[The First Murderer strikes out the torch. The Second and Third Murderers attack Banquo]

BANQUO        O, treachery! Fly, good Fleance, fly, fly, fly!

Thou mayst revenge.

[Exit Fleance]

O slave!

[He dies]

THIRD MURDERER   Who did strike out the light?

FIRST MURDERER    Was’t not the way?

THIRD MURDERER   There’s but one down; the son is fled.

SECOND MURDERER            We have lost

Best half of our affair.

FIRST MURDERER    Well, let’s away, and say how much is done.

Exeunt [with Banquo’s body]            (3.3.16-22)

All the stage directions except the final Exeunt are editorial, hence the square brackets; it’s inferred that it’s the First Murderer who strikes out the torch—knocks it from Fleance’s hand?—from what he says in response to the Third Murderer’s question: Was’t not the way? Wasn’t that the right thing to do, the plan? defensive, defiant? but it’s the darkness and confusion that’s enabled Fleance to flee, as his father begs him to do. Banquo knows exactly what’s going on—treachery!—and infers that his son is in terrible danger simply because he is his father’s son. But he’s also pointedly reminding the audience of the witches’ prophecy in his final words to his son: fly not simply to save your own life but so thou mayst revenge. Banquo’s final words—O slave!—could be addressed to one of the murderers, an echo of the class-based scorn with which they were treated by Macbeth, or it could be addressed, in imagination, to Macbeth himself (especially if Macbeth is the Third Murderer! But it’s dark! That’s the point!) But anyway, there’s a nasty, stabby, brutal encounter, three against one, in the dark, and Banquo’s dead. And now, confusion, not just about who put the light out, but about Fleance, as the Third Murderer realises (perhaps after a search, maybe striking a light of his own to look): there’s but one down; the son is fled. Of course it’s the Second Murderer who anxiously articulates what that means: we have lost best half of our affair. We’ve screwed this up, lads, we haven’t fulfilled our brief, and it’s the more important bit that we’ve not delivered. We’re in trouble, implicitly. Oh no oh no oh no, what’s he going to do to us now? After his brief bursts of self-assertion, the Second Murderer is back to his default state: expecting the worst, always assuming that luck won’t ever be on his side. The First Murderer is more inclined to tough it out, perhaps, or simply more fatalistic: well, let’s away, and say how much is done. We did some of it! Let’s get this over with. No point standing around talking about it. And it makes sense for them to take the body, both theatrically (bodies have to be got off stage somehow; another reason to have a Third Murderer, help with the carrying) and in terms of the play’s world; do they have orders to conceal the body, dispose of it? Whatever. End of the scene, short, sharp, brutal, brilliantly economical in its writing of these tiny, loaded roles, fantastic examples of how apparently minor characters can speak volumes, whole lives and personalities, in mere moments.