Stories from Birnam Wood

Trix, Part 1

A servant wailed, sitting by the castle steps.The poor sobs rang in the ears of Macbeth. Lady Macbeth was quick to comfort her, feigning concern when in reality she knew the deed had nearly been done. Macbeth approached hesitantly. 

“Rise for your King,” urged Lady Macbeth, helping the younger woman to her feet. Macbeth waved a hand at her dismissively, crouching slightly to talk to the servant. 

“Tell me: what happened when Lord Banquo arrived here?” The servant hiccuped, struggling to form a coherent answer.

“H-he, went to his chamber to change his garments...said he was off to the banquet...grabbed his dagger. A-and his sword. He collected Fleance and they rode off and we haven’t heard from them since!” She burst into fresh tears while Macbeth impatiently tried to get more information. 

“Does he disappear like this normally?” he asked. The woman shook her head violently. He sighed as his wife pulled him aside, out of the servant’s earshot. 

“Why did you bring us here? Weren’t you supposed to meet those three witches?”

“I met them earlier, I’ll share with you their new prophecy come some more free time. In the middle of the night I was roused by a panicked messenger. They still haven’t found the body, but his servants are clearly distraught by his disappearance. It would look odd if his best friend did not at least try to help.”

“He’s dead; we’re wasting our precious time.” 

“Gruoch, this is a perfect opportunity to put an end to Banquo’s line. You know Fleance will turn up here eventually, you know he has nowhere else to go. We can just stay here and ‘mourn’ until we can get—” 

He was interrupted by a small commotion in the nearby wood. Sword drawn, he called out. 

“Who’s there?” Two figures on a horse slowly emerged from the growth. Before Macbeth could make out the faces, the servant jumped up and dashed over excitedly.

“Beatrix! Oh Fleance, dear boy!” She kissed and hugged the woman and child, helping them down. The tall woman kissed the servant before looking over at Macbeth, a strange glint in her eye— distrust, maybe? Or recognition?— before returning her attention to Fleance and the servant. 

“My father is dead; they killed him,” cried the boy. The servant dropped to her knees and hugged him tightly, more tears flowing. 

“Lord Banquo murdered?” Lady Macbeth asked as she and her husband ran over to the three. He nodded. Macbeth spoke up.

“I am so, so sorry for your loss, young Fleance.” He then looked to the mystery woman.

“The poor boy ran from the forest all the way to my home on the outskirts of Lochaber. I brought him here soon as possible, to inform the castle that he was safe with me,” she said. Macbeth stared at her, trying to match the familiarity in her face to a memory. She was no mystery to him. He knew her. At least, he once had.

“May I ask who you are?”

“Forgive me, Your Highness. I guess my title would fit into Lady Stuart of Lochaber, though you would best remember me as Beatrix, the sister of Lord Banquo.” She curtsied despite her lack of a dress, holding her long tunic up over her pants. The memory hit Macbeth like a stone to the back of the skull. Banquo's older sister. He could see the resemblance in her dark complexion, as well as her darker hair and eyes. She was the older girl that often watched over the boys when they played in Birnam Wood as children. Now she was Fleance's aunt. 

"I remember. You would always try to protect us." He met her eyes again. Usually, she would embrace him whenever they happened upon each other, but something was off about her now. She was cold, distant. Instead, she gently grabbed Fleance by his shoulders, turning him to face Macbeth.