Banquo's Son (A Crown of Blood and Honour Book 1) (14 page)

‘Sire? Sire?’ Fleance awoke. He’d fallen asleep as the servant had shaved him. ‘I have finished. Is there anything else you need?’

Fleance blinked and rubbed his hand over his face. It was as smooth and soft as . . . as . . . he immediately thought of Rosie but had to push her from his mind. ‘I thank you. Yes, I would like to eat now.’

The servant bowed deeply. ‘Sorry, Sire. My apologies. It will be here in a moment.’

He gathered up his tools and hurried out of the chambers. Fleance stood, stretched and yawned. All he wanted to do was to crawl into the huge bed, which sat centre place in the room, a
nd sleep.

Instead, he went to the window and looked out over the castle grounds. In the distance, he could see the spray of the distant ocean, a white mist from the waves stretching out along the horizon. Below him, in the courtyard, horses and riders came and went – it was almost as busy as a village on market day.

There was a knock on his door and the servant entered carrying a tray of food. ‘’Tis just a small taste, Sire, for the banquet will be ready in less than two hours.’ He placed the tray on a large wooden chest at the foot of the bed and left immediately.

Despite being exhausted, Fleance discovered he was hungry indeed and finished all the cold meats and cheese quickly. It revived him so, rather than having a sleep, he left his chambers and explored the halls of the castle. As he walked, he thought about how many times his father had walked the same path, for often he would stay a night or two at Forres either in the company of the king or after a long journey.

Banquo was gone from their manor often and for long periods of time. After his mother died, the gap left by his father’s constant absences became more apparent so that Fleance found himself more often in the company of young Blair and his plump and hearty mother. However, Fleance did not like her much; he found her harsh voice and loud ways too much of a contrast to his own mother. Mothers should be steady and calm and gentle and beautiful, he’d thought. Not fat and rude and loud and smelly. Still, Blair’s mother fed Fleance and took care of his needs when Banquo was absent but, over time, he had learnt to keep to himself unless his father was near.

Fleance didn’t know much about the king, Malcolm, as he had only met him that once, on the day they rode to Inverness. Then, Malcolm had been a quiet man and more interested in the birds of the air and his horse than he was in the conversations which had swirled around him.

Now, if the gossips were true and the polite references made by Duncan accurate, he seemed a man well gone from this world already. Not unkind or cruel but less than effective. Fleance remembered the angry exchange between Dougal and Magness about the rule of Scotland and her fate once the crown was placed on Donalbain’s head.

What might happen if an unfavourable king ruled Scotland? Would there be unrest and revolt? Or, would another swoop in to help the weak king keep Scotland afloat?

Perhaps it was ill mannered to be thinking such things, for the ruling monarch was still breathing. It was strange, though, despite it being clear to all that the king was dying, there was no sign of mourning. Instead, the castle was alive with bustling and busyness. Servants passed him, hurrying from one task to another, always
carr
ying something. It made Fleance feel somewhat invisible as none took any notice of him.

Now that he was alert and more of himself, the familiar emptiness returned. The first time the feeling arrived was the night he stayed in the ruins just after his father’s murder and the emptiness had not strayed far from him since. Only distractions such as hunting or working or time with Rosie had chased the unwelcome
companion
some distance. And the travels with Duncan, likewise, kept his loneliness at arm’s length. Fleance found himself wishing for Duncan’s company. To spend time with someone who was able to pull him out of himself.

No sooner had he thought this but he spied him standing at a window looking out. ‘Duncan,’ he called. ‘Is all well with you?’

Duncan turned and gave a nod. ‘Aye. But not so well for the king who is sure to go soon.’ He walked over to Fleance. ‘He is ready to meet his Maker and that brings him and Margaret peace. We did not talk of father but he gave me much advice as to
Scotland’s
relationship with other countries. Advice which I think is sound.’ Duncan kept walking. Fleance followed. ‘By the by, Flea. You look very presentable.’

Fleance shook his head. ‘Perhaps you should be a royal of the Norman house.’

‘Why?’

‘You are so attuned to the sensitivities of the court.’

Duncan laughed. ‘’Tis because I have grown up with sisters.’ He stared at Fleance. ‘I am still a man and like the women, so don’t be thinking otherwise.’

Fleance, for the first time in a long time, roared with laughter. ‘Man, did you think I was questioning your manhood?’

‘By hell, you were!’

Fleance shook his head as Duncan had done. ‘I just think you notice things most men don’t – how someone is feeling, how they are dressed. You have an eye for detail.’

‘Aye, and it’s a skill that keeps me in with fellows high and low. To understand how a man’s mind is put together, what he is thinking and feeling even if his face belies the thought, is something I have learnt to be a valuable skill.’

The seriousness of his words was not lost on either of them. Fleance chewed on his lip. ‘I think that would be a handy skill to have. Especially in these uncertain times.’

They entered a magnificent hall with tables set around the perimeter. Down the far end, a number of guests were already seated and servants were ferrying wine and plates of food. ‘Hope you’re hungry,’ Duncan said as he headed to the busy tables.

Nervously, Fleance looked around, scanning the faces to see if there was anyone he recognised – or anyone who would recognise him. He saw that Duncan had moved to the high table and scouted around for a place at one of the lower tables. ‘Here, man,’ Duncan called. ‘There’s a seat here for you.’ Fleance took a deep breath and followed him.

‘Where?’ he asked for he could not see a spare place. ‘The table’s full.’

Duncan smiled. ‘Beside me, you fool.’ He gestured to a place where someone was already seated. Fleance shook his head. ‘There’s no room, Duncan,’ he said.

‘Yes,’ Duncan said. ‘Here.’ Again he pointed to the chair where a man sat, his back to Fleance. Then, the man shifted in his seat and Fleance froze. It was him. The stranger who had followed him and now dared to sit at the table of the royal. Fleance swallowed thickly, prickles of sweat beading his neck and forehead. The clothes were identical. This was he. At last Fleance could challenge this man who had plagued him for weeks.

‘Sire?’ he said to the man’s back. ‘Why do you follow me?’

The man turned and Fleance started. The face which had twice eluded him was instantly recognisable. It was Banquo. He wore the same clothes he’d worn on the night of the attack and Fleance was eleven again and seeing his father’s richly woven shirt and enviable cloak. He looked exactly the same as the last time Fleance saw him alive. It was no wonder there was something in the way the strange man had dressed that was familiar to Fleance.

He swallowed the thick lump in his throat and tried to speak. His father sat, as solid and as palpable as the roast chicken on the table. He stared at Fleance. ‘Da?’ Fleance reached out a hand and repeated himself. ‘Da?’ Why hadn’t his father spoken to Fleance before this? Why had he left him to mourn him alone all these long
years?

But Duncan’s voice brought him back to the present. ‘Flea? Are you all right?’

Fleance continued to stare at his father who now stood. As he did, blood began to gush from wounds in his father’s neck and chest. ‘Oh my God,’ Fleance cried. ‘You are hurt.’ He rushed
forward
but when he got to the chair it was empty.

He spun around only to see Banquo walking down the hall towards the doors. ‘Da,’ he called. ‘It’s me.’ The pain in his chest was terrible.

Duncan grabbed his arm. ‘Was the journey too arduous?’ He clicked his fingers to a serving man. ‘Bring wine.’ But Fleance, only vaguely aware of the commotion he was creating, shrugged off Duncan’s hand and ran after Banquo. His father was now through the doors and into the corridor before Fleance had a chance to cat
ch him.

When he fell into the hallway, it was empty save for two serving boys who stood wearily outside the doors of the banquet hall. ‘Saw you an injured man?’ he asked them. The young boys roused themselves, looking shamefaced at being caught lounging against the walls. They shook their heads, faces full of fear that they had been less than attentive at such an important feast.

Fleance looked left and right but there was no one. How could this be? How could he be seeing this? Banquo was dead. He knew that. So, it was a vision then. A ghost. Did this mean the stranger who had appeared in England and in the field opposite the tavern was the ghost of his father? Miri often spoke of such things but Fleance had not given it much weight. His own bad dreams were so regular, he had come to expect them. He believed that if someone said they had seen a ghost, it was because their mind was not right.

Could such things be? If so, then the terrible thing was that, even after all this time, Fleance knew when his father was unhappy. This sight could not be for real but even then, Fleance could make out the manner in which his father walked. It was a manner he long ago learnt to dread. It didn’t happen very often and it was rarely directed at him but such was the strength of Banquo’s displeasure it made the young Fleance extra careful with his manners and behaviour.

Fleance could sense that the ghost of his father was angry but for the life of him he could not work out why. Had he not abandoned love and happiness to discover what it was he was meant to do to avenge his father’s murder? Fleance was working hard and yet this apparition, the sight from his worried brain, told him that he was doing wrong. He could hear Duncan saying something to the guests and there was a roar of laughter and they resumed their feasting.

Fleance was not ready to go back to the banquet so wandered around the castle. Perhaps he would come across the ghost again and find out what it was he was supposed to be doing. He soon found himself beside a lovely fountain which quietly burbled away beneath the main staircase. Was he losing his mind? Had the nights of painful dreams and the grief of losing Rosie taken its toll?

Not long after, Duncan found him. ‘Flea? What is wrong? You looked like you had been injured and then you began to shout out bizarre things. Are you ill?’

Fleance closed his eyes and leant back against the wall. ‘I don’t know. I see things, Duncan, and I know they are why I am here but I do not understand them.’

‘What things?’

He opened his eyes and looked at this kind and honourable young man. ‘You will think me mad if I say.’

Duncan scratched his chin. ‘Well, I already think that.’ He grinned.

Fleance managed a small smile in return. ‘And I know you’re a lass on the inside. All soft and sweet.’

Duncan stared. ‘You have got to be jesting me! Me, a girl, and you and your bloody horse and your dreams and visions and your secrets: Flea, you win hands down as to who is the more sensitive. Actually,’ he added, ‘I think the better word is “evasive”.’

Fleance leant forward onto his knees and grasped his hands. ‘Duncan, I don’t know. You can make fun but all these things don’t make sense to me yet. I need to find out more.’

‘Well, that may be but
we need
to return to the hall or we will miss out on our meal and offend the queen.’ Duncan stood and offered his hand. ‘I will protect you from beastly sights.’

Fleance grabbed his hand and was surprised at the strength he found there. ‘As I protected you from the wolves?’

Duncan gave him a friendly thump on the arm. ‘You’re not going to let me forget that, are you?’

‘Not so long as you joke about my ghosts.’

As they walked back up the stairs, Duncan patted him on the back. ‘I would not make fun of something that is clearly so important to you, my friend.’

Fleance stopped at the top and turned to him. ‘Thank you.’

They walked back into the banquet hall which was now more occupied and noisy, the flustered pages and servants rushing from table to table to replenish the food and drink. Duncan went back to the high table and Fleance followed, relieved to see the seat Duncan had reserved for him was empty.

Just then a booming voice called out. ‘Young Duncan, you’re getting more like your grandfather every time I see you.’ The owner of the voice stepped forward and here was yet another surprise for Fleance – it was William.

‘Greetings, cousin,’ Duncan said, unaware of Fleance’s shock.

William spied Fleance. ‘An’ you, lad. We meet again. I hoped we would.’

Duncan frowned. ‘So you have met Macduff already?’

Fleance was puzzled and shook his head ‘No. But William and I had some adventures a while back.’

‘Flea, this
is
Macduff, my cousin, the Thane of Fife.’

Fleance looked towards the older man. ‘You, sir, are the Thane of Fife?’

‘Aye,’ said Macduff. ‘William Macduff, Thane of Fife and Earl to the county.’

Duncan had said the man would be here but Fleance was unprepared for this. He finished his wine and looked at the solid man in front of him. ‘William, I would talk with you as I have questions which you may be able to answer. But later, for now it is time to honour the king and queen.’

Macduff lifted his chalice. ‘Well said, young Flea.’ He smiled and took his place among the royals with Fleance unsure of where all things stood for the state of Scotland or in his own whirlin
g mind.

Chapter Eighteen

Q
ueen Margaret arrived midway through the meal. All stood and she made her way around the tables greeting the guests. She was small but not frail and though
her clothes were not ostentatious, they had been made by skilled
and careful hands. When she came to where Duncan and Fleance sat, she smiled more warmly at her nephew. ‘You are looking well,
Duncan
.’

Duncan bowed his head. ‘As are you, Your Majesty.’

‘The king is very pleased you came. You know he adores you like his very own.’

‘And I hold him in the same way as my duty demands.’

Margaret turned her attentions to Fleance. ‘You are Flea, I understand. A much mis-assigned description.’

It was Fleance’s turn to bow. ‘Aye, madam. It is a nickname I have worn since I was a lad.’

‘It is said you have come from England, but your accent tells me you are from the Highlands.’

Fleance felt his face flush warm and a spasm of fear went through him. He was aware of Duncan staring, a bemused
expression
on his face. Fleance swallowed. ‘That is true, Your Majesty. I was born in the Highlands but was orphaned when my father was killed. A couple adopted me and took me to England where I have lived these past ten years.’

She picked up her skirts, preparing to move on. ‘You are welcomed back home, Flea.’ When she was before her own seat in the middle of the high table, beside the vacant throne of her husband, she raised her goblet. ‘I drink to the joy of the whole table and to our king, long may he live.’

The guests raised their glasses and responded. ‘Long live t
he king.’

As everyone sat down. ‘Well, she’s a clever one, then,’ Duncan said, now trying a fruit tart which had appeared before them. ‘She got more information out of you in one brief conversation than I have in being with you all these days.’

Fleance stared at his plate: he had not touched the food which was before him – his stomach was still twisted into knots. ‘You have to know, Duncan, I have been running from danger and keeping safe these past ten years. ’Tis not an easy thing to reveal oneself when men would cut your throat as quick as wink if they thought it would bring them advantage.’

Beside him, he heard Duncan sigh. ‘If I’d had an inclination to do that to you, I would have done so while you slept. Still, when you wouldn’t shut up your mumbling, ’twas mighty tempting.’ Fleance looked at him sharply. ‘I am jesting,’ he added with a grin. ‘Relax, Flea. Enjoy the meal. Here,’ he said, handing him a plate of roasted grouse. ‘This is good.’

Fleance picked up the small bird and put it on his plate along with the other untouched food. It had been so long since he’d been to a royal banquet he’d forgotten the variety on offer. And the drink. It was only at feasts such as these that he had ever seen his father drinking.

Across from him, he saw William Macduff in deep conversation with another thane and he wondered what they were discussing. The other man was frowning but nodded. His eyes widened and he looked over in Fleance’s direction but it was Duncan he was interested in.

The queen rose from her chair. There was a loud scraping of stools as the guests followed suit. ‘On behalf of the king,’ she said, ‘I invite you to continue with your feasting. As for me, I shall retire to spend time in prayer and thanksgiving.’

There were murmurs of ‘good night’ and ‘long live the king’ as she walked down the length of the dining hall and out the opened doors, followed by her attendants.

A moment later, William and three companions excused themselves and went out. Fleance had a strong desire to follow them but was uncertain of the protocol. He nudged Duncan. ‘Where do you think they are going?’ he nodded in the direction of the thanes.

Duncan looked over Fleance’s head. ‘Oh, no doubt to the ante-room of the great hall.’

‘Why?’

‘’Tis quite a cosy place and where men usually go to tell stories and discuss politics.’ He stood up. ‘Shall we join them? Macduff is a good storyteller.’

This was exactly what Fleance wanted. ‘Certainly, I have missed much of what has happened in Scotland since I’ve been away.’

‘Well then, time for some history lessons,’ Duncan said, giving a ready smile.

They followed the booming voices of the older men and came upon them as they were making preparations for a long night of talking and carousing.

‘Welcome, lads,’ William cried. ‘Lennox, Ross. This here is Flea. Came across him in the woods of England and he was kind enough to share his meal and campsite with me.’ Fleance waited for him to tell about what else had happened but nothing more was said about it.

The two older men nodded towards him but their stares made Fleance uncomfortable. Like William, there was something vaguely familiar about them although he could not find the reason for it in his memory.

‘We have much to catch up on,’ Lennox said,
addressing
Macduff. ‘Firstly, you can talk of what business took you to
England
.’ Duncan and Fleance sat on some large cushions and accepted the goblets offered by the servants.

The men talked on, though very little domestic or personal accounts were discussed.

In a lull in the conversation, Lennox addressed Duncan. ‘How is that fine sister of yours, Duncan? Has she found herself a
husband
?’

‘Not yet, cousin. Suitable prospects are thin on the ground.’

‘You should send her down my way, lad. There are plenty of good men to choose from,’ the thane replied, smiling. ‘I’m sure even my own young boy would be very pleased to meet her.’

Ross made a growling sound. ‘Aye, if it’s a nanny he’s wanting. I don’t believe young Rachel, though good with the bairns, would consider a ten-year-old more suitable than the men she’s turned down already.’

‘Our Rachel is too busy with household things to worry about a match.’ There was something in Duncan’s tone that made Fleance wonder as to the meaning behind his words.

Just then, another servant came upon them. ‘The king has requested an audience with Duncan.’

Duncan scrambled to his feet. ‘I will come immediately,’
he said.

‘Thank you, Sire,’ the servant said. ‘I will tell him.’ And he
hurried
away.

Duncan addressed the group. ‘Entertain my friend here for he carries too much of a worried load – enough for a grown man to drown in.’ Then he was gone.

Ross snorted. ‘That was deep, even for dear wee Duncan.’ He raised his drink to Fleance. ‘What have you said or done to him, lad, that makes him say such words?’

Fleance stirred. ‘I think it is because I talk in my sleep but do not spill my life’s story.’

Macduff cleared his throat. ‘Which, I think, is a good habit. Still, we here are fond of Duncan for he reminds us all of his dear grandfather.’ There was a murmur of agreement. ‘So like he is to old King Duncan that we forget our times and what is before us.’

Lennox roused himself and chucked another log on the hearth. ‘We here may not see another time where the current king will reign long and prosperous without threat of war and unrest. However, that boy will one day be king and Scotland will be the better for it.’

There was general noise of approval. Clearly his new friend was highly regarded – though it did not surprise Fleance.

‘Even then, if we do not learn from our past mistakes how can we ensure that they are not repeated?’ Ross said. ‘Try as we might to live our lives according to God’s ordinances, there are men among us who spurn the natural order of the world and seek, for their own ambitions, power and prosperity through whatever means
necessary
.’

A quiet fell upon the group. Fleance studied the men who had gathered in this small ante-room. Almost all were older than Magness. Many had marks and scars on their faces and arms – clear badges of past battles. All were greying – some more than others. Yet, there was a dignity about them. Fleance could feel the strength and determination radiating from each man. As he looked at them, he understood that, behind their jokes and teasing, they shared a common history – a history which held much pain and heartache.

Lennox roused himself. ‘I think the answer to that, Ross, is to keep reminding ourselves of those past mistakes; to keep telling the stories to our children in the hope that there are enough people to carry on the lessons we have learnt.’

‘Here is your cue, Macduff, to tell us your story again,’ a
wizened
man said. ‘I have heard it once but I’m sure many of our company have not.’

Macduff, Thane of Fife, stood. ‘’Tis a sorry story for it shames me to think there are fellows, as Ross has said, who pretend honour but whose bodies house black hearts.’ He drank deeply. ‘I was called forth to this place, Forres, for the king had seen great victory over Norway and the traitor, Cawdor.’ There was a muffled grumble from a few. ‘I know but that is not this story. So, Macbeth, with his valiant sergeant Banquo, led the defence against the Norwegian king. ’Twas that very night Malcolm was named as successor to the throne and King Duncan made it his pleasure to travel to Inverness to celebrate.’

Fleance relived the story through his own memory as he had travelled with his father in this company. He looked hard at Macduff and now realised why he and some of the others were familiar to him – they had been with the king and his attendants that day also. Did they also see some recognition in him? Miri often said how changed he was compared with the skinny, pale-faced wee boy they’d scooped off the side of the road. But, like Agnes, did they see a resemblance to his father? He would need to be ever watchful.

Macduff continued. ‘It was a great feast but damned be the souls of those two fiends who all the while were plotting murder.’

Lennox cleared his throat. ‘He deceived us all, man.’

Macduff glared. ‘Aye, but wounded me more than any man here,’ he growled.

Lennox looked away. ‘Aye.’

‘Lennox and I bedded down in one of the castle’s outer dwellings for the king had especially asked that I wake him early the next day. Had I stayed in the castle, I may have taken too much wine.’

‘It was a rough night,’ Lennox added. ‘Storms. Wind. Chaos. ’Twas not a restful sleep.’

‘We arrived a little over the time we’d planned – perhaps if we had, we may have stopped the whole sorry mess.’

‘You are not to blame, Macduff,’ Ross said. ‘Men choose the course of their own destiny. Perhaps if the king had not been so trusting . . .’

Macduff shook his head. ‘A king should be safe in the home of his cousin and his subject.’

Fleance wanted him to continue with the story, not digress into philosophy. ‘What happened next?’ he asked quietly.

Macduff looked at him in surprise. ‘I’d forgot you were there, lad. Well, ’tis not a nice thing to remember. We greeted Macbeth who had on the face of the innocent and he showed me to the king’s chamber. What I saw there has been burned into my brain.’ All in the room were quiet. ‘The innocent and most gracious king scourged by gashes from his neck to his toes. Blood. There was so much blood – walls, floor, bedclothes. Most hideous. I hardly remember what I did next.’

Fleance did. He remembered the tolling bell and a man shouting out names and people everywhere before his father collected him and they headed back to Lochaber.

‘Strange to think we believed it was Malcolm and Donalbain who had done the deed.’ Macduff sighed and then took another drink. ‘With Malcolm gone to England and Donalbain fled to
Ireland
, we were left to arrange for the king to be buried on Iona.’

‘In all my remembrances,’ Ross said, ‘I do not know of a more terrible time. While the tyrant lived, men died. And innocents,’ he added, looking at Macduff.

‘Aye,’ Macduff agreed, standing up. ‘Well, this night has given me enough of remembrances. I have lost the pleasure of the storytelling. I’m to bed.’ He put his goblet on the tray a servant held and walked away.

‘Poor Macduff,’ Lennox said quietly. ‘His still mourns them after all this time.’

‘Who?’ Fleance asked.

‘Macbeth put his whole household to the sword – his beloved wife, all his children, even the infants, the servants and their children, livestock – all gone save two – a man and a wife who were away from the castle that day.’

So Blair was right, Fleance thought. Macbeth had indeed
murdered
Macduff’s family.

‘Where was Macduff when that happened?’ he asked.

‘He’d gone to England to convince Malcolm to return. He saved Scotland but lost his family,’ Ross said. Fleance thought for a time about the charming older man and the sorrow he so clearly carried. Another one scarred by the events of that time.

‘He could not have suspected how evil Macbeth was – that he murdered his best friend and tried to lay the blame on the son, a wee sprat of a lad. No, once he started in his way of blood, there was no going back.’

Fleance’s mouth went dry. ‘Who, who . . .’ he stammered. ‘Who was Macbeth’s best friend?’ But even before Lennox said the name, he knew.

‘Banquo, Thane of Lochaber. The most noble gentleman that ever walked the Highlands.’ Fleance’s head was spinning. Finally, the truth. He knew, now, who it was that had killed his father and who had tried to kill him. Lennox continued. ‘They found Banquo’s body in a stream, his throat cut. His son, they never found. He was probably attacked by wolves. Another family, like Macduff’s, wiped out on a single night.’

‘For what reason did he do that?’ Fleance could barely get the question out.

‘Who can know the mind of a mad man?’ Ross replied.

Fleance stood up. ‘If you will excuse me, it has been a long day. Good night to you all.’ He did not know how he made it back to his room. He was reliving the night of his father’s murder yet again but this time the fear and grief were mingled with some element of joy and relief. At last he had some answers. Finally he knew who had tried to destroy him. Macbeth was his father’s murderer and Macbeth was no more. He could stop looking over his shoulder as he had done all these past years. His life was no longer in danger.