Authors: Rosemary Sutcliff
‘If I can find it in the daylight,’ said I, ‘I’m more used to it in the dark, ye see.’
‘As to that—’ We were already walking again, this time in the direction of the great rock, and his words came back to me with a kind of reckless laughter over his shoulder. ‘I fear I cannot wait for the dark. They have sent poor Livingstone with a trumpeter and an escort to demand the Duke of Gordon’s surrender of the Castle. He’s to be allowed twenty-four hours’ grace, but he may not take it unless I can come to him quickly.’
‘Ye think he’ll listen to ye?’ I said.
‘Oh aye, he’ll listen to me because of the news I bring him – that King James is already landed in Ireland and gathering troops to take back his own!’
Well, so we came to the blind side of the Castle Rock, and we made the climb – Claverhouse was a good enough climber, though, strange to the De’il’s Turnpike as he was, there were times when I had to slip past him to find him a handhold or set his foot on the proper ledge. And we came to the ledge below the sheer black crag of the castle wall at last, and made our way along it to the wee postern gate.
‘God!’ said Claverhouse, as a raven swept by his face. ‘And you came this way at night?’
‘Night or day, drunk or sober, it doesna make a’ that difference gin ye know the way and have a head for heights,’ said I, and I gave the door-timbers the familiar signal rattaplan that the sentry inside would know.
There was a certain amount of explaining to be done, but after the sergeant of the guard had been fetched, and then the captain, they passed him through at last; and I settled down on my perch to wait for his return. The rain had passed, and I mind the evening light and the wind together playing through the tuft of grass on the ledge beside my foot, until the day began to fade into a windy March dusk.
In a while and a while the postern opened again, and the glim of a lantern spilled out across the path and on into empty space; and scrambling to my feet, I saw Claverhouse, and with him a tall man wearing trews of the Gordon tartan; I had only a glimpse of his face in the swinging lantern light, but I had seen the Duke of Gordon often enough to know him again.
‘My thanks,’ he said. ‘I hope that my answer to the Convention would have remained the same even without the news you bring; but with it, I shall send that answer tomorrow with a lighter heart. And you? What road do you ride now?’
There was a small silence, and then Dundee said very simply, ‘I go wherever the spirit of Montrose shall lead me.’
And I saw his face for an instant clear in the lantern light, and wondered suddenly if Montrose had looked like that when he rode out to raise the Highlands for
his
king.
The two of them shook hands and wished each other Godspeed, and Claverhouse came past me over the ledge on to the first drop of the De’il’s Turnpike.
Much later that night, after a deal of quiet message-carrying, there was another gathering in the back room of Wedderburn’s Coffee House, which had, as you might say, plenty of exits and entrances in case of need. Not a great gathering like that day’s Convention in the Parliament Hall, but just four men: Dundee himself, and the Earls of Balcarres and Atholl and Mar that was Governor of Stirling Castle; and myself standing guard over the chamber door, while the Edinburgh caddies in Government pay watched the lodgings of each of them like terriers at empty rat-holes.
I did not listen, you will understand, but I have always had quick hearing, and the door was none so good a fit, which was one reason why I was drinking my bowl of the bitter hot stuff just there to make sure that no one chanced too near. And so from time to time, when the wind fell away into a trough of quiet, I heard something of what passed inside.
‘’Twas the letter that did it,’ Atholl said. ‘If His
Majesty had but sent the letter that you and Balcarres drafted for him…’
‘I could not believe my ears when the President read out the one that he did send—’ That was Mar, who had a fretful way of speaking that could not be mistaken. ‘Stupid, arrogant, threatening. Could the man not see that it was no time for threats, nor himself in any position to threaten?’
‘I must say, I think that Dundee’s and mine was better,’ said Balcarres. ‘Maybe they
might
have been swayed by a more moderate tone.’
And then Dundee’s clear incisive voice cut across the rest. ‘I doubt it, Colin, I very much doubt it. But be that as it may, the thing is done and the harm wrought. Mulling over it will not help. The question is what is to be done to amend it?’
And then the wind swept back and I could hear no more for a while. And when the next lull came, it seemed that they were making some kind of plan to withdraw to Stirling and summon a convention of their own. And Mar was saying, ‘As Governor of the Castle, I can answer for the loyalty of Stirling.’
And Dundee said, ‘Aye, and with the Highlands at our backs, and your Highlanders, Atholl, added to my own small band of brothers, we shall be in a very different position. Gentleman, I will not yet believe that the King’s cause is lost. If the Highlands stand loyal, this Edinburgh Convention will have no power to offer the crown to William of Orange. And with His Majesty already landed in Ireland and gathering troops, we do but need to play for time.’
So in a while and a while the thing was sorted out and it was arranged that the four of them, each with whatever following they could gather meanwhile,
should meet at a certain point beyond the North Loch three days hence, and march for Stirling, and there raise the King’s standard.
BUT ON THE
Monday morning, the agreed day, when we clattered behind Dundee down Leith Wynd and out under Carlton Hill along the shore of the North Loch, to the agreed trysting place on the Stirling road, instead of the gathered troops, we found only Balcarres, sitting his fidgeting horse beside the way. There was a mist that morning, cold and drifting, and it was not until we were almost upon the man that we realised that he was alone.
Dundee reined in sharply, the rest of us behind him, and sat looking at the Earl as he brought his horse out from the side of the track. And said he, ‘What means this, Colin? Where are Mar and Atholl?’
Balcarres had a cold, I mind, and he blew his nose, and took a long time stuffing his handkerchief back into the breast of his coat. ‘Mar has taken a fever of some kind, and gone to lie up in his own house,’ he said at last.
‘And Atholl?’ Dundee said. ‘Has he taken a fever, too?’
‘He said he must have one more day to finish summoning his Highlanders.’
And in the silence, beyond the jink and fidget of the waiting horses, I heard lake water lapping in the mist. Then Dundee said, ‘Only you and me, then, Colin? But I do not see even your own men behind you.’
Balcarres shook his head miserably. ‘No – well – Atholl thinks that to avoid suspicion we should both
bide along with him in Edinburgh the one more day while the plan goes forward…’
And a bird rose crying through the mist on the water.
And Dundee said, ‘Only me then, eh, Colin?’
“Tis just the one day,’ Balcarres said beseechingly.
‘Is it?’ Dundee said, quick and fierce. ‘Don’t you see – Convention knows us for King James’s men. By tomorrow the city gates will be shut to hold us.’
And he drove his heel into Hector’s flank.
‘John – wait—’ Balcarres called after him, as the sorrel started forward snorting from the spur.
‘Not another instant,’ Dundee cried. ‘I have other men to meet upon the way, surer trysts than this one, I hope, to keep upon the road. I’ll wait for you at Stirling, Colin; join me there if you can get out of Edinburgh when you’ve a mind to.’
And we were away down the Stirling road.
We bided in Stirling waiting for them three days, quartered in the town, since troops could not quarter in the castle with its governor not there; but when the three days were up, bringing no sign of any of them, Claverhouse had had enough, and we marched back to Dundee town, to await his commission from the King.
Dudhope was all a’bustle and a’twitter with women making ready for the bairn’s christening; and Dundee’s brother David arrived the same day as we did, and Amryclose and a good few more, and on the ninth day of April the bairn was christened James, with his Uncle David to stand sponsor for him at the font.
Darklis had made the Long Parlour bonnie with knots of sweet chilly primroses and the year’s first wood anemones, though the spring was late that year, and the land still half frozen. And for font there was the big silver cup in which all the Claverhouse Grahams for five
generations had been baptised. I mind it all as clear and small and sharp-edged as it was reflected in the curved sides of that cup – and the thin April sunshine and the liquid fluting of a blackbird coming in through the open windows, and the knot of friends and kinsfolk in their bravest coats and gayest gowns. Aye, and wee James with his face screwed up, poppy red and poppy crumpled in the midst of all the frills and fine lace that must have come near to smothering him, bawling like a bull calf at the touch of the cold water. And Darklis – it was she that held him – saying when his mother would have hushed him, ‘Och, no, he is letting out the Devil, the wee lamb, let him be.’
And I mind Dundee reaching out to take my lady’s hand that came to meet it.
But behind the minister’s voice and the bairn’s bellowing, there came the sound of horses’ hooves in the courtyard, and raised voices at the great door. And I saw how himself’s hand tightened over Lady Jean’s, and the look they gave each other, as the small ceremony went on. They must have known how short their happiness was to be.
When all was finished in seemly fashion, and we trooped out into the hall, there were three men waiting there; a narrow weazel-faced chiel in a tie wig and a coat of great importance with all the gold lace that was on it; and on either side of him a trumpeter of the Scots Dragoons.
I sensed rather than saw how Dundee checked for an instant, and then put Jean’s hand gently from his arm and walked forward to meet them.
‘My lord,’ began the weazel-faced man, ‘are you in the habit of keeping your guests waiting in your hall
under guard?’ He cast an angry eye at two of Claverhouse’s henchmen who did indeed look to be standing guard over them.
‘Not my guests, no,’ said Dundee quietly, and held out his hand. ‘Is that letter for me?’
‘From the President and Lords of the Convention ye left so unmannerly and without leave,’ said the man.
Dundee took the letter and broke the seal. He turned aside to catch the light of the nearest window on the crackling sheet as he opened it; and so I saw his face, and how his brows snapped together and the deep frown line between them as he read. Nobody moved. When he had done, he refolded the letter and turned back to the man who had brought it.
‘It seems to me quite extraordinary,’ said he, ‘that His Grace the Duke of Hamilton should send a herald and trumpeters to summon any man to return to the Convention, which he has a perfect right to leave if he so wishes. Even more extraordinary, to summon him to lay down his arms, when he has not taken them up, but is living peacefully in his own home.’
The man flushed and seemed to have difficulty in swallowing. ‘Then you refuse?’
‘I refuse to return to the Convention. As I have just said, I have not taken up arms,’ Dundee returned, still quietly. He turned from the man, as from something of very little account. ‘Davy – Jean – take our guests through to the dining-room. I have a letter to write before I can join you.’ He smiled into my lady’s tense white face. ‘It seems that in one way or another, the Government can never keep from meddling with our private days of joy, sweetheart.’
I minded how he had spent his wedding night on the high moors, and the rain on the roof, and the taperlight shining lonely from my lady’s window.
William and Mary were proclaimed King and Queen of James’s kingdom two days later, though of course it was a few days more before the news of it reached us. And by that time there had begun to be a different kind of gathering at Dudhope. It was no good waiting any longer for the King’s commission to raise troops, for word came only a few hours after the herald and trumpeters that James had indeed sent it, but that it had fallen into the hands of the Whigs. So what had begun as a gathering for a bairn’s christening became a gathering to the Stuart cause.
We raised the royal standard for King James on Dundee Law, our hearts high within us, for all the chill of the east wind that was blowing. Aye, I’ll not forget how it was that day, if I live to see your sons grown to manhood. The Lion Rampant of Scotland striking out crimson and gold into the wind, held high by Philip of Amryclose who had laid aside his pipes and his legends to become our standard-bearer, and under it, Dundee and his officers sitting their horses bareheaded.
There was around sixty of us, I suppose; David Graham that was Dundee’s brother, and a handful of friends that were of his way of thinking, and us, the men of his old troop, under the blue and silver of his personal standard; and a petty chieftain here and there with a tail of half-a-dozen men and a proudly tattered flag. And over all the skirling of the great war pipes, for Amryclose was not the only piper among us. A small enough company we made on the wide steep stretch of Dundee Law; a small company to be setting off to raise the Highlands for the King. But Montrose had done the same thing with a smaller company more than forty years before.
It was a custom, as I have already told you, for Dundee town to be not just on the best of terms with its
Constable, but Claverhouse had come to be well enough liked during his term as Provost, and a good few of the townsfolk had come up, if not to wish him well, then at least to see him on his way; and most of the Dudhope folk had come out likewise, my lady Jean of course amongst them; and Darklis.
I wished that she had brought Caspar out with her; but we had said our farewells in private, Caspar and I, and now he was shut up, waiting for Darklis to go and let him out when we were well away.
There were many farewells going on; aye, and I had mine too, for at the very last moment, the lassie caught the hand I held down to her, and set her foot on mine and swung up as light as a bird, across my saddle. ‘A stirrup-kiss, for luck,’ said she, laughing, and gave it to me before them all. But so quick and light that it was gone almost before I knew I had it, a kiss that would somehow melt like the faery gold that turns to autumn leaves, if I had tried to grasp it. The kind that you would expect from a lassie that heard strange pipe-music under an elder tree on Midsummer’s Eve