I staggered wordlessly behind Macbeth as he yapped on about weather and such which I had already heard twice before. My head spun with the witch's words.
The finger in the soup?
No, it was the very first appearance she had made to me.
Lady Macbeth was the key to saving King Duncan, my lovely son, and Scotland. Or rather, she was the key to their doom.
After all, wasn't she the first to poison Macbeth's mind with the darkness of murder? Allowing these cursed lovers to meet would practically be akin to placing a blade into their eager palms.
An idea wormed itself into my mind. I promised myself there was no other way.
"Come to my castle for a feast," I said with as much doe-eyed sincerity I could muster.
"What, now?" Macbeth spun around in surprise. "We ought to report to His Majesty immediately with news of our victory. I also need to write to my wife."
"The Captain has gone to King Duncan, and so have my loyal soldiers. Our horses have not the energy to make the journey to the king presently, and our wounds demand attention. Let us take a quick rest at my conveniently located abode before the next morning's sunrise."
"I suppose you are right. That's why we're pals, Banquo, you always think of everything."
Upon reaching my castle, a filthy and somewhat pathetic looking block of gray overgrown with weeds around the walls, my boy Fleance welcomed me home in embrace. A flurry of servants fluttered about in the hall fussing about this and that.
"Father, you've won!" Fleance flung his arms around me tightly, grinning with the golden light of youth.
My son, how badly your papa has missed you. In every lifetime.
My lips formed the words "Go call your mother for me" but somehow the unspoken sentence felt awfully and deeply wrong.
I said instead, "Indeed we have won, but call the doctor please. I shall save the stories for dinner."
Although I was merely bruised and scratched in some places, blood seeped from Macbeth's gashes into his makeshift fabric bandages. With a quick wave of my hand, my servants attempted to usher the giant and unbudging Macbeth through the door. One of them glanced at the bloodtrail on the welcome mat somewhat regretfully. Well, some things can't be helped.
"Aye Fleance, you've grown taller but skinnier. Make sure you eat a pound of meat every day!"
"Yes, sir. Please enter our humble home, you're severely maimed."
"What a polite boy you have Banquo, shall I give him some pocket money?!"