Yes Man

The AP English Language Final Part II was a creative writing assignment relating to one of the pieces of literature we read that year. If you recently read Macbeth, you should get the gist of it. I have a thing for minor characters.  It ends sort of abruptly, but there was a limit on length.

     Fear not, Earl of Ross, that I have dismissed your service to Scotland at Birnam Woods – nor has my memory lapsed in regard to your loyalty thereafter. I must ask you, however, to assist your country yet again, although I confess that much less can be lost by your attempt now than was at risk then. Chance has been kind; you are to pass through Ireland next month, and I am in need of a questrist. Donalbain hath not gazed upon the high hills of Scotland since the dawn of a tyrant's rule. I suspect, and fear, that my sibling has perished in one of Ireland's frequent conflicts. It would aid my search immeasurably if you were to make inquiries on my behalf along your travels. Anticipation of his swift return to his home, hope that he has found sanctuary on the island, keeps my young brother alive in my thoughts. As great Scotland begins to mend her wounds of wars past, I find the time adequate as any other to restore brotherhood and to hence commence peace for all. Upon my brother's discovery, express my deepest joys, and to Scotland, send him immediately.

Malcolm

     The heavens are troubled no more; the traveling lamp has burst through the dark night; I am glad to hear that Scotland is in the most just of hands. Your messenger took great pains to find me; indeed, I had taken great pains to remain hidden. I rejoice in your success over the murdering facinorous coward. Your excitement of my anticipated arrival pains me; I regretfully must stay in Ireland. From what faint notes drift by my ear, I hear nothing but pleasant tales of your kindness and capable leadership. Ireland has become my home now. During the tide of the many years that have come between us, I have found myself a fair wife and am now enjoying the pleasantries of a peaceful, quite life. The people of this country are very passionate about their culture and have inspired me.

Donalbain

     An eerie calm swept across the thin forest as Ross stepped cautiously into the woods. The moon, well on its way across the sky, was pregnant with yellow light; the gentleman saw no reason to bring a torch. He had become accustomed to the darkness on previous midnight rendezvous, and the moonlight was sufficient to avoid low branches. Ross wandered around until he came to a clearing, and a small stream. Patient for his anticipated meeting, he smiled and watched the stars flicker like schools of fish over the pebbles beneath the surface.
     Fleance saw the thane, but remained crouched besides the pine tree. As his left hand sifted through the cold, damp soil, his right tightly grasped his dagger. It was not so much that he did not find Ross trustworthy – the man could fool a priest, and Fleance was sure Ross had successfully foiled everyone by fooling everyone, himself included. It was this place, this awful place, that made him want to be someone else, somewhere else. Likely, Fleance suspected, nothing would ever change here. It would be forever untouched by man, the only exception being the dark stain of royal blood, of his father's blood, unseen by everyone but the little boy who had gotten away.
     As Ross watched the insects trace new constellations across the stream's surface, he became increasingly aware of another movement, directly behind him. Taking a pause in his breath, he turned his head carefully, slightly to the left and, unblinking, allowed his eyes to follow the path. What he saw almost made him laugh out loud, or at least sigh in relief: an angry teenage boy, tall and unsuccessfully trying to hide himself behind a tree, playing in the dirt. Throwing his own dagger down at Fleance's feet, he gleefully whispered, "Arte thou finished making mud pies?"
     Taken by surprise, Fleance would have doubled over had the sturdy trunk not saved him from this embarrassment. Instead, he jumped up, brushed himself off, and handed Ross the dagger. "I was waiting. I had seen you, and I was only waiting."
     Ross smirked and replied, "Enough of this. Let us walk."
     Despite the fact that this forest was out of the way and, Ross thought, full of spies or common criminals, it was the only setting that would allow him to manipulate the young man prophesized to become king. He had not heard the witches' words himself, but Macbeth had poured out his soul to him and he was sure that Fleance must have a similar interpretation of the prediction. As they walked, Ross quietly told Fleance of the letters that had passed between the brothers, and that neither was pleased with the other. Donalbain was upset that his brother had been so greatly influenced by their cousins in England that he was now changing customs and doing away with traditions. Malcolm was near tears after reading his younger brother's letter, and shocked that he had not come back to Scotland immediately. Oh no, he did not blame Ross for his brother's offensive tone, for how could his trusted earl and messenger have prevented it?
     "The seat is very unsteady now, because the elder brother is incompetent at make rational decisions. They say that the horses—"
     "Yes, the horses and the owl and the dark clouds…Save your elaborate descriptions of a kingdom in chaos for some newer acquaintance. I have heard it before."
     "Can you not see it? Will you not grasp the crown that sits before you? Many years ago, in this very spot, I spared your life. Your father—"
     "This, too, I have heard before. I need not be reminded of my father's murder."
     The thane remained silent for a while as they walked. A deep sigh filled the air around them, letting him know the boy was growing tired, and therefore more willing to compromise. He unveiled his plot, carefully, mentioning the deceased Banquo when appropriate. He proposed they travel to Ireland, separately, of course, in order to find the necessary army to back Donalbain's ascension. Donalbain himself would be easily convinced; he would not forget that his brother had not chosen him as heir to the Scottish throne. Though he cared deeply for Ireland, he felt it was his obligation to restore Scotland to its original state, a return to normalcy, if you will. Ross, an actor at heart, knew that what this tragedy's sequel lacked was a scene that forced man against man, and act of revenge. After hours of debating with the young man, Ross proposed this happy ending to him, promising that Malcolm's sons would not let Donalbain sit on the throne for more than a few years before they could raise up their own rebellion and restore the crown that they believed to be rightfully theirs. Fleance could not lose; supernatural forces were behind him. The sun began to rise lazily above the hill and the two men walked their separate ways, though they were headed in the same direction.

***

     Ross splashed the stream's cool water over his face. He buttoned up the coat not his own, and looked around. The setting was familiar after the third time, but it smelled rankly of death. There was little blood spilled, but no bodies to be seen. Ross shook his head as he waited at the edge of the clearing. Nothing, it seemed, worked smoothly for him anymore. He had served many kings, had maintained his vast estate and helped others rise far above him. He had conned, manipulated, and deceived, all while playing the yes man to whoever the king happened to be. What was it, he wondered, that made him give up his good life for one of murder and lies? Fleance had escaped again, unintentionally this time, and Malcolm's son had chosen to torture his uncle, rather than kill him outright. Even Ross could not imagine what horrors lay in store for Donalbain, who was being transported further south.
     "Your highness, Lady Donalbain requests your presence before the banquet," a scrawny servant quipped. Ross coolly turned over his shoulder.
     "Yes. I'm sure she does. I am, after all, her husband."