Banquo's Son (A Crown of Blood and Honour Book 1) (25 page)

By the time he was halfway to the stables, Blair and a fresh-faced young fellow jogged up behind him.

‘The king has gone alone to speak with three strange sisters. You must follow him but do not disturb him. You are to ensure he comes to no harm and see him safely back to the castle.’

Blair nodded grimly. ‘Aye, Sire.’ The two of them continued
to th
e stables. Fleance hoped neither would have to endure
Donalbain’s
wrath.

With Blair gone and Duncan understandably in no mood for jousting, Fleance decided to practise on his own – he needed to keep building up his strength or else he would be of no use to his men on the day they went to war.

He retrieved his father’s sword and a palace shield from the armoury. Back at the courtyard, where the servants had swept away much of the snow, he removed his outer cloak, rested the shield against a water barrel and began, slowly and carefully, to swing the sword in figure-of-eight movements, just as Magness had tau
ght him.

He heard a cough and spun around, panting. Rachel. So lost was he in the mesmerising exercise, he had not seen her approach. He lowered the sword. ‘Princess,’ he said, bowing his head. ‘It’s cold out.’

‘Aye and it’s too hot inside, for my sister has once again tested my patience.’ She held out her arm and pulled up her sleeve. There were angry red welts along it.

Fleance went over to her and took her arm, looking closely at the marks. He could quite clearly make out the outline of a bit
e –
not from an animal but a human. ‘Did she do this?’ he asked, less shocked at Bree’s behaviour but more concerned for Rachel’s w
ell-being.

‘She did and Morag has given her a good spanking. Bree has been sent to her room and I’ve been sent out here to collect myself. Fleance,’ she said, roughly pulling the sleeve down. ‘I really wanted to hurt her for doing this to me.’ He saw tears in her eyes. ‘I can’t believe that I would feel that way to my own flesh and blood.’

‘I believe she is reacting to your father’s temper the only way she knows how,’ he smiled. ‘She can’t punish him for making her afraid but she can punish you because she trusts you will not harm her.’

‘If I were a man,’ Rachel said, ‘I might take my frustrations out with sword and dirk, not weep and wail like I fear I will do shortly.’

This gave Fleance an idea. ‘Have you used a sword before, Rachel?’ he asked.

‘Not really. When we were younger, Father fashioned Duncan and I small swords and sometimes we would go into the fields and play at being duelling knights. We have always been told we come from a long line of fierce warriors.’

Fleance smiled. It was not an image he thought well with
Duncan
and Rachel. Bree, on the other hand, fitted the picture of fierce warrior perfectly.

‘A proposition for you: I have no sparring partner today. If I furnished you with weapons, would you help me?’

Her face lit up. ‘That is a perfect idea. Shall we go to the armoury and you choose me a sword?’

‘Aye,’ Fleance said, sheathing his.

Together they went into the weapons room and Fleance looked along the row of swords, looking for one that would suit. ‘We need to find one which you can easily hold; one that is not too heavy.’

‘I am stronger than I look,’ she replied and, as if to prove her point, she picked up Blair’s duelling sword with almost the same ease as its owner did.

Fleance whistled. ‘Indeed. Well, since you have chosen your weapon, let us to our training.’ On the way out of the room, he selected a shield and carried it as they returned to the courtyard.

Standing in front of her, Fleance showed Rachel how to hold both the shield and sword so that they did not collide. Then, picking up his own weapons, he demonstrated the routine Macduff had shown the men a few weeks earlier.

But Rachel swung the sword in the wrong direction and it arched up and crashed into her shield. ‘Oh, dear,’ she said laughing. ‘It is not as easy as you make it look. Show me again.’

Fleance repeated the movement but again she crashed the sword into her shield.

‘I do not think my mind understands left from right,’ she said. ‘Perhaps I am confused because I am standing opposite to you and what I see is like a mirror and my brain is tricking me.’

‘I will stand behind you,’ he said. ‘And guide your arms the way they should go.’

He put down his weapons and stood close behind her. ‘Bring this arm up to your left shoulder,’ he said, guiding her right arm with the sword. ‘Now, bring it down. No, not that way.’ Fleance brought her hand back to her shoulder. He came around to her front. ‘You need the downward arc to be led by the back of your hand,’ he said, his own hand slowly showing what he meant. ‘Do you understand?’

She smiled, her eyes bright with joy. ‘This is so much fun,’ sh
e said.

Fleance stood behind once more and was pleased that this time her arms did as they were instructed. They walked slowly across the courtyard, Fleance guiding her progress, arms and swords in unison, so close that sometimes her shoulder brushed his chest.

When they came to the other side of the yard, they turned around. ‘I believe I will try to do it myself,’ Rachel said.

‘Wait,’ Fleance told her. ‘I will get my sword and we will move together.’ He ran to where his sword and shield stood and jogged back to Rachel whose warm breath was making steam puffs in the cold air. ‘Ready?’ he asked and she nodded.

They set off slowly with Fleance calling out the individual moves and in no time were back to the barrel of water on the other side. He put down his sword and looked at her, noting the small beads of perspiration on her forehead and that she was breathing heavily.

‘You have done well, Princess,’ he said genuinely impressed with how quickly she picked up the skill.

‘Thank you, Fleance. It has been a most enjoyable hour. Though I am a healer not a fighter, I would be grateful if you would spare an hour or two in the days ahead, to teach me further.’

He bowed. ‘It would be my pleasure.’

‘I shall look forward to it,’ she replied with a smile. She handed him the sword and shield and went back into the castle. He watched her go.

Putting down the weapons she gave him and picking up his own, he went back to his exercises all the while thinking about the training session with her.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

H
e was dreaming again – of everything. First, he and Rosie swung Keavy between them, Rosie singing silly nonsense songs so that both he and Keavy were breathless with giggling. But, as they came closer to a copse of trees, the clouds shifted over the sun and it became cold. A wind whipped up and the t
hree of
them ran into the trees to shelter but there were already many others huddled there. They kept going, searching for something and then it wasn’t just Rosie and Keavy but Magness and Miri. Magness was giving orders, shouting and when Fleance turned around it wasn’t Magness but Macduff brandishing
Banquo’s
sword. When Fleance sought to take Rosie’s hand, she had
disappeared
, along with Keavy.

A fear gripped him. He was alone: all had disappeared. The wailing noise from the tree people (for that is how he thought of them) was deafening and he sensed the wood was a dangerous place. In the corner of his eye, he kept seeing a moving blackness but when he turned his head, it was not there – only the people howling and crying under the trees.

Then, in the dream, he was on Willow, trying to find something but he didn’t know what. All around him, the feeling of evil and danger. Willow, despite his urging, walked slower and the sense that his life was at risk intensified. He couldn’t see it but he could feel something pressing in on him so that a huge weight was crushing his chest and he couldn’t breathe . . . .

Fleance opened his eyes to see a figure looming over him. He tried to cry out but something covered his mouth and nose. He was not dreaming – someone was attacking him. He pushed as hard as he could to get his arms free from the iron grip which was holding him down. He moved his head from side to side and was able to dislodge whatever it was that was suffocating him. Then, taking a deep breath, he roared as he gave another powerful push against whoever it was.

The shadow was thrown off and he leapt out of bed, his breath coming in loud, ragged gasps. ‘Who’s there?’ he shouted. ‘Who are you?’

Even though the shutters were open, the moon was down so the room was almost completely dark, except for the fire, which had burned low. The sound of his ragged breathing and the blood pulsing in his head made it almost impossible to hear his assailant.

Suddenly, a shift in the air made him spin to his right just as the shadow came upon him again. This time he was ready and fell towards his attacker, grabbing him in a vice-like hold. ‘Name?’ he demanded through gritted teeth.

The man struggled against him and Fleance felt a punch to this thigh. ‘If you don’t tell me your name, I will wring your neck,’ he roared, a stinging pain now spreading down his leg.

His captive kicked him in the shins and, at the same time, attempted to pull free. His assailant was strong but Fleance was as well.

‘You would kill your king?’ Immediately, Fleance thrust the man away from him. He heard him stumble and crash into
the sto
ol beside the door and topple the washing basin and jug so that it crashed loudly on the stone floor.

Fleance picked up a torch and held it in the embers but kept his eye on the crumpled shape stirring in the shadows. The torch flared and he held it above his head. He went for his dirk but there was a shot of pain in his leg. It was like someone had burned him with
a h
ot poker – such was the feeling in his hip and down his thigh. He stumbled as his leg gave way and looked down. A small dagger
stuck ou
t of his thigh. It was his own. He pulled it out and almost passed out with the pain. A shower of blood gushed from the wound. He put his hand on the deep cut and pressed down.

Like a shadow, Donalbain rose up to his full height. Fleance fell back against the bed. The king! He had nearly killed his king. ‘Your Majesty. It is I, Banquo’s son.’

But Donalbain did not seem to hear. His voice rolled out,
filling
the four corners of the room. ‘You must not live, Fleance. I cannot allow it. For the sake of my son and the throne of Scotland.’

‘I am no threat,’ Fleance cried. ‘I assure you, I am loyal to
Scotland
and its king.’

‘You are a liar,’ Donalbain roared. ‘I will ensure the words of the prophetesses are fulfilled.’ He began to move towards Fleance when suddenly Duncan burst through the door, dishevelled and sleep-filled.

‘What is going on?’ he demanded, but then saw the stand-off with his father and Fleance. ‘Father,’ he shouted. ‘What are you doing?’

‘They repeated the warning,’ Donalbain cried. ‘You are in
danger
, my son.’ He pointed at Fleance. ‘This man will be the death of you.’ He went to lunge at Fleance again, but Duncan interceded.

Like two drowning men, they wrestled. The noise of Donalbain swearing and shouting mad things and Duncan’s ‘Stop! Stop!’ filled the chamber. Donalbain, with an almighty heave, sent Duncan tumbling back towards Fleance who caught him before they both went down, the jarring pain in Fleance’s thigh making him cry out.

Silence, save for Duncan’s breathing.

Both young men looked around the room. Donalbain lay still on the edge of the hearth. His eyes were open but he was not breathing. Duncan rushed to him and Fleance, limping, brought over the torch. A flow of blood seeped out from under the king’s head.

‘Father?’ Duncan cried as he shook him. Donalbain’s head
wobbled
. He lifted his father’s shoulders. ‘He is dead,’ Duncan said his voice strangled and strange. ‘My father is dead.’

‘He must have fallen back,’ Fleance offered, looking about the room. ‘See,’ he said pointing. ‘The rug is pulled up. While I caught you, he tripped.’

‘No, no, no,’ Duncan whispered. ‘This cannot be.’ He looked up at Fleance, confusion in his expression. ‘Fleance?’

‘I will fetch Rachel,’ Fleance said quietly and with one hand still pressed against his wound and the other holding the torch he left his chamber.

The torches still burned but they burned low. It was very late. He came to Rachel’s chamber and hesitated. It was not seemly for a young man to enter a maiden’s bedroom. But then, being attacked by the King of Scotland and having that king now lying dead in one’s bedroom was also not seemly.

He knocked loudly, three times, and opened the door. ‘Rachel,’ he called. ‘Wake up. We need your help. There’s been an accident.’

In the soft light of the torch he saw her sit up, a look of terror on her face. ‘Fleance?’ She caught sight of his leg. ‘You’re hurt,’ she said and pushed the bedclothes off her legs and jumped out of bed. She picked up a roll of bandages beside her bed and came over t
o him.

‘Give me the light,’ she said and she took it from him holding it close to where his hand pressed against his leg. ‘Take your hand away,’ she said. Gently, she lifted up his night shirt. Fleance could feel warm blood flow down his leg. ‘What happened?’ Rachel as
ked as
she applied a thick cloth over the cut and began wrapping tightly the bandage around his thigh.

‘Rachel,’ Fleance finally said. ‘It’s not me.’

She gave him a funny look. ‘What are you talking about?’ As quickly as she had started, the task was finished and she stood up. ‘Come. Wash your hands.’

Numbly he followed her to the washstand and, once she had washed his blood from her hands, he allowed her to wash his.

He searched for the courage to tell her. ‘Your father,’ he croaked. ‘Your father has had an accident.’

She inhaled sharply. ‘Where is he? What has happened?’

Fleance removed their hands from the bloodied water and picked up a towel. He gave it to Rachel but she was staring at him. He dried her hands and then his. ‘Bring your things,’ he said. ‘He is in my chamber.’

Fleance found Duncan as he had left him: kneeling before the hearth cradling the limp body of the king. His friend was silent, holding Donalbain, staring into nothing. Rachel gave a strangled cry and rushed to his side. Fleance stood in the doorway feeling like an intruder, looking on as Rachel desperately tried to revive her father. Even from this distance he knew it was too late for
Donalbain
.

Duncan stood up, the front of his shirt soaked with blood, his hands shaking as he pulled Rachel up as well. Both turned to him. ‘The king is dead,’ Duncan said. ‘I will inform Preston.’ He walked passed Fleance and out into the corridor.

‘But he just fell backwards,’ Fleance said to Rachel.

‘He fell on the iron spikes,’ she said, her chin trembling. ‘One pierced his skull at the base. I can do nothing.’

He stood awkwardly, aware of the dull ache in his thigh, but also moved by the pain in her voice. It was then he realised that however much they complained or worried about him, Donalbain was still their father and they still held much affection for him.

Rachel inhaled unevenly. ‘We are orphans now. Wee Bree . . .’ she broke off and rushed from the chamber. Fleance cursed himself for his inaction and outward lack of compassion. He turned back to the body before the hearth. Just moments ago, this man had tried
to ta
ke his life and through no other’s hands, had himself been killed.

The castle’s bells began to toll and, within minutes, Fleance found himself backing onto his bed while Preston, Morag, Rachel, Duncan and a number of servants came into his chamber and collected the king’s body. And, as quickly as it began, he was alone again, no sign save the broken pitcher that anything had been amiss. That and the bloodied bandage on his leg.

An hour later, Duncan returned with Preston. ‘Fleance,’ he said. ‘I forgot about you and your injury. Rachel says you were stabbed.’

‘Aye,’ Fleance answered, unsettled and unsure about what situation he now found himself in. Would they think he was to blame for the king’s death?

Duncan pulled up a stool and sat down. ‘I have told Preston what I found when I came into your chambers. Could you tell us everything that happened here for we will have to inform the earls and thanes in the morning and we need a clear explanation.’

Fleance recounted the attack but with broken and faltering speech. ‘It was the king,’ he said in disbelief. ‘I don’t understand why.’ He was horrified. ‘I can’t believe this has happened.’ But the evidence was there. The wound ached.

Duncan sighed. ‘Father was in one of his states. I had been waiting up for him. Your sergeant came in just after supper and sent a message that Donalbain had sent them back to the castle. I dismissed them and waited in Father’s chambers to speak with him as soon as he came in. I must have fallen asleep because the next thing I remember is hearing him shouting. I followed the noise to here and found him ranting.’ He looked at Preston. ‘He tried to attack Fleance but I grabbed him to hold him back. As you know, Father is strong and he pushed me off. I fell against Fleance who cushioned my fall. When I looked back, Father was lying there.’

‘He must have tripped backwards,’ Fleance told Preston. ‘Rachel said he caught his head on that iron spike.’

Preston took a torch and held it over the dark iron surrounds which ran about the hearth. He sighed deeply. ‘This is most unfortunate.’ He straightened. ‘Morag and your sister are preparing his body. By now, word will be spreading so we can expect a great number of visitors to the castle. And,’ he added, ‘there is the matter of who is to rule Scotland.’ He came over to Duncan and put his hand on the young man’s shoulder. ‘I am sorry for your loss but I advise that you take your sorrow and use it as strength to see out these next days for, I believe, by tomorrow’s end, you will be king.’

At breakfast the following day, a message came from Duncan to meet him in the blue room. Fleance left his bread and sausage and hurried as quickly as his leg would allow. He found Duncan sitting on a chair, head in hands. ‘Duncan,’ he said quietly. ‘You sent for me?’

Duncan lifted his head. His eyes were bloodshot and his chin shadowed with the beginning of a beard. ‘This is a nightmare,’ he said. He lowered his head in his hands again and said nothing.

Fleance stood for a moment and then went to his friend,
kneeling
down in front of him. ‘Tell me what I can do,’ he said. ‘Anything.’

Duncan took his hand and squeezed it. ‘I am sorry you are caught up in this.’ He exhaled deeply. ‘I have been up all night talking with Preston and, though I have never much liked the fellow, a lot of what he has said has the ring of truth to it.’

‘Aye?’

‘Good Fleance, some might question what brought Father to your chambers and others might suggest that the injury was self-inflicted.’

‘But . . .’ Fleance began.

Duncan stopped him. ‘I was there, too, remember. I can only think that the witches said something to him to enrage his mind and send him after you.’ Duncan looked at him for a moment. ‘Did you not think, Fleance, he was mighty strong. Stronger than a man should be?’

Fleance thought back to the struggle. Yes, he was almost
overwhelmed
by the strength of Donalbain’s hold. He nodded.

‘Me also and though I do not hold store by such things, I think that Father had some supernatural help in his attempt to end yo
ur life.’