At night in Dunsinane castle, a doctor and one of Lady Macbeth’s serving women watched outside her bedroom. "How many nights has she been sleepwalking?" asked the doctor quietly.
"Since the king and queen moved to the royal palace here at Dunsinane," explained the serving woman. "She rises from her bed, deep in sleep, and wanders the castle repeating words to herself—shhh, here she comes."
Lady Macbeth stepped slowly out of the bedroom. Her pale nightgown was ghostly in the moonlight, and her hair hung loose and disheveled on her shoulders. She kept rubbing her hands fretfully, as if she were washing them.
"Here’s another spot," she mumbled. Then more loudly, "Out, damned spot! Out! Who would have thought the old king had so much blood in him?"
"Did you hear that?" whispered the serving woman as they followed.
"Banquo’s buried; how can he come out of his grave?" continued Lady Macbeth. "The thane of Fife had a wife; where is she now? Oh, will these hands never be clean?" She stopped and lifted a hand to her face. "There’s the smell of blood on them. All the perfumes of Arabia will not sweeten this hand."
Lady Macbeth wandered back to her bedroom, still rubbing her hands in her sleep. The doctor shook his head. "She needs the help of heaven more than she needs a physician," he said. "This disease is beyond cure."
In the countryside in the early morning, a band of Scottish soldiers marched near Dunsinane. Word had spread that Malcolm and Macduff had arrived in Scotland with an army, and many who had suffered under Macbeth had decided to take up arms. A mile ahead, the soldiers could see the flags and tents of a great army camped beside a forest, and eagerly, they marched forward to join it.
Inside his castle, Macbeth was pacing back and forth and raging at his servants. "Bring me no more reports! I don’t care how big their army is! Until Birnam Wood comes to Dunsinane, I’ll never shake with fear. Who’s that boy Malcolm? Was he not born of a woman? He cannot harm me!"
The servants left him, and Macbeth sat down. "I am sick at heart," he mumbled. "I have lived long enough. I can no longer hope for honor, love, or friends?only curses." Then, suddenly infuriated, he yelled, "Servants! Servants! Bring me my armor! I’ll fight until my flesh is hacked from my bones!"
Malcolm, Macduff, Siward, and Ross, meanwhile, were discussing the coming battle. They stood at the front of their camp, looking up toward the castle on Dunsinane Hill. "Macbeth has not deployed his army to the field," Siward was telling the others. "All reports say that he is staying defended inside Dunsinane Castle."
"This gives us the advantage," said Macduff.
"What wood is this by the camp?" asked Malcolm.
"Birnam Wood," said Ross.
"Tell every soldier to cut down a branch and carry it before him," Malcolm said. "This will disguise our numbers as we approach." The others agreed and sent word to their soldiers.
While Macbeth was putting on his armor, a servant came rushing in. "The queen, my lord, is dead!" cried the servant. "She has taken her own life!"
Macbeth turned to him distractedly. "She should have died after all this was over. Then there would have been time for proper words." He looked down at the pieces of his armor still waiting to be put on. Suddenly, all his ambition and wicked deeds seemed pointless and empty. "Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow," he sighed. "Life creeps in this sluggish way from day to day to the last syllable of recorded time. Our yesterdays just light the path to dusty death." He reached out to a candle and snuffed out the flame between his fingers. "Out, out, brief candle! Life is nothing but a poor actor who struts his hour upon the stage. It’s a tale full of sound and fury, signifying nothing."
Macbeth’s thoughts were interrupted by another messenger. "My lord, I don’t know how to report what I saw," he began.
"Well, use your tongue," snapped Macbeth.
"As I stood watch in the tower, I looked toward Birnam Wood, and . . ." he hesitated. "I thought I saw the wood begin to move."
"Liar!" screamed Macbeth.
"I swear. Less than a mile from the castle, you can see it coming—a moving forest!"
"If you speak falsely," said Macbeth, "I’ll hang you from a tree until you starve to death! Sound the alarm! To battle! To battle!"
As bells rang throughout Dunsinane Castle, trumpets rang in the field outside. The attacking soldiers dropped their camouflage of tree branches and charged. The battle was grisly, but Macbeth’s soldiers fought without heart. Malcolm’s soldiers, on the other hand, had the courage of hope and battled their way inside the castle.
In the main courtyard, ferocious Macbeth fought on, undefeated. Fallen soldiers lay on the ground all around him. Siward, seeing him, called out, "There’s the tyrant!" and led a charge. Their swords clashed briefly before Macbeth struck him down.
"Here lies a man born of a woman!" laughed Macbeth, pulling his sword from Siward’s side.
From behind him, a voice yelled, "Turn, you hellhound, turn!"
Macbeth spun around to face Macduff. "You should avoid me, Macduff. I have enough of your family’s blood on my hands."
"I have no words for you," answered Macduff, swinging at his adversary. "My voice is in my sword!"
The clang of their weapons rang loudly above the battle as Macbeth struck back, blow for blow. "You can make me bleed as easily as you can hurt the air," he said. "I lead a charmed life; I cannot fall to any man of woman born!"
Macduff forced Macbeth’s sword aside. "Then your charm has abandoned you!" he said. "My mother died as I was born, and a surgeon cut me from her womb!"
Macbeth’s face went white. "The witches have tricked me by juggling words!"
"All hope for you is gone," said Macduff. "Surrender now."
"I will not yield! Nor kiss the ground before Malcolm’s feet! Though Birnam Wood has come to Dunsinane, though a man not born of a woman opposes me, I will fight to my last breath." Macbeth gripped his sword with both hands. "Lay on, Macduff, and damned be the first of us to cry for mercy!"
Macduff lunged at Macbeth with a cry, and the two fought on among the struggling men and flashing weapons in combat around them.
Malcolm entered the castle with Ross, accompanied by guards. The battle was going in their favor. In fact, many of Macbeth’s soldiers had abandoned him and turned to fight with Malcolm’s men. "It looks as though our victory is cheaply bought," said Malcolm. "Where are Siward and Macduff?"
"Macduff is missing, and Siward is slain," said Ross.
"God be with him," Malcolm said. Just then, Macduff approached. Held high on the point of his sword was Macbeth’s head.
"Behold the tyrant’s cursed head!" cried Macduff. "Scotland is free!" And all around, the injured and weary soldiers put down their weapons and cheered. Malcolm quietly bowed his head. It would take much work to undo the tragedy Macbeth had brought to his land.