FOURTH CROWD MEMBER What’s this? The sun is covered.
SECOND CROWD MEMBER A blot upon the heavens! ’Tis
unnatural!
FIFTH CROWD MEMBER ’Tis said to be thus when a saint
doth die.
Bedroom.
Malcolm watches from the window, weeping.
Exeunt all.
SCENE VI
Scottish shore.
Enter Fleance, Ross, Lennox, Angus and Soldiers.
FLEANCE The fog rolls out to greet us, whilst our ship
has barely touched the shore. A good sign.
For the fog is to advantage when
so greatly outmanned.
ROSS Then Scotland comes to its own
defense, in helping to oust its tyrant.
LENNOX Look!
In the fog!
ANGUS What apparition’s this?
ROSS It takes the form of your dead father.
FLEANCE Banquo
it is, come to greet his wayward son,
to help conclude what he could not.
ROSS What’s there?
Behind him!
LENNOX ’Tis an illusion. I spot eight kings.
ANGUS The last holds a glass.
ROSS The sisters thus
did prophesy. The seed of Banquo stirs.
Enter Cawdor’s Son and Soldiers.
ROSS You there! No further.
LENNOX What sort of welcoming
party is this?
FLEANCE By your brandished arms
it appears you hail in Malcolm’s cause.
CAWDOR’S SON No,
as these arms are but the outward sign
of our love on your behalf. We have
come to aid you in your mission.
FLEANCE Whence
hail you?
CAWDOR’S SON From a place no son should hope.
You, sir, have the good fortune to hail from
an illustrious father, whose cause you champion
with equal valor. I’ve a father of
another kind: alas, his very name
doth shame the air.
FLEANCE Speak it, then. Our time
is short.
CAWDOR’S SON Pray you, by the father do not
hate the son: Cawdor is my lineage.
ROSS What? Another Macbeth?
CAWDOR’S SON No. My father
was Cawdor first, he who betrayed Scotland
for Norway in our time of need.
LENNOX A traitor
was he! Hanged by righteous Duncan.
CAWDOR’S SON And
rightfully so. I do not contest.
Rather, I beseech, good Fleance, give me one chance
to clear my family’s name. ’Tis the only
name I own, and a father does not
always a son make.
ANGUS Do not trust him.
His father was a treacherous villain.
ROSS Such depth of treachery cannot erase
in but a single generation. You’d risk
all our fates to trust one so poor bred.
FLEANCE What do you propose?
CAWDOR’S SON I have here a hundredscore men,
each one loyal, and each knowing I bear
no likeness to my father. We offer to
abet your cause.
FLEANCE What have you in return?
CAWDOR’S SON Should your grace see fit: to restore
the Cawdor title to my family.
ROSS Do not be swayed, my lord. For in the heat
of battle, he will turn, as did his father,
and ravage us the worst.
LENNOX A trick or trap
it could be, contrived together with Malcolm.
FLEANCE I, too, champion my father’s name,
though I wish I’d done it sooner. I shall
trust you, for it takes equal courage
to trust as to live, and in these times
we must learn to live again. A son
must not be branded for his father’s deceit.
Know you that we stand outmanned?
CAWDOR’S SON Too well.
But if this day should be my last, then it
will be well spent. The number of our days
matters not if we have no just cause
to fill them.
FLEANCE Then kneel.
Cawdor’s Son kneels. Fleance knights him.
FLEANCE And rise, Cawdor.
For from this moment you shall wear that title,
in anticipation of your valiant
action on the field this day.
CAWDOR God bless
your grace. I shall not betray.
FLEANCE Men.
On this day we fight to set wrongs right,
to oust a tyrant, and restore the throne of Scotland.
Do you wish to live your years in Ireland,
hiding as cowards? Do you wish to live
as exiles, banished from your homes, in order
ALL No! Never!
FLEANCE Then ride with me this day. Hold high your swords,
and ever after it shall be recalled
that on this day few fought against many,
and with valor challenged tyranny!
ALL Hail, Fleance! Scotland’s rightful king!
Exeunt.
SCENE VII
Dunsinane. Courtyard.
Enter Porter. A knocking.
PORTER Knock, knock! Shall this pounding ever cease? If not
the wind, then ’tis some lonely soul, thinking he’ll find
grace behind these walls. Knock, knock! Patience is a virtue
lost by all but me. It takes proper time to open a door; ’tis
an art missed by those ignorant of the craft. Knock! By my
slow tread I make you knock some more, and anticipate the
opening. ’Tis what a good porter does: for it is the anticipa-
tion that brings the visitor most joy.
Porter opens the door.
MESSENGER An army comes through the shades of
Birnam Wood!
I must to the king!
Exit Messenger.
PORTER Without me, this door would not have opened, and
thus this messenger would not have passed. News would
not spread. Armies would not prepare. Ah, the life of a
porter! I am the keeper of all there is. An army approaches?
I’ve seen many an army pass by this gate. One will be the
victor, the other, vanquished. One day the victor, too, will
be vanquished. But I shall always remain. For the victor
will always need a door. And that door will always need a
porter!
Exit.