Chapter Twenty
As they floated toward Jedburgh, Banaugh did his best to convince Tessa Jeffrey would be all right. “Tha is a clever man. ‘E has a plan for ’is own escape, and will mee’ us if ’e thinks it safe. ’E hopes they’ll be sae int’rested in findin’ ye tha’ they won’t watch ’im close.”
They found the spot Jeffrey and Banaugh had agreed upon, a bend where the river was shielded from the road by thick gorse and scraggly trees. The river had cut into the bank and then receded, leaving a hollow that allowed them to hear passers-by on the road above while hidden from view. Just above the place they pulled the boat up onto the bank and into the underbrush, its bottom fully waterlogged now. Their journey had been spent with feet soaked as the porous old boards allowed in more and more of the river. Still, the boat had accomplished its purpose. Their means of escape would not be easily detected since no boat was missing from the castle’s supply. Hopefully, pursuers were searching for them along the roads, where they would find no track or sign.
They sat quietly, surrounded by the smell of damp earth and leaves, and waited for the sound of Jeffrey’s approach. Tessa felt her stomach growl and remembered she’d had nothing to eat since noon yesterday. Banaugh wordlessly unwrapped a bundle he pulled from his pocket and offered her a carrot. She grinned at him, and he murmured, “I didna suppose the horsies in Hawick’s stable wuld miss a few o’ the sma ones.” Grateful for anything, Tessa concentrated on munching quietly.
They waited several hours, dozing in the morning sun. Autumn was advancing fast, but their place of concealment was sheltered from any breeze, and the midday sun soon made it comfortably warm. It was not easy, though, to lie idly while thoughts of Jeffrey’s situation kept disturbing the quiet around her. Was he coming? Had Hawick caught him while trying to escape? Had they killed him? Banaugh too was worried; she could tell by the way he looked in all directions every few minutes, chewing his bottom lip.
Finally they heard noises on the road above. With a finger raised, Banaugh signaled she should stay where she was and crept quietly away. As she listened, Tessa’s heart sank. There were two horses. She prayed they would pass by, but they stopped just down from her. A saddle creaked as someone climbed down, and shortly after an unmistakable sound as he relieved himself not ten feet away.
“I still think she went north,” said a voice. “She’ll want to find her uncle the king and tell on us.” She recognized the voice of Dougal, the man she had first seen at Brixton Hall.
“Hawick thinks she’ll head to Jedburgh,” came the reply. “A girl alone would have little chance traveling overland. She’ll have to find passage on a ship.” That was good. They had no idea Banaugh still lived, so they sought only one person.
“I still don’t see how she managed to overpower Ian, tiny thing she is.”
The other man guffawed. “He dinna want to dwell on it, did he? I’d wager his second head distracted him! Right shamed he was, though, to be o’ertaken by a lass, and in his own bedroom!”
“Dinna let Hawick hear you laugh at him, or he’ll have your guts for garters,” Dougal reproached the other. Sounds of metal meeting metal accompanied the conversation. The men were eating something, judging by the way their words distorted from time to time. Dougal’s next statement came between chews. “We’re on a wild goose chase.”
“Someone had to go to Jedburgh on the chance she heads that way,” the second man said reasonably. “I’d rather be here than on the way to meet Macbeth with Hawick and the others. He takes a great chance with this business.”
“Hawick knows the risk,” Dougal assured his friend, “but the Englishman’s newest idea is a good one. The best way for Hawick to prove loyalty to young Malcolm is to kill Macbeth.”
Below them, Tessa gasped. Jeffrey had plotted with Hawick once again. It was a terrible blow to the faith in his character that had just begun to grow in her. The man’s voice went on. “He has the girl’s letter from the king, which will gain him entry, and he will go as her husband, offering his services against the English and Malcolm. Once inside, he can dispatch Macbeth, signal the English, and hide until the battle is over. Once the king is dead, the castle will fall easily, I’ll wager.”
“All we must do is catch the girl and see she doesna live to tell a different tale,” the other added grimly.
Sounds indicated the two were about to remount and be on their way when a splash sounded from the river. Both stopped and listened, and a second splash followed soon after. Stepping into the brush, Dougal peered down at the water but could see nothing. He turned back to his companion, and immediately another splash sounded. Now the second man joined Dougal. They carefully descended the steep bank, slippery with vegetation. As they reached the water, a decrepit rowboat floated around the bend and toward them. Someone in white huddled on the floor of the thing, obviously trying to avoid detection. With a shout, Dougal waded in as the second man stood on the bank shouting encouragement. For the tall Dougal, the river was only chest deep at this point, and he easily intercepted the old boat in mid-stream.
“Come now, lass, get up. I’ve got you now,” he called, but the figure did not rise. Grabbing the fabric of the fine dress he had last seen the macFindlaech woman wearing, he found it stuffed with an old horse blanket, empty of any human form. Staring openmouthed at the man on the bank for a second, Dougal realized their mistake. “The horses!” he cried. The other reacted quickly, scrambling up the slick bank as best he could. He was too late. Both horses were gone, and even the sound of their retreating hooves was drowned out by Dougal’s roared curses at the slip of a girl who had bested Hawick’s clan a second time.
It was an exhausted and bedraggled pair who several days later approached Scone, the ancient site of kings close to the center of Scotland. Macbeth now resided in an imposing castle overlooking the River Tay, north and east of the town of Perth. The travelers had learned in bits and pieces as they traveled that the king maintained a large household at Scone comprised of paid troops as well as Scots still loyal to Macbeth. Anxious to reach the place, the two had ridden their horses almost to death, the beasts’ only rest in days being when they ferried across the Firth of Forth. Tessa and Banaugh dozed in their saddles as the autumn rains drenched them.
Tessa’s emotional state teetered between manic determination and sheer despair as she encouraged her exhausted horse onward, the smell of his sweat mingled with her own unwashed scent. That Jeffrey could plot the death of her uncle was a betrayal she could never have imagined, even if, as Banaugh tried to convince her, he had done it to save his own life. She was determined to get to Macbeth’s castle before Hawick and warn her uncle. No matter what he had done, he was her blood kin, and he did not deserve assassination.
As a result, the old man and his “grandson” had taken every short cut possible, no matter how treacherous, sleeping little and eating less. Banaugh, wiry and tough to begin with, had grown even more spare, and Tessa found it necessary to use rope to hold up the breeches she wore.
As they journeyed, the pair had heard worse and worse news of Macbeth’s chances of success. The king was despised, and his soldiers had deserted in large numbers. His behavior had gone from merely odd to totally unpredictable, and those around him served only from fear or greed. People spoke in whispers the rumors that had gathered around him for a year now: he had murdered not only the old king but his best friend, Banquo; he had put to death many people who had done nothing more than question his actions; and he had ordered the murder of the entire family of one Macduff, a former comrade who had fled to England, refusing to acknowledge his former comrade-in-arms Macbeth as king.
When she heard this, Tessa remembered her uncle’s words concerning Macduff. “I was most wounded by his treachery.” But to take revenge on wife and small children? If the rumors were true, her uncle had lost himself completely to ambition, and the Macbeth who once existed was no more. She considered turning back at one point, but something of family loyalty prevai
led. Perhaps she could convince her uncle to give up the throne and go into exile. At least she could warn him of Hawick’s plan, for she would not let the outlaw succeed, no matter what. Let Macbeth die in battle if he must, but not on Hawick’s knife. And certainly not by Jeffrey Brixton’s plan.
It was about ten miles from their destination, as they broke camp early one morning, that Tessa and Banaugh saw English soldiers for the first time. They were chilling to see, disciplined and businesslike as they made their way to war. Walking stolidly over the rough ground, their conical helmets bobbing as they stepped, their leather tunics shedding the rain as they were intended to, the troopers’ eyes seemed watchful and emotionless.
They steered clear of the soldiers, since it was dangerous to be seen riding two fine horses in their present condition. They had received a few questioning looks as it was, an old man and a boy, neither one prosperous-looking, mounted on well-trained, well-bred steeds. They skirted wide of the troops, therefore, and through a forest Banaugh said was called Birnam. Once they judged themselves far enough away, they dismounted and sat for a few minutes, letting their sore muscles rest from long hours in the saddle. Their one blessing all this way had been the gold Macbeth had given Tessa months before. They had been sparing with it, and Banaugh had kept it safely hidden, bringing out only what was needed. As a result they had been able to buy food now that they had no time to hunt or gather it. As they shared a breakfast of cheese and a small loaf of bread, neither spoke much, being tired to the point of semi-consciousness.
It was because of this silence that they heard the first sounds of chopping far off to their right. Soon the noise grew, and the sound of many hatchets filled the wood with a rhythmic pattern. Tessa was too tired to care, but Banaugh crept silently off to see what it meant. He returned with a confused look on his face. “The soldiers are chopping the branches off the trees,” he told Tessa. “I dinna know what it could be for.”
“Nor do I, but we’d best be on, in case they come this far,” Tessa replied. Wearily they climbed into the saddles once more and headed north with a leftward slant to avoid being seen by the men whose actions continued behind them, the chops growing more distant as they rode.
A drizzling rain fell all day, and noon brought them to the castle, which had the closed look about it that signified preparation for war. No one moved outside the walls, no sheep or cattle grazed in nearby pastures, and the cottages that stood on the outer perimeter were shut tightly, no smoke trailing from their roofs.
Scone Castle sat before the Grampian Mountains like a gray obstacle to the green beyond. Poised above the River Tay, the palace overlooked the routes north to the Highlands and east through Strathmore to the coast. Across the river stood the town of Perth.
Five hundred years before, the Romans had camped here, at the very limit of their empire. They had never defeated the warlike Picts, who later came to rule Scone, but Christian missionaries had more success a few centuries later. The Culdees, or servants of God, had established themselves at Scone in the seventh century and converted the Picts. Now Scone was the place where Scotland’s Christian kings were crowned. By tradition the king sat during the ceremony on the Stone of Scone, a stool of rock that sat atop Moot Hill, a knoll at the front of the castle. Tessa imagined her uncle accepting the crown of Scotland. It had been his greatest desire, but had it made him happy? She doubted it.
They rode around Moot Hill and boldly up to the castle gate. Removing the hood she had used to hide her hair, she called out, “I am Tessa macFindlaech, come to see my uncle the king on urgent business.”
Several heads peered down at them over the wall, and someone must have recognized Tessa, for a few moments later the door opened enough to allow them entrance. A brusque soldier took in their muddy boots and bleary eyes with a practiced eye and sent someone to tell another someone inside the castle of her presence. Banaugh went to see to the exhausted horses. Tessa was surprised to see young Jamie, the boy she’d served with at Inverness, come to meet her. His appearance was no cleaner than it had been before, and he had a harried look about him unusual in one so young.
“Jamie, is it not? I am Tessa, whom you once knew as Tom. I must see the king.”
“Tom? But you—” He stopped and digested what he was seeing. Probably the boy had seen stranger things in the past year, for he adjusted well. Tessa saw reluctance in his expression. “I cannot say he will treat you well, miss. He is sometimes himself, but not often these days. He talks to the air and starts at shadows.”
“I have heard it. How does my aunt?”
“Dead.” The boy’s eyes stared past her and gave away nothing. She did not ask more, unsure if she wanted to know. Had the king—? No, that was impossible. More likely Gruoch had been unable to bear the terrible dreams any longer and had found a way to put an end to her unhappiness. Her death was nothing but justice if the tales were true, that she had badgered Macbeth into murder, perhaps even helped do the deed. Still, Tessa could find it in her heart to be a little sad for her. Macbeth’s lady had simply not understood the consequences of so terrible an act. Murder for political reasons might seem the nearest way to one’s ambitions, but such things could not be done without grave damage to one’s own soul.
“Jamie, I must see him. I will take the chance.”
The youth led Tessa into the hall, once grand but now in great disarray. Rushes lay rotting on the floor with scraps of food, dirt, and worse. The trestles had not been cleared away, and the boards were littered with dishes. Overturned cups had spilled their contents onto the floor. She had had a moment’s fear her uncle might berate her for her appearance, dirty, unkempt and in dress improper for a female, but she saw at once that none of that would matter. Before a weak fire sat a large chair where Macbeth slumped, wine cup in hand.
Jamie stopped well out of range of the king’s arm and announced, “Tessa macFindlaech, sire, your niece. She brings important news.” Then he was gone, without waiting for dismissal, and they were left alone.
Her uncle was greatly changed, much worse than before. His eyes, which had once been steely and direct, were watery, and the lids drooped as if it were too much effort to keep them open to the world he had created for himself. His hair had gone from richly dark to shot with gray, and strong streaks of it stood up from his forehead and sprang from his temples. Where once he had appeared taut and vibrant, a man of power, now his muscles were slack and his movements slow and feeble. The wreck of the man who once was sat before her, and she despaired for him.
“Uncle,” she began. “I have come to warn you of a certain treachery. One of the border Scots, more an outlaw than a laird, plans to gain entry to the castle and kill you, using my name. This Hawick stole the safe conduct you gave to me when last we met, and he will claim I am his wife. He is the worst sort of man, and I barely escaped him with my life.”
Macbeth seemed not to have heard her. His eyes squinted, and he tried to focus on her face. “Tessa? My brother’s little Tessa?”
“Yes, Uncle, it’s me,” she replied, frustrated by his torpor. “You must listen! He will kill you if he can, to gain favor with Malcolm.”
Macbeth’s droopy eyes took on a glint of slyness. “Ah, my dear, he may try, but kill me he will not.”
“Uncle, please listen.”
“No man can kill me, you see,” he continued without acknowledging her. “No man of woman born shall harm Macbeth.” He said it in a crowing, crooning tone Tessa recognized. The three weird sisters. He had found them, it seemed, and now parroted their words.
“Uncle, the three women who told you this—remember, I have heard their words as well. Their truth is slanted, as your old friend Banaugh warned me when first I saw them. One cannot believe the words themselves but must look beyond them. There is truth, but not the truth that seems to be.” She stopped, unable to put it as she wanted to, but Macbeth paid her no mind anyway. He seemed far away, and Tessa extended a consoling hand.
“Uncle, your wife—
I am sorry she is dead. She was…helpful to me.” Tessa wouldn’t lie, so she couldn’t say kind. Gruoch had been neither kind nor unkind, merely efficient, cordial only to those above her, and neutral to everyone else.
“She took her own life,” he said in response. “She could not stand the dreams, you see. I have them too, but I am a man. I have screwed my courage to the sticking place—” He spoke as if to convince himself, but he could not complete the thought.
Jamie appeared again. He seemed to be the only personal attendant Macbeth had left, or perhaps the only one brave enough to approach the king. “Sire, a man is at the gate. He says he comes from your niece,” here he glanced at Tessa, “and he carries your safe conduct.”
“Kill him,” Macbeth said calmly. With a start, Tessa realized something of what she said had penetrated.
“Uncle—” She didn’t know what to say.
“Tell the guard to kill him,” Macbeth repeated, and Jamie left the room with a nod of assent. “Now my dear, you must go to a place of safety. There will be a battle soon, perhaps today, and I would not have you nearby.” Suddenly he spoke rationally, as if he had no care except for her protection. “I suggest you make your way upriver about three miles. There is a hamlet where you will be safe. When the battle is over, you may return. I will have more time for you then.”
Tessa looked sadly at this madman who could calmly order the death of a man he had never seen, the deaths of Macduff’s wife and children, and even the death of his best friend, and now calmly take precautions for her safety. She thought briefly of insisting she stay with him, but what could she do? He must fight this battle, and she must hope it would be his last. There was nothing for Macbeth now but an honorable death. She had given him a chance at that.
Jamie returned, stopping in the doorway this time, obviously not happy about what he had to tell. “Sire, when I returned, the man was gone. The guard said he had forgotten something and would return shortly.”
Tessa had a thought. “The old man who came with me, is he presently in the courtyard?”
“Why, yes, miss,” the boy replied. “He sits waiting for you just inside the bailey gate.”
Hawick had taken one look, recognized Banaugh, and made a hasty retreat, Tessa deduced. She pictured the barrel-chested outlaw hurrying away from the castle, sweating lest an arrow take him in the back as he did.
“He has learned I am here,” she told Macbeth. “At least that plan is foiled.”
“As I have told you, my dear, I cannot be harmed.” The king was confident. “I have done what I have done, and I have lost much. But I have been given assurances. I shall live until a man not born of woman faces me, and who could that be? Furthermore, I cannot be defeated, no matter how many Englishmen come, until one Birnam Wood, which is miles from here, rises up and moves up the hillside of Dunsinane.”
Tessa felt a sinking in her heart as the import of the words and what she had recently seen drew her to a terrible conclusion. “But the soldiers! We saw them, Banaugh and I. They were cutting boughs from the trees of Birnam. We did not know why they did so.”
At that moment a soldier came skidding into the room, his face white. “Sire! There is—”
“Speak, man,” Macbeth growled, his face showing that he understood the message before it was given.
“There is a forest moving toward the castle. I swear it, Sire! I saw trees moving!”
Macbeth rose, his listlessness suddenly gone. It was as if a shell fell away, and the warrior behind the madman emerged. He took Tessa’s shoulder and repeated his earlier words, this time with the air of command.
“Go! Now! Get into one of the boats and make your way to the hamlet. Jamie will show you the way. Stay there until this thing is decided.” Suddenly he softened for a moment. “I have no one left to me, Tessa. You are the last person who has shown care for me, and you are of my blood. I have become what I never intended to be, but I am still man enough to protect a woman of my clan. Jamie!” he called, and the boy appeared. “Take this woman to Dunangus and stay there with her.”
“I shall fight, sire,” the boy protested.
“You shall not,” the king roared, but his voice softened again. “I have chosen you to protect my niece. It is a boon I ask. Anyone can fight, but you must be clever and brave to save her life. Can you do that?”
Jamie’s stubborn look faded as he understood he was not being banished because of his age. “Yes, sire.”
Macbeth went to a box set into a wall niche and took out several gold coins, some of which he gave to the boy. “Go and get the boat ready.” Macbeth stepped toward Tessa and took her into his arms. She remembered the last parting, when he had been unsure about an embrace. Now his arms held her strongly but briefly. He placed a kiss atop her head and thrust the rest of the gold into her hand, saying, “Go with God, Tessa.” She felt tears on her cheeks, but her uncle never saw them, for he was off, calling for his armor and giving orders to prepare for a battle he now knew he would not win.
Tessa found her way back to the courtyard, dodging soldiers headed for their posts and serving women trying to find a place of concealment. There was chaos as people shouted and screamed, animals scrambled out of the way, and orders were called from officers to men and down the line of defenders at the wall. “We will attack!” Tessa heard as she looked frantically around for Banaugh. He appeared at her side and she clung to him in relief.
“We must be away from here, lass,” Banaugh told her. “Why would he attack when he has a stout castle wall to stand behind?”
“He is mad,” was Tessa’s answer. “He will wager all on this last attempt, but I believe he knows now it’s for nothing. He has provided us a way out, though. We are to take to the river.”
Banaugh nodded briefly and fell in behind Tessa as she led the way. They fought their way through the bailey and out the river gate, jostled and passed by others who also made their escape. On the riverbank, she looked frantically through the knot of people pushing their way into whatever crafts were available. Jamie waited beside a rowboat similar in size to the one they had stolen at Hawick’s, but this one was much sturdier. A stout cudgel in his hands, he brandished it at those who tried to join him in the boat, shouting, “No! On the king’s order!” People backed away and chose other means of escape while Banaugh helped Tessa into the boat, giving it a shove into the water before jumping in himself. Jamie took to the oars, navigating upstream, away from the others, who chose the easier method of floating with the current.
Soon Tessa was looking her last at Macbeth’s stronghold. The sounds of the battle’s onset carried clearly across the distance, making her wish she could shut her ears to them: screams and shouts, the clang of metal on metal and the thud of metal on wood—or something softer, she imagined. Banaugh put an arm around her, and she wept for the last macFindlaech, one who had not understood that the power to rule he’d wanted so badly would bring about his ruin.