Banquo's Son (A Crown of Blood and Honour Book 1) (26 page)

‘I am sorry, Duncan, that this has happened. I was beginning to hope your father would see me for who I really am.’

‘I am sorry too. Not just for my personal loss but because this will now throw more peat on the fire. I will need to demonstrate to all that you have my utmost confidence. That I can trust you implicitly.’

Fleance stood up and pushed back his shoulders. ‘Duncan, I would die for you. You have my word that I will be faithful always, to you and to the crown of Scotland.’ He swallowed thickly for an ache in his throat warned of buried tears.

Duncan stood as well. ‘Thank you, Fleance. And for this, I would ask something. Something that will send this message to all that you are favoured by me but, more personally, would gladden my heavy heart.’

‘Name it,’ Fleance whispered. ‘And it is done.’

‘I would have you be my stone bearer for the coronation.’

He stared at Duncan a moment, overwhelmed by the simple request. Yet in his heart he understood it was not a light thing Duncan was asking. To be a weight bearer was an honoured position and one that spoke of the king’s absolute trust. For to be carried high on a slab of stone by four men required absolute faith in those below. ‘It would be a privilege and honour,’ he said eventually.

‘Good,’ Duncan said, appearing relieved. ‘Now we must prepare: first for the funeral and then the coronation.’ He put his hand on Fleance’s shoulder. ‘I am mighty glad of that day the wolves attacked,’ he said.

Fleance frowned. ‘That’s a strange thing to be glad about.’

‘I am glad because it brought you into my life. Had I not fallen from Phoenix, our paths would not have crossed. I do not possess the faith of Rachel and I am suspicious of the Fates but, something or someone, dear friend, has a hand in this.’

A chill went down his spine but Fleance shrugged off the feeling. ‘Then I am glad too,’ he said instead and the two of them left the chamber.

Chapter Thirty

T
hey travelled to Iona to bury Donalbain, the journey made fraught by Bree’s tantrums and the impossible cold. The sea voyage was terrible for the waves were high and rough and, despite Rachel’s care of everyone, many were violently ill.

Though it did not snow, the intermittent rain was freezing and, when they arrived at the desolate island, even the servants were so affected by the rough journey, little was done in preparation for the burial.

Bree refused to sit where she was told and continued to badger Duncan who was doing his best, Fleance saw, to stay focused.

‘Would you have me take the child a while?’ Fleance offered.

Duncan sighed wearily. ‘Aye, Fleance. That would be most kind. Bree,’ he said, calling to his sister. ‘Go with Fleance.’

Bree stopped her jiggling and gave Fleance a most hateful glare. Though she was young, the strength of the emotion coming from her made him hesitate. He swallowed and took in a breath, fixing a smile on his face. ‘I know where there are some baby seals, Bree, down by the shore. Come along. You will enjoy seeing them.’

The child did not move. Rachel shook her. ‘Run along with Fleance,’ she chided. ‘We are worn out by your behaviour. Go!’

Bree frowned but came towards Fleance, ignoring his outstretched hand. ‘I will hate it,’ she declared as she stormed past him.

Fleance and Rachel exchanged a look and then he turned and followed the taciturn youngster.

They climbed down part of the cliff, Bree still refusing any offer of help, and rested on a ledge above the shore. The low clouds and poor light made it difficult to see clearly but Fleance made out a number of sea lions and their cubs dipping in and out of the heavy waves as well as those that rested on the shore.

‘I don’t see anything,’ Bree said, plonking herself down on the wet sand.

‘There,’ he said, pointing to a crop of boulders. ‘Look carefully. See that long rock on the sand?’ Bree nodded. ‘Watch it for I grant it will move.’ Both of them sat still, staring, when suddenly the sea lion rolled over, her large flipper waving in the air.

‘I seen it,’ Bree squealed. Her enthusiasm delighted him.

‘Look a little to the right, nearer the sea.’

‘Aye?’

‘That’s her baby.’ A small blue-grey baby seal lay in the sand, every now and then lifting its head to check back on its mother.

‘It’s beautiful,’ Bree said. ‘Can we go down and pet it?’

He shook his head. ‘They don’t look like it, wee Bree, but they can be mighty fierce. When I was a young boy, my father took me to a bay, wild, much like this and we came upon a colony. They look heavy and slow but let me tell you, Da and I only just escaped from being crushed and bitten.’

‘Why would they do that?’

‘They think we are going to hurt their babies.’

She turned back to study the seals. ‘I think they would know I would not hurt them,’ she said matter-of-factly.

Inwardly, Fleance smiled. Bree was such a strong force and her self-belief, admirable. ‘You are sure to be right but for now, I think, we must go back to the camp. Your father’s funeral will start soon.’ He reached out his hand and, this time, she took it. They climbed back up the hill.

By the end of the first day on the island, however, Bree’s tantrums and Duncan’s silence were too much for Rachel.

Fleance found her sheltering in a crypt, sobbing. ‘Rachel,’ he said, ‘I am sorry. Truly sorry.’

She faced him, her eyes flooded with tears. ‘It is too much, Fleance. My brother is not ready to take on this responsibility. And I am weary. Bree. Duncan.’ She shook her hands at the s
ky. ‘The rain!’

He stepped forward and gave her a kerchief so that she could wipe tears from her face. ‘It’s a hard thing to lose a father. The weather speaks for us.’ He gestured to the barren landscape. ‘A place of kings and a place of mourning.’

She gave him a small smile. ‘You are mad.’

He smiled back her. ‘You were in any doubt about this? It’s true, lady,’ he added. ‘Some see madness in my actions and I was certainly a wayward and fierce-tempered child. But I pride myself in reading a man well and there is much good that I have read in you. I believe you have the strength to get through this.’

Rachel sniffed, wiped her face again, and straightened her skirts. ‘Thank you, Fleance. It has been good to talk.’ She marched away from the crypt, back to the small crowd who stood forlornly around the freshly constructed grave of the previous king of Scotland.

When they sailed back to the mainland, the waves were calmer as if mindful of the sorrow the passengers carried and they all arrived at Perth without incident. Fleance had the urge to visit Dougal’s inn in case Rosie was there but shook the thought from his mind. It was a foolish idea. It had been months since he last saw her – who knew what her situation was. Perhaps she had married? The thought stabbed him so he pushed all feelings of Rosie from his mind. That part of his life had ended and he would not be plagued by thoughts of it any more.

Another exhausting trip back to Glamis saw Duncan, Rachel and even Bree quiet. Fleance was thus left with his thoughts. It had been some time now since he had suffered a nightmare, and he wondered if truly the idea he had seen visions was simply a construction of a heat-oppressed mind. No ghosts, no visions, no nightly exhortations to avenge murder.

This gave him some hope that finally, through whatever means, he had become free of his father’s bond.

For the second time in less than a year, Fleance stood with a crowd at Scone ready to help the new king of Scotland be invested. Why was it, he thought, that an occasion such as this was treated as a time of celebration yet, the truth was, it had come about because of some type of tragedy.

Duncan looked dazed and weary and Preston quietly guided his movements. Many, Fleance had heard, were exceedingly pleased with their new king. Duncan was steady and wise and so much like his grandfather before him. That Scotland was facing a war did not diminish the hopes of the peoples.

Macduff, Lennox and Ross had been asked to join Fleance in lifting Duncan on the stone. The new king stood wrapped in the same white robe and sash his father had worn, Rachel standing serenely beside him. The four men went into the abbey. There, below the altar, the stone lay, as quiet and foreboding as the stained windows of the church.

‘Take a corner each,’ Macduff commanded and they did so. ‘We will lift him in one movement to shoulder height. Let us have a practice at that, for to seem as if a deed has come naturally requires much rehearsal.’ Fleance went to a corner and stood sideways to the stone as did the other three. ‘On my count,’ Macduff said. ‘One. Two. Lift!’

As one, they bent their knees, grasped the iron rings and pulled the stone high into the air. It was not as heavy as it looked but, with a man atop, it would be a different matter.

‘Onward,’ Macduff commanded. They marched out of the church with the priests behind.

Carefully, they laid the stone at Duncan’s feet and he gave Fleance a strained smile. Poor Duncan, Fleance thought. Not to have any time to properly mourn the loss of a loved one was a hard thing.

Duncan stepped on the stone and lifted his head, staring out at the crowd. The bishop came forward. He flicked water over each of Duncan’s shoulders and then poured a small amount over his head. ‘Close your eyes,’ he said softly and Duncan obeyed. Fleance watched as the bishop dipped his finger then brushed it
across
Duncan’s
forehead.
‘May the grace of God, the love of our Lord
Jesus Christ and the fellowship of the Holy Spirit be with you now and for ever. Amen.
’

‘Amen,’
Duncan whispered.

‘Amen,’
Fleance and the thanes said.

Preston came forward with the crown on a blue cushion and the sceptre in his hand. The bishop lifted the crown high in the air and brought it down on Duncan’s head. Then he took the sceptre from Preston and offered it to Duncan.

Fleance saw Duncan’s back straighten as he reached out and grasped the sceptre.

‘Ready?’ Macduff muttered. Duncan nodded. ‘One, two, lift!’ They reached down and hoisted Duncan up. The crowd cheered. With the body of a man atop, the stone was heavy, especially as Duncan shifted his weight to keep balanced.
Please don’t let me stumble or drop him,
Fleance prayed as they began to move down the
man
-made aisle.

‘Long live the king!’ Macduff shouted and the people echoed his cry so that Fleance’s ears were ringing by the time they entered the church and set Duncan down in front of the altar.

After communion, Fleance made his way outside as Rachel had asked him to check that the tables had been set for the celebration meal. He walked across the yard in front of the church where many folk were still gathered and over to where the tables were being laid.

As he suspected, Morag had it all under control. ‘She needn’t worry, Sire. ’Tis not her burden on this day.’

‘Thank you, Morag.’

She gave him some sausage. ‘Here, it will be another hour at least until the meal is ready. You look tired.’

Just then, Duncan and Rachel emerged from the church. Fleance nodded in their direction. ‘Not as much as they,’ he said.

Morag clucked her tongue. ‘Poor babes. May God grant them peace for their lives have lacked it.’

Duncan signalled to Fleance. ‘I will leave you to your tasks, Morag.’ He went to Duncan who pulled him to one side, along with Macduff, Lennox, Ross and Preston.

‘A message has come that the rebels have added to their numbers and are joined by a foreign army,’ Duncan said, his voice low.

‘How long do you think we have until we must go?’ Fleance asked.

Macduff pulled on his beard. ‘Two weeks at the most.’

Fear curled inside his stomach. Two weeks! It was soon. The men he had been training with all winter were well prepared but Fleance had always hoped in a quiet corner of his mind that
Scotland
would not have to go to war. Even more so now t
hat Duncan
was king.

He looked around the people – all of them were smiling and laughing. They were delighted Duncan was king. Hadn’t this been what they had wanted from the start when it was announced
Malcolm
would die?

Fleance was studying the happy movements of a man and a wife. The husband took his wife’s arm and moved off towards the feast. Standing still, grim and silent, was Banquo. Fleance inhaled sharply. His father stared at him, his eyes fierce.
Fleance sto
od his ground.
I will not allow you to control my life,
he said in his head
. There is too much that needs doing here and now that calls my loyalty.

As if reading his mind, his father’s ghost shook his head, turned around and walked away.

The coronation feast was a happy one with songs and speeches. Duncan sat among it all and, hourly, Fleance could see, showed more strength, more determination. The early spring nights were still cold so servants had lit fires in large drums. The bright orange and yellow flames made everyone’s faces glow.

Rachel sat next to her brother, her expression fixed as she nodded and responded to those who came to offer condolences and congratulations. Bree, Fleance noted, fussed and argued until her nurse came and took her away to the tent.

It was very late when he joined Duncan and the thanes
in th
e tent. He lay down beside his friend who he saw was staring at
the ro
of. ‘How are you?’ Fleance asked.

Duncan turned his head. ‘I am well and thinking how fortunate I am to be surrounded by good men.’ He breathed deeply. ‘I had hoped we would not have to go to war, Fleance.’

‘Aye. Those have been my thoughts as well,’ Fleance said, his voice quiet.

‘Are we ready, do you think, Fleance? Do we have enough men?’

‘Fellows come to us daily pledging their support. We are ready enough.’

‘Well,’ Duncan said turning on his side. ‘So be it. Sleep well, if you can, my friend.’

‘And you,’ Fleance said, pulling a rough blanket up around his ears, hoping that the vision today of his father was not a signal that the bad dreams would return.

When they returned to Glamis, Morag was most attentive to them all. It was freezing cold but Fleance was busily occupied arranging the plans for the troops’ move to Glasgow. Despite still mourning the death of her father, Rachel threw herself into the responsibility of assisting him. He found her attention to detail remarkable which meant the task was not as arduous as it might have been. Fleance gave to her the job of organising the provisions and employing the surgeons and stretcher bearers while he spent time with the king, earls, thanes and other leaders discussing their battle plans.

Late into the evening, three days after their return from Scone, Duncan summoned him. ‘Fleance, I would have word with you.’

Fleance bowed. ‘Aye, Your Majesty.’

Duncan frowned. ‘Are you so shallow, man, that you would change your manner to suit the times?’

Fleance smiled. ‘There is nothing lost in honouring what is honourable.’

Duncan snorted. ‘I don’t need platitudes from you, Fleance. But,’ he said coming forward, ‘do give me your allegiance.’

Fleance seized his hand. ‘Know this, I am always your servant; and friend.’

‘And brother?’ Duncan asked.

Fleance’s face lifted as he smiled. ‘That too. Always.’

‘Come, let us go into a warmer place to talk.’ They walked silently down the corridor, past the blue room, and into Duncan’s private chambers. The king poured two goblets of warm wine and handed one to Fleance. ‘I think, my friend, you still mourn for something that you can never have, am I right? This maid, this Rosie – I think, Fleance, she is not the one for you.’

The turn in conversation startled him and he felt anger flare up inside. What business was it of Duncan’s? ‘What are you saying? She is . . .’ But he could not finish saying what Rosie was. How could anyone else understand how much she made him feel so happy and so complete? ‘You are mistaken, Duncan. Rosie is special.’