Conquest

The preparations for the contest were meticulous. Tridents were placed in the open ground, midway between the armies, to receive the combatants’ cloaks and weapons. The duel would begin with swords and shields, but axes and spears were placed in the tridents and could be used at any time.

When everything was ready, the two men faced each other.

As the seconds retreated, Hereward placed the Talisman around Macbeth’s neck.

‘What is this?’

‘It is an amulet of kings from many generations and many lands. It is said that it has been worn since the days of Rome. You should wear it as the true king.’

Macbeth looked at it. ‘Not the most attractive of charms!’

‘No, but a very powerful one.’

‘Thank you, Hereward, for all you have done for my army… and for me.’

Earl Duncan spoke the final words before stepping away. ‘For Scotland, my Lord King, for the Throne of Scone.’

Canmore and Macbeth eyed one another warily.

Macbeth spoke first. ‘For the throne of Scotland, Malcolm Canmore.’

‘For the throne of Scotland, Macbeth of Moray.’

A long and gruelling struggle followed.

Canmore began impetuously, and Macbeth was able to parry his attacks with ease. After a while, some blows began to land on both men, but their mail coats prevented deep wounds. There was a passage when each held the other’s sword arm and cuts and bruises were inflicted in a scuffle of shields and sword hilts. Both men became soaked in perspiration, the steam from which rose in a haze around them. They discarded their helmets, revealing their sweat-soaked hair and matted beards. Both armies roared and hollered for their leader as they witnessed a fight fit for legend by two kings battling for the throne of their domain.

As Macbeth began to tire, he found it hard to fend off the blows. Suddenly, Canmore’s sword glanced off the King’s shield and made a deep gash in Macbeth’s forehead. Blood flowed down his face, making it difficult for him to see.

Canmore attacked ferociously as Macbeth wilted, until, unable to defend and parry any more, he was struck through the midriff by the full thrust of Canmore’s lunging sword. He sank to his knees, the sword still embedded in him, his blood spewing through his mail coat and cascading on to the ground. He could not speak and had only moments to live. His rival, not satisfied with his opponent’s imminent death, went for his axe and, as he knelt before him, decapitated Macbeth in one mighty blow.

A great cheer swept across the valley from Canmore’s army.

In a final act of cruelty, Canmore picked up Macbeth’s head by its hair and raised it to his army.

‘This is the head of Macbeth, once King of Scotland. I am Malcolm Canmore, King of Scotland, Lord of the Isles!’

His army began to run towards him in a frenzy of excitement; the spoils were theirs, without having to spill any of their own blood. Canmore threw Macbeth’s head on the ground, where it left a trail of blood as it rolled away. The soldiers laid down their weapons as Canmore’s stewards rushed to unload Macbeth’s gold and silver. A horse was brought for his body and his head was placed in a hemp sack.

Hereward was bereft.

There was nothing he could have done to help Macbeth: the rules of combat were unbreakable; no one might intervene, no matter what happened between the two men.

He collected the Talisman from the ground where it had fallen. It was covered in blood, which he chose not to remove. Nor did he place it around his neck, but carefully folded its chain and slowly pushed it into his belt pouch. He resolved to give it back to Torfida.

He was sorry that he had given it to the King — whatever its powers, it had not been of much help to Macbeth.

Following the tragedy at Lumphanan, the four companions accompanied Macbeth’s family and Earl Duncan to the distant island of Iona for his burial.

It was a moving and solemn occasion, as the mourners sang the ancient melodies of the Scottish kings and the horn players sounded the final lament. The island was a lonely, windswept land, a holy place for the Scots and a mystical sanctuary that held the remains of many generations of their nobility.

As the horns sounded their final notes, the wind swirled around the mourners and rain started to lash their faces, mingling their warm tears with the cold outpouring of the western skies. The assembly stood in silence for several minutes until the squall subsided. Then a small fissure opened in the black clouds of the horizon and the setting sun paid its homage to a dead king.

Earl Duncan, Lord of Ross, raised the King’s sword in salute and then passed it to Queen Gruoch, who laid it gently on his body. Six of his hearthtroop, led by Donald of Moray, lowered the elaborately carved lid of his stone sarcophagus on to his tomb.

Then there was silence.

Macbeth’s widow, a woman of beauty and charm, bade them farewell. She granted Hereward a parchment endorsing his bravery, as well as a significant gratuity from her estates.