MACBETH We hear our bloody cousins are bestowed
In England and in Ireland, not confessing
Their cruel parricide, filling their hearers
With strange invention. But of that tomorrow,
When therewithal we shall have cause of state
Craving us jointly. Hie you to horse. Adieu
Till you return at night. Goes Fleance with you?
BANQUO Ay, my good lord. Our time does call upon’s.
MACBETH I wish your horses swift and sure of foot,
And so I do commend you to their backs.
Farewell.
Exit Banquo (3.1.31-41)
A bit of exposition, reinforcing that time has passed: Malcolm and Donalbain have made it to England and Ireland, as they intended, and have been there long enough that word has got back to Scotland of where they are. Cousins here means relations in general, not necessarily close kin; bloody because Macbeth’s emphasising that they’re assumed to be guilty of their father’s murder, of cruel parricide—but bloody is a word that pops up in the play on a regular basis, often as an epithet or a metaphor, a stain that keeps showing through… And Malcolm and Donalbain, he says, are spreading rumours, telling tales (that is, the truth) about what is happening in Scotland, filling their hearers with strange invention. Macbeth’s doing his best stuffy formality here, given an additional gloss of awkward pomposity by his use of the royal plural, a sign, perhaps, of his unease, both with Banquo and with himself, what he’s about to do next: but of that tomorrow, when therewithal we shall have cause of state craving us jointly. Tomorrow we’ll talk politics together! Lots to do! (In a corporate setting, there would be uneasy glances: this is the guy, the maverick hero who’s now chairman of the board, who can’t string a straightforward sentence together, who sounds so stiff and ill at ease?) So, alright, hie you to horse, see you later. Oh, one last thing. Goes Fleance with you? (Casual as. Was he spouting verbiage just to bury this final, loaded question?) Yes, says Banquo, desperate to get out of there, ay, my good lord (how hollow that sounds). Our time does call upon’s; we really must get going. Macbeth has the last, hypocritical, word, spoken loudly so everyone else can hear: I wish your horses swift and sure of foot, and so I do commend you to their backs. Farewell. But there’s room too, just, for ambiguity; how committed is he to what he’s about to set in train? does he have any regrets? would part of him rather that his friend Banquo and his boy Fleance simply rode away, fast and free?
