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Apollo's Soldiers
by Margo Fallis

Canmore's blade dripped with Macbeth's blood. The lifeless body lay still, motionless for eternity. He stood over Macbeth's body, looking with satisfaction at the gaping wounds. Mist gathered around his legs, enveloping him as it crept across the hills, swirling in the sharp wind.

Moaning came from the dying, echoing across fields of buttery yellow gorse and bluebells. He dropped his sword on top of his foe, turned and staggered to a flowing burn. His knees gave way as he knelt to wash the blood and gore from his hands and arms, landing him on his belly; he smelled the peat in the water. Claret smears colored the clear rivlet.

He staggered to his feet and howled in anguish for the loss of his devoted friends, loyal lads who knew not what changes in history they fought for, but who had given their lives in his defense. Canmore stared somberly at the scene, hoping that from this day forth, in the year of our Lord 1057; the memory would live in the hearts of every Scot.

The death of Macbeth at Lumphanan, Aberdeenshire, Scotland, ended the seventeenth year of reign of the last Celtic king of Scotland.  Soon the 'House of Canmore' would begin its 200 year monarchy.

Aye, Malcolm Canmore knew to fight
Born so and put to flight
Many a Viking, many a home-grown foe!

In that day, in that time
Bloody kingship in its prime
Royal chambers warriors’ place to go!

Mattered little women cried
Battle measured manly pride
And blade worked its magic spell!

He slew Macbeth of blackened fame
Usurping illegitimate claim!
None left the truth to tell!

Lady Macbeth’s ill-placed son
Hopelessly lost, deed done
Doomed with mother’s marriage to Macbeth!

This dynasty a brazen start
After snuffing Lulach’s heart
Ambitious rivals drew a craven’s breath!

By Mac McAnear

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