Terry Deary - Shakespeare Tales: Macbeth

First published 2016 by

Bloomsbury Education, an imprint of Bloomsbury Publishing Plc

50 Bedford Square, London, WC1B 3DP

www.bloomsbury.com

Bloomsbury is a registered trademark of Bloomsbury Publishing Plc

Text copyright Terry Deary 2016

Illustrations Tambe 2016

The moral rights of the author have been asserted.

All rights reserved
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A CIP catalogue for this book is available from the British Library

epub ISBN-13: 978-1-4729-1781-2

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Contents

The pot-girls tale

S o much blood. It was splashed across the stage when the actors showed the play they called Macbeth. It splattered on the walls and the costumes, the swords and the shoes. It even hit one of the watching women in the eye one evening. (How she screamed. How I laughed.)

It was pigs blood of course. They kept it in a bucket by the side of the stage and dipped their daggers in it before each scene to make the fights look real. (I mean they kept the blood in a bucket not a pig. Sorry. This writing is much harder than I thought. But I need to tell you my story.)

The audience loved all the stabbing and the fighting. But no one stopped to ask one question. Who clears up the blood? Im sure Master Shakespeare never thought about that when he wrote the play.

I could have told them, Its me. Its not really my job. I am Mary, a pot-girl at the White Swan Inn. I gather the empty ale pots and wine cups from the wooden tables. Then I fill them and take them to the rowdy drinkers with bad teeth and worse breath. Sometime they give me a penny or two. Mostly they ignore me like the sawdust on the floor. The sawdust I had to sweep up every night with the spilled beer and spit.

But once a year the players came to the White Swan. They set up a stage in the stable-yard and the customers took their ale out to watch the plays. They were the most exciting thing that ever happened in my life. The players let me try on their wonderful costumes and spoke to me like a young lady, not an orphan serving girl. The let me sweep the stage after their show and paid me a groat every night.

I thought they were magic and they made me feel like the richest woman in England.

But that summer of 1605 the year the Powder Plotters tried to blow up King James the actors brought a play about another Scottish King called Macbeth.

And that play didnt have dust to sweep and lost buttons to find. It had blood and I had to swill it off the stage with water. And thats what caused so much trouble with my master Dick Fulbright or Foulbrew as some of his customers called him when he sold them bad ale.

At first I served the ale and found time to watch the play. It was creepy and cruel. Let me tell you the terrible tale of King Macbeth

Witches and war
The play

Scotland long ago

K ing Duncan of Scotland is old. Too old. Too weak to carry on, some say. A group of rebel lords all want his throne. The traitors gather soldiers from across the seas. The fierce and fearsome fighters land on Scotlands shores.

Duncan is far too frail to fight so, when these enemies invade, he leaves the fighting to his warrior chief, Macbeth. Macbeth, the hero captain, battles bravely. He executes one enemy cutting him in half and drives the foes of Scotland into the sea.

The battles done. The weary warrior Macbeth sets off for home. His loyal friend, Banquo, marches back beside him through the evening mists of fog and filthy air.

They reach a bleak and misty moor where three shapeless figures lurk. The shadowy witches cast spells over a bubbling brew of bad magic. They cackle and crow as they throw in sickening scraps.

Macbeth and Banquo find that the weird sisters claim to see away into the future. They call Macbeth, The Lord of Cawdor.

The Lord of Cawdors still alive. How can I be Lord of Cawdor? the gallant captain asks.

Oh, you will be, very soon, they cackle, And you are the future King of Scotland. Next, they turn their wrinkled faces to Banquo. When Macbeth dies then your son will be the next to rule.

And then the witches seem to melt into the air just as raindrops vanish when they hit a pond. Macbeth is shaken. Im not the Lord of Cawdor, he tells Banquo, So those weird creatures were just a dream. Ill not be King of Scotland.

Just then a soldier arrives with great news. King Duncan has found that the Lord of Cawdor was one of the rebels who fought with the invaders. The King has sentenced Cawdor to die. Macbeth, the faithful fighter, is to be the next Lord of Cawdor.

Macbeth rides home and tells his wife the strange things he has seen. His lady burns as fiery as a castle torch and cries with happiness. The weird women said that youll be Lord of Cawdor and you are?

They did and I am, Macbeth says.

They said that youd be King, so it will be and Ill be Queen, she says.

But Macbeth shakes his head. Old King Duncans still alive, he says. Hes weak, but hes not sick. He plans to visit us tomorrow. Youll see that hes well.

Lady Macbeth bites a nail and slyly says, He may be well when he arrives but hell be dead before he leaves. Leave it all to me.

The King arrives. Macbeth seems overjoyed to see his guest. Yet hes afraid to use his knife, he tells his wife when theyre alone. Macbeth can kill a man in war but shudders at the thought of slaughtering his friend, the King. His lady tells her plan.

The King will go to bed. She will give the guards hot wine with drugs in it and they will fall asleep outside the Kings bedroom door. Macbeth can then slip past and plunge two daggers into the Kings body.

And, when the King is dead, Macbeth must place the blood-stained daggers on the guards so they will get the blame.

We will not fail if you are brave enough, Macbeth, the lady says.