Lady Macbeth's Daughter (23 page)

“Macduff and his sons are all dead by now, and soon Fleance, that spawn of Banquo, will also greet his mother earth.”

“Has Eadulf . . . ?” I begin, dreading to hear that the unfortunate lackey has been sent to kill the boy.

“Eadulf has already been punished,” Macbeth interrupts with a wave of his hand. “He will not speak of our deeds ever again.”

I hear Rhuven, who has been sitting in the shadows, utter a cry as faint as a mouse’s. What is that stupid carl Eadulf to her? She, too, has been acting strange lately, fearful of my lord, looking like a startled rabbit and wanting to flee when I have most need of her here. I make her lie in my bed, for nothing calms me but her presence there. When she was gone a few nights ago, I cried and wandered in and out of Dun Forres, terrible visions arising in the blackness. The child plucked from my arms, her startled pale look. Duncan’s innocent face bathed in blood. My husband’s ruthless hands, reaching for me. I tried to push the dreams away and wake myself, but of course I was not even sleeping. I never do.

“The Wyrd sister showed me a parade of kings, all like Banquo,” my lord is saying now. “But he is already dead! It was an illusion meant to frighten me.” He laughs. “But it did not. For I shall never be vanquished until Birnam Wood comes to high Dunsinane.”

Macbeth takes my wrists and draws me to him. I feel the heat of his body and smell its familiar, slightly rank odor. Ambition, that old desire, stirs in me again. Dunsinane Hill lies across the mountains, near Scone, where my lord was crowned. It is the best-defended crag in all of Scotland, with a fort built on foundations a thousand years old and a stone tower that will stand a thousand more. Could the Wyrd sisters be right that we are invincible?

Still I am suspicious. “What did they mean? How can Birnam Wood ever come as far as Dunsinane?” I muse aloud. “Seeds scattered in the glen would take a hundred years or more to grow into a forest. Not the strongest of them would take root on the steep and rocky face of Dunsinane Hill.”

My lord smiles. “You see, my sweet chuck, it is impossible that we should fall.”

Indeed, how is it possible? We are Scotland’s king and queen. It was not fate that made us, but our own will and cunning. And these shall keep us on our thrones.

And yet. . . . My lord has killed one of his best thanes on the merest suspicion of betrayal. Discontent breeds among the rest. Rumor has it that Macduff is their leader.

“Beware Macduff,” I whisper. “They warned you of him.”

“I am not afraid of Macduff.” There is now a settled stubbornness in his features.

“But your thanes betray you and flock to him.”

“Do you doubt me, too, wife? Are you with me or against me?”

“Of course I am with you. Am I not standing here?” I can barely hide my impatience. “But I see a rebellion brewing against you.”

“No harm will come to me,” he scoffs.

“Don’t be a fool! Defend yourself. My lord, we must go to Dunsinane,” I plead, thinking of its double-thick walls, of safety beyond what Dun Forres or Dun Inverness afford. But this is not the plea to move my lord.

“To strong Dunsinane,” I repeat, summoning courage into my voice, “where we will prove the truth of the Wyrd sister’s words: that no man can harm you.”

Chapter 21

Angus House in the Midlands

Albia

Once we leave the Grampian Mountains behind, the way is easy, taking us beside a river flowing through a pleasant glen. Arriving in a village we are directed to a stone and timber dwelling surrounded by defensive ditches—the thane of Angus’s house. At the outermost defenses, Nocklavey snorts and tosses his great head as if demanding to enter.

“How shall we make ourselves known?” Colum asks. “For we are an odd trio to be coming to the thane’s gate.”

I glance at Eadulf, sturdy as an ox, but with his maimed mouth a dark O in his face. Colum wears his mail tunic over his shepherd’s garb. Though he carries a bow and a quiver of arrows, his lean build shows his lack of battle training. I am wearing my war-gear, but my long red hair spreads out over my shoulders and back, revealing my sex.

“We will announce that we have come to join the rebellion against the king,” I decide.

“Will you tell them who you are?” asks Colum.

“I will say that I am Banquo’s daughter. That is no lie, for he considered me so.”

“And we have come from Dunduff and seen the king’s wicked work there,” Colum adds.

“Yes. Then I will tell them that Macbeth believes his stronghold at Dunsinane to be unassailable. They will welcome the report.”

Eadulf is shaking his head and trying vainly to speak. Colum and I glance at each other in confusion, able to determine only that he is afraid of Angus’s men.

“We will protect you, Eadulf. You have brought us this far in good faith,” Colum assures him.

I see Eadulf hesitate. Finally he thrusts his head toward the fort, consenting to go with us.

Colum dismounts from Nocklavey and leads him, while my legs cling to the charger’s side to stop them from shaking. Eadulf follows behind. We approach the gate and, holding up Macduff ’s standard, announce ourselves. The gate opens to admit us, but once we are inside, nothing goes as planned.

“I know this man. He is the king’s spy!” cries a guard, grabbing Eadulf.

“Nay, he is the king’s victim, as you can see. Release him,” I plead. “I will vouch for him.”

“What—a lady, vouching for this murderer?”

The deep voice belongs to a man of almost giantlike proportions. He stands before us, unarmed but surrounded by members of his warband.

I take a deep breath before speaking.

“Oh, great Angus, kinsman to Banquo, the man I called father—”

My voice breaks. I have never spoken aloud with so many men staring at me. Some look surprised, others hostile, their hands touching their weapons. With halting words, I name myself and Colum and describe our journey from Dunduff through the mountains, assisted by Eadulf.

“Thus, having seen with our own eyes that King Macbeth is an evil tyrant,” I conclude, “we are here to join you in restoring justice and order to Scotland.” By the time I finish, I feel breathless and slightly dizzy.

The thane of Angus slowly claps his hands.

“A pretty speech from a pretty lass. Cousin Ross!”

A man with a brow like the precipice of a cliff detaches himself from the warriors and steps up to Angus.

“Ross, have you ever seen such a pair? A lady in arms escorted by a sort of huntsman?” Angus says in a tone of mock awe.

Fury rises up in me. Without even thinking how far I am from the ground, I slide from Nocklavey’s back, stumbling as my feet hit the earth. Looking up into the stern faces of the thanes, I feel suddenly very small.

“How can you doubt me, lord? I have lost a dear foster father and his wife to the tyrant, and I fear for the safety of my brother, Fleance. I saw Macduff ’s slain family, all but the boy whom we saved. And you dare to laugh at me?”

Ross peers at me from beneath his daunting brow.

“You are traveling with Banquo’s murderer. Why did you not slay the wicked carl, unless you are are in league with him?”

My mouth is dry. I don’t know what to say. I am truly in a bind, until Colum steps to my side and speaks for me.

“She almost killed him, but I bade her let him live. We trusted him and were not betrayed. Eadulf is no spy and neither are we. I am a humble shepherd, with no understanding of war and politics.”

“And she?” asks Angus, regarding me with some scorn.

“You underestimate this lady at your risk, my lord. Albia has more than mortal knowledge of the king. Don’t ask how she comes by it, but listen and heed her wisdom, for her very life is charmed.”

I am surprised—and touched—by Colum’s eloquence, but his tone of defiance worries me. Angus, however, seems merely amused. He walks around me, looking me up and down.

“What is it that you know, charmed lady?” he asks mockingly.

“I know that Macbeth believes Dunsinane Hill to be invincible—”

Angus interrupts me. “The king is already at Dunsinane with his men. We know the fort cannot be taken. Tell us something that we don’t know.”

Sweat prickles on my skin as I ponder my choices. Shall I tell them that Macbeth killed Duncan? The thanes already suspect as much. Shall I reveal that I am the king’s daughter? That I have the Sight? That the king is doomed? I realize that I have not actually seen the king’s end, how it will happen or when. Or who will deal the fateful blow. Could I be mistaken about my mission? Is Macbeth’s end merely my earnest but vain wish?

Angus and Ross frown at me, awaiting my words. They want an excuse to clap me in irons. I must speak with care.

“The king is full of superstitions, as you know. Of late a woman—a soothsayer—told him that he would not be vanquished until great Birnam Wood came to high Dunsinane Hill. This woman . . . is known to me,” I add, seeing their doubtful looks.

Angus snorts. “How can such a thing happen?”

“If we cut every tree in Birnam Wood and with a thousand horses haul them to the foot of the hill, then build a great pyre surrounding it, we could smoke him out of his tower,” says Ross. I think he is jesting. He looks at me with eyes that are no more than slits. “The woman is a liar.”

My chest constricts so that I can barely breathe. I close my eyes and look deep inside for the old dream in which the forest moves. I remember pine branches upright and swaying, not being dragging on the ground or burnt. They are carried aloft, like standards. I hear the sound of marching feet and see warbands swathed in greenery advancing up a hillside.

“You must cut the trees and cover yourselves in the greenery,” I say, my breath coming easier now. “Use the branches to hide yourselves, your horses, and your arms. Carry the saplings upright as you advance upon Dunsinane Hill, and you will bring yourselves unseen to the very foot of the hill from which you can surprise the king and take his tower.”

“And when he sees the forest move, will he not suspect our ploy?” Angus demands. His feet are wide apart, his arms folded across his chest.

“He will not see it move, because he does not believe it to be possible,” I say.

Ross shakes his head. “But his men will show him.”

“And he will deny it.”

“Deny his own senses?” Angus bursts out. “Rather, he will attack and slay us.”

Even as they press me with their doubts, I grow more certain of my plan.

“If his own reason forces him to see the forest move, he will know that his downfall is at hand,” I argue. “Then he will see the soothsayer’s words fulfilled and be unable to fight against his fate.”

“If she is right, we cannot lose,” murmurs Ross. “We know how fitful the king’s mind is. At the feast we both saw him gaze upon the air and swear it was a man seated at the table. Not even the queen could calm his madness then.”

I can see that Angus is still not convinced. He looks at me hard, as if trying to force me to confess myself an agent of the king.

“Who is she, really, and how does she know this about Macbeth?” he asks Ross through clenched teeth.

Under Angus’s suspicious gaze I grow more uneasy. I am afraid he will notice how red my hair is and guess that I am Macbeth’s daughter. But everyone believes the king to be childless. What if Angus decides I am a sorceress instead?

But in the end I am spared more explanation, and we are allowed to stay at Angus House. We are even permitted to keep our weapons. Eadulf is put under guard, Angus promising that he will not be mistreated. Nocklavey is the object of many greedy-eyed warriors but will let none but Colum and I touch him. We take turns caring for him and that night I sleep in his stall, the only place I feel secure.

No one seems to have any news of Fleance, nor do they appear concerned by his absence. Someone supposes he is with the thane of Sutherland or the thane of Lennox. Perhaps he has met with Macduff returning from England. One thing is clear from the messengers galloping from camp to camp: the rebel thanes are closing in on Dunsinane like a knot in a rope.

Angus’s fort bustles with battle preparations. Hammers clang upon anvils as smiths forge sword-blades, mail, and spear-points. Sweating slaves feed the fires and haul burdens on their bent backs. Rows of lathes scrape in rhythm as woodworkers carve shields, axe handles, and cart wheels. Leather crafters make harnesses and belts. I pause before a waist-high heap of leather strips and turn to Colum with a questioning look.

“Don’t you see?” he says excitedly, picking up one of the long strips. “These are to bind the greenery to the warrior’s bodies. The thanes have taken your advice.”

“Yes!” I clench my fists and smile secretly. How I long to see the sight of Birnam Wood marching to Dunsinane! Yet so much is at stake, I should be terrified. For if the strategy fails, the defeat—and all the ensuing deaths—will be laid at my feet.

That night I dream of Fleance. His hands on mine, teaching me to hold a sword. His thick brown hair blowing across his face, my hands reaching up to push it back, touching his cheek. Fleance wrapping the blue braided sash around me, again and again. His mouth covering mine. A sob escapes me. I see my hand slapping his face, the hurt look in his eyes, my instant remorse. His bloodied body slumped in the hall at Dunbeag, weeping for his father. I reach out to kiss him, but my hands grasp only dark, empty air. I wake up and find that my eyes are wet.