My cursed maker. They bound him within his forge till he finished me, and their goadings finished him. Thrice cursed was his mind, and his body followed. Rather than make any more of their cruel designs he beat his own eyes to pulp with his hammer, and cursing his Gods thrust his clever hands in to the furnace. He destroyed his gifts, to prevent them being misused. Strong he must have been, for them not to have forseen his actions. Still, his ravaged body had some use. His liver formed the binding agent of poor Macbeth’s potion. You may recall their resourcefulness of ‘Liver of Blaspheming Jew’. My creator cursed his Hebrew forbears and his deity at his last. He was better dead, for the wyrd ones had even baser plans for him, had he endured.
They were resourceful, that I will grant them. They turned their shackled Cawdor’s all Antipodean. Lulled by sleep the livelong day, and sharp as daggers by night. Wakeful and paranoid. His days were a waking nightmare, and nights a sleepless tossing. Though this was not their most cunning lure. Nay, their masterpiece was to contrive in my making that I would constrict at disobeyance, and contract upon completion of tasks. They charmed my bronze and iron coils to act as snakes, turning counterwise to choke the wearer of all but essential breathing, so that devilish deeds could strangle them in to obeyance. Macbeth’s riven heart beat more from lack of oxygen than aught else when he punctured the sleeping Duncan. He would not have done it free from me, I know it. I felt it. I could not stop it. My very elements were commanded to squeeze.
The three, Hecate’s lackeys, planned it all. From coronation to taking off. Immortality has its benefits, amongst which is the mastery of tradition. They make their own traditions, and orchestrate them. When ere a Thane of Cawdor is appointed, they have their Torc bent around their neck fresh from the forge. Not red hot but close. The searing and burning forces the beneficiary to contemplate the responsibility of their undertaking. As they heal, they make plans. Cawdor needs manipulation, not governance. You already know that my creator gave Macbeth his yoke. He may as well have been cattle being branded. For once he has been fitted, a Thane cannot take off the torc of Cawdor. Indeed, it would take a beheading to free Macbeth. Naught else would suffice.
© Tom Tide 2016