Gentleman Captain (26 page)

We rode down, dismounted at the foot of a grand sweep of steps, and were led inside by Simic. A fine hallway, furnished with classical statues and vases, gave no sign of the military inclinations of its owner. There were no racks of swords or pikes, no carefully mounted muskets. Instead, the walls were papered in the very way the fashionable of Whitehall adorned theirs. There was a fireplace on the right, and above it hung a picture of a handsome young gallant in the court garb of King James's time. At the end of the hallway, two servants opened a pair of imposing doors with a great flourish. We stepped over the threshold and entered an astonishing room that seemed to be walled entirely with glass.

Judge and I paused and looked around in silent amazement. Great windows stretched from floor to ceiling on three sides; the fourth was taken up with mirrors and two small fireplaces. Flames danced from glass to glass, window to window, creating nothing like enough heat to warm the room. It was only then that I noticed the figure sitting on a high-backed chair at the centre of the room. He was a little man–barely taller than John Treninnick–grey-haired, thin, perhaps of sixty years or so, with a small pointed beard that had been the fashion at the start of the last king's reign. An old but still livid scar ran down his left cheek to his jaw, and had evidently almost cost him his eye. His clothes were plain, and they too were of an older, altogether different time. He seemed utterly insignificant, and but for that great scar, the image of a dull market-town notary.

He rose and extended his hand to both of us. We approached and I found myself towering over him.

'I am Glenrannoch,' he said simply, his eyes holding ours fleetingly as is the way with timid men. 'Welcome to Scotland, gentlemen, and welcome to this, the Tower of Rannoch.' Judge shook first, then I. Like his gaze, the great general's grip was weak, like a young girl's. 'Captain Judge. Captain Quinton.' He held my hand for a moment, and his eyes seemed to search my face intently. Then he turned away and signalled for chairs. Two boys, dressed incongruously in the height of London fashion, scurried forward and positioned them before the general.

Judge looked about him in ostentatious admiration. 'A most impressive home you have, sir,' he enthused. 'I had heard of it, of course, during my last commission in these waters, but the opportunity to visit never arose–you were abroad at the time, and I had other matters in hand.'

Glenrannoch shrugged, and said but one word. 'Madness.' In the pause that followed I pondered the ambiguity of this remark. Then he waved his hand at the glass that surrounded us. 'Utter folly, Captain Judge,' he continued. 'There was a strong old castle on this site. The true Tower of Rannoch, where I grew up. It was centuries old with thick walls that made it warm in winter and cool in summer. But my father served thirty years with the King of France's
Garde Ecossaise,
escorting the late King Louis from one splendid fantasy in the Loire to another, and he took a fancy to having a chateau of his own. So down came the old tower, and up went this in its stead. In winter you can scrape the ice off those mirrors, and in summer I could put an egg on this chair and fry it. I was campaigning somewhere in Brabant at the time, and could not stop him. He died a week before the infernal place was finished. As the preachers tell us, the Lord moves in mysterious ways, but few are as mysterious as the ways by which those of us who reside here stay alive.'

Glenrannoch's conversation was so soft that I had to strain to follow his words. There was almost no trace of the Scots in his voice, but an occasional vowel betrayed the long years that he had spent in the Dutch service. The longer he spoke, though, the more the initial impression of smallness and weakness dissipated. Some say that the greatest generals fight as sparingly as they can, kill as sparingly as they can, and speak as sparingly as they can. But when they have to fight or kill or speak, they do it ruthlessly, and with clear intent. I wondered whether this was the case with Colin Campbell of Glenrannoch. The simplicity of his demeanour discomforted me, for something seemed to lurk beneath it.

The general nodded to Simic and spoke some words of a harsh and guttural language. This must be the language of Simic's people, from far to the east of the Rhine. The huge mercenary brought forward three goblets of wine and I thought how strange it was to see the great giant dancing attendance upon the tiny general. When he had retired I sipped my wine, which proved to be a more than acceptable claret, and turned back to Glenrannoch, who was speaking.

'Well, gentlemen. Much as it delights me to have such rare guests, I have to ask what it can be that brings two of His Majesty's men-of-war, and two such illustrious captains, to such an obscure quarter of his dominions?'

'Sir, His Majesty ever has a care for all of his dominions,' Judge replied smoothly.

'That may well be. But he has been happily restored to his thrones these two years, Captain Judge, and in all that time we have seen not even a ketch of the king's in these waters. Nor have we seen a single soldier west of Inveraray, where, it must be said, they pester my kinsman Lorne quite mercilessly.'

Judge sipped his wine and nodded. 'His Majesty is concerned to protect these waters from any mischief the Dutch might attempt, sir. He also seeks to ensure that the very absence of his forces from these lands does not encourage malcontents to stir up trouble.' Judge was looking at Glenrannoch impassively. 'Then again, I suppose there may even be some discontent amongst your own clan, following the execution of your late chief, Argyll.'

Glenrannoch smiled politely at that. 'Not from me. Archie was that most dangerous of combinations, Captain: a man at once utterly devious and exceptionally stupid. He could have ruined Clan Campbell with his absurd posturing. None of my sept shed a tear for him when his head came off, me least of all.' Glenrannoch had not drunk from his wine. Now he placed the goblet carefully on a table beside him. 'But another Dutch war would be a different matter, as you say. I know more than a little of the Dutch, of course, having served their high mightinesses of the States-General for a quarter-century.' He looked steadily at us. 'Pray tell me, gentlemen. Why do you suppose His Majesty expects the Dutch to come vapouring on these coasts? If I was Grand Pensionary de Witt or Lieutenant-Admiral Lord Obdam, gentlemen, I would aim straight for the Thames, hard and fast, and starve London into surrender while you have no defences. I would not worry myself with such godforsaken wilds as these.'

Campbell's manner indeed belied an unexpected sagacity. 'Sir,' I said, leaning earnestly towards him, 'in the last war, the Dutch sent many ships around Scotland to avoid our fleet in the Channel. They regularly use the harbours on this coast to shelter their fishing fleets. These waters are important to them, sir, so they may seek to secure them ahead of another war.' Judge looked at me curiously, perhaps surprised that such an insight could come from such an ignoramus. In truth, it came from an unimpeachable Dutch source. My good-brother Cornelis seemed to have spent most of his career fretting after the return of fat Amsterdam fly-boats sailing around Scotland–
achteroom,
as he called it–and protecting the fishermen who pursued the herring shoals wherever they migrated. 'We are but a deterrent, sir, to remind the Dutch–and anyone else–that the King of England's writ runs in these parts.'

Glenrannoch smiled tightly. 'The only writ that runs in these parts, Captain Quinton, is that of the King of Scots. Even if he chooses to spend all his life south of the Fens and treats his native kingdom worse than the meanest of his English counties.' I shifted uncomfortably on my chair, embarrassed by my schoolboy error. 'But I wonder,' Glenrannoch went on musingly, 'whether two ships alone would be a sufficient deterrent for anything? Even with the help of the brave regiment that set out from Dumbarton yesterday. Four hundred men and four cannon, I'm told, under Colonel Will Douglas of St Bride's. A man, incidentally, I dismissed for incompetence at Breda back in '37.' I glanced at Judge, but his gaze was fixed steadily on Glenrannoch's face.
He knows of the regiment? And news of it has come to this fastness in just a day?

A deterrent, gentlemen,' said Glenrannoch, 'must be strong enough to make an enemy think again, for otherwise, why should he be deterred? But just two ships, in these fatal waters? Just one regiment, commanded by an ignorant old buffoon like Will Douglas, travelling many miles over land it does not know, through glens where it would be so easy for a knowing commander to lay an ambush? Does Charles Stuart really call that a deterrent? But then, I'm told King Charles has precious little money, so perhaps empty gestures are all he can afford.'

I struggled to think of a loyal riposte, but was too appalled by the implications of Glenrannoch's words.
He knows. He has made his plans. He will ambush and destroy the regiment. We are on a fool's errand, and our mission is doomed.

Judge, though, seemed unperturbed. He said blandly, 'All hypotheses, with respect, sir. We expect no trouble, and seek none. For my part, I look forward to renewing old acquaintances.'

Ah, yes. I heard much of your times in these parts, Captain Judge.' Glenrannoch raised his goblet in salute. 'But now tell me, Captain Quinton'–and he looked at me with that same slightly quizzical frown–'how is your mother?'

My mother?
'She ... why, she was quite well, sir, when I left for this voyage. But how...?'

Ah. That is a story of another time, Captain. And to be told
at
another time, I think. But come, gentlemen. You must see my father's preposterous French garden while we still have some light. Then you will take some supper with me. Simic will lead you back to your ships before the blackest part of the night.'

I half expected that we would die on the moors that night, hacked to pieces by Simic and his running men, our parts fed to the wolves. But Campbell of Glenrannoch seemingly felt no need to invite greater royal forces to his lands, having made plain his contempt for those already present. As we rode, I had no opportunity for a private word with Godsgift Judge, and when we reached the shore Simic escorted us directly to his birlinn. The little longboat rowed out to our two ships, illuminated only by their stern lanterns. They swung at anchor in the blackness of a bay from which the fog had cleared to reveal a star-bright night. We came to
Royal Martyr
first, and I asked Judge if he wished me to come aboard. No, he said, there was no need, and wished me a good night. The birlinn took me on to the
Jupiter,
where the voice of Trenance, the lookout, alerted Kit Farrell, who had the watch, and I boarded to a perfunctory greeting from a small side party. I acknowledged Farrell, established from him that there were no matters requiring my attention, and went below to my cabin.

I kicked off my boots and sat on my sea-bed, turning over in my mind the events of the night. I recalled also Cornelia's letter to me at Spithead, in which she spoke of my mother's agitation on learning that I was bound for the Western Isles. Phineas Musk appeared, complaining vehemently of the lateness of the hour but bearing a welcome tankard of small beer. He lit a candle or two and muttered as he unearthed my nightshirt from its stowage.

'Musk,' I asked at length, 'have you ever heard my mother or my brother speak of a man named Campbell? Colin Campbell, of Glenrannoch? A general in the Dutch service?'

Musk paused in his rummaging and turned a truculent face to me. 'We're in the back end of the worst country in the world, forsaken by God and our king, I'm a thousand miles from my hearth and a goodly wench in London town, and you want to know if I've heard one name spoken in all my days?' My look at him must have been murderous, for in haste he added, 'No, Captain. Campbell of Glenrannoch. Never heard the name spoken.'

I ate a mouthful of rough ship's biscuit, drank, and pondered how, in our saviour's name, this great general–one who looked and sounded so unlike any general I had ever seen–could possibly have known my mother, hidden so far away behind the walls of Ravensden Abbey.

Musk fidgeted impatiently and wandered around the cabin. As he did so, he regaled me with his own version of the latest news. 'Invitations galore you've had today, sir, you and Captain Judge. Every mean chief of these parts wants to entertain you. Must be the most excitement they've had here this century, at least. Unearthly names, all of them, but I wrote them down.' He produced a list with a flourish, and proceeded to read it. 'Macdonald of Lochiel, tomorrow afternoon, for hunting. Maclean of Duart, tomorrow evening, for supper. Macdougall of Dunollie, tomorrow evening again. And then...' He paused dramatically. I looked up to see one beady eye squinting at me over the paper. 'And then there's the lady.'

'Lady?'

'Cuts quite a figure in these parts, it seems. Surprised Captain Judge hasn't mentioned her to you. We've had Scots of all shapes and sizes aboard us today, and very talkative about these things they are, once you pick up their outlandish way of speaking. Yes, quite a lady, they say. The Lady Macdonald of Ardverran, she is. But she goes by another name, too. The Countess of Connaught, no less, and in her own right, too. Wants you both to attend an
audience,
of all things, tomorrow night, just like the king holds at Whitehall, with herself and Sir Ian Macdonald, eighth of Ardverran, baronet. All very puffed up and grand with their titles, the people hereabouts. Still, think I'd know which invitation to take up, Captain.'