Chapter 24
Once Crinian was dealt with and on his way back to his monastery, I returned to Macbeth’s chamber and began sorting through the mess. As I went through the papers on his desk, I could see his slip from competent to his current vertical position on the chapel floor. There was so much work to be done. There was no time for madness. No time for anything. The state of the realm was one of upheaval. I hardly knew where to start.
But I did start.
One item at a time, I answered every letter, sent messengers, ordered supplies, redistributed troops, and plotted a way forward.
Wordlessly, servants brought in food and drink for me, but the day passed so fast that I was surprised when it was nightfall once more.
I rose, pulling up my gloves, then headed back to the chapel.
There, I found Macbeth sitting cross-legged in front of the altar.
He stared at the crucifix hanging there.
“Go to bed, Macbeth. You need rest.”
“I am tired,” Macbeth said.
“Yes, I’m sure you are.”
Macbeth rose on unsteady feet. I gestured for his man to take his arm. “Think nothing of this. He’ll be well in a few days,” I told the servant.
“Of course, Queen Gruoch.”
“And say nothing.”
“Of course not, Your Majesty.”
I nodded then watched the two depart.
I stood in the chapel for a few moments. It was a small, congested space with wooden walls, floor, and a low ceiling. A breeze blew in from the open window. On the breeze, I caught the slightest scent of spring tinged with wood smoke.
Moonlight shone in from the window, casting its rays on the effigy of Jesus hanging above the altar.
“If he is your son, as your priests say we all are, then heal his mind,” I whispered to the effigy.
There was no reply.
I had not expected one.
The White Christ had never spoken to me.
As I crossed the room to leave, however, there was an odd commotion behind me. A bird had come to roost on the open windowsill. It was a dove. It turned and looked at me, it’s dark eye glimmering in the moonlight. It cooed softly.
I sucked in a breath, remembering the vision Scotia had given me.
Perhaps there was a way to put the pieces of Macbeth together after all.
Chapter 25
I worked tirelessly over the coming weeks as Macbeth lay in his bedchamber staring at the wall. It was long past time when I had hoped to return to Moray. I eyed my growing belly skeptically, knowing that I would soon have to think of a solution to my problem. Aside from fleeing and letting everything fall into disrepair, my options were limited. I needed to get Macbeth on his feet if I had any hope of making my way north before anyone knew I was with child.
Of course, hiding such knowledge from my maids was impossible.
“I’ll select dresses with more fabric at the front. They will conceal your state better,” Tira told me. “And I’ll loosen the laces where I can.”
Rhona studied me carefully then shook her head. “You know there will be talk.”
“And Macbeth… Would be best if we move back to Moray,” Tira said, echoing my thoughts.
I nodded. “I agree. But there is much to be done.”
“Yes. But I worry, my lady.”
She didn’t have to tell me. I, too, worried. I needed to leave, and soon.
Rising early one morning, I took out my box of medicines and went to Macbeth’s chamber.
“Queen Gruoch,” his servant said, bowing when I approached. Remembering Macbeth’s whoring at Inverness, I hesitated.
“Is His Majesty within?”
The man nodded then went inside, motioning for me to follow.
The room was dank and dark. Incense burned, making the air stifling.
“Has he left the chamber at all?” I whispered.
“No. But the priest comes three times a day.”
I nodded to the man then motioned for him to leave.
Crossing the room, I pulled back the heavy drapes and flung open the windows.
“Who is there?” Macbeth called from his bed.
“Your wife.”
“My wife,” he repeated.
I pushed open every window then eyed the room. Macbeth had drawn the drapes on his bed closed. Feeling unreasonably furious, I snatched the fabric back.
“What—what are you doing?” Macbeth asked, wincing at the bright sunlight.
“Airing out this sty.”
Macbeth sat up in bed. He had grown a scraggly beard. His bedclothes smelled sour.
I went to the door. Macbeth’s man came to attention. “Have fresh linens brought. I need a maid to come tidy the room.”
The servant nodded then rushed off.
Turning, I headed back inside. Opening my box, I pulled out one herb at a time, carefully selecting those I thought might ease his mind and balance him. I ground the herbs into a fine powder then mixed them into a glass of water.
“Get up,” I told Macbeth, pulling out the chair at his table.
“What is that?”
“Medicine. I made you a similar tonic in Thurso…many moons ago.”
Macbeth rose slowly then slumped into the chair.
I pushed the cup toward him.
“Your Majesties?” a voice called from the door.
I turned to find the maid there.
“Strip everything,” I told the maid, motioning to the bed. Macbeth’s servant stood at the door. “And you, sir. Set out fresh clothes for the king. Get his washing tub. And a shave…” I said then paused. “Well…the beard suits you,” I told Macbeth.
“I’ll leave it,” he said absently.
I nodded. “It needs to be trimmed, as does your hair.”
I turned to Macbeth’s servant who nodded.
Just outside the chamber, I spotted another footman. “You there,” I called to the boy. “Bring a breakfast for His Majesty. Tell the cook I want whatever fresh fruits and cheese there is to be had. Fish, if there is any. Honey cakes.”
I looked back at Macbeth who was staring at me, his eyes wide and fixed.
“What are you doing?” he whispered.
“What needs to be done.”
One obstacle at a time, I would make my way to my fate.
I glanced at Macbeth’s cup. “Drink. Finish it.”
He did as I asked then slid the cup toward me. I took it from him, rinsing it in the basin. I cleaned my tools then packed my bag back up.
“After you are dressed, you will go outside, walk the grounds, and check on the soldiers.”
“Gruoch, I—”
“I don’t want to hear anything. You need fresh air and exercise. I will be in your council chamber when you are finished,” I said then latched my box closed once more.
Satisfied I’d made a start forward, I left Macbeth’s chamber.
It was some time after lunch when Macbeth arrived. He looked pale and gaunt. There were dark rings under his eyes and an odd gleam within them. He sat down in a chair in front of the fire.
“Gruoch,” he said, but then he said nothing else.
“I’ve had an idea,” I told Macbeth.
“What idea?” Macbeth asked absently.
“That you should take a pilgrimage to Rome.”
Macbeth turned and looked at me. “To Rome? Me?”
“Many rulers do so. We need to strengthen our ties abroad, and you need to strengthen yourself.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Yes, you do. I have never fully agreed with the priests of the White Christ nor do I embrace your faith. But I believe that if you embrace your faith, you may find a way back to that man I met at Lumphanan.”