The Patriot

by Nigel Tranter

  "Mercy - you think that is possible?"

  "I do. And I think that he does, also. It would account for much of what he said yesterday. If he was ruling Scotland anyway, as Secretary of State, or High Commissioner, in place of Lauderdale, it would all be the more simple. And if he makes himself liked by the Scots people, it would aid, the more merciful victor, the moderate man and a Protestant! And he is the King's eldest son . . ."

  There was no opportunity for more meantime. They were climbing the ascent to the graveyard which, in the late Queen Mary's reign, had been granted, in the grounds of the Grey Friars' Monastery south of the Grassmarket, to replace the old burial-ground of the High Kirk of St. Giles, which had been not only overfull but its space required for extensions of the Parliament House, the law courts, the Mint and other government buildings. At the heavily-guarded gate in the high perimeter wall, however, Margaret turned right-handed, westwards, along a narrow outer wynd.

  "It is wrong of me, weak," she confessed, "but with the wind from the west, the smell is less grievous at the far side. And there is an alehouse there, Mother Pringle's, overlooking the kirkyard, where I have an arrangement."

  Andrew certainly voiced no reproach.

  Some distance along, near the West Port in the city wall, they came to the tavern, a low-browed rendezvous for drovers and country-folk coming with their produce to the Grassmarket. Margaret led the way indoors, uncaring for the noise, semi-darkness, alternative smells and rough company, to make for and climb the stairs at the rear. These led up to small, grubby bedchambers on the upper floor, into the first of which, on the south side, the young woman turned and shut the door behind them.

  "This I have hired, meantime," she confided.

  Crossing over to the window, she tugged it open. Immediately the sounds and smells from below were overwhelmed by others from outside, the stench of unwashed, untended, wounded and massed humanity in warm weather, the noise loud, prolonged but various, rising and falling in waves, shouts, groans, cursing, raving, hymn-singing. The house had been built directly against the monastery wall, so that they looked immediately down into the kirkyard. Andrew gazed out, appalled at the sight. He had not visualised it as so utterly shattering. Twelve hundred men packed into an area of about three acres which was already crowded with tombstones and monuments, was in itself something scarcely to be comprehended. When all these had had to live in that space for weeks, without any facilities or shelter save for one well, many of them wounded and sick, the enormity of it all beggared description.

  "Dear God, this is beyond belief!" he exclaimed. "This is . . . hell on earth." Their appearance at the opened window seemed almost to make things worse. A sea of faces, bearded and filthy, turned in their direction and a forest of imploring hands rose high. It could not be said that there was a rush towards them, the unfortunates being too tight-packed for that. But there developed a sort of surge, in which scuffling and fighting grew, to get near them, below the window, and hoarse yells and pleas and supplications drowned all other noises.

  Margaret had a rope attached to her basket, by which it could be lowered the score or so of feet to eager hands. But she waited, calling for Master King, explaining to Andrew that this was one of the outed ministers, much respected, who would be able to ensure some fair distribution - otherwise the strongest and toughest would grab all. Eventually a black-clad elderly man, with a shock of white hair, struggled forward, flanked by stalwart supporters; and into the hands of these they lowered the basket - to be rewarded with a benediction pronounced with quivering fervour and upraised hand amongst the many others.

  Embarrassed they drew back. Voice as quivering as the clergyman's, in her emotion, the young woman wailed that it was so little, so hopelessly little for all these people. Only a very few would taste of what she had brought. It was always the same - she left feeling more useless than when she arrived.

  When they hauled up the basket again, now containing the empty milk-pitchers from the day before, Andrew emptied his pockets of such coins as he had with him down into those hands so urgently beseeching, in the hope that some of the soldiers of the guard might be persuaded to buy food surreptitiously for the unhappy folk - and felt ashamed as he did it, as though arrogantly bestowing largesse on wayside beggars.

  They actually hurried away, somehow guilt-ridden at being free and clean and well-fed.

  "I asked Monmouth to help them," Andrew muttered, as they emerged into the wynd again. "Pray God that he does! And God's curse on those who can perpetrate this on their fellow-men! And in the name of the King and religion . . .!"

  "Yes," she said.

  4

  It was the Parliament Hall again, awaiting the entry of the High Commissioner - and this time all had been properly done, in traditional fashion, the officers of state, the lords and commissioners and burgh representatives having ridden or marched through the Edinburgh streets in procession, as provided for in the old Riding of Parliament. To that extent it was an improvement. And it was, in fact, to be a parliament and no convention.

  But as far as Andrew Fletcher was concerned, there the betterment ended. He was only there, as it were, by the skin of his teeth. Not because the Haddingtonshire electors had failed to vote for him but because the Chancellor's office had declared that his own and his colleague's, Cockburn of Ormis-ton's, election was invalid, for unspecified reasons, and that therefore the two opposing and government-sponsored candidates were elected instead. This despite the fact that the actual voting figures were leaked from Haddington, and gave Fletcher and Cockburn a massive majority. The court party could hardly have expected Andrew, at least, to lie down under this - so presumably there was more to the manoeuvre than met the eye. He had promptly appealed to the Committee on Disputed Elections, set up at the former convention, and this had duly pronounced in his favour - but only just in time for Andrew and Cockburn to be able to take their seats. They were wary, in consequence.

  There was more than that amiss, to be sure. Conditions were no better, despite the fall of Lauderdale - he had been forced to resign as Secretary of State the previous year, 1680, not by the Scots but by the English government, and was now living in retirement at his London house, allegedly afraid to return to Scotland. Indeed under Rothes - who had succeeded as Secretary of State and been promoted duke - the persecutions were almost worse, though perhaps less efficient. But by an extraordinary coincidence - or else divine intervention, as claimed by the Covenanters - a new situation had suddenly developed. Only the day before, the Reverend Donald Cargill, a zealous ousted minister, had been hanged for publicly cursing and actually excommunicating the King, the Duke of York, the Duke of Monmouth, the Duke of Lauderdale, the Duke of Rothes and General Tarn Dalziel; and that same yesterday Rothes, Secretary of State and still Chancellor, had taken a seizure and expired. So Scotland was now freed of both men who had for so long ruled her in the King's name. But, led by Sir George Mackenzie, the King's Advocate, there were plenty of others to carry on their work with equal enthusiasm, Andrew had no shadow of doubt. This session of parliament ought to indicate the way things would now go - although inevitably the Chancellor's sudden death must effect some disarray.

  The hall, in consequence, buzzed with anticipation and speculation.

  Instead of the drummer-boy, four trumpeters appeared, to blow a right royal fanfare sufficient to rain down dust from the hall's roof-beams, to usher in the official party. The last to appear, before the High Commissioner's entry, proved to be Sir George Gordon, Lord Haddo of Session, only recently promoted to be Lord President of the Court of Session. Now, seemingly, he was to act as Chancellor in place of Rothes. A murmur ran through the assembly. Gordon was an able lawyer and ambitious, but not reputed harsh or dominant in the Lauderdale-Rothes tradition. Whose choice, then, was he?

  More trumpeting heralded the King's representative, and all must bow. James, Duke of York strode in, tall, soldierly, alert, better-looking than his brother, with considerable dignity and a quiet
assurance, a remarkable change from the High Commissioner they were used to. Few present, despite his reputation, could feel other than that this must be an improvement.

  Andrew, for one, reserved judgment.

  It was a strange sequence of events which brought James Stewart to that throne-like chair, instead of his nephew Monmouth, as all had anticipated. The King's continuing ill-health had brought the question of the succession ever more to the fore in both kingdoms, in England plots and counter-plots, rumours and scares proliferating. Charles himself was said to be leaning more and more towards Roman Catholicism, although always known as the Protestant monarch - however minimal his religious fervour. As a result, the House of Commons, in a sort of panic, passed a bill specifically excluding the Catholic York from succeeding. The House of Lords threw this out and a crisis developed. A plot was thereupon alleged to kill both the King and his brother and put firmly-Protestant Monmouth on the throne, illegitimate or otherwise. Few actually believed this, but it was thought expedient meantime for both brother and nephew to leave England. Oddly it was the son, Monmouth, whom Charles sent into exile overseas; whereas his brother James was sent northwards to Scotland as High Commissioner, in a totally unexpected reversal of roles. So James Stewart now sat there almost as monarch - and the sudden death of the Secretary of State and Chancellor only added to his authority.

  He was a curious man, now aged forty-eight, undoubtedly a better man morally than Charles, courageous, determined, able; but religious where his brother was not, lacking in humour where Charles was the reverse, stiff and uncompromising where the King was seemingly pliant. Now he spoke briefly from the throne, in jerky, military style, formally conveying the King's greetings to his loyal subjects, reading his commission, announcing regret at the untimely death of the Duke of Rothes, announcing that he had chosen the Lord Haddo to take his place as Chancellor meantime - and so passing the business over to that somewhat hesitant individual, a slight, small-featured man, his face almost lost under his great wig.

  After a certain amount of wordy preamble, very different in style from York's, he came to the bit. "It is His Majesty's desire that the Estates pass two acts. One, an Act of Succession to the throne. The other an extension of the English Test Act of 1671, applying to Scotland, suitably amended for this kingdom. The King's Advocate will speak to these."

  Bloody Mackenzie, as he was now known, had difficulty in making his pleasantly-cultivated Highland voice heard in the din that arose. To have the two most controversial issues of the times as it were thrown at them thus, with the assertion that they were to be passed as King Charles and his brother desired, shook even that sycophantic assembly.

  "My lords and commissioners and friends all," Mackenzie said soothingly, "here are two essential matters, essential for the peace and good governance of this realm. Matters which we can nowise shirk, if we do our leal duty to our sovereign-lord and to his people. None can deny it, nor should. First, this of the succession. This indeed calls for no debate. The King's Grace - long may God preserve him - has unhappily no lawful offspring. Since he does not now enjoy good health, it is necessary that his successor be named and accepted. This is incontestible. There is no choice, to be sure. Our High Commissioner, the King's royal brother, is his only lawful kin and undoubted heir to the throne. None here can say otherwise."

  To say otherwise, and in the said brother's presence, was certainly not easy, in fact impossible. Objection could only be on other grounds.

  The Advocate, chief law officer of the crown, did not wait for others to grasp the nettle. "Some have suggested that our good friend the Duke of Monmouth should be named in the succession. But this, my friends, is impossible. We can only here act within the law. And the law says that none illegitimately born may heir the throne. That is the position of my lord Duke of Monmouth."

  "He could be legitimated," someone called.

  "He could. But only at the behest of one person - his father. And the King has not chosen to do so. He has chosen his royal brother. This assembly must accept this."

  Men looked at each other, silenced. Put thus, the matter seemed unanswerable. Unexpectedly it was MacCailean Mor, Earl of Argyll, of all people, who took the bull by the horns.

  "My lord Chancellor," he said, choosing his words carefully as well he might, "the law of Scotland, as enacted, declares that whosoever is King of Scots must adhere to the Protestant religion. Lealest subject as I am, I must ask is my lord Duke of York prepared to abide by this enactment?"

  Breaths were held as the crucial answer was awaited. Argyll had been Lauderdale's and the King's man; but it seemed that his hatred of Rome was stronger.

  The Duke sat stony-faced, silent.

  Again it was Mackenzie who spoke. "My lord, you are right, to be sure, about such act. But may I remind you that we cannot here be concerned with it? For it was passed before the crowns were united and refers only to the King of Scots. We are now part of a United Kingdom. It is a new and double crown, to which earlier legislation cannot apply."

  Exclamation resounded.

  "I therefore must rule your question out-of-order, my lord," Haddo said.

  "My lord Chancellor, I protest!" Andrew exclaimed, jumping up. "Parliament cannot be muzzled in this way. The laws of Scotland cannot be swept aside by, by default! That Act made this a Protestant realm, requiring a Protestant monarch. That cannot be denied. Therefore no mere dynastic arrangements subsequently can change it without parliamentary authority."

  "My lord Chancellor - young Mr. Fletcher's enthusiasms are refreshing and well-known! But not being bred to the law, I fear that he must not try to teach me my business. I assure him, and all, that in law this assembly has no authority to require that a possible successor to the throne of the United Kingdom must adhere to any specific religion. As a good Protestant myself, I might feel that this could be advisable - but that is a different matter."

  "Then . . . then, sir, if that is so, it may become necessary to disunite or separate the two thrones again!" That came out in a rush. "If only so may the will and authority of the Scottish people and parliament be upheld!"

  Now there was uproar, a dozen men on their feet at once, shouting.

  The Chancellor's gavel at last gained quiet. "This is disgraceful!" he declared, but unhappily. "I cannot allow such, such sentiments to be expressed. And in front of, of . . ." His voice tailed away.

  James Stewart sat expressionless.

  "My lord Chancellor - may I advise this headstrong young man?" the Advocate asked. "And for his own good. What he has just impetuously suggested is in fact treasonable. A direct attack on the integrity and powers of the crown, and in the presence of the crown's representative. Men have died for less, many men! Spoken outside the privilege of this parliament it would be my duty to arrest the speaker. Let him ponder that -and choose his words!"

  "Does Advocate Mackenzie threaten me, Chancellor?" Andrew demanded. "Within this parliament? Duly discussing the constitution of this realm?"

  "I do not threaten. I warn. As is my duty. For, my friends, this Andrew Fletcher has already, all should know, made similar treasonable suggestions, and outside the privilege of parliament. Written suggestions. I have been very patient, but . . ."

  "Proof, my lord Chancellor?"

  Haddo looked at Mackenzie, who picked up a paper.

  "Here is a letter. Sent by Mr. Fletcher to a commissioner here present. One of many, I understand - as he has done before. It says that should the subject of the succession be raised here, the Protestant adherence must be forced to the vote. And if it is blocked, then the question of the separation of the crowns should be raised, as warning. Do you deny sending this?"

  "Is not the signature relevant?"

  "It is unsigned, sir. Anonymous."

  "Ah. Why apportion it to me, then?"

  "Can you deny that the handwriting is yours?"

  Only for a moment Andrew hesitated. It probably was not noticed, for the Advocate was handing the letter to a cle
rk to bring to him. "I see no reason why I should either confirm or deny - since I am not on trial in one of your courts, sir - as yet!" Then as the clerk came up with the paper, he shrugged -and hoped relief did not show. "But since you are so concerned, Advocate, I will humour you. No, that is not my handwriting." There had always been a fifty-fifty chance that the letter was one of Henry's.

  Thrown off his stride, Mackenzie frowned.

  Haddo quickly reverted to the main issue. "We are asked to accept the monarch's nomination of his royal brother. I do not see how any can refuse, since there is no other lawful heir. We should be glad to do so. Since I am assured by the King's Advocate that any motion to the contrary could be esteemed treasonable, I shall not permit such motion, but declare herewith that this parliament welcomes the King's gracious decision. No more is required of us. I pass to the next business."

  Men eyed each other, many undoubtedly with something of relief, treason being a dire word. Andrew's gazing assured him that there was nothing further that he could attempt. Everywhere eyes were careful to avoid his own. Had the Duke of Hamilton been present he might have been prepared to take it further; presumably he was still in London. Even Johnnie Belhaven was absent, thrown from a horse and concussed. Anyway, with hundreds executed for treason within the last year or so, should any man be led to put his neck into a noose?

  They were given scant opportunity anyway. Mackenzie was already spelling out the next issue. It was a peculiar one, in the circumstances, for the Test Act had been passed as far back as 1671 by the English Parliament, specifically to exclude Catholics from all offices of state, the test being the requirement to partake of Holy Communion as dispensed by the Church of England. This indeed had then forced the Duke of York into exile overseas. Now he was back, and the Act was to apply to Scotland.