The Highwayman's Curse (4 page)

Apart from the red-haired man, the men drank little, looking to Jock for guidance, yet their noise swelled until the place swarmed with splenetic oaths and blazing eyes, and a strange excitement which I did not at that time understand.

Was it for our death? I thought so then.

A
t that time, warmed from within by the whisky and from without by the fire and the fug of bodies and breath, and yet with a chill fear crawling down the skin of my back, I began to think on tales I had heard of the wild Scottish people. Of brutal murder, the theft of girls, the slitting of an enemy's throat, and the most terrible thing of all – trepanning, the gruesome punishment we heard of in cautionary tales, the terrible cruelty of drilling a hole in an enemy's skull while he still lived. I had not thought much on it before. But now my mind dwelled on such things. If the Scottish people were as fearsome and cruel as the stories told, surely there would be no mercy for us.

Gradually, more whisky was downed by the men and the noise swelled further. Thoughts of the Sabbath seemed to be disappearing fast. Jeannie scowled at them, looking at Jock, but Jock seemed not to notice any more. “Hush! Let the bairn sleep!” she chided them, to little effect.

Iona had, I saw, been crying again for the loss of her great-grandfather, and Jeannie put her arm round the girl's shoulders, giving her a small hug and murmuring a few words. Jeannie had a kindness to her face, a softness in the eyes, a roundness to her pinked cheeks. Though there was tiredness too, and sadness, of course.

Every now and then I glanced at Bess. Her face showed no emotion. I know not if she was afraid or if she tried to think on a plan, but she simply stared in front of her, her eyes distant and glassy.

One thing I did not understand – why had they brought us into this dwelling, if they meant to kill us? Would they do so here, in front of the women and Tam, once midnight passed and the Sabbath was over? How long might it be till midnight? Some hours, I knew, as I thought it was only late afternoon.

I suppose even a condemned man receives a last meal and prisoners are fed and given water even if they are doomed to die. These men seemed intent on playing the part of hosts before they did whatever they planned to us. Meanwhile, it gave me the only chance we had. We could not escape, but we could persuade them to change their minds, could we not?

“We did not kill him,” I said, as boldly as I could. “We found him dead, and the boy injured. And we saw no sheep.” I looked Jock in the eye. He stared back at me, no emotion showing. A growl came from one of the other men and I whipped round to see a hand fly towards my face. I ducked, but too slowly. His rough fingernails stung my cheek as they passed. It was the man with the red hair.

“Red!” said Jeannie. “Let the laddie speak! We should find the truth or we are no better than them.” Red was the man's name, then. Red by name and by nature.

“If you kill us,” I continued, with more desperation than reason, “then the men who did this will yet be at large. They may return. My friend and I are handy with pistol and sword. We are two more men to join you.” I had no wish to fight their wars for them, but I could think of nothing else to say.

“Pah! Bitty lads ye are! No stronger than my own son,” said Thomas. I thought at first he meant Tam but a movement in a dark corner away from the fire caused me to peer in that direction, and I saw the boy a little older than I. Nothing showed on his face. Thick hair flopped down, fringing his eyes, and he did not push it back. I thought he looked sullen and I sensed no fellow feeling, nothing that I could like.

“Drown 'em, I say. Down the cave wi' 'em,” said Red, his face split into a grin as he swallowed another mouthful of the whisky. He gestured with an arm towards one side of the dwelling, but I knew not why he did so. Jock raised his hand for silence.

“We will find the truth. Let it no' be said we are afeard o' that. We are good men, no' like some I might talk of. And God is our guide. What o' the other lad? What d'ye say for yourself?”

Bess had not spoken since we came into the dwelling. She did so now, her voice low, disguised in the way she knew well, so that they would not know that she was a girl. The gloomy glow in the room was not sufficient for them to guess that the smoothness of her cheeks was a mark of her sex, not her age. “My friend speaks the truth. We are guests in this country and you should not treat us in this way. Are we to meet our deaths after saving the life of your child? Is this the hospitality of Scottish people? My father was Scottish and he did not tell me this.”

Her quiet voice held the room, and no one spoke. Even Red said nothing. The fire hissed and crackled and a dog yelped gently in its sleep. Only I knew that her voice lacked its usual bite. Had her spirit been doused by the whisky and by exhaustion? Or had she in truth given up? Her words were couched in reason, but the fire in them had gone out.

But whether or not her words would have helped us, I know not. For at that moment, we heard hoofbeats outside. Mouldy scurried to the still-open doorway.

“'Tis Mad Jamie!” he called over his shoulder.

Within a few moments, in the doorway, leaning against the frame, bending over to catch his breath, stood a gasping, skinny, raggedy boy who spat over and over again to rid his mouth of excess fluid.

Some of the men stood. Jeannie did so too. “Jamie, where's the bonesetter? Where is he?”

Mad Jamie simply shook his head, spittle flying everywhere. He wiped his huge hand across his wet mouth and stared in all directions. Thomas hurried towards him and dragged him to the table, where the smell of him came to me even over everything else. Its foul sweetness made my stomach rise.

Jeannie took him by the shoulders. “Where is he, Jamie? Why will he no' come?”

“The wifie say no,” said Mad Jamie, his eyes wide, his head flopping back and forth as Jeannie shook him.

“Woman, leave him be! Ye'll kill him and there'll be no good o' it,” said Jock. He turned to Mad Jamie. “Jamie, lad, ye ken me, and ye ken I'll no' harm ye. Did ye see the man? Did ye see the bonesetter?”

Jamie nodded his head.

“And was he lying down, Jamie, lad?” Jamie nodded. “Was he drunk, Jamie?” Jamie paused before nodding again.

There was a crash as Thomas smashed his cup down on the table. “Useless vermin!” he shouted.

“No' ye, Jamie,” said Jock in explanation, as Mad Jamie began to whimper in fear at Thomas's anger.

“We must send for another man,” urged Thomas now. “A doctor, anyone who can help Tam.”

“Aye,” said Jock. “That we should. I was thinking o'—”

At that moment, Tam cried out from where he lay by the fire and Jeannie ran back to him. His eyes were rolling in his head and his whole body shook horribly. Of a sudden, he arched his back and went limp. And the strangest thing – it may not seem possible, but I swear I saw it with my own eyes – was that his lips were blue, which I have never seen on a living person. The grey blue of a dead sea swelling before a storm. Jeannie lifted his head, placed her arm beneath his neck and pulled him towards her. He made not a sound now. And yet his chest still rose and fell, rose and fell. Though lightly, so lightly. I have heard tell of a person slipping away in just such a manner after fearful injury. I know not what it is called, but animals too can pass away through pain and fear, their wide eyes empty.

Iona stopped turning her ladle in the pot and looked to her younger brother, fear in her swollen eyes. There was a stirring among the men, as of leaves rushing together while the equinoctial winds of autumn gather strength.

I felt my arms pinned to my sides. Bess was grabbed by Red, his cheeks suffused with heat, the wiry strands of his beard against her face. Bess and I looked at each other. Her eyes showed little. I remembered times when the light in Bess's eyes would stir my soul and burn my fears away. It would not do so now.

The old woman sat in her chair, rocking a little. She seemed not to know or care what was happening in the room. Her arms were round her body as though she hugged herself and had no need of any other.

Now Jock did not look at us. He turned to where Tam, his grandson, lay near death, and his face was troubled as much as I have ever seen in any man. He looked then towards the others, and to everyone else in that grim dwelling, and finally to us. “Take 'em down to the lower cave. 'Tis low tide – tie them to the wall and when the tide rises, they'll drown, whether 'tis afore midnight or no'. And if God wants to spare them on the Sabbath, he can do such a thing. God rules the tides and…”

Suddenly, with a cry, the old woman rose to her feet.

“Aye, when the tide did rise, they did drown.” Her voice, cracked and shrill, pierced everything. And now she stood, small but strong. With her tiny, birdlike eyes staring at each of us in turn, she slowly pointed a bony finger towards us.

There was venom in her voice and it struck fear into my heart.

“B
e these the men? Be these the devil's men?” Before anyone could answer her, the old woman spat her words at us, her eyes burning with fury now.

“I curse their heid an' all the hairs upon their heid; I curse their face, their eyes, their nose, their tongue, their teeth, their neck, their shoulders, their heart, their stomach, their arms, their legs, an' every part o' their body, from the top o' their heid tae the soles o' their feet, afore an' behind, within an' withoot.

“I condemn them tae the deep pit o' Hell, tae remain wi' Lucifer an' all his fellows, an' their bodies to the gallows, first tae be hangit, then takken down an' left tae rot wi' dogs, an' swine, an' other foul beasts, abominable tae all the world. An' may their light go from oor sight, as their souls go from the eyes o' God, an' only in three thousand year will they rise from this terrible cursing, an' mak satisfaction an' penance. An' so I curse their souls.”

I could not speak, could not breathe after her words. Already my skin seemed to crawl with a creeping chill as though the words of her curse already had such power.

We were innocent! We had no hand in the old man's death, nor Tam's terrible injury. Yet how could these people be made to know the truth? Or, with such a curse on our shoulders, was it too late?

Into the silence came a rough laugh. It was Red, his head thrown back in mirth. “Look at ye! Afeard o' an old woman's words! Ye had better fear our intentions and the stomach o' the sea, no' an old wifie's words. She talks o' things long past. They are the words o' a mad woman and no' for ye.” And he made a movement of his finger across his throat, grinning again.

The woman sat on her haunches again, her eyes glazed and unseeing now.

I knew not what to believe. The words of the curse were powerful. There was hatred in them, which seemed for us, even if Red said she meant it not for us. And perchance her words would have power even so. Mayhap a woman like that has such power, once her mind is detached from the ordinary world and lives with madness. I had heard of such things, the powers of lunatics. It is said that such persons hear the voice of God. Could the old woman have such power?

There was little time for these thoughts. The men who still held us dug their fingers painfully into my arms and we were pushed towards the side of the room opposite the door, where Mouldy and another man were moving a large wooden chest. This other man was the one whose religious strength meant that we would not be killed until the Sabbath was past – and I feared that this time could not be far off now. I suppose by the time the tide rose over our heads, the Sabbath would be past and his conscience clear.

Where the chest had been, they scraped dirt from the floor and revealed a wooden door set into the ground. With a tapering piece of metal, Mouldy prised open the door and lifted it up. A gust of chill air rushed through the room, bringing with it the odours of the sea, dead fish, seaweed and rotten wood. In the fireplace, the flames drew themselves tall, swaying backwards, the smoke gusting outside the hanging chimney hood and swirling instead around the head of the old woman. And still she sat, her lips moving, her eyes closed.

Bess looked at me. A little fear showed in her now, I thought. And how might it not? To think of drowning…

“Wait!” we both said together, my voice little more than a croak, hers light and high, a woman's voice. Did anyone notice? Perhaps it would help us if they did? I still did not know, could not decide. The two men pushed us again towards the open hatchway.

She spoke again. Her words came fast. “My friend has some knowledge. Of bones and such injuries. He can cure your child, can return him to life, I swear.” She should not make such claims! The boy was past earthly help, I was sure. And yet…

Before I could add my voice to hers, there came a sharp, barked word from behind me. “Wait!” It was Red. He stood up, a little unsteady on his feet, and walked slowly towards us. Towards Bess.

He knew.

Thomas made a movement as though to stop him, but Red silenced him with a dismissive gesture. Thomas looked to his father, Jock, who merely shook his head, and looked intently at Bess, too, his eyes narrowing.

I knew now that Red, and perhaps Jock, too, had guessed that Bess was a girl. If I had wondered before if perhaps it might save us, when I understood the look in Red's eyes I saw that it would not. How could I have been so foolish as to think that they might treat us more lightly if they thought Bess were female? In my old life, perhaps, where gentlemen treated ladies as though they were fragile, petal-soft – but here? Where only the laws of the wilderness held sway?

Now Red had reached Bess. Everyone was silent, even Mad Jamie, who had stopped chewing on a stick which he kept dipping in a pot of something and who now looked wide-eyed as Red removed the kerchief slowly from Bess's throat. She looked at me then and I knew what she was thinking. She needed me now.

It was I who had brought her to this place. I had been wrong.

“Yes,” I said, loudly, desperately, “I have a way with sick creatures. I can do all that your bonesetter might do. I can mend your child's arm and I know I can save him.” Heat rushed to my face as I considered what I was saying, the promise I was making – if I failed to keep it, what would they do to me then?

But I could only buy some time.

And all the while I watched Red, his finger under Bess's chin, tilting it up, leering at her. She did not turn away. I worried what she might do. Once before, I had seen her held in a man's sway like this and on that occasion she had spat in her captor's face. No good had it done her or us, though I had not blamed her and I would not blame her now. Though again it would do no good.

But what difference would it make? Little enough.

“I have need o' a wife,” said Red. “But I have no need o' the wife's lad.” He did not glance at me as he said this, only walked round Bess, looking at every part of her as she stood there, the muscles in her face tight and still.

Thomas laughed. “Ye are o'er old for a wife.”

“Mebbe, but I would look after her better than ye did your own wife!” retorted Red. Thomas leapt towards him, but was held back by Jock. Mouldy pushed me and Bess once more towards the trapdoor. Another man was there – who I think was Billy, the gentle-seeming giant of a man with a worried soft face. “Poor Billy,” Jock had called him. I think he was somewhat simple, with little understanding behind those odd-shaped eyes. But he was strong, that much was obvious. He looked from one man to another, awaiting instructions.

Now I could hear the rhythmic crashing of waves in the far distance, the hollow moaning of the wind as it whirled through whatever tunnels must twist their way between this place and the ocean. I shivered, clamping my teeth together so that no one would see my fear.

Now Jeannie spoke. “Are ye all eejits? Are ye no' thinking? Jock? Are ye having one o' your sore heads again? We could use these two, and the Lord kens – if the lad can save our Tam, then why should we throw him to the tides?”

Jock scowled. “Woman, I'm no' needing your words o' advice. When there's thinking to be done, leave it to me.” He passed his hand across his brow. “Aye, my head's sore, but no' so sore that I canna think for myself.” He paused, as though coming to his own decisions. “Aye, the lad can try his hand wi' Tam – for there's no' any other hope. The lass, well, she is wee and thin and could be o' use. Think on it, Thomas – if Tam canna go down to the cave then we'll need one that can.” I did not know what he talked of, but it seemed as though there was hope for us yet.

If I could save the boy. If not…

Red took hold of Bess's arm, but Jock stopped him. “Red, ye'll no' have the lass. She's o'er young for ye.”

Thomas laughed, loudly, in agreement with his father. With a whisky-sodden roar, Red drew back his arm as if to hit him, and would have done so had his father not held his arm up to block the blow. Jock stood with some difficulty, swaying somewhat and screwing up his eyes against the pain in his head, but staring at his son angrily.

There was conflict here. A father who seemed to suffer from some ailment, who seemed to be losing his strength, and two sons who fought each other. Another son, the quieter one with the obedience to God – I did not know his spirit as yet. But I knew that Red was a dangerous man. He reminded me in no small way of my brother. A fiery temper and volatile eyes, a bitter bile, and hating most of all to be held in check.

The look in Red's eyes was dangerous. Whisky inflamed any reason he might have had and it was only his father's next words that stopped him from going further. “Red! Think on Tam! He is in danger o' his life and ye can only think on your pride! I am your father and I will be obeyed!”

At that moment, without warning, Red rushed towards the door and ran from the dwelling.

Jock looked after his son, anger on his face, before turning back to me. “And now, what can ye do for my grandson?” He did not smile, and still there was a threat in his eyes, but he was doing the only thing he could. He was using reason. As was I.

My senses were dizzy, from hunger and fear, and from the confusing change of events. Only a few moments before, we had faced a journey to an unknown cave where we were to be drowned. Now, suddenly, the men who had been hungry for our deaths looked to us with a kind of hope. Jeannie, holding Tam's head in her hands and pinching his cheeks to waken him, pleaded with her eyes.

I had no choice. I must act. And pray. And do whatever could be done.

“I need some whisky,” I said.