Unknown (55 page)

The
furtive travellers avoided Edinburgh like the plague, skirting well
to the west much as Montrose would have liked to see and talk with
Archie Napier at Merchiston. Stirling also fell to be by-passed, for
the Graham was well known there. They crossed Forth by the
little-used Fords of Frew, by dark, as many a hunted Graham had done
before them - and thereafter slipped through unfrequented territory
which he and Rollo knew like the back of their hands.
An
Greumach Mor
was
scarcely ready yet for his own countryside to know of his
return.

On
the fourth day - or, rather, night - of journeying, avoiding Perth
by crossing Earn and Almond to the west they rode in the early
dew-drenched August morning up through the birchwoods of little
Strathordie, past the lonely little kirk of St Bride's, to the
remote fortalice of Tullybelton on its shelf of the great Highland
hills, looking southwards across the wide middle vale of Tay. To a
great barking of deerhounds and shouting from tower-windows, they
made their presence known, declaring true identity openly at last.

Black
Pate Graham himself, bellowing incoherent delight and greeting, came
hurtling down the turnpike stairway, to slide back the great drawbar
with a crash, unbolt the iron yett and fling open the heavy oaken
door, to throw himself bodily upon his chief and friend, still only
in his shirt. Never before had James Graham seen that man sobbing.
His growing and boisterous family had rather outgrown his
ageing father's castle of Inchbrakie in Strathearn, and for two
years they had been roosting here in more remote Tullybelton - a
place with its advantages for a man unsure of his popularity with
the powers-that-be.

'Man,
Jamie! Jamie!' Pate cried. 'Yourself! It's yourself ! At last -
God be praised, at last! Och, James - you're back? Look at you, man
- look at you! Come chapping at my door like, like any tinker!
Christ God! I heard tell you were the King's General. And a marquis,
no less. But...'

'Empty
names, Pate, meaning little. Yet! But we'll make them mean
something, you and I! Save us - it's good to see you. Good to be
back in my own place. It has been too long..."

'Too
long indeed. For us all. For Scotland. The Campbell, God's
everlasting curse upon him, has all at his feet. But, now, you are
back...'

'Back.
With two men !'

'And
one of them lame!' Rollo mentioned, from behind.

'Guidsakes!
You . . . you're alone, man? No tail? No army? You've come back
empty-handed?'

'Alone,
yes. But not quite empty-handed, old friend.
I
have
in my pouch the King's commission. To raise all Scotland for
His Grace. With all and every power and authority that Charles
Stewart can give me. All the authority
I
needed
before, and did not have - if not the power. The power we must
forge, Pate. Forge, until it is tempered steel, to free this land
from shameful tyranny. No -
I
am
not quite empty-handed now, lad.'

'But
no men... !'

'Scotland
is full of men. Full of men who hate Argyll,
I
have
learned. And I am still the Graham. And you are Black Pate of
Inchbrakie, as good a recruiter-captain as any in the land. You will
raise the men for me. Starting with our own good Grahams. How long
till I present Scotland to King Charles, Pate? Purged and free? How
long?'

'God
knows!'

"Give
me a year,' James Graham said slowly, quietly. 'Give me but one
year...'

There
was a moment's silence, there before the door of Tullybelton House.

As
its laird beckoned them within, Montrose's voice changed. "Now
- your news, Pate? My wife? What of Magdalen? And the bairns? Have
you heard? You will have watched out for them. What of my sons . . .
?'

Much
as he would have liked to ride to Kinnaird, less than fifty miles as
the crow flew, or even to Kincardine, nearer still, Montrose forbore
to do so. Within a day or two, already somehow the rumour had got
around that the Graham was back in Scotland. Perhaps that trooper
near Langholm had talked; perhaps some other had recognised him;
without immediately declaring it. At any rate, like wildfire the
word spread - no bad thing, from one point of view, paving the way
for his recruiters. But it did mean that certain places would be
watched, for sure, Kinnaird where were the fugitive's family in
especial. It might well be fatal for his chances, and no kindness to
his dear ones, to approach there. Letters he risked - but not a
visit. The same even applied to Tullybelton itself, for Pate Graham
was well known as his close friend and lieutenant, and his house a
likely refuge and venue. So, after that first day, Montrose kept
away from its close vicinity, hiding in the spreading woodland and
secret deans and valleys of central Perthshire.

But
this was no idle skulking. James Graham was like a spider at the
centre of its secret and ever-shifting web, now, sending out
emissaries, messengers, scouts, to lairds and lords and chieftains,
receiving reports, replies, secret visits. It was a risky business,
for even some of his own Grahams, despairing of their chief's
and the King's cause, had compounded with circumstances and were
now, for their very necks' sake, toeing the Covenant line. The
dangers of betrayal were serious. For the answers and accounts that
reached Tullybelton told a sorry story. Clearly the morale of
the country was low, seldom had been lower. None saw salvation from
Argyll and the Kirk Militant as likely, even possible. The King
seemed to be no longer concerned with Scotland, the ministers had
taken over the entire parish system and purged it of anti-Covenant
and moderate elements, and no sane man saw any future in revolt,
with the entire nobility now truckling to the Campbell. Montrose's
name might mean much still; but what could one man do?

After
days of consistent temporising, foot-dragging and sheer refusal on
the part of those to whom he looked for support, even James Graham
grew depressed. A few rallied to his call, or to Black Pate's
bullying mainly young Graham lairdlings and Drummond relatives of
Pate's wife Jean; but, with their men, these did not make up so much
as a squadron of horse. There were many more promises - but clearly
these were unlikely to be fulfilled until it was evident that defeat
was not inevitable.

A
demonstration was needed, indubitably, some small victory which
might serve as a beacon of hope for die many doubters. But how to
achieve anything significant with so few? And not jeopardise all by
courting early disaster?

It
was at this juncture that, as Montrose declared to Pate, his prayers
were answered - and in strange shape. It came in the form of a weary
Irishman, a messenger on foot, hungry, tattered and demoralised, who
arrived at Tullybelton, having been directed there from Inchbrakie,
seeking help, food, if possible a horse, to aid him on his way to
Carlisle. He carried a letter from his master, Alistair Colkitto
MacDonald to the Marquis of Montrose, and he had been told that
Inchbrakie would help him on his way.

Ever
suspecting treachery, a trap, without informing the man that
Montrose was within a mile of him, Pate fed him, promised a horse,
and gave him a bed. Then, managing to extract the unaddressed letter
from the Irishman's clothing, he took it to his friend in the
birchwoods of Strathordie.

Under
its blank outer cover, the missive was indeed addressed to Montrose,
the King's General at Carlisle. And it was a cry for help, from
Colkitto. It seemed that, after landing on the Ardnamurchan
peninsula in early July, with
1600
gallowglasses
and exiled Islesmen from Ulster, he had, as instructed by his
kinsman the Earl of Antrim, harried the Campbell lands of North
Argyll and called upon the Highland clans to rise for their
King. This they had notably failed to do and the Campbells had
rallied mightily against the invaders. He had had to fall back on
his base at Mingary in Sunart There he found his ships had been
destroyed in an Argyll raid. Desperate, unable to get away by sea,
he had decided to march right across Scotland to the only clan he
believed he could rely on to rise - the Gordons. By Loch Eil and
Lochaber he had trailed his ragged crew, reaching the fringe of
Huntly's country at Badenoch. There he had discovered that the
Gordons' revolt had fizzled out, and Huntly had fled to the North.
Partly hoping to join him there, and partly in the hope that the
Mackenzies under Seaforth, hereditary foes of the Campbells, would
aid him, Colkitto had marched northwards. But he had found neither
Mackenzie help, nor Huntly's elusive person. He marched south
again, issuing on his own initiative a summons in the name of the
Marquis of Huntly, for the loyal clans of the North-East to rise.
Some
500
men,
mainly outlying Gordons, did join him; but the Covenant clans of
Grant and Fraser prevented him from reaching the true Gordon
country. Argyll himself was now hot-foot on his tracks, and he had
mutiny amongst the new Badenoch men, who did not like the Irish.
Hungry, weary, short of everything needed for even a small Gaelic
army, he did not know where to turn. Could and would the Lord
Marquis of Montrose help him? Otherwise he feared complete disaster
faced him. The letter was four days old, written from the
Badenoch-Atholl border at Dalnaspidal.

Dear
God
- hear this!' Montrose cried.
'To
think
that we knew nothing of it! This MacDonald stravaiging the Highlands
in the King's name!'

'Achieving
nothing,' Pate commented. 'Indeed, worse. Irishmen, barbarians,
offending better men!'

Tcha,
Pate - use your wits! The Irish are Catholics,
yes.
But
none so ill. And he says there are Islesmen, too. Properly led such
are good fighters. Here is an army of
2000
men,
but fifty miles across the hills! An army awaiting me, it's
General!'

'An
army, James? A rabble of starving, bog-trotting savages...'

'Armed
men. Savages - who knows? But at least they will rise and fight for
something!
Which
is more than most Scots will do this year of grace!' Montrose
thumped fist on tartan-clad knee - for he was now dressed as a
Highlander, in trews, doublet and plaid,
to
be
less kenspeckle in this country. I'm forAtholl, Pate.'

'You
could pay overdear for that sort of army, James.' That was Sir
William Rollo, looking grave. 'Scotland will never accept the
Catholic Irish.'

That
is to be seen. Scotland will not accept
me,
in
this pass. I think Scotland must be taught what things come first! I
will see this messenger. Now.'