and an eighth, who bears a glass in which I see . . . many more.” Spittle forms around his lips as he shouts, “What, will Banquo’s line stretch out to the crack of doom?”

It seems that I have dreamt the king’s greatest fear: that no son of his will rule Scotland.

“He grows disturbed; let us go now,” whispers Rhuven, pulling my arm.

Helwain throws an armful of dried moss onto the flames, sending up billows of smoke. While Macbeth slashes the air with his hands, we retreat to a hollow at the base of one of the standing stones.

“Where have you gone?” the king cries, stumbling from stone to stone like a child looking for his mother. Then he shouts, defiant, “Hear me, you foul, fateful sisters! No one born of woman shall harm me. Damned be those who trust you!” His curses grow fainter, but these final words come borne on the wind, as clear as if spoken at the porches of my ears.

“Yet I’ll make assurance double sure. Traitor, you shall not live.”

And the king disappears into the black night of his own creation.

Chapter 17

Stravenock Henge to Dunduff

Albia

Traitor, you shall not live.

Macbeth’s threat lingers long after the sound of his voice has died away.

“You have pricked the king into a mad rage,” Helwain says, her eyes glittering. “Now reason and law are usurped in him, and he is most dangerous.”

“I only spoke of what I saw in the dreams that made little sense to me. But the king recognized his own fears in them,” I say, trying myself to understand what happened.

“Because of what you told him, he thinks himself invincible,” says Rhuven. She is clearly displeased with me.

“Rather, I think he is more afraid—that in the end, Banquo’s heirs will hold the throne for which he schemed so foully,” I say.

“Aye, and only by killing his enemies can he control his fear—and hold his throne,” Helwain adds.

The thought strikes me like a fist to my gut, depriving me of air:
Who is a greater enemy to Macbeth than Banquo’s heir,
Fleance?

“I must find Fleance!” I cry out. “I must warn Macduff! He and his allies are in danger.”

“What can you do? You could be harmed or even killed,” says Rhuven in alarm.

“Let her go,” says Helwain, to my surprise. “She has made up her mind. And she is well equipped to defend herself.”

I fasten the sword-belt around my waist and my shield to Gath’s saddle and ride back through the woods to pick up the road where I left Breda. According to Fiona, Macduff has gone to England. Still, I can warn his cousin thanes that Macbeth intends to murder their leader upon his return. But what if I encounter the king on
his
way to Macduff ’s fort and he should recognize me, either as the fateful sister at Stravenock Henge or as the girl claiming to be his daughter? I shudder to think of the consequences. And what if Macbeth or his henchmen should find Fleance searching for the rebel thanes, alone? His life, too, is in peril.

I must find Fleance. I must warn Macduff.

The urgent words, repeated to the rhythm of Gath’s galloping hooves, blur like the ground passing beneath us. I ride him so hard that flecks of white foam fly back from his mouth.

The road skirts a wide bog strewn with tufted cottongrass and crowberry, passes through some stunted pines, then emerges onto pasture land. Sheep dot the hillside and a shepherd’s bothy stands in a grove of myrtle.

The peaceful scene slows me down, then draws me from the path. I dismount to drink the cold, clear water trickling down a rocky cleft in the hillside. My sword gets in the way, so I take it off and tie it to Gath’s harness. When we are both refreshed, I lead Gath up the hill to where a shepherd sits in the lee of a rock, overlooking the low hills that lie like a rumpled mantle all the way to the horizon.

Cupping my hands, I call into the wind, “Hail, shepherd, do you know my friend Colum?”

The fellow stands up and flings off his hat, and I see that it
is
Colum. Unable to believe my good fortune, I run to him and we embrace, laughing. He gathers his sheep and leads me to the bothy. The shadows are long, heralding night. But there is enought light left for me to make out Caora with her bright silken hair.

“Welcome, Albia,” she calls, looking pleased to see me. “You can stay here tonight. It will be too dark to travel.” She feeds Gath a handful of oats, tugs on his mane, and makes noises into his ear.

Seeing my sword and shield, Colum is full of questions. I feel overwhelmed, for so much has happened since I last saw him, just after Geillis died. I have met my father and pricked him to a murderous rage. I have lost Banquo and left Dunbeag behind. I am now homeless. I am searching for Fleance, whom I love and whose life is in danger. So what am I doing stopped at a shepherd’s bothy?

I explain to Colum that the king’s men have slain Banquo and that I am looking for his allies in order to warn them of the danger they face. I do not mention Fleance. Nor do I reveal anything that has occurred between Macbeth and me. I feel guilty keeping all this from Colum.

Frowning, he picks up my sword and slides it halfway out of its scabbard. Gingerly he touches the shining blade.

“The only weapon I have is a slingshot,” he muses.

Caora goes into the hut and comes back with a long, graceful bow made of yew wood and strung with deer sinew.

“You could borrow this, Colum,” she says softly. “You have some skill in hunting with it. Nothing is as swift as one of my arrows.”

“I am a shepherd. Deeds of arms are not for me,” Colum says, frowning.

I feel heat rising to my face. “You would not judge me if you knew my just cause!”

“Albia, that sword is made to slay men. I cannot believe . . . that
you
would use it so!”

“I do not plan to kill anyone, Colum, but to keep others from harm.”

“And how do you plan not to get hurt yourself ?” asks Colum.

“I . . . I’ll use my shield.”

Colum regards me doubtfully. Suddenly the fine sword lying on the hearth looks like something that could not possibly belong to me. How could I hope to survive a fight against trained warriors more than double my size and strength?

Colum turns his attention to gutting the rabbits for our supper. He hands them to Caora, who spits them to roast on the fire, then goes to fetch water. I can see they have done this many times while I was away at Dunbeag. I envy them the simple daily rituals of life on the shieling.

Caora reaches up to turn the meat, exposing the red and white scars on her arm, marks of the fire-breathing Nocklavey. I see a small child stumbling into the fire and screaming as flames lick up her sleeve. A pot of water is dashed upon her, putting out the blaze. Of course. The beast is only afraid of water.

“Your story of Nocklavey used to frighten me,” I say. “But I don’t believe it anymore.”

Caora frowns, her brows hiding her golden eyes. “Believe it or not, it is true.”

“Scotland is troubled by a far worse monster now. The king himself is the beast who brings everything to ruin. I have felt his evil touch.”

“As I knew Nocklavey’s touch,” she says evenly.

“My wound is not visible. But it is old, and deep.” I don’t know why I am needling Caora. Yes, I do. I want to know how much she knows about me, and
how
she knows.

Caora gazes directly at me. “I have the Sight as well as you.”

“Then tell me what you have seen, that you know so much about me.”

Caora shakes her head. “I may not.”

“You must! Do you know how much is at stake?” I am all but shouting. “While you and Colum keep your cozy hut on the shieling, Scotland is being destroyed!”

“Aye. So hear me,” says Caora, her voice urgent. “You must not go on your way alone, if you want to live.”

“Tell me more!” I reach out to seize Caora’s arm, but she is quicker, leaping to her feet and running away into the night.

When Colum comes back to find Caora gone, I admit with some shame that she and I argued. He cups his hands and calls for her, but she does not come back. I cannot sleep, knowing that Colum is sore with me.

In the morning I am up before dawn and on my way, alone.

Late in the afternoon, when the shadows have grown to impossible lengths, I finally see Dunduff in the distance. I can even make out a figure in the watchtower. It is a relief to find the fort still standing, its palisades sharp and erect. I half expected a smoking ruin. Welcoming pennants flutter from the towers. But there no longer seems a need for haste, so I slow Gath to a walk, then stop altogether by a mossy bank to rest. My limbs ache from so much riding.

Soon the wind changes, and faint shouts echo behind me. I turn to see a figure galloping toward me, and my first impulse is to leap on Gath and ride for the safety of Dunduff. But I am slow and sore, and the other horse comes on with surprising speed. I only have time to buckle my sword-belt and strap on my shield with fumbling fingers before a heavy black war-beast, snorting and pawing the path, is upon me. Its shape fills my sight, and in my terror I wonder if it is Nocklavey. It halts suddenly, rocks fly up from its hooves, and two leather-clad riders slide to the ground. They pull off their caps and I groan with relief to see Colum and Caora.

“How dare you give me such a fright!”

Colum looks shaky on his feet. I would wager he has never ridden such a beast. Caora is self-controlled but tense.

“Why did you leave alone, after I warned you?” she asks.

“What is there to fear? Look, it is peaceful here.” I gesture in the direction of Dunduff. “But tell me, where did you come by the horse?”

“I stole it from a thane in the glen beyond our bothy. I meant to be back by morning, but the stables were well guarded and it was no easy task to take him.”

Caora wears her bow and quiver strapped across her back. I suspect she had to use them when she stole the horse.

“We left the sheep in the care of a friend and came as quickly as we could,” Colum says.

“I’m glad you are here,” I say truthfully. “Though I am not as helpless as you think. Let’s go now.”

Caora boosts Colum onto the black horse, then lightly leaps across the beast’s back as if there are wings on her feet. I step on a rock to hoist myself onto Gath’s back and hurry after them.

We are almost within the shadows of Dunduff ’s towers when Caora halts the black beast and puts up a hand to warn me. Following her gaze, I see that the person in the watchtower is not moving. In fact, he leans over the battlements at an odd angle. I feel my gut twist. Caora nods to Colum seated behind her. He takes her bow and fits it with an arrow, holding it ready. I feel helpless and exposed as we approach the gate. Why don’t we run away? None of us wants to turn our backs to Dunduff now.