Clandara (33 page)

Only a few hours earlier, Prince Charles had stopped there and taken food and drink, a fact which the frightened owner did not try to conceal from his English guests. The Duke was in a good humour that morning, and with a battle ahead of him he had neither the time nor the inclination to take vengeance. He accepted the laird's excuses with a smile of understanding, and Kilravock House and its inhabitants were spared. By noon he had joined the army at Culloden and, within clear sight of them, the Highland forces of Prince Charles were drawn up upon the soft and hilly ground of Drummossie Moor.

The clansmen of Ogilvie were marching down the Inverness road and by nine that morning they sighted the mass of the army at Culloden. Henry rode forward towards the fine mansion standing in its park and woodlands, stopping to enquire of one of the many groups of officers where he might find the Prince.

“At the house, sir. But don't look for food for your people; we've none for ourselves and we're still awaiting the issue of what the Prince brought back from Inverness.” As he rode by, Henry was surprised to see men lying fast asleep beneath the trees; everywhere he looked he saw signs of disorder and, what amazed him most of all, positive sullenness and apathy. It was a cold day, and the clouds were gathering above in grey masses, threatening rain. He dismounted outside the entrance to Culloden House, throwing the reins to one of his men, and ran up the steps to the main hall. He stopped a tall Highland officer who was leaning against the wall eating a piece of bread-and-meat; he was surprised to recognize the rich and elegant Lord Lewis Gordon, the younger son of the Duke of Gordon.

“Henry Ogilvie! Welcome and greetings. We heard you were on your way and thank God for it. How many men have you brought?”

“Two hundred and twenty at the last count,” Henry answered. “What is the position, sir? Shall we do battle today?”

“Undoubtedly,” Lord Lewis yawned. “They know well enough we've been up half the night trying to take them by surprise and they probably know that the army hasn't had more than a biscuit and a little water in its belly for the last twenty-four hours. The Prince himself went into Inverness to bring back the meal-carts, but it's too late now. The whole thing is too late. Have you eaten?”

“Not since yesterday,” Henry said. He was looking around him at the groups of weary men, eating like humblies with their bare hands and drinking wine out of the bottle. Some of the greatest names in the Highlands were being called back and forth, and those who answered to them were as tired and dirty as the clansmen he had seen sprawled out asleep on the bare ground outside. He turned to Lord Lewis.

“What has been happening here? I've never seen such chaos. You all look to me as if you've just fought the battle!”

“That's exactly what we have done,” the young man said. “We've fought for two long months, Mr. Ogilvie, against desertions, lack of funds and the quarrelling of the Prince with Lord George Murray. No wonder Murray of Broughton fell ill, or said he did! Now there's such an utter fool in his place that he didn't make provision to feed the army, and the men are fainting for want of food. Fight a battle!” He laughed, and, bending low, retrieved the bottle which he had placed between his feet. He raised it to Henry.

“I give you a toast, my dear sir. To the battle. Now excuse me; the Prince is upstairs if you've a mind to see him, but I'm going back to the kitchens. I have a notion this will be my last meal.”

Henry turned to the stairs, but a gentleman in the livery of the Prince stepped across and held him back.

“If you're seeking the Prince, he's seeing no one now,” he said. “He's with the General-in-Chief and the Duke of Perth. Wait till he comes down.”

“I've brought two hundred Ogilvies with me,” Henry said. “How shall I dispose them?”

“The Prince will tell you.”

“My thanks; in that case I shall take everyone's advice and get something to eat and drink.”

“Through there,” the gentleman said, pointing to an open door across the hall. “There's a sideboard laid out in there, and there's plenty of wine. The rogue who owns this house left an excellent cellar behind him.”

The room was crowded; Henry had to push, constantly apologizing and greeting men he knew before he could reach the table. He was about to take a bottle of wine and fill his pocket with oatcakes, for the meat had all gone, when a voice said just behind him: “Ah, here come the laggard Ogilvies at last. And surely this, with his hand round a bottle of another man's wine, is none other than their chief!”

Voices in the room were dying away; suddenly it was very quiet. He turned round and faced the man who had insulted him. And, though they had never met, he knew at once that the tall, dark man, his black eyes glittering and his mouth drawn back in a sneer, was James Macdonald. He looked steadily into that swarthy face and read the murder in the blazing eyes, and very calmly he looked from the face to the hand which was gripping the long thin dirk in his belt.

“I am the Ogilvie of Spey,” Henry said. “Your name, sir?”

“James Macdonald of Dundrenan. I heard you had decided at last to throw in your lot with your Prince, and I hastened here to tell you that the last rank in the battle is reserved for those who took so long to show their loyalty to their Prince.”

“If you are trying to provoke me,” Henry said, “why don't you do so clearly, so that all can hear you?”

“If you prefer it,” James said very softly. There was not a sound to be heard in the room; a little circle had cleared round the two men as they stood facing each other.

“You are a coward,” James said. “You had the temerity to marry a lady to whom I was once betrothed and that offends me. The marriage offends me; but you offend me most of all.”

He stepped forward and struck Henry a violent blow across the face. “Come outside and defend yourself,” he sneered. “If you are not as afraid of me as you are of the English …”

Henry touched his face; a crimson weal was rising down the side of it, and blood oozed from a broken lip. The blow had been a savage one; custom demanded a light slap as a means of challenging an enemy. James had struck with all his strength.

“I shall kill you,” Henry said. “I had that intention anyway when I set out. Not only to avenge the insults you've offered me, but to take justice for the death of my wife's brother and my old friend, whom you foully murdered from behind.”

“Congratulations,” James said softly. “I was afraid from all I'd heard of you that even a blow like mine wouldn't have brought your sword out of its scabbard. Follow me!” He turned and pushed his way out of the room. At the door he paused, looking back over the heads of the crowd to the man who followed him. He felt exhilarated, almost as if he were drunk. Lewis Gordon had told him where Ogilvie was, and he had forced his way in after him, determined to insult him past bearing and provoke the quarrel which would mean his death. James did not doubt his own skill, and the intensity of his jealous hatred gave him unnatural strength. Hate would sharpen his eye and quicken his thrust. She had taken a husband, had she, and a handsome one with a fine house and money and a good name? … As Ogilvie caught up with him, he bent and said under his breath: “Did you really imagine that I would let another man take my place with her? … Did you think I'd let her marry and forget me? If she takes a dozen husbands, by God, I'll kill them all, starting with you!”

“If you speak of my wife once more, you scoundrel,” Henry said, “I'll stab you where you stand.”

“Ah, has she enslaved you too?” James jeered. “Has she talked of love to you and melted in your arms, in that sweet way she has? Don't place too much reliance on it, sir. She'll have forgotten you after I've killed you as quickly as she's forgotten me. Come. Let's make an end.”

“One moment!” The Duke of Perth stood before them. He was pale and unshaven, and his face was drawn with anger. In spite of themselves, James and Henry stopped.

“I hear you're about to fight a duel,” the Duke said. “Is that correct?”

“It is,” Henry answered. “I must ask you to step aside, your grace.” Perth glanced at his injured face and turned with a scowl upon James.

“Your doing, I see,” he snapped. “Now listen to me! The Prince is coming now, and the army will take its final position for battle within the hour. If either of you dares to persist in a private quarrel at this moment, I'll send men after you to shoot you down! The English are two hours' march away from us, and we need every man. Mr. Ogilvie, go and see to your clan, if you please. Take them up to the moor and dispose them on the right behind Clan Chattan. You, sir!” He put out his hand as James tried to step forward. “Stay where you are. Your father is searching for you.”

“You have no right to stop us.” James turned on him furiously; had his opponent been the Prince, he would have done the same. “This is a matter of honour. Just give me ten minutes” – he glared at Ogilvie – “and it will be over. Ogilvie, are you a man or the coward I called you, that you walk away with that mark upon your face!”

Henry looked at him; he was not a bitter man or one who harboured wrongs, but the pain of his parting from Katharine had been with him all the way from Spey, and the nightmare of their last night together had haunted him with shame and remorse ever since. And now the cause of it all stood within a few feet of him, the man whose arms had spoiled her for his, whose cruel and evil mouth had touched hers, whose hands had been at liberty to touch her before they drew a sword against her brother … He had never really hated in his life before, but now his hatred came up into his heart and filled it full. There was a bitter taste of blood in his mouth.

“I'm going to kill you,” he said slowly. “But I came here first to fight for the Prince, and that's what I am going to do. After the battle we shall meet, Macdonald, and, I beg of you, take care today. I don't want the English to deprive me of my purpose.”

“Nor I,” James snarled. “I'll wait for you, sir, sword in hand.” He turned round to the men grouped near them and then to Perth himself. “I call you all to witness that the Ogilvie has promised satisfaction. If we both survive and he refuses to fight me, I claim the right to dagger him where he stands.”

Perth turned his back on James. The meaning of the quarrel was becoming clear to him; Katharine Fraser … she had lately married the man James was challenging to the death. He had always disliked the savage son of the Macdonald chieftain. Now he could not trust himself to speak to him. He said to Henry: “Go on, sir. Nobody here doubts your courage. I order you in the name of the Prince. Go to your people and prepare them on the field. This business between you and James Macdonald can be settled later. That is if either of you is left alive after today!”

Word had gone through the countryside that a great battle was about to be fought, and since dawn the people had been coming from Inverness and the scattered crofts along the moor to the brae of Creagan Glas to watch the Prince and his army fight the English. It was bitterly cold and a sharp wind whipped the faces of the women and children and the gentry who stood upon the open ridge, the same wind with its burden of rain and sleet which was lashing into the faces of the Prince's army drawn up upon Drummossie Moor below them. A thousand yards away the thicker mass of scarlet which was King George's army moved towards them; the jingle and roll of their artillery train could be clearly heard, and with it the steady tapping of the drummers keeping the beat for the men.

It had seemed at one point that Cumberland might have to fight without his guns. The army had moved to the south-west, with the Moray Firth and the Nairn Valley on its flanks, and it marched upward over the soggy heather towards the plateau of the Moor, its guns rumbling behind upon the Inverness road until the route took them the same treacherous, boggy path as the infantry. And a tattered Highlander had risen from the roadside and offered to guide Colonel Belford and his artillery an easy way up the steeply sloping ground. Within half an hour the guns were sinking and tilting in the ooze of the White Bog, and when the Colonel sent for the guide who had so skilfully misdirected them, he had vanished. But if the Colonel was in despair, the Duke of Cumberland displayed his usual resource and energy and ordered the troops of Cholmondleys and the Royals to pull the guns on to firm ground. Their efforts, and the dispatch of horses from the rear, rescued the artillery from the bog where the unknown patriot had led them, and the Duke's army rolled forward to Drummossie Moor. Upon the brae there were many women and children of Clan Chattan, come to watch their men in battle and to go down and care for them afterwards and bring them home if they were wounded or dead. Some merchants from Inverness had travelled out to the bleak Moor, and a minister or two. The Catholic priests were down below with the clans, armed with sword and buckler. The wild skirling music of the pipes rose up through the driving rain and darkening cloud, carried for miles by the wind; the sound of it made the advancing redcoats glance sideways at one another, and the men of General Hawley's companies muttered uneasily. That same sound had presaged the terrible fighting at Falkirk when their nerve had broken and they fled the savage enemy. Thirty foot and thirty dragoons had swung from the Edinburgh gibbets after that defeat as a reminder to the rest not to run away again. Drums competed with the pipes, and slowly the English army moved, grouping and re-grouping in companies as their commander disposed them for battle. Across the Moor the Highland army waited, drawn up in a long uneven line on the spine of the ground; the Athollmen under Lord George Murray held the position to the right of the Prince, a position of honour which belonged by rights to all who bore the name Macdonald, given them by Robert the Bruce after Bannockburn as a sign of their courage in the battle, and now grudgingly renounced in favour of the unpopular General-in-Chief.