After a few months of my mother's marriage, and after a particularly vicious kicking, I laid about my stepfather with a shovel in a great rage. He retired whimpering and bruised to the Crook Inn and I saw no more of him that night. The next day I told my mother that I was going south to England, perhaps even to London, to make my own way in the world. There were tears and protestations, but I sensed that in her heart she was happy to be rid of her youngest and most troublesome son, who after all was of little use on the land and whose head was full of strange ideas and nonsenses (and indeed, if she only knew it, heresies).
On the evening before my departure from the valley, I walked the half-league to the Dominie. The moon was full, and it seemed that its light came down through a tunnel made of high swirling clouds. The hills glowed with an unearthly light and it was easy to see warlocks in the dark shadows. The Dominie - I only ever knew him by that title - had been busy with the bottle and did not hear me enter. The room was warm and red from the glowing peat and he was sprawled on a chair, gazing into the fire, a Bible and a near-empty bottle on the floor next to him. He spoke without looking up.
'Is that you off, then? To the English Queen's city, the great dunghill?'
'In the morning.'
He turned to me. His cheeks and eyes were red, whether with whisky or the fire I could not be sure. 'You know nothing of life outside Tweedsmuir, James.'
'How can that be? Look what you have taught me.'
He shook his head. 'Education is a fine shield and a deadly weapon, but it will take you only so far. You lack experience, and you are going alone into a city with more sins than Nineveh.'
'I've been to Lanark.'
He laughed briefly. 'Lanark is not Nineveh.' He paused, and then asked, almost as if he was speaking his thoughts aloud, 'Will we ever see you again?'
'Sir, who but God can say?'
'Who, indeed. Aye well, you have learning far beyond ABC, and the sharpest wits I've seen in any lad of your age. But you'll need more than that.' He stood up unsteadily and crossed to a small black chest in the corner of the room. I had wondered many a time what was in the chest, but had never dared to ask. But now he was turning a key in a padlock and pulling up the lid. 'This will supplement your wits.' To my amazement he produced a black leather sheath and from it pulled out a long, thin, two-edged dagger. He handed it to me, almost reverently. 'Mariners call it a ballockknife. It has been places and done things you don't want to know about. Roll up your sleeve,' he said. I did so. He buckled the sheath on to the back of my forearm. 'You will not see many handles like that. It is called ivory and is carved from the tusk of an elephant.'
But the edges of the blade were of more interest to me. I touched them and gasped with the unexpected pain. They were sharper than those of any knife I had come across.
'Put it back in its sheath. Then pull it out quickly, and try not to slice your skin as you do.'
I did so. There was a ridge inside the leather sheath which held the dagger in place but was easily overcome simply by tugging at the ivory handle.
'Do it again.'
I did so several times. I found I could pull the knife out in an instant.
'Now roll your sleeve down and repeat the process.'
I did so.
The Dominie nodded. 'Again, faster.'
I did so, until I felt confident that I could snatch the knife out from under the sleeve of my tunic in an instant.
The Dominie nodded in satisfaction. 'That is your friend,' he said. 'Put your trust in no other. Use him only when you must. But when you must use him, do so suddenly, and with great rage and boldness.'
I began to thank him, but he silenced me with an impatient gesture. 'Another good friend. He has served me well but I no longer have need of him.' And from under the bed he produced a pole, about shoulder high, with a sharp metal spike on its end. 'He is happier in the open air than hidden under a bed. The mariners call it a boarding pike. It needs little skill but is very effective. There is no defence against this—' and he suddenly swept the pike from knee height upwards towards my stomach, stopping its point an inch from me. He laughed at my sudden fear. In the red light of the peat, his eyes watery and gleaming, he looked satanic. 'And if you thrust your opponent here' - he moved the point down to just above my groin - 'he will take hours, maybe days, to die in agony.'
'I would not wish that on any man, even if he was not a Christian.'
The Dominie looked as if he had something to say on the matter, but then changed his mind. Instead he pulled aside a curtain. 'Perhaps one last friend.' Over his unmade bed was a single shelf of books. He pulled one out and thrust it into my hands, almost with embarrassment. Again I started to speak, but he shook his head and turned my shoulders towards the door. As I left he said, 'I can give you no better advice than this, James. Hold onto your weapons, keep your own counsel, never get too close to any man. Now go, and God be with you, if there is a God.'
I left, my head swirling like the clouds above me. Surely the world beyond the valley was not as dangerous a place as my drunken teacher implied? The Dominie was a man of God. But of what God, in truth I was beginning to wonder.
The following morning, I crawled over my sleeping brother and stepped quietly down the ladder. Heavy snoring came from behind the curtain screening the hole in the wall where my parents slept. One of the pigs stirred. My satchel was prepared. As I lifted it I heard my name whispered: 'James!' Angus looked down at me, his face pale and strained. There was nothing I could say to him. I waved silently, my heart filled with sadness. Outside, the air was chill and damp. I took the drover's road running alongside the chattering Tweed and, with the mist coming down from the dark hills, turned south, away from the cottage where I had spent my life.
After half a league the road took me past the smiddy, its windows shuttered. Fiona's home; Fiona of the long black hair and the cheerful smile; Fiona who, had I stayed in that valley, might some day have become my wife. She was fifteen years, my age. My will almost failed me at that point, knowing that if I walked past I might never see her again. But walk past I did, although with trembling knees and pain in my heart.
Presently the mist began to lift, and the road skirted the broad marshland which was the source of the Tweed, and then wound along the rim of the Devil's Beef Tub. I took this dangerous road, treading carefully. The great cauldron below was filled with mist, as if water was bubbling within it. Then the road descended steeply towards Moffat, where plumes of smoke were drifting up from a dozen chimneys. By noon I was walking through the village, having met not a soul on the way.
I had now reached the boundary of my world. Beyond Moffat, the landscape was unfamiliar. I began to feel a sense of adventure, mixed with apprehension. I carried on south and by the evening the drover's road merged with a broader track heading towards Carlisle and beyond.
My mother had given me enough silver coins to purchase food for some weeks. The Dominie's pike was in my hands and his ballockknife was hidden in my sleeve, its sheath strapped to my wrist. I was to wonder many times, in my long journey, what lay in this strange man's past and what tales the dagger could tell. Be that as it may, pike and knife gave me a sense of security; the robber who attempted to waylay me would be risking a cut throat.
My satchel held not only a purse of coins, but also a small Bible and - God bless the Dominie - Thomas North's translation of Plutarchs's
Lives.
Useless baggage? My mother would have said so. But in the days to come the wisdom of these men of liberty - Solon, Publicola, Philopoemen, Titus Quinctius Flamininus and Caius Marius -was to shine through the mists of time, lighting my way through terrifying darkness, and I was the stronger for their companionship. I truly believe that I would not have survived to this day without them.
You may think that a country boy going alone into unknown territory would be prey to the wiles of clever tricksters, who would present themselves as affable companions but whose true purpose would be to lighten me of my coins. And indeed some tried, even at the end of my first day when, with darkness falling, I stopped at a hot and cheerful hostelry. But I will not trouble you with the adventures of my long journey south - I write this in circumstances where parchment must be used sparsely, and indeed in circumstances where I must write quickly, for my survival is far from certain. Suffice to say that I found myself equal to all that I encountered, and that when I entered London three weeks later, with my last coin gone and the soles of my shoes wearing thin, I had been measured and not found wanting in the world of men.
I saw the haze of that great city a full half day before I saw the city itself.
CHAPTER 6
As I approached the city I began to pass houses the likes of which I had never before seen. They were like palaces, almost as grand as the castles I had glimpsed in the distance on my way south. Some were reached through long, broad paths and were surrounded by trees and shrubs cut in patterns which were clearly the work of man. The road broadened and from time to time horsemen would pass, sometimes singly, sometimes in twos or threes, dressed in fine clothes and with long, thin swords in scabbards. Then the houses became smaller and more clustered, with little space that I could see for gardens.
Individuals began to pass me, paying me little attention. In my long walk from Scotland I had preferred to travel alone - keeping my own counsel, as the Dominie would have said. Unwelcome companions had been met with dourness and taciturnity and had soon found excuses to part company with me. Here I had no such problem. There was not even a nod of greeting.
Within an hour of reaching the border of the city I was walking past rows of houses stuck together, and people in their hundreds walking on roads covered with filth. The air stank worse than our byre. I had to step around dung and garbage many times. I wondered how people could be content to live in this way. I began to notice that I was receiving curious stares, and I surmised that my tunic, my breeches, my cap and my pike were the objects of this attention. Indeed, two young women ran past me giggling, covering their mouths with their hands. I noticed that their faces seemed to be covered with some white powder, which I found very strange.
All the time, as I approached the centre of this great town, the bustle and noise increased. There were men pulling carts full of vegetables, shops displaying fly-covered meat, women carrying bags of bread and flour, and more horsemen, wearing stockings like my mother, and tunics with frills of white cloth around their necks. These men too had swords, and usually carried themselves with a certain swagger, the horses seeming as grand and arrogant as their owners. And there were others in flea-infested rags, sitting on the street with hands cupped, looking for coins. One or two played on mandolins like those of the Lanark beggars.
Soon I found myself walking along narrow streets, full of inns and bustling with merchants and carts carrying barrels, timber, bales of wool and many other products. I passed a great tower on a hill, square in construction and with flags flying from each of its four turrets. But it was not the tower which caught my eye: it was a scaffold next to it, from which the bodies of three men were hanging. Further along I saw a great archway and close to it four high poles with what looked like turnips stuck on top. As I approached, I saw to my horror that these were human heads, drained, discoloured, the jaws hanging open and flies buzzing in their ears, eyes and mouths. Dark stains had trickled down the poles from the heads. I could not believe such barbarity. Whatever they had done, were they not Christians, and so entitled to Christian burial? Trying not to retch I passed under the arch. None of the crowd milling around me seemed even to notice the ghastly sight.
In the late afternoon, with the sky growing dark and thundery, I walked alongside the broad river which I knew to be the Thames. Small ships, many of them loaded with cargo, were sailing up and down this stretch of water. I had seen pictures of ships but this was my first sight of real ones. I was enchanted by them and almost forgot the gruesome heads which I had earlier passed under. I walked along the embankment, past a timber crane which was being used to unload casks of what I believed to be French wine, until I came to a bridge, and joined the throng which was crossing it. By now it was almost dark, I still had no money and no place to sleep, and I was filled with great weariness, having walked four leagues that day.
South of the river, London was clearly an area of great poverty, but there was also much merriment, or so it seemed. The streets were crowded with drunkards. A woman of great age, perhaps forty, with bright red lips and face powdered white, gave me a strange, unpleasant smile. I ignored her and passed. She smelled of flowers and sweat. I had hardly gone fifty paces when my path was blocked by four youths, some years older than me. They wore flat caps with feathers and had long, thin swords dangling from their belts. I did not like their demeanour.
The oldest, a flat-faced individual with a dull red tunic and thin breeches, stopped me with a raised hand. 'So where have you crawled from, country boy? Scotland?' There was an outburst of coarse laughter from his friends, who were spreading themselves around me. 'And where did you steal these clothes? From the back of a sheep?' More laughter. I tried to push on past but the man shoved at my chest and said, 'I'm not finished with you, boy.' His face was a foot from mine and his breath was disgusting, with a strong smell of port.
'And I don't like the look of you,' I replied.
He looked at me with angry amazement and then slapped my face. The blow was hard and unexpected and I staggered, almost knocked to the ground and dropping my pike, which he stood on. I recovered my balance and suddenly, with rage and boldness, pulled my dagger from its sheath and lunged at his throat. He froze, wide-eyed in terror. I pricked the skin of his neck, drawing blood, and said loudly, making sure anger was in my voice, 'I am indeed from the land of the Scots, sir. Do you have anything to say about that?'