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It was a late evening, or rather an early night when the hooves of Macbeth’s horse finally ceased from hitting the gravel and the pitch-black mare came to an elegant halt. Such was also the stance of the great man sitting atop the steed. The man’s gaze swept over the castle yard, stopping when movement was seen and heard from behind the archway. Soon a handful of soldiers came from under it in two straight lines. The first ones of each line held a torch that illuminated the night. Between these two lines walked a single man.
That man Macbeth would recognize from miles away. At least his heart would sense the presence. This man, as usual, was dressed in a dark royal blue gambeson, held his head up high, stepped one leg gracefully in front of the other and always had an august smile on his lips, though never arrogant.
But he was a completely different person when holding a sword with hands that were not afeared to shed blood, thought often would have liked to choose a different path. A brutal fighter and a noble kingsman he was, truly. Not unlike Macbeth.
It was the good Banquo that now stood in front of Macbeth’s horse, those blue eyes cast upon the man sitting in the saddle.
“I welcome thee, my dear friend, to my humble home”, he spoke with a laughter in his voice and it made the thane of Glamis almost feel lightheaded. He shook it off by taking the hand offered by his noble partner and swiftly hopped from the saddle, landing on his feet face to face with the thane of Lochaber.
“Thank you, my good thane”, Macbeth responded and clapped his companion on the shoulder. For a moment their eyes were mixed through a deep glance, as Macbeth’s hand lingered on his friend’s clothes. However, it was quickly removed when Banquo peered at his soldiers waiting for them in the torches’ light, staring into nothingness in their greatly formed rows.
“Come, friend, let us go inside and discuss the matters on the table”, Banquo stated nonchalantly and guided his guest towards the row of men shedding light to their late-evening walk on the castle yard. As the thane took a few steps towards them, they sprung to action, gracefully taking step after another at the thane’s pace. A stable boy ran from the courtyard and with a bow to his master and his guest, took the mare Macbeth had rode in on. The thane of Glamis followed suit the armored men and admired the welcome Banquo always played out for him, even after so many years of visiting his lands.
The way across the courtyard passed swiftly in a companionable silence. The only sound was the silent rustle of the guards’ light armors. Macbeth followed Banquo’s footsteps on the cobble path and then up the stairs to the impressive wooden doors. Macbeth always admired Banquo’s home. Even though the castle was not huge, its architecture was magnificent — it was very complex and beautifully decorated with all its pillars and beams, and doors carved out of wood.
As soon as the pair entered the hall, the soldiers scattered away, each to their own duties, and Banquo and his guest were left alone under the light of a few torches further down the hall. The breath caught in Banquo’s throat as he turned towards his general and on that very same second felt Macbeth’s hands on his neck. The gentle caress sent shivers on his skin and he was forced to close his eyes at the touch. He had missed it so. He brought his own hand atop his loved one’s and laid a kiss on the bare skin there.
“We mustn’t here”, he whispered but did naught to step away. He couldn’t tear himself apart from Macbeth, couldn’t let go of his hand, couldn’t bare the thought of making the man break the contact between his hands and Banquo’s neck. Soon he couldn’t even think of those thoughts as Macbeth’s lips brushed against his own and all coherent thoughts he might have had were swept from his reach. There was only him and his love, only the two lords, two thanes, Banquo and Macbeth. And they did not want or need anything else.
It felt like eternity, the unholy kiss between them. Like time itself had stopped in its tracks to allow the pair to hold this moment for a while longer. Like the small particles and dust specks floating through the air had ceased all movement to let the two thanes hold each other.
Macbeth was the one who pulled away and broke the touch between their lips. It almost hurt, but they both knew it was the wisest thing to do ere some unfortunate soul wandered in and saw them.
As Banquo stepped a few feet further away from Macbeth, he opened his eyes and lifted his gaze upon the man dressed in red. Seeing the pain in his thane’s eyes almost tore his heart, but he knew they would be alone soon. Then he needed not to bare Macbeth’s pain as his own anymore, for there would be no pain.
As the pair stepped carefully through the hallway, it was as if an invisible string between them was drawn tight for neither wandered too far away from the other. And ever more the dust specks mid-air and the smoke from the torches stood still in the space for time did not dare to run, else the string that bound the two lords together would snap.