The Highland Tale; The King Act One Scene Two Sub Act Three

 

THE BATTLE

ACT ONE

SCENE TWO

SUB ACT THREE

 

“General, you must not move. I am trying to...” The Healer cautioned the general, who was on the gurney. The healing station was packed with the wounded, while many more were taking their turns outside.

“I am fine, Healer. Tend to those who are more in need.” MacBeth pushed himself off the gurney. His wounds were many, but none were fatal. He staggered out of the healing station and met Banquo outside. The Colonel rushed towards the General to offer his assistance.

“You must rest, MacBeth. The battles can be fought without us for now.”

“Sully your thoughts, Banquo. We are both soldiers to battle the King’s war.” MacBeth then saw the trophy of his battle. “Who hung the head of MacDonels on the stake?”

“The others... I will have it removed." Banquo addressed the general.

“It is... unwise to remove it. Let the head be a sign to all that those who defile me will share the same fate.” MacBeth pushed onto the command centre. Once he was seated on the usual seat there, he asked for the reports.

“General, Sir. The Irish are routed, and the Hebrides retreated.” The adjutant gave the brief. “But the new threat had emerged. The Norwegians are massing on the front line.”

“The Danes... Never one to ignore the chance to sink their fangs onto us, huh?”” MacBeth roared out. “Argh….”

“Your stitches are open.” Banquo held the general up. “Get the Healer.”

“Spare me your concerns, Banquo. You are more like my Nan nowadays. I have survived on more dire wounds.”

“Yes, General, but then you were younger.” Banquo sighed. “Do look at yourself far ahead. You could be... ”

“A King perhaps? Narry that thought, Banquo. I am his servant and shall remain as one.”

“Sir, the Norwegians are...” The adjutant had returned with more reports.

“Aye, the Norwegians...” King Duncan cut in on the Sergeant’s narrative. “

“Just as terrible storms and dreadful thunder come right when the sun rises, so did new trouble arise from what had seemed to be our triumph.” The King looked at the entourage. “Listen, all of the Highlands. Listen: As soon as we defeated those Irish soldiers and sent them running, the Norwegian King spied an advantage and began a new assault with fresh soldiers and sharpened weapons. The battle is a whore that is never short of in its supply of the desired.”

"Was... did the General...” Prince Duncan held a care for his cousin.

“He is well, my Prince.” The sergeant read the prince’s thoughts. “He is too tough to stay down.”

“We are all.” King Duncan roared out.

“Let no one feel intimidated. A mouse, when cornered, fears not the cat. A sparrow could trouble the eagle on its nest, or a rabbit could scare a lion, though they make nice rabbit stew.” Those last words made the wounded laugh.

“To be honest, they were like cannons loaded with double charges of gunpowder. They fought this new opponent with double their earlier ferocity. Perhaps they wanted to bathe in the blood of their enemies’ wounds or make that battlefield as infamous as Skara Bae. "Yes, your bloodline may have originated from there.”

Skara Brae is a stone-built Neolithic settlement located on the Bay of Skaill on the west coast of Mainland, the largest island in the Orkney archipelago of Scotland.

“I feel weak." The sergeant mumbled weakly.

“Healer, get to his pains now.” Prince Duncan reacted like any concerned patron of the infirm.

“Your Highness., you have new attendees.” The adjutant announced.