Macbeth and Son (11 page)

‘You’re safe now, Thora,’ he said gently. ‘No more raw fish. My ship’s at the pier.’

Thora lifted her chin. ‘I’m not going without Darling.’

The seal’s big brown eyes stared at Lulach. Her whiskers twitched.

Lulach blinked. He’d heard ballads where heroes saved princesses. But they’d never had to save a seal as well. ‘She can come too.’

‘Are you sure? My father said…he said that no king’s heir would have a seal in his hall. I’d have to leave her behind. But I can’t leave her. There’s no one to look after her now. And she saved my life.’

‘I promise,’ said Lulach. ‘Darling will be as welcome as you are. There’s a river near our rath,’ he added. ‘And the sea’s nearby. She’ll be happy. I give you my word.’

Thora’s eyes met his. ‘My father said once, “Do you know what Macbeth’s strongest weapon is? He tells the truth. Men trust him.” That’s why Scotland has peace, and England and Norway only war. So I’ll trust you too, Lulach MacGillecomgain Macbeth.’

It was as though she had pinned a medal on his cloak. His heart felt strange, as though it had suddenly been filled. He’d never even known it was empty.

‘Come on then,’ he said gently.

Thora shook her head. ‘She won’t follow me with you here. You go first. We’ll follow along the beach.’

Lulach hesitated. He didn’t want to leave her, not alone on this desolate stretch of coast.

Suddenly Darling lifted her head again.

‘
Carrraaaaggghhhhh!
’ she bellowed.

Darling was singing again.

Her roar reached notes no human singer ever dreamed about: high one moment, low the next. Lulach wanted to put his hands over his ears.

‘Sorry!’ yelled Thora over the noise. ‘She doesn’t like being ignored!’

Suddenly Lulach had an idea. He pulled Kenneth’s pipes from his pouch and began to play.

At the first note Darling stared at him and gave a startled hiss. And then—miraculously—the cove fell silent. There was just the music and the crashing of the waves, until the tune was finished.

Lulach put the pipes down. Darling had a faraway look. Her head still swayed with the memory of the music.

Thora stared at him. Suddenly she smiled. It was a faint smile, because her eyes were still tired and shadowed. But it was still a smile.

‘She likes you,’ said Thora softly. ‘She’ll follow you now, I think.’

Lulach grinned. He decided he liked Darling too.

Even better, he’d learned how to shut her up.

…the Norweyan banners flout the sky,
And fan our people cold…

(
Macbeth
, Act I, Scene 2, lines 50–51)

Thorfinn was already on board when Lulach led Thora and Darling up the gangplank. The sailors stared at the seal as she bounced across the plank. Lulach glared at them and they swallowed their grins.

Thorfinn wore a blanket like a cloak and not much else. His bare legs were fat and hairy, and red in places with blisters from the fire. There was no sign of his wife. Knut must have taken her to the cabin below, thought Lulach.

‘My Lord,’ said Lulach politely, ‘I’m sorry to see you in such a state.’

Thorfinn glanced at his daughter and then at the seal. Then he looked back at Lulach. ‘I must thank you for our rescue,’ he said uncomfortably.

Then his formality vanished. He met Lulach’s eyes with a steady gaze. ‘Just get me to the mainland, boy. I have supporters there. Give me six months and I’ll rid the Orkneys of the Norwegian King’s men. And my
thieving nephew who helped him. In six months your father will have a worthwhile ally again.’

‘My father will be glad you’re safe, sir. And your wife and daughter.’

Thorfinn gave a grim laugh. ‘Pretty words. No need to pretend, boy. The marriage is off. You’ve repaid any debt by rescuing us.’

Lulach looked at Thora, shivering next to him. Her father hadn’t even spoken to her. And it had been his wife he’d rescued, not his daughter…

‘On the contrary, sir,’ said Lulach coldly. ‘I wish to hold you to the betrothal. Thora shall come with me to Moray, to my mother. We will be married there—that’s if…’ he hesitated, ‘if the Lady Thora still wishes it.’

Thorfinn gave his barking laugh again. ‘You’d take a penniless girl? And her forsaken seal! You’re a fool, boy.’

‘Then when I’m king they can call me Lulach the Fool,’ said Lulach calmly. He turned to the shivering girl. ‘Thora?’

Everyone was listening. But Lulach found he didn’t care. Kings and princes had no privacy anyway. They may as well all listen now.

‘I come to this marriage willingly,’ he went on. ‘But if you don’t wish it, tell me. You’ll still be my mother’s guest at Moray, for as long as you want.’

Suddenly Darling lolloped across the deck to Lulach. She stared up at him and gave a sharp bark, then butted his knees. Thora was grinning at him. For a moment Lulach saw a glimpse of the girl she could be.

‘Darling wants you to play again,’ she said.

Lulach took her hand impulsively. She looked surprised, but didn’t pull it away.

‘I can promise you peace,’ he said sincerely. ‘My father is a king of peace. And I will be too, if they elect me when he’s dead.’

‘Good,’ said Thora simply, her hand still in his. ‘And, yes, Lulach MacGillecomgain, I
would
like to be your bride.’

…and every one did bear
Thy praises…

(
Macbeth
, Act I, Scene 3, lines 98–99)

Luke woke as the alarm clock shrilled by his bed. He rolled over to turn it off and smiled. He felt good. It had been an awesome dream.

So, thought Luke,
that
was how the story ended. A land of peace and plenty, despite Thorfinn’s wars up north and Malcolm brooding down south. Macbeth loved by his subjects. Lulach happy, married to Thora.

Luke wondered if he’d managed to keep Darling off the bed.

Of course, there had to be more to it than that. Macbeth had died, Lulach had died. But it was all a thousand years ago.

He smiled to himself.

What did it matter now? They’d lived and been happy. Mrs Easson was right. It was a long time ago, far in the past even when Shakespeare had written his play. What did it matter if the Macbeth that
people remembered now wasn’t the real one? Maybe his name wouldn’t have been remembered at all if it hadn’t been for Shakespeare.

No, thought Luke. Too much truth could hurt. Sometimes it was better to bury the truth.

Dimly he remembered Thorfinn’s voice—the hoarse, too-loud voice of a man used to shouting in battle or above the fierce north wind—and Thora quoting him: ‘Do you know what Macbeth’s strongest weapon is? He tells the truth.’

No, thought Luke. Too much truth could hurt.

He’d do his assignment tonight, just the way Mrs Easson expected him to, showing how Shakespeare’s Macbeth had gone from being a weak but loyal man to a villain. And everything else would work out somehow. He’d keep quiet about the exam, and hopefully the Fishers would be okay.

At least if they had to sell out he wouldn’t be here to see it. He’d be at St Ilf’s.

Maybe he’d meet a girl like Thora for himself down in Sydney. But all he could think of was Megan, the bright flash of her hair as she pruned the trees…

Son: And must they all be hang’d who swear and lie?

Lady Macduff: Every one.

(
Macbeth
, Act IV, Scene 2, lines 51–52)

For once school was okay. It was almost as though real life had decided to follow Luke’s dream. He even got every answer in his Maths test.

Maybe Mum and Sam were right, he thought happily, climbing onto the bus that afternoon. Maybe the only reason he had done so badly at school was because he’d missed all that time when Dad was sick. Maybe he
would
be able to cope at St Ilf’s, even if he hadn’t really won the scholarship…

Patrick and Megan were waiting for him at the back of the bus.

He was almost tempted to say, ‘
How now, you secret, black, and midnight hag!
’ to Meg. Somehow that line from the play had stuck in his head. But she mightn’t think it was funny.

‘Hi,’ he said instead.

‘Hi, yourself,’ said Megan, moving up the back seat to give him room to sit down. ‘Hey, are you going to the meeting down at the hall tonight? For people who want to protest against the development?’

‘Yeah, Mum told me she was organising it with your mum. They haven’t given people much notice, have they? Mum was still ringing people up last night.’

‘No choice,’ said Megan. ‘The Council meeting is next week.’

Luke watched her as she gazed out the window. Normally Megan would be yakking away like the rest of the kids on the bus. He’d never seen her so quiet before.

He hadn’t thought it would affect her so much. She’d always been bored by the work on the farm. Pat was the one he discussed cattle breeds with, who planned to go to Ag college and talked of farming as though he’d never thought of anything else to do when he left school.

Luke got off at his usual stop, before Meg and Pat, and began the walk up to the house. He could hear Mum down in the bottom paddock as he trudged up the drive.

‘
And though my love lies bleedin’, I know she’ll hear my cry, “Just bury me…in Texas…when…I…die!”
’

Luke grinned. He wondered what the cows thought of Mum’s singing. They must be used to it by now.

Suddenly he didn’t want to go inside. It’d been such a great day and he wasn’t ready to go indoors yet.

He could go down and help Mum and Mr T tag the weaners. But they didn’t really need him. And anyway, he felt like being alone.

Luke dumped his school bag by the garage and headed back across the paddocks, then up the hill into the rough country again. It was as though he could really breathe up here.

There was a flat rock platform at the top, five metres long at least and almost as wide, just past their boundary with the Fishers’ place. This was where he and Pat and Megan had played Explorers when they were small, or pretended they were bushrangers trying to see the troopers far below. But it had been ages since Luke had climbed up here.

He headed for the rock now, then clambered up and sat on the edge, feeling the warmth seep into his body. He could see his place from here, and the Fishers’ too, and the orchards and Mum’s cows. He could even see Mr Fisher, small as a Lego man in the cabin of his tractor as he sprayed a white cloud on the trees. Fungicide, thought Luke vaguely. Curly leaf, brown rot…

No, he wouldn’t want to have an orchard again. Japanese Wagyu, yeah, that was the way to go, with really good feed…

‘Luke!’

Luke jumped, then turned round. Megan was staring at him from below the rock. ‘What are you doing here?’ he asked.

‘I live here,’ said Megan. ‘Remember?’

‘Oh. Yeah,’ said Luke, embarrassed. He’d forgotten it was the Fishers’ land. ‘Sorry. I just came up here to…’ He tried to think of something that didn’t sound dumb, but all he could come up with was, ‘to think.’

‘Really?’ Megan held out her hand. For a moment he didn’t understand, then worked out she wanted a
hand up. ‘I come up here too sometimes,’ she added, sitting down next to him.

It was no closer than they’d sat on the bus. But for some reason it
seemed
closer. He could even feel her warmth.

Neither of them said anything for a while. Why do I feel so nervous around Megan all of a sudden? thought Luke. What had changed between them?

‘What do you think about?’ asked Megan suddenly.

Luke shrugged. ‘Not sure. Things.’ It sounded so lame he felt himself flushing.

But Megan didn’t seem to notice how lame it was. She wasn’t even looking at him, but at the farms below.

‘This is going to be my place, after Dad dies,’ she said.

‘You mean, really yours? He’s leaving it to you?’

‘Just this bit, the forty hectares up the mountain. The rest goes to Patrick.’

‘You don’t mind?’ It’d be like a sword thrust into him if Mum left the farm to anyone else, Luke realised.

‘Not really. Makes sense. Pat’s always wanted to be a farmer. I don’t. But I want to live here.’

‘What do you want to do, then?’ he asked cautiously.

‘Study law.’

‘You mean, to fight developers like the resort people?’

Megan laughed. ‘That too, maybe. No, wills, contracts for houses. The day-to-day stuff that people round here need help with. It’d mean I could still live
here and make a living without having to prune trees when it’s freezing, or get covered in peach fuzz every summer, or stare at cows’ bums.’

‘I don’t mind cows’ bums,’ said Luke. He was surprised to find how much he meant it. Farming—what else would he ever want to do?

Did they even have an Ag course down at St Ilf’s?

‘Okay, a few cows to look decorative,’ said Megan. ‘Even some fruit trees, maybe. But I want to do something else as well.’

‘You can still build your house here, even if the resort goes ahead,’ said Luke.

‘Not if Dad has to sell the farm.’

Luke stared. ‘He can’t! I mean, I thought he’d just have to do something else. But you’d still live here.’

‘What job could he do around here? I don’t think we could afford to keep the place.’ Megan shrugged. ‘Dad and Mum haven’t said anything. But I know that’s what they’re thinking.’

‘I…I can’t imagine this place without you and Pat.’

Megan’s face seemed to crumple for a moment, then she was back in control. ‘The farm’s important. It’s…it’s not just that it’s how Dad makes a living. It was his pa who planted the first peaches. His greatsomething grandmother—I can’t remember how many back—was the first white kid born around here.’

‘I didn’t know that.’

‘People talk about how Aboriginal people are close to their land,’ said Megan vehemently. ‘And they are. But we’ve been here for a hundred and seventy years. It’d kill Dad to have to stop farming here. Pat too. I
don’t mean they’d actually die—they just wouldn’t be, well, who they really are.’ Suddenly she looked over at Luke. ‘Things like this are too precious to be lost. Someone has to fight for them.’

‘Yeah.’ Suddenly Luke’s memory thrust up Mum saying, ‘Sometimes you have to fight.’

But that hadn’t been Mum, Luke remembered. It had been Lulach’s mother, Gruoch, Lady Macbeth. And she hadn’t been talking about saving the land, but about Alba, ancient Scotland.

Is there anything I’d fight for? he wondered. Really fight? He had never thought of it before. Maybe you only found out how much things meant to you when they were threatened…Sam
had
to help the Fishers, he thought.

‘And that’s what you want to say? On TV?’

Megan nodded. ‘Some things are important,’ she said. ‘But people don’t realise they are till you tell them.’

Suddenly Luke thought of Thora in his dream. She’d had guts too. But he couldn’t see Megan running from the flames, a seal in her arms. She’d have been in the middle of everything, sword whirling in her hand…

Megan would be good on TV, thought Luke. She’d convince people. If only he had her courage. Or Thora’s.

‘I’ll…I’ll ask Sam again,’ he said. And he would, he thought. No matter what Sam said, this time he wasn’t going to chicken out.

Even if it wouldn’t be any use.

‘Thanks,’ said Megan simply. She was crying, Luke realised. There were tears in her eyes. But she didn’t wipe them away, or make any kind of sound.

He wished he could hug her, or comfort her in some way. Then suddenly it didn’t matter. She had burrowed her head into his shoulder and was crying properly. He put his arm around her and felt her warmth again, the softness of her hair.

Suddenly she pulled away and sniffed. ‘Sorry,’ she said.

‘It’s okay,’ said Luke gently. He knew he should say something comforting. But he couldn’t think what to say.

‘It’s just that everything is going wrong!’ choked Megan. ‘The farm threatened, and you going off to Sydney…’ Her voice trailed off, as though she had just noticed what she’d said.

‘I’d better go,’ she added hurriedly. ‘Mum’ll wonder where I am. Will you be at the meeting tonight?’

‘Of course,’ said Luke. ‘Meg…’

‘Mmm?’ Megan was blowing her nose.

‘Would you like to—I mean—how about going to the movies or something this Saturday?’

Megan looked at him, surprised. ‘You mean without Patrick? Just you and me?’

Luke nodded.

Suddenly a new look slid over Megan’s face. It was happiness, thought Luke, astounded. She really looked happy! But all she said was, ‘Okay.’

She slid off the rock and began to run back down the hill.