At a stroke, however, Andrew Fletcher was relieved of involuntary guest and quartered soldiers.
The sequel developed with similar speed. The South-West rose in real revolt. Since the dragoons were at first concentrated on Dumfries and Galloway, the Covenant leadership, such as it was, chose to muster force further north, in Ayrshire and Lanark. Graham advised striking at once to crush any armed rising before it could gather strength. But he was not in command - indeed it was doubtful who was, at this stage, presumably General Sir Tarn Dalziel of the Binns, of Russian fame, but he was not on the spot. At any rate, Graham acted with typical vigour and assurance on his own, force-marched his own small command northwards, met the Covenanting force, in much greater numbers than his own, at Drumclog near to Loudoun Hill in south-west Lanarkshire, attacked forthwith and was soundly beaten.
That proud captain's humiliation must have been intense, at being defeated by a rabble of Whiggamore peasants led by completely untrained leaders such as Hackett, Balfour and Hamilton of Preston, who had nevertheless skilfully used the miry nature of the terrain - as Bruce had done in the same Loudoun Hill vicinity three centuries before - to bog down the cavalry horses, so that there were thirty-six dead dragoons to only three Covenanter casualties. Graham had to flee to Glasgow, leaving Ayrshire and Lanarkshire wholly in Covenant hands.
Scotland rocked at the news. At Saltoun they did not know whether to cheer or to groan. Whilst it could possibly be the beginning of great things, Andrew felt strongly that this was not the way, murder, violence and religious bigotry. And undoubtedly government reaction would be drastic.
Lauderdale might be hundreds of miles away, and battling to retain his position there. But, whatever his faults, he had never been less than decisive. He was still Secretary of State for Scotland, and in only the time taken for the news to reach London, for an interview with King Charles and for his couriers to race northwards, counter-action was mounted in no fumbling fashion. The Duke of Monmouth, the King's son by Lucy Walters, was in command of the royal forces in the North of England - he was, in fact Captain-General of the army since his twenty-first year - and he was directed to march forthwith, with all his available strength, over the Border, and to put down this insolent rebellion with all speed and no mercy. Of the speed, certainly there was no question. The Drumclog affray had taken place on 11th June; within ten days, young Monmouth was in Lanarkshire in major strength. The Covenant leadership, centred on the town of Hamilton, was still undecided whether or not to march on Glasgow. Graham, with all the men he could muster, rode out of that city, joined the Duke, advised immediate attack before the rebel forces could be joined by others, and pointed out an excellent strategic position at a bridge over Clyde at Bothwell. Battle was joined next day, and the Covenanters, to the number of some four thousand, utterly routed at Bothwell Brig. Five hundred were slain on the spot, twelve hundred taken prisoner and the rest fled.
The rising was over.
It was a strange and unexpected experience for Andrew Fletcher to be an invited guest at the Palace of Holyroodhouse. Although the invitation had come in the Duke of Monmouth's name, Andrew had no doubt that it was at the instigation of John Graham, who now appeared to be very close to the Duke. Why he should be invited was another matter. He went warily.
He found the palace's forecourt packed with coaches and horses, coachmen, grooms and retainers - so clearly it was to be a large gathering. Indeed, when he reached the handsome reception-chamber on the first floor of the old James the Fifth wing, it was to discover that practically everybody who was anybody in Lowland Scotland was present - save of course those who were in prisons up and down the land. That others hostile to the regime were asked, was quickly apparent, for after perceiving Southesk and his brother at the far end of the apartment, the next person he saw was Johnnie Hamilton, whom he had last seen only a week or so before at old Belhaven's funeral. So Johnnie was now second Lord Belhaven and Stenton and entitled to take his due place in affairs of the realm.
Andrew made his way over to his friend's side. "What are we all here for, think you?" he asked. "This was not Rothes' notion, I swear! Nor Mackenzies'." And he nodded towards where the King's Advocate was chatting with Argyll.
"Do not ask me, Andrew. I am a babe, as yet, in such matters. But I am glad to see you. You can tell me what to do!"
At least they were not long kept waiting here. A silence fell on the company as the Earl of Rothes appeared in the doorway, flanked by two guards, who thumped on the floor with their halberds. Then these drew aside and a darkly slender young man appeared, modestly dressed but wearing the ribbon and star of the Garter, behind him a group, prominent amongst them Graham of Claverhouse.
The company bowed - but in various differing degrees. James Stewart or Crofts or Scott, Duke of Monmouth, represented problems as to how he was to be saluted. He was Captain-General certainly. He was the King's son, but illegitimate; at least that was the official line, although there were enduring rumours in high places that Charles had indeed secretly married his youthful love, Lucy Walters, in Holland-which would, of course, make something odd out of his present gracious Queen Catherine of Braganza. Again, the King had no legitimate offspring; which meant that, if legitimated in law, this eldest bastard could become heir to the throne. He was, after all, a Protestant, while the only other contender, Charles's brother, James, Duke of York, was unfortunately an enthusiastic Romish convert. Moreover, Monmouth was married to their own Countess of Buccleuch, head of the house of Scott - they had in fact been created Duke and Duchess of Buccleuch and Monmouth at their wedding, when he was aged fourteen. It was a less than successful marriage, but there were children - so that the Protestant succession might well be ensured. Small wonder, then, if men were unsure how to greet this latest representative of the ancient royal line of Stewart.
One thing was certain - there could be no doubt about his male parentage. Monmouth was all but a reproduction of the King, although somewhat better-looking, with the same sardonic features, long nose and great lustrous dark eyes, inherited from James the Sixth. He stood now in the doorway, smiling faintly, until the stir subsided. Then he raised hand and voice.
"A good day to you all, my lords and gentlemen," he said pleasantly, with just the slightest impediment of speech, another Stewart inheritance. "I thank you for coming to attend on me here. Refreshment is forthcoming. I shall have a word or two to say later, if you will bear with me." He nodded and came forward.
"A change in dukes from Lauderdale and Hamilton, at least!" Andrew said. Various great ones were brought to be presented to Monmouth by his entourage, in distinctly royal fashion. These were, however, very much government supporters. Servitors brought wine and small meats.
Sir David Carnegie came over and was introduced to Johnnie.
"Are we being honoured, cajoled or threatened and warned, Mr. Fletcher?" he asked. "I find this assembly intriguing. But there will be a purpose behind it, undoubtedly."
"I was saying to Lord Belhaven that this duke is an improvement on Lauderdale and Hamilton, sir. However peculiar his position."
"Be not too hard on Hamilton, my friend. We would be a deal worse without him. But this Monmouth will want something of us - or we would not be here."
"I do not question that, sir. How is your daughter, may I ask?"
"Sufficiently well, I believe. Although to tell truth I see little of her. She spends most of her time, dressed like a fish-wife, carrying baskets of food up to the kirkyard of Greyfriars!"
"She is here? In Edinburgh?"
"Why yes. Has been this past week. I had business in the law-courts. But any small gain I made out of my suit, Margaret is spending on feeding the starving unfortunates at Greyfriars."
"They are starving? The Bothwell Brig prisoners . . . ?"
"They are not being otherwise fed, I understand. Save by sundry soft-hearted folk of Edinburgh. And such as my daughter. Over one thousand of them penned in the kirkyard, without shelter or care."
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"But - I had heard that this Monmouth was more kind? Or less harsh?"
"Perhaps he is. Or perhaps merely he does not enjoy hangings and shootings. Prefers something less . . . abrupt!"
"I did not know of this of the prisoners. It is shameful! Perhaps I might accompany Mistress Margaret? See for myself . . .?"
A further thumping of halberds gained silence for the Duke.
"My friends," he said modestly, "I am no orator, as some here. So I ask forbearance. I have come to Scotland at a sorry time, and would have wished it otherwise. But I consider myself no stranger amongst you. After all, my wife and children dwell here. And from here come my illustrious ancestors. It would please me, indeed, to be here more often, even perhaps to reside here myself."
He paused, as though there was some special significance in that.
"It is my hope that the changes which must be made in Scotland hereafter may be as little to the hurt and discomfort of all as is possible. But change there has to be — let none think otherwise. As this uprising has shown, a firmer hand is required. Firmer and less distant. But, also more fair, more understanding, I am assured. Therefore my message to you all is clear, but that of a friend, indeed almost one of yourselves. Trust and support my royal father's policies - his concern for you is great. Aid, not hinder, his new officers. Guide your people to do likewise and to forsake their rebellious ways. For their own and your good. And all will gain notably. This I promise. Fail in it, and I fear for Scotland - indeed I do! In sorrow. That is all, my lords and fellow-subjects. I thank you for listening patiently."
There was some some applause for this peculiar speech from amongst the government supporters, led by Rothes. But the great majority present were silent, eyeing each other doubtfully, wondering what it meant. On the face of it, there was nothing here to have brought them all to hear, platitudes, woolly nothings. Yet there was nothing woolly about the speaker or his manner; the reverse indeed. Moreover it appeared that this was all that he had come to say, for thereafter the Duke began to move slowly towards the door again.
"Did I come all the way from Beil to hear that?" Johnnie demanded, low-voiced. "What is he at?"
"There must be more to this than there sounds," Sir David asserted. "Monmouth is no fool. Here was some message - other than the obvious."
"Certain points he seemed to stress," Andrew said. "That there was this change coming. New officers. A hand firmer but less distant. Could that mean Lauderdale's hand removed? And this of his own fondness for Scodand - of which we were not aware hitherto!"
"Lauderdale, yes - it could be the end of Lauderdale. Perhaps Monmouth is to replace Lauderdale? Preparing his way? Coming to bide here . . . ?"
Further speculation was cut short, as the Duke reached the door, by a touch on Andrew's arm. He found Graham at his side.
"Come and have a word with the Duke, my friend," that man said.
Surprised at this summons, belated as it was, Andrew could scarcely refuse. As they went, to follow Monmouth out, he said to the other, "Do I congratulate you on your military activities, since last we met? Or otherwise?"
Claverhouse shrugged. "Who knows? I did my duty, as I saw it. A soldier takes failure and success as they come. As must you, Fletcher."
Still wondering just what that meant, he found Monmouth and his group waiting in an ante-room off the main stairway. If it was himself for whom they waited, then perhaps the Duke was not anxious to be seen speaking to him?
"This is my friend, Andrew Fletcher of Saltoun, my lord Duke," Graham presented him. "A man of some parts."
"Ah, yes - I have heard of Mr. Fletcher," Monmouth said civilly. "From whom was it? Perhaps it was my lord of Lauderdale?"
"Perhaps, sir," Andrew acceded carefully. "Depending on whether you heard good or ill!"
"So? Now, which would it be? How say you, Colonel Graham?"
"I think that my lord of Lauderdale may have been a little . . . prejudiced."
"Ah - who knows? Perhaps our Mr. Fletcher was also? But . . . both loyal subjects of my father."
"That certainly, my lord Duke," Andrew agreed, still more carefully.
"To be sure. Then may we hope that we can rely upon so loyal and able a subject to aid in the King's cause hereafter? In a new . . . dispensation? To the much advantage of all."
Andrew moistened his lips. "I would hope so, sir. That the King's cause should be mine also is my earnest prayer."
"Well said, Mr. Fletcher - well said! But . . . you fear otherwise?"
"A, a new dispensation, my lord Duke, could put much to rights."
"Exactly. So say we all. So - may we rely on your aid? To help bring about this happier state?"
Pressed thus, as into a corner, the other hesitated. He tried to be in all things honest; and this was difficult. "I hope so," was the best he could do.
"It could be much to your gain, my friend," Monmouth added.
Andrew was usually of a temper to give as he got - and he resented both the cornering and this suggestion of personal advantage. "My own wellbeing is not for consideration, sir," he said. "But that of many others is at stake. Even now. I had heard that your lordship made a more generous victor than did . . . some we are used to! Yet your Covenanting prisoners, a thousand of them, are penned like cattle in the churchyard of Greyfriars, here. And unfed. This in the King's name!"
Monmouth looked unhappy and his attendants outraged. "This pains me, Mr. Fletcher, I assure you," he said. "But - the matter is not in my hands. I am but the military commander. At present. The prisoners are in the hands of the civil power."
"They were your prisoners, my lord Duke. -And you represent the King's Grace, do you not?"
"Sir - do not speak so to my lord Duke!" one of the gentlemen hotly, when Monmouth waved him silent.
"I treated these people fairly, Mr. Fletcher. Although they were rebels. There were no hangings and shootings, no reprisals on their supporters."
"Yet this offence against humanity and decency is perpetrated in the King's name, even as we drink wine in this palace!"
"I will speak with the King's Advocate, sir. But I cannot promise anything. The matter rests with others." The Duke frowned, nodded briefly and turned away, the interview obviously at an end. Then he looked back. "Remember, Mr. Fletcher - your aid will be looked for. And valued."
John Graham looked at Andrew cynically. "You should have been a soldier, Fletcher. A captain of light cavalry, perhaps? But not a general, I think!" And he sauntered after Monmouth.
'Tell me about the Duke of Monmouth," Margaret requested. "They say that he is handsome and civil both. And like his father."
"I have never seen his father - who does not come to Scotland! But I found the Duke civil enough. As to handsome I know not. I judged him a little strange. A mixture. Perhaps because he was playing a role for which he was not suited."
"And that role was . . . ?"
"Politician! I think that he is honest. No dissembler. Yesterday he was trying to act the politician . . ."
Her laughter interrupted him. "Mr. Fletcher - do I hear aright? You calling politicians dishonest, dissemblers! You who are becoming so notable a politician?"
He frowned despite himself. "I would hope to prove that it is possible to be both. Both honest and in politics!" That was distinctly stiff, not to say pompous. Realising it, and that with a large basket of bread, hard-boiled eggs, milk-pitchers and the like over his arm, pomposity was less than suitable, he changed tune. "He was seeking both to warn us and to lead us, I think. And finding it difficult. Between what he had been told to say and what he wanted to say."
"I think that you must really have liked him?"
They were walking up the Cowgate of Edinburgh westwards and having to pick their way heedfully, both on account of the crowded narrow thoroughfare and to avoid the unpleasantness underfoot for those not automatically conceded the crown of the causeway by their superior dress and manner. Today neither of them were clad at their best, to say the least.
Margaret Carnegie might not look very like a fish-wife as her father had suggested; but she wore her oldest available clothes. Andrew had borrowed an old plaid from one of the Southesk servitors, despite the summer warmth. The reason for this was that any persons of rank seen taking comforts for the prisoners would certainly be reported on, and might well suffer, Advocate Mackenzie's spies being everywhere. Andrew would not have cared greatly, but implicating Margaret was a different matter.
Where Cowgatehead merged with the wide Grassmarket, directly below the towering cliff of the Castle-rock, the steep access to the kirkyard rose between high walls - but long before that the stink of the place was reaching them.
"I did not mislike him. But I was much exercised. To know what he was at. I have thought much on it, since. I think there was much to learn. It is my guess that Lauderdale is down. That a new Secretary of State will be appointed, to rule Scotland. And that Monmouth hopes to gain the office. Yesterday he was seeking to prepare the way. To make, if not friends, at least to find supporters to aid him when he comes."
"My father thought similarly."
"Yes. But there is more to it than that. King Charles is said to be in failing health, although not yet fifty - and lives as loosely as ever. So there is much talk of the succession, since he has no lawful children - however many otherwise! We know that there is a party in England who seek to have Monmouth legitimated and so made heir. A Protestant - and so keep Catholic James of York out. But there is a further whisper, here in Scotland. That the two crowns could be separated again, Scottish and English. They have been united for only seventy-five years. It could be that if Charles dies and Monmouth is not legitimated first, and so York becomes King in England, then Monmouth could be proclaimed King of Scots! All Presbyterians would rather have that than any Catholic, I swear! And he is Duke of Buccleuch, names himself Scott and has a Scots-born son as heir."
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