Malcolm rode north at the head of a great army that spring, with Macduff by his side. The English king had lent them many warriors. As soon as Malcolm crossed the border, the Scottish thanes rose against Macbeth, bringing their men to the fight, too. And for a time it seemed that the gates of hell had opened wide on the suffering people and their country.
Arrows swished through the air, sword clanged on sword, and men screamed and bled and died. Macbeth had plenty of warriors. But they were men who fought for money, not because they believed in his right to be king. The kind of men who were happy to kill innocent people and burn their villages. And that made the people hate Macbeth even more.
Macbeth moved back to his old castle on Dunsinane Hill, and made it as strong as he could. But strange things happened inside it, just as they had done at the royal palace.
One night, when everyone should have been sleeping but the guards on the walls, a doctor came to Lady Macbeth’s private rooms. He knocked quietly, and a maid opened the door. She held her finger to her lips and let him in, closing the door behind them. A candle cast a flickering light, and shadows danced in the corners.
‘Tell me again about this… sleepwalking,’ whispered the doctor.
‘It started when the fighting began,’ the maid replied. ‘The queen would get out of bed, walk around for a while talking to herself, then get back into bed. And all the time she would be asleep.’
‘Very odd,’ said the doctor. ‘What did she actually say?’
‘I… I can’t tell you,’ said the maid, suddenly uneasy. ‘She spoke about things that have happened. But no one else was there to hear her, so I can’t prove it. And I don’t want to get into trouble. But wait, here she comes!’
An inner door creaked open, and Lady Macbeth came out of her bedroom. She walked past the doctor and the maid, ignoring them.
‘Her eyes are wide open, but she obviously can’t see us…’ whispered the doctor. ‘And why is she rubbing her hands?’
‘She does that a lot, even when she’s awake,’ said the maid. ‘I’ve seen her do it for a quarter of an hour at a time. It’s as if she’s washing them.’
‘Here’s another spot!’ moaned Lady Macbeth. She looked at her hands, and rubbed them crazily. ‘Who would have thought the old man had so much blood in him?’
The doctor drew a sharp breath and glanced at the maid. ‘Did you hear that?’ he hissed. But the maid put her finger to her lips again.
‘The Thane of Fife had a wife. Where is she now?’ said Lady Macbeth in a singsong voice. Then she sighed. ‘And here’s the smell of blood still. All the perfume in the world will not sweeten this little hand of mine…’ She talked of Banquo’s death, and the deaths of many others, and finally she went back to bed.
‘You’d better keep an eye on her,’ said the doctor. ‘And make sure she doesn’t harm herself. I’ll tell the king…’
The doctor hurried through the castle, then crossed the courtyard. It was now filled with the noise of warriors getting ready for battle. Men shouted and horses neighed. Macbeth was in the hall with his hard-faced warriors. Messengers came in with reports, and left with his orders.
‘Bring me my armour, Seyton,’ Macbeth yelled. Seyton was his personal body servant. ‘Is there any more news?’
‘You’ve heard it all already, my lord,’ said Seyton. He hurried over to the king. ‘And I don’t think you need to put on your armour just yet.’
‘Well, I do!’ roared Macbeth. Seyton quickly got to work. Just then, Macbeth saw the doctor enter the hall. ‘How is she, doctor? Still sick?’
‘I wouldn’t call it a sickness, my lord,’ the doctor said. ‘Her mind seems to be full of bad thoughts. That’s why she can’t sleep.’
‘Don’t you have anything to cure her?’ said Macbeth. ‘Some drug to calm her brain?’
‘Alas no, my lord,’ murmured the doctor. ‘It’s the kind of problem you can only solve for yourself.’
‘Hang your medicine then!’ roared Macbeth. He shivered as if someone had walked across his grave. For a moment he felt certain there would be no quiet future for him, either. But why should he worry? Burnam Wood would never come to Dunsinane. And he couldn’t be killed by any man born of a woman… Seyton buckled his breastplate, then Macbeth put on his horned helmet and picked up his shield. The doubts went away. ‘Although I don’t suppose you’ve got a drug to get rid of these rebels, have you, doctor?’ he said, and his warriors laughed.
‘Er… I’m afraid not, my lord,’ said the doctor.
Macbeth grinned. ‘Not to worry,’ he said, striding out of the hall. ‘I can deal with them!’
The doctor watched him go, shaking his head. He thought about escaping from Macbeth’s castle. It seemed like a wise thing to do…
Malcolm’s army, meanwhile, was approaching. The sky was blue, but half full of fluffy, white clouds that hid the sun. Their shadows moved swiftly over the warriors below. Suddenly Malcolm raised his hand. His army came to a halt at the edge of a thick forest.
‘What is this wood called?’ he said.
‘Why, Burnam Wood, my lord,’ said one of his men. ‘Macbeth’s castle lies beyond it, on Dunsinane Hill. But we can’t be seen from here.’
‘That’s good,’ said Malcolm. ‘I don’t want the villain to know how big my army is yet. So this is what we’ll do. I want every man to cut a branch from a tree and hold it before him as we march on the castle. That way our numbers will be concealed, and we’ll have surprise on our side!’
Later that morning, Macbeth strode out into the courtyard. He was pleased with the way things were going. ‘This castle is too strong for Malcolm,’ he said, grinning. ‘He and his men can sit outside my walls for as long as they like, but they’ll never get in.’
Suddenly, there was the sound of women screaming. Macbeth whirled round, startled. ‘What is that noise?’ he said.
‘It was the cry of Lady Macbeth’s maids, my lord,’ said a wide-eyed Seyton, running up to him. ‘The queen… has killed herself.’
Macbeth turned away, and looked up at the sky. She was too young to die, he thought. But what did it matter? What did anything matter? Time moved on from day to day, and Death waited for us all in the end. Living was like being an actor on a stage. Someone who struts and talks and vanishes, never to be seen again. Life was a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, and meant nothing…
Macbeth looked round at last. He saw that another messenger was waiting. This one seemed nervous, his eyes even wider than Seyton’s.
‘Well then?’ snapped Macbeth. ‘What have you got to tell me?’
‘I don’t know how to say it, my lord…’ said the messenger. ‘I was on guard duty, watching from the walls, and I thought I saw…’
‘Speak up, man!’ yelled Macbeth. ‘For heaven’s sake, spit it out!’
‘I thought I saw Burnam Wood begin to move,’ said the messenger.
‘You’re a liar!’ roared Macbeth, grabbing the man by the throat. ‘And you’ll be a dead liar, too, if you’re trying to upset me. I’ll have you hanged and your body left dangling till the flesh falls from your bones.’
‘I’m not, I swear!’ said the messenger. ‘Go and see for yourself!’
Macbeth raced up to the castle wall. He looked out across the land… and suddenly felt his blood run cold. A great mass of green was coming towards him. ‘You will never be defeated…’ he muttered to himself. ‘Not till Great Burnam Wood comes marching to attack you on high Dunsinane Hill.’
And now it was doing just that…
Had the Weird Sisters and the spirits tricked him? Was everything else they said lies, too? Well, whatever the truth, there was only one way to deal with it — like a man. Macbeth squared his shoulders and set his jaw. He didn’t care if Death was waiting for him, so long as their meeting place could be on the battlefield. ‘Open the gates!’ he yelled. ‘Come on, lads, let’s show these rebel weaklings what we’re made of!’
Soon Macbeth was thundering down the hill on his horse at the head of his army. He roared boldly, and the sunlight flashed off his sword…
‘Throw away your branches now,’ Malcolm said calmly. ‘It’s time to fight. Good luck to you all, and death to the villain Macbeth!’
Malcolm’s army rushed forward. The ground shook as the men raced towards each other, and they met with a great CRASH! Blades clanged on blades and helmets and shields. Arrows flew, horses screamed and kicked, men hacked and stabbed and bled and died.
Macbeth fought like a demon. ‘No man born of woman can kill me!’ he yelled — even though deep inside he was no longer sure it was true. But he was still a fierce and skilful warrior, and it did seem that no man could stand up to him. His sword cut through Malcolm’s warriors like a knife through water.
Macduff searched for Macbeth. He wouldn’t fight anyone other than the man who had murdered his family. ‘I’d rather put my sword back in its sheath unused than kill one of these pathetic men you pay to fight for you, Macbeth,’ he muttered to himself amid the din…
Then, suddenly, he heard a much greater noise coming from a part of the battlefield. That’s where Macbeth would be, where the fight was hottest… Macduff ran towards the sound, his sword raised.
Macbeth was pulling his own sword from yet another dead warrior when he heard a harsh voice behind him.
‘Turn, hellhound, turn!’ it said.
Macbeth looked round. Macduff was staring at him, his eyes glittering with hate. It went strangely quiet around them, and it seemed as if they were the only two men on the battlefield.
‘Get away from me, Macduff,’ Macbeth murmured. ‘I don’t want to fight you. I’ve got far too much blood of yours on my hands already.’
‘And I’ve got nothing more to say to you, foul villain,’ said Macduff, moving in closer. ‘I’ll let my sword do the talking for me!’
Then he rushed at Macbeth, and a mighty fight began. Macduff struck with all his fury. But Macbeth held off every blow, and fought back fiercely. Sparks flew as steel clanged on steel. After a while, they paused. Their chests were heaving, and sweat dripped from their cheeks.
‘You’re… not… really… getting… anywhere, are you?’ said Macbeth, panting. He smiled broadly. ‘But I could have told you it was a bad idea to fight me. A spirit promised me that no man born of woman could ever kill me, Macduff. You might as well give up trying now.’
‘I… don’t… think… so,’ said Macduff, leaning on his sword. Then he did something Macbeth hadn’t been expecting. Macduff smiled, too. ‘You see, I wasn’t born like other men,’ said Macduff. ‘My mother died when she was giving birth to me… and I was cut out of her womb.’
Macbeth’s blood ran cold. So that’s the way it worked, he thought. The spirits hadn’t lied. They simply hadn’t told him the whole truth, and he’d believed only what he’d wanted to believe. Foul was fair and fair was foul, it seemed…
‘I curse you for telling me so,’ Macbeth muttered. ‘It has made me lose my courage. It’s over, I won’t fight you.’
‘Give up then, you coward,’ said Macduff, sneering. ‘We’ll put you on show like the monster you are, and charge people to look at you.’
‘Oh no, you won’t,’ said Macbeth. He scowled and pulled himself together. ‘I’ll not be laughed at by some mob, and I won’t kiss the ground at Malcolm’s feet, either. So what if Burnam Wood came to Dunsinane and you’re not born of a woman? I’ll give it one last try. Bring it on, Macduff… and damned be either of us if we cry stop, enough!’
Macbeth charged forward with a great, final roar, his sword raised.
Macduff crashed into him halfway, and the fight raged more fiercely than before. But Macduff was the stronger man, and killed the villain with a sweeping stroke. Macbeth’s head flew from his body.
At that moment Malcolm arrived, with Lennox and Ross and a host of other thanes and warriors. The battle was over — Macbeth’s men beaten, the castle taken. Macduff picked up Macbeth’s head and held it high.
‘Hail, King Malcolm!’ he said. ‘Hail, the new King of Scotland!’
Everyone joined in. Malcolm’s army roared their approval and banged their shields with their swords. The clouds had gone, and the sun shone down from a sky of blue, on a king who was good, and wise, and true.
And so ends this story of darkness and death, the tale of a man called… Macbeth!