Hello, ModernDayBard here! Welcome to the sixth chapter of Upon this Blasted Heath, my Macbeth fanfic. We are now firmly in the part that I have imagined myself, only loosely inspired by the characters Shakespeare created and the setting of the particular production I was involved with. I hope you enjoy!
Remember: I don't own Macbeth (plot, dialogue, or characters), and anything in bold and italics are words that are either Shakespeare's or part of the prologue of Regent University's production of this show. However, the words with which I narrate and the new direction this story takes are completely my own.
"Macbeth returns!"
The news spread through the king's camp at Forres, and an air of excitement fairly thrummed as Glamis's fellow Thanes and their men anticipated the return of the heroic general. Rumors somehow come before the unit said that Macbeth and Banquo had defeated the remnant of Cawdor's men without losing a man—some said their victory had happened even before reinforcements had reached them.
Duncan dared not pay heed to rumors, but still hope blossomed in the chest of the king as Macbeth, Banquo, Lennox, Ross, Angus and Macduff approached, marching in front of their combined men who, themselves, marched smartly in formation. It was a promising, martial sight, and they were greeted by the cheers of their fellow soldiers who'd remained at Forres.
The King of Scotland let his eyes drift to the rear of the column, and a part of him relaxed when it became clear that no bodies were being carried on liters. And yet...the faces of all incoming men were solemn, almost grief-stricken, and their gate was ponderous, heavy. Something was wrong, and the cheers died in the throats of the soldiers. Cold fingers of dread gripped Duncan's stomach as he scanned the heads of the returning men, hoping against hope to see twin flashes of red hair.
Macbeth stepped forward, kneeling before his sovereign, glad that he was not meeting those searching, steel-grey eyes. *The twins had his eyes...*
"Most valiant and worthy cousin—" King Duncan began
The new Cawdor flinched visibly at his uncle's words, finding his voice at last as he dared to raise his head, still kneeling. "King and Uncle, I am your sworn servant forever, and never have I before hesitated in my duty. Know that now I do so not out of disloyalty, but grief. It is with a heavy heart that I must report—" The formal tone faltered as the general's voice broke, but after a moment, he continued, no longer able to meet the eyes of his king. "—I must report that your children...are...are dead."
The whispered news ran through the crowd, dimming the mood at once. Duncan stared at the kneeling figure in front of him, neutral face a mask for the turmoil within. *Malcolm? And Donalbain? B-but how?*
His gaze fell instinctively upon his right-hand, Macduff, and in so doing lighted on the weary, wounded men who'd followed the five Thanes. As king, as their leader, he knew his personal grief must, for the moment, give way. "Cawdor," he began formally, invoking his nephew's newest title, "Thanes, dismiss your men, then make your report in my tent." *In private, where I may say and ask things I cannot before my whole army.* He still could not quite grasp that the last of his family was gone, but the grief in the five faces that looked to him, nodding at his order, left little room for the comforts of doubt.
The span of two hours had passed in the somber royal camp as the king of Scotland was presented with the details of his children's demise, as much as his generals could give him. The indelible truth remained that none could determine how the twins had contracted the Virus in the first place.
Macduff cast a worried eye on the silent Duncan, as his sovereign had barely moved in the past half-hour. The general watched as the steel-grey eyes fixed themselves on Macbeth yet again, feeling sympathy for his fellow Thane, who'd borne the brunt of the king's questions, his grief. Glamis had been the twin's superior officer, and the last to speak to Malcolm while the prince still had breath.
"Malcolm was sure Donalbain had been healthy before the battle began?"
The bald Thane answered simply, no longer willing or able to give more than the plainest report. "Aye, my liege."
"And it was her wounds, he said, contaminated with the Virus—which was how he contracted the illness?" A thought he could not quite verbalize now pestered the mind of the king, a puzzle with pieces yet missing.
"Aye, sire," Macbeth replied.
Duncan surged to his feet, and the five Thanes followed suit, worry building as they followed their king from his tent to where the prisoners of the latest battle awaited his judgment.
The king of Scotland surveyed the seated men, his cold, dispassionate gaze flicking from face to face, lingering but briefly on the ones he recognized until, at last, it came to rest on one he knew to have been close in the former Cawdor's councils. Still-strong hands seized the man by his collar and hauled him to his feet.
"I know you," Duncan growled, ignoring the five Thanes behind him, "the treacherous Cawdor gave you sanctuary when you were cast from court."
"My lord sheltered me from unfair, narrow-minded persecution. He was a great man."
At that, Macduff expected to restrain his king, but it was not necessary. What came next was a question, not a blow. "You were banned from court because of your unhealthy obsession with the Virus and your propensity to test on your servants—were you not?"
"I was thrown from my home because those in power refused to acknowledge the value of my insight. Fortunately, not all nobles are so cowardly."
Duncan's jaw tensed slightly, betraying the rage within, but his voice was still level as he continued to press. "You once tried to convince me to adapt and weaponize the virus. I well imagine now that the former Cawdor was interested by the prospect."
The small man still showed no trace of fear as he faced the furious eyes of the king. "And wherever he is now, he is pleased by my success. We never imagined to strike so near the throne on first try."
"Trust not so much in your master's pleasure," Lennox growled, breaking the silence of the watching generals. "Your colossus fell to a young soldier before he could spread your dread poison to more than his killer. The virus died within him and his only two victims."
Macduff next took up the strain, stepping up beside his king. "And based on the lack of care given to the armor of your other unfortunate followers, he was your only walking weapon. Your home will be searched and your research destroyed, along with whatever other unholy experiments you dared to indulge in. Your impact ends here, today."
The king's right-hand was rewarded by a flicker of emotion in the traitor's eyes—his theory had been proved correct. So long as the man and his ideas died that day, they'd pose no further threat to Scotland. The Thane privately resolved to see to it, personally.
Duncan released his hold, letting the worm of a man fall back to the ground. So, Cawdor had found an unfortunate carrier for his poison, and loosed him on the battlefield when all was lost. The king had his answers, now, but felt they failed to lessen his grief.
By the following evening, a stir went through the camp at Forres. Since questioning the treacherous poisoner, the king had kept to himself and seen no one. As understandable as his grief may have been, the indelible fact remained that the king needed to proclaim a new heir.
While Malcolm had lived, he was Duncan's understood heir, even without being formally pronounced so. But now that the prince was dead, the line of succession had been broken and must be repaired, lest further tragedy befall the royal family and plunge the country into civil war so shortly after the rebellion's failure.
Macbeth stood before the king's tent, shoulders set and jaw clenched as he prepare to enter. The other Thanes had chosen him to be the one to broach the subject with his uncle.
*There are days where being kinsman to the king is more burden than honor.*
The bald Thane had never been one to back down when afraid, and thus with little more hesitation, he entered.
Duncan didn't look up as he heard footsteps behind him. In the hours following the news of the twin's death, he'd found it nigh on impossible to care about much of anything.
"Majesty—" he heard his nephew begin.
Without turning or rising to his feet, Duncan cut off Macbeth's message. "The army is anxious for me to declare a Prince of Cumberland. I have been thinking over the issue this whole night, trying to decide who would be best for Scotland."
The Thane of Glamis heard nothing in the king's statement that warranted a reply and held his tongue, but his thoughts could not likewise be silenced. He'd assumed the king had taken the night to grieve, as should be a father's right. Instead, Duncan had to forget he was father in order to be a king, putting aside his own desires and feelings for the good of his kingdom.
*Malcolm did much the same thing, accepting his fate when fighting it would only have put the rest of the army at risk. No wonder the king must give the matter so much thought—selflessness to such extreme is rare, even in the loyal nobility* He remembered his own feelings of ambition when first he allowed himself to think the witches prophecy could be true indeed, feeling both ashamed and unworthy.
The new Cawdor was startled from his thoughts as the king stood and crossed to his nephew, laying a hand on his shoulder. "Malcolm and Donalbain both spoke well of you and your leadership. I may not have as long with you as I did with the twins, but what I may not be able to teach you, you may have already learned by leading your fiefdom."
Macbeth stared at his uncle, incomprehension on his face and in his mind. "My king?"
"Valiant and worthy coz," Duncan said with what warmth he could muster. He felt a genuine fondness for the younger man before him, and was confident in his choice, but the loss of his children still left him hollow. "I now speak to you plainly, before I announce this formally, but I have chosen to name you as the new Prince of Cumberland, my heir."
I don't blame Macbeth for being scared; can you imagine telling your uncle and boss that both of his kids—his entire family—died on your watch? Didn't think so. Oh, and the story's not quite over yet—we have a few final reactions to get through in the last chapter, so stay tuned!
If you like it, or if you see something that I can improve on, don't hesitate to leave a review and let me know!
Oh, and if the titles of the chapters look or sound weird, all of them are lines or phrases from the actual play (with the exception of 'Prologue,' of course).
