The Seed Of Banquo

Based On Shakespeare's "Macbeth"

Fleance wandered in the forest, he wandered for days, for him it seemed like an eternity. He did not stop until he came to small clearing in the middle of the forest. He collapsed upon a rock crying. He lay there for minutes until he started to hear strange sounds of women chanting.

"Double, double toil and trouble;

Fire burn and cauldron bubble.

Scale of dragon, tooth of wolf,

Witches' mummy, maw and gulf

Of the ravin'd salt-sea shark,

Root of hemlock digg'd i' the dark,

Liver of blaspheming Jew,

Gall of goat, and slips of yew

Silver'd in the moon's eclipse,

Nose of Turk and Tartar's lips,

Finger of birth-strangled babe

Ditch-deliver'd by a drab,

Make the gruel thick and slab:

Add thereto a tiger's chaudron,

For the ingredients of our cauldron"

He walked closer to the chanting, and saw three hags dancing around a boiling cauldron. Suddenly they stopped and turned to face him.

"Ah... Fleance..." said the first witch "Expecting you, we were..."

"Just in time too." said the second "Here you are, now."

" A message is about to arrive for you, son!" said the third "From your father..."

"My father is dead. Make me not forget." he replied.

"Death, the dead, the dying... Not so faraway are the dead..." said the first witch.

"Ooh yes..." whispered the second witch "The dying are merely passing."

"And the dead are actually among the living." the third witch laughed.

Clouds started to gather above them.

"He's coming." said the third witch.

Rain poured from the skies.

"He's come." said the second.

And then a bolt of lightning struck the cauldron, and Banquo appeared in the smoke.

"He came." said the first.

Fleance stared at the chained figure in the smoke, it was his father. He walked closer to the cauldron and stared in amazement.

"Fleance!" coughed Banquo. "My son!"

The ghost of Banquo swayed and swung before Fleance. His body was almost completely decayed, even though it had only been four days. Bones were showing, he had lost almost all his hair and was missing some limbs and parts.

"Flee! Fleance! Flee! You must Flee!" shouted Banquo. "To France to must go!"

And with that the ghost of Banquo vanished along with the three hags, and Fleance was alone.

 

He did as his father had commanded, he fled to France. Arriving there, he had no money, no processions; so he lived as a thief until he was taken in by old woman and her husband. The 12-year-old boy learned from the old man and after a few years, when the old couple passed away, he took over their shop. He gained a favourable reputation as a blacksmith. With steady hard work and with luck, he became the best blacksmith in the country, forging horseshoes for his neighbours, and creating weapons and armoury of the finest calibre for the country's nobles.

 

Fleance was cooking dinner one night, when there was a knock on the door.

"Fleance!" said the voice. "I bring news!"

Fleance unbolted the door and then let the man in, it was his friend Carson. Carson was a seventeen-year-old gent, roughly the same age as he, and had black hair and green eyes.

"What news?" asked Fleance.

"A message actually." Carson replied. "A message from the palace..."

Carson brought out a scroll from his knapsack and handed it to Fleance. The message was written on fine parchment and sealed by the wax imprint of the royal seal. Fleance poured over the letter, and could not believe his eyes.

"What is the matter?" Carson asked.

"A sword," Fleance replied. "The King commands me to forge him a new sword. And to deliver it to him personally."

"A sword fit for a king." Carson said amused. "Outdone yourself you have. What of the jewels for the hilt?"

"It is to arrive in the morning, tomorrow." exclaimed Fleance. "As his majesty indicated in the letter."

And as written by his majesty, the jewels arrived the following morning. Fleance worked on the sword for two weeks, he worked all day and half the night, stopping only to eat and take a short slumber. But after all that hard work, the sword was finally completed. The blade as smooth and shiny as a mirror, and the jewels exact to the King's instructions in the letter. He sent a letter to the palace, addressing the king that the sword was finished. He was sent for two days later.

 

The French Court was a lively place, the nobles were in gleeful spirits, and the women were very welcoming. Music filled the palace majority of the time, and every night a feast was given to someone of recognition. A special banquet was put together, in celebration of the King's fondness of his new sword. Fleance that night was appointed to be the palace blacksmith, he was to work in the palace, have unlimited resources and have access to a lot of the facilities. After that night, when not working in the royal workshop, Fleance would spend most of his time in the royal library, learning science, mathematics and matters of state. He also learned to dance, sing, paint and play various musical instruments. He was reading in the library one night when a lady sat across him.

"What is the son of a Scottish nobleman doing here in Paris?" the lady asked. "You are Fleance, or am I mistaken?"

Fleance gazed up from the pages of his book to face the lady. She was older, much older, probably ten years his senior.

"No milady." he replied in a timid voice "The lady is correct."

He looked into her blue eyes, they were the colour of dark sapphires, her eyes matched his own. She had beautiful long brown hair that nearly touched the floor when she sat.

"Why don't you return to your country?" she exclaimed. "What do you fear?"

"Should I return to Scotland, I would have to take my father's place at court." Fleance replied. "But that is not the life I wish to have."

"So you would choose a life of forges, books and solitude," she asked. "over the life of a spoiled nobleman?"

"Why, yes milady..." he laughed. "Is there any harm in that?"

"You are wise, Fleance," she smiled. "Most wise."

She smiled at him, and he smiled back. They met each other every night in the library, and soon there was more than just conversation these two shared. She was beautiful, the most beautiful thing Fleance had ever seen, she was the niece of the French Queen.

 

Within a year, the lady had an arranged marriage to the King of England. She had asked her uncle and her husband if Fleance could be her royal bodyguard, luckily the two kings accepted. Fleance moved with her to England, where he became a musician in the English Court. They always met in secret, in the library, or in the palace gardens. But all that changed within a few months, and they did not see each other at all for she now carried the child of the King. The months flew by for Fleance, still much in love, kept a watchful eye on his beauty. The lady soon gave birth to a son, she named him Dominic. Fleance soon became a noble by request of The King of England, he accepted and realized a nobleman's life suited him, and it suited him very well.

 

The years passed, and The English King soon died of old age, and the throne was given to the fifteen-year-old prince. Fleance, proficient in almost all subjects, was already one of the highest ranking noblemen at court, he attended all the meetings, he was known for his innovative ideas and much more. He played and sang for the young king Dominic and the lady every once in a while, the lady never met with him, but everything he had was enough for him.

 

Relations between England, Scotland and Ireland was deplorable, in fact England was on the brink of war. Then one day, King Dominic was out on his horse going for his daily morning ride, when he was attacked by a battalion of Light Scottish Calvary. He was badly wounded, but with the help of Fleance, he escaped alive. England declared war on Scotland. The King of Ireland was the pawn of Donalbain at that time, and was tricked into joining forces with Scotland, led by Malcolm, Donalbain's brother. England turned to France for help but they declined the idea of an alliance. Fleance was knighted, given a silver ring, and he became Dominic's the royal adviser. The war raged for 3 years, and the English were losing. England was desperate.

 

One night the lady sneaked out into the forest, hooded and cloaked. She followed a trail of small lights until she came to the mouth of a cave. There in the cave stood three hags and an old man.

"All hail Hectate!" said the first witch. "Queen-Mother of Dominic!"

"All hail!" the four shouted.

"All hail Hectate!" said the second witch. "Queen-Mother of England!"

"All hail!"

"All hail Hectate!" said the third witch. "Queen-Mother of the Irish, English & Scots!"

"All hail!"

The five friends gathered around the small bonfire inside of the smelly cave.

"Long since we've met like this," said Hectate. "Too long has it been!"

"Your son, Dominic," exclaimed the old man. "You have raised him well..."

"Ooh yes!" said the first witch. "He carries the spirit of his grandfather."

"He is wise, much like his father." said the second. "He is a good King."

"He will be the one!" exclaimed the third. "The land will have peace, and our job here will be done!"

"I need council." Hectate said.

"Yes." said the old man. "The war has not been fruitful, it is most disappointing."

The five went around the cave, gathering a cauldron, various ingredients, started to chant & dance around the cave.

"Thrice the brinded cat hath mew'd.

Thrice and once the hedge-pig whined.

Harpier cries 'Tis time, 'tis time.

Round about the cauldron go;

In the poison'd entrails throw.

Toad, that under cold stone

Days and nights has thirty-one

Swelter'd venom sleeping got,

Boil thou first i' the charmed pot

Double, double toil and trouble;

Fire burn and cauldron bubble."

It started to rain heavily outside the cave, winds were fierce, thunder filled the air, and lightning flooded the night sky. Smoke rose from the cauldron and filled the cave, and in the smog floated the ghost of Lady Macbeth.

"Unclean! Unclean!" she screamed pointing at Hectate. "Like me! You hands incarnadine! Forever stained by the blood of Kings!"

"Begone with you!" said the old man. "We summon you not!!!"

With a blood curdling scream she was sucked back into the cauldron. The smoke's colour started to change, from green to a deep blue. Out from the cauldron rose a circle of eight kings, with Banquo at the centre holding a silver goblet.

"You have done well, Hectate." said the ghost of Banquo. "My grandson will be the crowned child!"

"But beware, farmer of the seed of Banquo!" said one of the kings.  "To watch the seeds cultivate and grow, none of them must strike the final blow!"

"What of Malcolm?" asked Hectate. "What of Donalbain?"

"Sons of Duncan!" shouted the other king. "So uncouth! Unfit to rule! Away with them! Away with them all!"

"Drink!" said the ghost of Banquo. "Let them drink from my cup! Drink away! Drink them to eternal sleep! Drink them all to gates of hell deep!"

Banquo's ghost and the eight kings laughed. Their unearthly laughter filled the cave and swarmed into the night. They laughed, and laughed, and laughed. They laughed as their spirits dove back into the bubbling cauldron and Lady Macbeth's spirit appeared in the smoke once again.

"Unclean! Unclean!" she screamed at Hectate. "You will wash their blood off your hands! But still unclean! You will shame to wear a heart so white!!! And the shades will steal away your soul at night!"

"Begone!!!" shouted the old man, as he threw a charm into the cauldron.

The cauldron then became empty, and the storm outside had suddenly ceased. There was nothing in the air, no smoke, no sound, just silence.

"Many thanks. And I bid you farewell my friends." said Hectate.

She grabbed a vial of purple liquid off one of the shelves on the cave walls and left.

 

The following night, Hectate, disguised as an entertainer, sneaked behind enemy lines. She danced for the soldiers and nobles in the camp. At the end of her number with the other performers she suck to the back of the camp. She quietly placed two drops of the purple liquid, from the vial around her neck, into each wine barrel.

"A toast! All hail!" said McDonald. "All hail Malcolm and to the victory of tomorrows!"

They drank the night away, they drank and drank and drank.

 

The English attacked at dawn, they filled the camp and were shocked by what they saw. The nobles of Scotland and Ireland lay on the floor in a moribund heap and lifeless and their bodies pale and cold. The maids and page boys that also drank lay on the ground with them. The camp stunk with wine, the stench of silence, it reeked of death. There were too many of them, too many of them to properly bury.

"Hail to Malcolm & Donalbain," exclaimed Dominic. "and hail to those who now wander as shades waiting for Charon by the Styx."

And with that they just burned the entire camp to the ground. News spread like a wildfire, and so did the troops of King Dominic.

 

That night of the camp's burning, Hectate returned to the cave in the forest. There sat around the cauldron the three hags and the old man.

"What have you done?!" shouted the old man. "The innocent are amongst those who lie in ash!"

"Haunted, already are you!" said the first witch.

"Their spirits are angry!" said the second. "They follow you here!"

"Accursed is the state of your death." said the third. "People will see the blood you have caused!"

"You have done the deed," shouted the old man. "But have not done it well!"

"I have done the heroic!" Hectate shouted. "I have cleansed this land!"

Lighting stuck. Rain poured. Smoke rose from the cauldron and appeared the ghost of Lady Macbeth.

"Fool!" shouted Lady Macbeth. "Utter fool!!! Heeded not, was my warning!"

"You warned me of blood on these hands," Hectate said. "but no blood has touched this skin!"

"No blood indeed!" the ghost shouted. "Their blood is not on your skin, but hidden underneath it! It will fester, and boil, and the ghosts of the innocent will follow its stench!"

"No!" Hectate screamed. "You lie!!!"

"They will follow you, like he follows me!" Lady Macbeth's ghost said. "And in chains of the dead,  although murdered for noble cause, he still follows me!"

"You lying wench!" Hectate screamed at the ghost.

Lady's Macbeth's ghost vanished and the cave was silent. Hectate was alone. The cauldron preparedness, along with the three hags and the old man.

"Be troubled not Hectate." she said to herself. "You have taken the fall for his seed. And a good harvest this kingdom will forever have."

 

One week later, Dominic became King of England, Ireland, and Scotland, and it became one nation. Fleance was appointed governor of Scotland, where he governed for years, helping the king restore peace to the land. Things became good again, fields were plentiful, and the livestock were fat. Children ran in the streets again, and no one ever locked their doors at night. The men were happy, the women sang again, and even the dogs and cats danced. This was a period of peace, a time of healing, the corruption of the land was cleansed. Then the unpredictable happened, plague suddenly stuck the Scotland and with one foul swoop, and toppled the towering hearts of the kingdom's men.

 

Fleance was sick, he was dying. The King had him brought to the capital to be taken care of. Hectate stayed by his side, day and night, night and day. She watched him as he slept, and tasted his food before he ate. But, all the medicine, and all the rituals preformed on him, and all the love in her heart she could give him, was not enough. He soon passed, he passed in his sleep with a smile on his face. He was given a proper farewell, a hero's funeral, and following his last request, his body was burned and the ashes thrown into the sea.

 

The kingdom recovered quickly from the plague, but Hectate had not. At night she cowered, and tried to hide from the guilt and the ghosts that festered inside of her. She kept Fleance's ring, the ring that was given to him the day he was knighted. She kept that ring on a silver chain around her neck, she never took it off, she carried it wherever she went, she even carried the ring to her deathbed along with the ghosts that still haunted her.

"Mother!" cried Dominic.

"Do not cry, my boy." Hectate said. "Death, the dead, the dying...

"Not so faraway are the dead..." said a voice that Dominic did not seem to hear.

"The dying are merely passing." she continued.

Then there were the voices, many voices. The voices deep inside her head, the voices that haunted her day and night.

"And the dead are actually among the living." laughed the voices in her head.

She held Dominic's hand, and in it she placed the ring. It was still as shiny and clean as it was when it had been first given to Fleance. It was a beautiful thing, it was a crown of laurel leaves with blue jewel in its centre.

"Look into the jewel." said Hectate.

Dominic look into it.

"You stare into the eye of your true father." she said.

Inside the jewel, different shades of blue started to swirl.

"Join us!" the voices shouted to Hectate. "The harvest is over."

Dominic looked into the jewel more intensely. There in that ring, in that blue jewel, he saw a man holding the hand of Fleance. Dominic then raised his eyes from the ring to look at his mother. She lay there on the bed, and he looked at her with complete fear. Her lips stained purple, eyes pure white, and her hands blood red; dead.

 

King Dominic lived for many years more. He was fair, he was just, he was kind, and he was strong. He married, and had children of his own, and passed the ring down to his son, and his son passed it to his. His sons who became kings were all like him. They were fair, they were just, they were kind, and they were strong. All beautiful fruits of one tree, the tree that grew from one seed. Banquo.