THIRD MURDERER   Hark, I hear horses.

BANQUO        (within) Give us a light there, ho!

SECOND MURDERER            Then ’tis he. The rest

That are within the note of expectation

Already are i’th’ court.

FIRST MURDERER                His horses go about.

THIRD MURDERER   Almost a mile; but he does usually,

So all men do, from hence to th’ palace gate

Make it their walk.

Enter Banquo, and Fleance with a torch

SECOND MURDERER            A light, a light!

THIRD MURDERER   ’Tis he.

FIRST MURDERER    Stand to’t!

BANQUO                                It will be rain tonight.

FIRST MURDERER    Let it come down.      (3.3.8-15)

 

A lot to say, it turns out, about only 8 lines. This is just brilliantly calibrated writing, and world-making, ramping up the tension in yet another way in a play which has made a feature and an art of such rampings. And the sort-of power-struggle between the three murderers, or at least between the two originals and the interloper, as well as the different characterisations of the three, continues. So it’s the Third Murderer who says, definitively, I hear horses (which has the subtext, so, shut up, the both of you, and get ready). There may well be noises off, not the coconuts of cliché in 1606 (coconut shells were certainly known at the time, but they were exotic objects, more likely to be mounted in silver as cups to decorate a banqueting table than to be clopped together in the theatre)—but a sound that would be instantly recognisable. One wonders to what extent early modern horses, thought of and heard but not seen, might recognisably gallop, slow to a trot, a walk, such distinctions being more readily part of the aural memory and consciousness of an early modern audience. And then Banquo, within, off-stage, calling for a torch: give us a light there, ho! The Second Murderer pipes up, in his anxious way, wanting to contribute and to be heard to contribute, and also, slightly, asserting insider knowledge: it must be him then; it’s not that he’s recognised the voice, but rather he knows that everyone already on the guest list, within the note of expectation, has already arrived—and this must be someone important enough to be able to arrive by horse, and to call for a light as a matter of course. It has to be Banquo. (And calling for a light is another reminder that it’s dark.)

 

First Murderer comes back in: his horses go about, that is, they’re not coming this way, they’re going to another part of the castle, another entrance. Useful information; he’s reminding the others that he’s there, and that he’s listening as hard as they are, or harder. The Third Murderer tops it: yes, I know, of course that’s what’s happening. Banquo’s dismounted—and incidentally, it’s almost a mile, I know exactly what I’m talking about—and a groom will take his horses around to the stable entrance, while Banquo comes in the main entrance, either accompanied by a torch bearer or having been supplied with a torch. That’s what all men do, from hence—where he’s dismounted—to the palace gate, make it their walk. This continues to be a play that maps space as well as location. Just as the castle interior is imagined as being made up of various chambers, a hall, perhaps a courtyard, with a gate some distance away, so now its exterior—stables, multiple entrances; large, powerful—is being mapped too. (And there are grooms and other servants, not just the porter. This is, after all, a royal establishment.)

 

How long will it take for Banquo to arrive on the scene? Tension tension tension. And we have to imagine that it’s the light that’s seen first, not Banquo and Fleance themselves (and it’ll be much more effective if there’s a little gap before they appear, with everyone poised, tense straining to hear, both before and after the Second Murderer—anxious again to be the one who calls it, excited and jittery—says A light, a light!) Enter Banquo, and Fleance with a torch—so it’s the boy who’s bearing the light, no, dad, I can do it, let me, and they’re unaccompanied, and it’s three against two, no servant. ’Tis he—Third Murderer confirms the ID. Stand to’t!—First Murderer, butting in, no, I’m in charge: is he addressing Banquo, telling him to stop, halt, who goes there? Or is he talking to the others, telling them to stand firm, now’s the time to act? Both work. Banquo makes conversation, with these unknown men who’ve waylaid him, although if the Third Murderer is recognisably one of the thanes (Lennox or Ross, or Macbeth himself) then his utterly commonplace observation, It will be rain tonight, might be addressed to a familiar face. Just talking about the weather. But nothing’s going to stop the First Murderer: let it come down. What do you care, you’re a dead man? is one interpretation, but there’s also the idea of an assault, the heavens opening, thunder even. And it sounds like a signal; perhaps the First Murderer strikes the first blow even as he speaks.