The Arrow of Ambition

The Arrow of Ambition

My head is still ringing with the sounds of battle cries. The sounds grown men make when they face death haunt the spaces in my mind like dark shadows. Despite the years of fighting and killing, sending arrows through eyeballs and flesh, I can never get used to the screams, the pleading, the guttering, gurgling noises as blood drowns a man.

I walk side by side with Banquo, a truly brave soldier and true friend. We head for a nearby stream where we will try to wash our hands and face of the blood and muck of battle. At the very least, we must do this before we present ourselves to our king.

We are silent; drained of all emotion and energy. We refresh ourselves in the sweetness of the river, scooping pure, clean water, scrubbing our faces and hands before we meet our king; my cousin; my Lord; my Liege.

We make our way through long grass and wildflowers, hanging our heads in exhaustion, but with triumph keeping us moving forward. The sun is setting, casting a warm orange glow in the distance, and lengthening shadows as we walk.

‘All Hail Macbeth!’ Suddenly, whispering voices surround us, circling us, taunting.

We stop, and Banquo calls out, ‘Who’s there? Show yourselves!’

Three mist-like orbs dance in and out of the space between us, shrieking and cackling. We try to dodge them, and I draw my dagger, trying to deter or pierce them, but they are too quick!

‘Argh!’ I yell, as something whispers loudly in my ear, ‘Thane of Glamis. Thane of Cawdor. That shalt be king hereafter.’ My heart is galloping. What did it say?

‘Argh,’ my friend booms, as an orb slides close to his ear, hissing something I cannot hear. ‘Get away!’

We whirl and wheel, trying to avoid the sounds and the orbs tormenting, and all the while their words ring in my ears, exciting and scaring me all at once. Have they read my darkest thoughts? Have I said anything? We must get out of here! But I would hear more...

They continue whispering and I find myself wishing they would stay and tell me more, but I fear the words I love to hear the most: ‘That shall be king hereafter.’

‘Come, friend. We must go to the king,’ Banquo calls, pulling me from my thoughts. ‘What did they tell you?’

I panic, ‘It was all whispers and riddles,’ I lie.

‘Yes,’ he murmurs, and looks away quickly. I wish I knew what he heard.

‘Here they are!’ booms the king. His white teeth gleam in the low light as we approach him. He claps our backs, speaking loudly of his pride.

I am rewarded with a title I cannot own, ‘Thane of Cawdor’, they yell, and alarm shoots up my spine.

‘But the Thane of Cawdor lives!’ I exclaim, the whispers again echo through my mind.

‘The traitor is dead!’ calls a soldier, ‘And executed well and good for it!’

The rest of the crowd jeer and yell, calling, ‘Long Live the King!’

I join in, but the words taste sour on my tongue.

**

Thanks for reading. I tutor English Literature, and this was something I did as part of teaching Macbeth.