I thought of all the battles King Duncan had lost. But he had been the invader then, his army tired and hungry by the time it reached the English forces. This time it would be their army that must march for weeks or months to meet ours.
‘We will win, with my husband at the army’s head — if he stays bold and resolute, and if all the thanes are loyal.’
I hesitated. ‘Are they loyal, ma’am?’
She gave me a glance as sharp as Agnes’s. ‘Aye, there’s the rub. What reels will our great thanes dance to when they hear the pipes of war?’
She gazed at the swinging curtains of the litter as if she could see all of Scotland beyond their dampness.
‘Surely the thanes would not fight for Malcolm,’ I said. ‘Not for a man who killed his father.’
‘No. But they may not fight for us either.’ She met my eyes. ‘It is so easy to say, oh, the river flooded, we could not cross; or, the fog descended and we could not see and so we missed the battle. But if my husband stands firm, then the thanes will stand with him.’
And if he does not? I thought.
The curtains parted. I saw snow, and a man’s face pinched and blue. ‘The abbey is just up yonder hill, Your Majesty.’
The stones that seemed to weight her fell away. She smiled at him, a gracious queen. ‘I’ll warrant you are gladder still than I. Thank you for this safe passage, and thank your men from me.’
‘I will, Your Majesty.’ The curtain dropped.
The queen turned to me. ‘It is time to wear a public face. Come, tend to my hair.’
‘French flowers for a Scottish rose!’
I looked up from the tapestry. ‘Lord Murdoch! I did not know you had returned.’
Two months had passed. The briars still hadn’t bloomed upon the hills of Inverness, nor the well-bred roses in the castle gardens. Lady Ruth, Lady Margaret and I had begun a grand tapestry for the queen’s chamber, the most exciting thing to happen in the long dark days, for few ventured on the winter seas to Inverness, or across the snowy roads and ice-cracked streams. Today Lady Ruth checked the castle linen, while Lady Margaret inspected the hams and cheese, to make sure they were well stored. One day I’d need to spend my time doing the same, at Greymouth, but today I was glad to leave the tasks to them.
I rose from my cushion — it had taken me many lessons to learn how to stand up elegantly while trussed in the close-fitting bodice demanded at court — and curtseyed perfectly as he bowed low.
He laughed. ‘One winter rose all alone in the solar? And I the luckiest gardener to pluck it.’
‘Her Majesty has just left to attend the king. She bade me stay here till she returned.’ I had wondered why she didn’t want an attendant.
His face clouded. ‘I know. I have just had speech with Their Majesties.’
‘Your . . . mission . . . did not go well?’ I asked tentatively.
He raised an eyebrow. It was a different shape from when he’d left. He must have plucked it, after the fashion of the French court. ‘You know of my mission, my lady?’
I flushed. ‘Her Majesty did me the honour . . .’
‘I am glad you have her trust. Man and wife should have no secrets between them. That cushion looks most comfortable,’ he hinted.
‘Sir, will you sit?’
It still seemed odd to be giving an earl permission to sit. I caught his scent — of spices and some unfamiliar flower. I was glad he wanted to talk to me. I wanted to be the kind of wife who shared a man’s thoughts, not just his bed and care of his estates.
‘The mission was . . . indifferent won,’ he said. ‘The Heart of France received me most kindly, and made diverse offers of brotherhood and friendship to our king. Yet they were but feathers in the air, not an arrow to our needs.’
Or in commoner’s words: the French king had smiled and been polite, but hadn’t committed his army to help us if England attacked.
‘But shall we talk of happier matters?’ He smiled at me. ‘Here are your flowers.’
Suddenly there was something in his hand: a necklace of brilliant stones, the centrepiece a bloom of red and gold. I almost gaped at it. Were those rubies, and for me?
‘I . . . I do not have words to thank my lord . . .’
‘What better thanks than for my lady to be so glad that she is speechless?’ The smile came back to his face. ‘Her Majesty vows you are not usually so short of speech.’
I flushed again. ‘I . . . I talk too much.’
‘How so, when your words trill like the lark yet have the wisdom of a chancellor? The winters at Greymouth are long and dark, as its name,’ he added. ‘A cheering tongue will be most welcome.’
I wondered if he knew when we would be married, or if he too waited for the queen to announce it. Would it be overly bold to ask?
He took my hand and kissed it. His lips were warm and the pleasant spice scent became stronger, though probably not strong enough to ward off a congestion of the lungs. I almost grinned. Agnes’s salve lay up in my room, wrapped ten times to hide the smell. I couldn’t bear to throw it out.
‘How goes the king?’ asked Murdoch, too casually.
‘Most king-like,’ I answered carefully.
‘He seemed . . . weary when he gave me audience.’
Murdoch wasn’t the only one to have noticed the shadows under Macbeth’s eyes. Our king’s shoulders were broad, but were they strong enough to bear the weight of all Scotland?
‘I asked if, now the winter snows are vanishing from the Highlands, he planned to ride to the thanes who have not yet pledged to him,’ said Murdoch quietly. He met my eyes. ‘Her Majesty said yes at the same time that His Majesty shrugged and said he did not know.’
What should I answer? I couldn’t tell him that Her Majesty muttered in her sleep, or screamed with nightmares, and did not sleep at all sometimes until night’s candles guttered in their holders.
To my relief Murdoch smiled again. ‘Will my lady wear my gift this afternoon at the banquet?’
‘With joy in my heart, my lord, both at the gift and that the giver be back and far from hungry waves.’ I let my grin show. ‘And far from French roses who might try to catch him with their thorns.’
He laughed. ‘No thorn caught me in fair France, not when the fairest flower of all waited for me in Scotland.’ He raised my hand to his lips and kissed it. ‘Till the banquet.’
After he had gone, I looked at the necklace in my lap, suddenly realising that it wasn’t just a gift to me, but also to the betrothed of the Earl of Greymouth. Would Murdoch expect our daughter to wear it too, or our daughter-in-law to come? Lady Margaret would know.
The Great Hall was decorated as carefully as we of the court were dressed. The tapestries were still those of Duncan’s time, but the great Macbeth banner with two swords crossed above two hands joined hung above the high table, with smaller painted banners about the walls. Fires tended day and night made the hall warm enough for ladies to leave their cloaks, showing bare arms and low necklines that would have had Agnes muttering about hussies, if she had seen us.
A hundred wax candles glowed in the holders above us, and in the sconces around the walls, almost as bright as summer’s light. Jewels glinted at wrists and necks, my necklace among them. Silks brushed satin, lace and French brocade. I wore a rich fabric of rose and gold that Murdoch had brought back. It had taken six maids and Lady Margaret’s supervision to have the dress ready for tonight.
My heavy brocade skirts swished against the flagstones as we swept in behind the king and queen. I wished that Mam could see us.
The queen was dressed in her favourite scarlet, with rose-red sleeves and paler underskirts. I had scarcely seen her in another colour since . . . since the night I tried to forget, back in Glamis. She’d even had us dye her nightshifts red.
The first course sat already upon the table. I sighed, knowing it had probably sat there since early morn. The roasted lambs, so elegantly arranged on beds of greens with a meringue of wool, would be col
d and greasy, the soup tepid. The salmon jelly, which sat nearest the fireplace, was beginning to ooze juice. Highborn folk might have all the meat and ale they wished for, and fancies such as peacocks’ tongues and lemon possets, but they rarely enjoyed the luxury all cottagers knew — food fresh and hot from its cooking.
We stood next to the table, waiting for His Majesty to bid us sit and eat. But he just stood there, lost in thought.
The queen placed her hand upon his shoulder. ‘My royal lord . . .’
‘What?’ He seemed to notice her, and us, still standing and waiting for him.
The queen smiled, trying to put him, and us, at ease. ‘You do not give the cheer. The sauce to meat is ceremony; meeting were bare without it.’
Macbeth managed a smile for his wife. ‘Sweet remembrancer!’
His eyes looked as though they were smudged with soot. He seemed thinner than last summer, though in a padded doublet it was hard to tell. I wondered how fierce the threat from England was, and glanced about the hall, counting the thanes who supped with us. Four strangers and their men, which meant, I hoped, four more who’d come to swear allegiance to their new king.
The king turned to the court. ‘Now, good digestion wait on appetite, and health on both!’
‘May it please Your Highness to sit?’ asked Lord Lennox, bowing him to his seat.
We all sat, then realised that the king still stood. This was awkward. Some men made to rise; others waved their hands at them to sit again. The court couldn’t jump up and down at table like a salmon in a brook. Besides, he’d formally made us welcome.
Macbeth surveyed the hall. ‘Were the graced person of our Banquo present, our pleasure would be roofed,’ he said slowly.
I glanced around. Lord Banquo wasn’t in his accustomed seat. My stomach growled. I’d eaten nothing since the sun rose. I wished the king would sit down and take a mouthful so we could begin to eat. But he stood chatting to Lord Lennox and the Earl of Ross.
I caught Murdoch’s eye and touched the necklace at my throat. He discreetly touched his fingers to his lips and blew the kiss to me.
Suddenly the hall was silent. Even the rustle of silk on silk ceased. I looked back at the high table and saw the king staring at his own vacant seat.
‘The table’s full,’ he muttered, glaring at Lord Lennox.
Lennox looked puzzled. ‘Here is a place reserved, sir.’
‘Where?’ Macbeth demanded.
‘Here, my good lord.’ Lennox hesitated as the king still failed to sit down.
Macbeth’s eyes widened. He lurched back with a cry as if he’d seen a hound from hell.
‘What is it that moves Your Highness?’ Lennox cried.
Macbeth gazed around at us. ‘Which of you has done this?’ he screamed. The sound echoed through the hall.
The men at the high table glanced at each other and muttered apologies, obviously with no idea what they were apologising for. What was going on? I turned to Lady Ruth and Lady Margaret. They seemed as bewildered as I was. I looked at Murdoch. Like all the others, he stared at the king.
Macbeth stepped backward, shaking his head. His face was so twisted I hardly knew it. ‘Thou canst not say I did it!’ he shouted at the empty chair. ‘Never shake thy gory locks at me!’
The silence through the hall was thicker than week-old porridge. I wondered we could even breathe.
Lord Ross came to his senses first. ‘Gentlemen, rise. His Highness is not well.’
The queen shook her head at him. She drew the king aside, speaking to him urgently. The men at the high table looked uncomfortable, trying to pretend they weren’t eavesdropping.
I looked at the raised pie in front of me. Partridge. I could smell the herbs.
Over by the door, the queen whispered reassurance to the king. At last he turned and tried to smile at us — as successfully as a hare might try to fly.
‘Eat!’ he cried, his voice cracking as it attempted gaiety. ‘Do not muse at me, my most worthy friends. I have a strange infirmity, which is nothing to those that know me. Come, love and health to all.’ He turned to a servant. ‘Give me some wine; fill full!’
The man darted forward with a goblet and a jug. Macbeth held the goblet high.
‘I drink to the general joy of the whole table, and to our dear friend Banquo, whom we miss. Would he were here! To all, and him, we thirst, and all to all.’
We stood, the men with their goblets raised. The banners shivered as all shouted out the toast: ‘Our duties, and the pledge!’
The moment lengthened as, once again, we waited for the king to sit.
Suddenly he cowered back against the wall. ‘Avaunt, and quit my sight!’ he shrieked. He raised his arms as if to ward off a blow, muttering words we could not hear.
No silence now. Men muttered. Silk rubbed silk as women whispered. Leather boots scraped on the stones.
The queen moved in front of Macbeth, her long dress partially shielding him from our sight. ‘Think of this, good peers, but as a thing of custom. ’Tis no other; only it spoils the pleasure of the time.’ I could see the effort she made to keep her voice light.
The king pushed her aside. ‘What man dare, I dare!’
He turned and stared again at nothing; or something, perhaps, that none but he could see. ‘Approach thou like the rugged Russian bear!’ he yelled at his invisible enemy. ‘The armed rhinoceros, or the Hyrcan tiger. Take any shape but that, and my firm nerves shall never tremble! Hence, horrible shadow! Unreal mockery, hence!’
And then, just as suddenly, he relaxed. ‘Why so, being gone, I am a man again.’ His face changed as he noticed us and his lips parted in a ghastly grin. ‘Pray you, sit still.’
He had gone mad. No, one couldn’t say the king was mad. One could not even think it.
At last he sank into his chair. We sat too. No one spoke, or even dared to catch his neighbour’s eye. One of the Highland thanes reached for a slice of salmon, although the king had not yet reached for meat. Most in the hall took his lead and began to eat as well. It was safer to look at salmon and frumenty than each other or the king.
I peered through my eyelashes, trying to look still intent on pike in sorrel sauce. Up at the high table, the queen spoke urgently to the king. At last she took his hand and stood. ‘A kind good night to all!’ She led him out of the hall.
The silence grew even deeper, as if our chatter had fallen down a well, broken by the sharp looks of the gathered thanes. But tongues would speak daggers tonight. If he stays bold and resolute, the queen had told me in the litter. But this king seemed . . . I fought the word away, but it came back to me.
The king was mad.
What had made him so? The answer came like an arrow, so swift I could not dodge it. He had heard a witch promise him that he’d be king. I gasped, as if the arrow had been real. The pain felt real too, an agony that spread inside me. What was done could not be undone.
‘My dear, are you unwell?’ whispered Lady Ruth. ‘Come, we must attend the queen.’
I nodded, unable to speak, felt her plump hand take mine.
Macbeth had killed the king, and killed two innocent servants to hide his crime. And his wife had urged him on. But they had not dreamed such a plot until I spoke it.
His guilt was killing him.
His guilt was mine too.
Chapter 12
I saw Lady Ruth grab a pie and hide it in the folds of her skirt as we rose from the table and followed the queen from the hall. It was likely all the food we’d get till supper. We could not leave Her Majesty alone to cope with this.
Lady Ruth handed me a portion of the pie as soon as we were in the corridor. ‘Eat,’ she said quietly. ‘We will have need of it.’
It was lamb’s tongue. I tried to nibble it obediently. My tongue had led to this . . .
We heard the king still screaming as we climbed the stairs. ‘It will have blood, they say. Blood will have blood. Stones have been known to move, and trees to speak!’
We
picked up our skirts and tried to hurry without choking, swallowing our pie. I cursed my tight bodice.
Lady Margaret opened the chamber door. The king gaped at us mid-shout.
The queen managed a smile. ‘You lack the season of all natures, sleep,’ she told her husband in a tone that mimicked calm.
‘Yes, we’ll to sleep.’ He mumbled something more then stumbled out.
I heard the voices of Ross and Lennox outside. They would care for him, thank goodness. How did one tend a mad king?
‘My pet, I mean ma’am, you have eaten nothing,’ fussed Lady Ruth. ‘I will bring a posset and some bread, some minced chicken . . .’
‘I want nothing.’
‘Lambchuck, you must eat.’
Lady Ruth blushed, realising her discourtesy, but the queen just smiled. It wasn’t much of a smile, but her eyes were gentle.
‘Good Lady Ruth, we thank you for your care. Posset, bread, whatever you think best.’
Lady Ruth bustled out, clearly glad to have something to do. Lady Margaret and I stood helpless. One did not question a queen, even to ask how she was, or what she thought about her husband’s sudden madness. We could not even move to take off her banquet gown until she asked.
At last she nodded and held up her arms. We bent to do the unpinning. We had lowered her shift and combed out her hair when Lady Ruth arrived back, servants following her like chicks after a hen, all carrying trays. I glanced at the food, suddenly hungry again despite the hunk of pie. Guilt might crush me, but it hadn’t crushed my appetite. Would she bid us eat with her?
She smiled at Lady Ruth as the servants placed the trays on a low table. ‘Do you remember how you brought me bread and milk after I ate green apples?’ Her voice was light, as if the king screaming like a lunatic was nothing to worry about. ‘Now I give thee thanks again. Go back to the feasting hall, kind ladies. You will find company there as well as dinner.’
And be able to reassure everyone that the king had recovered, I thought as I turned to follow the others out.
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