"Hrr'mm. Enough!" William exclaimed. "In my presence there will be civil speaking." He paused. "My lord of Dundee -what did you mean about supporting the King of Scots? Still?"
"I mean, Highness, that whatever may be the position here in England, James Stewart is still lawful King of Scots. And while he remains so, I and all other of his leal subjects must support him to our utmost. However great our admiration for your own royal person."
"M'mm. I see. Do you agree with that, Mr. Fletcher?"
Andrew cleared his throat. "Yes - and no, Your Highness. Yes, in that the King of Scots is entitled to the support of all Scots, irrespective of what the English may decide. But not if he has broken his coronation-oath to defend the Reformed Faith - since our duty to God ranks before even our duty to the monarch."
"Well, said, my friend. My lord - is that not true with you also?"
"I fear, Highness, that I have never been quite so religious of mind as my friend Mr. Fletcher, alas - whom I rejoice to see, after so long."
"And your duty towards King James - to what does that constrain you in this present tangle?" the Prince demanded. "Your army at Watford?"
"Why, continued support for His Grace, sir. Until he tells me otherwise. The King ordered my force to march south to his aid. So I, and it, remain until the King gives me different orders."
"But this is folly, sir - folly! James is not making a fight of it. So he has no need of your troops." "He has not told me so, Highness."
"He tells nobody anything! He but sits at Rochester saying nothing, doing nothing. You cannot keep your Scots at Watford, idle, plaguing the good folk there. It is beyond all reason."
Graham shrugged.
The Prince pointed a finger which shook a little with his suppressed ire. "You are not so sure of your position as you have us to believe, my lord. I know your state. I am well-informed. Many of your people have deserted you and gone back to Scotland. Some go every day. You have now little more than three thousand left. You cannot hold even these for much longer. I have five times so many standing to arms. I could destroy your force in but hours, sir!"
"You could try, sir. But you have not tried. And will not, I think. Since you will not wish to offend Scotland, in this pass."
"Damn you . . . !" With an obvious effort William controlled himself. "See you, my lord - we are old friends and need have no quarrel between us. Why dispute? There is nothing for you here, save in my goodwill. James cannot use your men and your support now. Take your troops back to Scotland and we shall forget all this. And when I am King you will be the gainer, I promise you - and hope that you will serve me as loyally."
"That I can only do, Highness, when King James gives me his permission. Have I your's, to go speak with him?"
"Great God Almighty - go, then! Yes, go to James at Rochester. Tell him to face facts and truth. Tell him what harm he is doing to his kingdoms by his stubborn pride. Tell him to abdicate soon. And face facts yourself, my lord of Dundee! Go - and, Fletcher, go with him. If he is truly your friend, try to make him see sense! Off with you both . . . !"
The two Scots bowed themselves out.
"It is good to know that we are such good friends!" John Graham said, smiling, but dryly, as they walked down the corridor.
"It was news to me, also!" Andrew answered, stiffly. "Although I suppose that it could be said that I owe my life to you. For the warning you sent me at Saltoun those years ago. For which I have never had opportunity to thank you." That took some getting out.
"It was the least that I could do. In return for all your . . . hospitality!" Graham changed his tone. "So now you are in William's camp. We seem fated to be on opposite sides."
"I would not put it so. I am scarcely in William's camp -1 am in Scotland's camp. James was not good for Scotland, so I am against him. It is as simple as that. I desire the weal and freedom of my nation and people, only that. If William will give us it, I am for William. Not otherwise."
"Still the simple high-minded patriot! William Wallace's latter-day successor! I would have thought that your experiences, persecution, forfeiture, exile and the rest, would have taught you better. You have paid dearly for your lily-white hands, man!"
"Whereas you, whose hands are stained with the blood of your own countrymen - aye, and women and children too -are General the Lord Viscount of Dundee! I would not change places with you, John Graham."
The other quickened his pace but said no word.
In the palace courtyard, where sentries stood stamping their feet against the cold and Graham sought his horse, he turned.
"You are something of a fool, Fletcher," he said. "For a man with the wits to be otherwise. You could do great things, I think, reach the heights. In especial, placed as you are now. If you stopped your looking at the stars and instead considered the solid ground at your feet, for once! Are you going to stay here in England, with William? Or come back to Scotland?"
"I return to Scotland just as soon as I may."
"I thought so. See you, Scotland is not going to accept your Dutch William as King of Scots, even though he is half-Stewart. Not easily. James may not be popular or the wisest of monarchs. But he is of the line of our ancient kings, in direct descent. And he has a son, which William and Mary have not. Moreover, James has been taught his lesson. He will never be the same man again. Especially if he is guided aright. Come back to Scotland, Andrew, and help to guide James. I think that I can promise you a fair reception. Help James to be the sort of ruler you conceive Scotland to require. If he is cast out by the English, as seems likely, but remains King of Scots, then he will be a chastened and different man. You would have much more chance of influencing him than you would the triumphant Dutchman."
Andrew shook his head. "I think not. William is an honest man, James is not. William has been reared to rule through a States-General, a parliament of the people. James considers kings to rule by divine right. And James's hands drip with blood - as you should know! No - I shall never support James Stewart."
"The more fool you, then. You may rue that decision, one day. Well - tomorrow I go to Rochester - and we shall see what we shall see. Who knows, you may be in Scotland before me. If so, I wish you no ill. But remember that you are still forfeit there, an outlaw with a price on your obstinate head! It will not be easy for you - and could be if you would but heed me. James's men still rule. So do not act your usual rash self!"
"I acknowledge your kind thoughtfulness, my lord."
"Oh, be less damned prickly, man! You are devilish hard to serve! God knows why I seem to like you!" Graham grimaced ruefully. "I think of you as Honest Andrew - and you think of me as Bloody Clavers! Ah, well - so be it. If you see my good-looking cousin, your good-sister, before me, convey my admiration, will you?"
"What? What did you say? What good-sister?"
"Why Margaret Carnegie, to be sure. Did you not know? She wed your brother Henry in the spring - a notable match."
"Margaret! Married! To Henry! Dear God - it is not true?"
"But, yes. Were you sent no letter . . . ?"
He received no answer. Andrew Fletcher turned on his heel and went striding off over the courtyard cobblestones without another word.
Part Three
12
Andrew Fletcher's return to Scotland at the turn of the year, after his long exile, was very different from anything he had in the past sustained himself by imagining. Instead of coming home in joy and relief at a long ordeal and deprivation over, and a reuniting with those he held dear, he found himself to be still something of a furtive fugitive, still an outlaw in his own land, still a man without a home and, worst of all, having to face the brother he loved married to the woman he loved.
He had intended to travel north with Sir Patrick Home but in the end Home decided to remain with William's entourage meantime until it became clear how things were going to work out in the dynastic and political situation - for of course he also was an outlaw and a wanted man in Scotland. But he could not pe
rsuade Andrew to stay. Neither Burnet nor even William himself. Indeed Andrew's last interview with the Prince had been an unfortunate one, with William first talking almost of desertion and then, when that proved unavailing, seeking to make Andrew a sort of secret agent and envoy to test out opinion in Scotland and try to turn influential figures towards an acceptance of himself as King of Scots on James's hoped-for abdication. Andrew had said, cautiously, that he would do what he could; but that, of course, he would have to have the Prince's assurance that if he gained the Scots throne his reign would be as the Scots constitutional tradition required, King of Scots not King of Scotland on the English model, ruling through and with the Estates of Parliament, as it were the clan chief of the community of the Scots, the voice and upholder of that supreme community of the people, not as had been the last three monarchs since James Sixth and First died, who sought to rule by divine right, arbitrary and absentee. And, to his surprise - although perhaps it should not have been - William turned on him coldly, sternly, to declare that he would give no such undertaking, to him or to any man, that the powers, prerogatives and conduct of princes were not for discussion, much less for bargaining, with subjects.
Their parting, therefore, had been coolly formal.
Instead of Home, Andrew in fact made the journey northwards with a very different type of companion, by name William Paterson. This man, son of a Dumfriesshire farmer, although almost exactly Andrew's own age, had already had a most extraordinary career. Bred for the Church, he had fled Scotland with his parents during Charles's persecutions of the Covenanters, gone to Bristol, then England's chief port for trade with the New World, and there in due course become imbued with the desire for trading adventure, and sailed for the Americas. Across the Atlantic he appeared to have managed to combine the activities of colonial trader, money-lender, missionary and buccaneer, unlikely as this combination might seem. Presumably it was the last which at length made it advisable to leave the Carolinas in something of a hurry and return to Europe - but not to any part where King James's writ ran. So, like so many others, he had arrived in Holland; and it was in Amsterdam that Andrew had first met him, where he was acting as a sort of broker between the aristocratic Scots exiles and the banking-house which dealt with the Fletcher finances. He had come to England with William's train in some paymasterly role; and although he and Andrew had so little in common, they had got on reasonably well. He now desired to visit his family again, after the lapse of years, a comparatively rich man, and suggested that Andrew should travel with him. The latter was, in fact, hardly in a position to refuse, for he was now in an impoverished state. Whilst he had been a member of William's close party he had had little need of money; but now he was on his own again and feeling the pinch. Paterson indeed had lent him money in a professional capacity, on the security of his estates in Scotland. In his company Andrew was able to travel more comfortably and swiftly, even in winter conditions, than would otherwise have been possible. On the way he discovered that his strange compatriot, belonging to a breed of which he hitherto had had little or no experience, was a fascinating companion, all but bursting with ideas in the realms
of trade, commerce, banking and colonisation, ideas completely new to the contemplation of a Scots laird but in which Andrew perceived that there could possibly be great benefits for Scotland.
They parted company at Tweed, Paterson to head westwards for Dumfries, but agreed to meet soon again in Edinburgh. The exchange of ideas had not been all one way and Andrew in his turn had planted some seeds in the other's fertile mind.
Riding alone up through the Merse, with his own Lammermuir Hills beginning to loom ahead, Andrew Fletcher was all but overcome with emotion. It was nearly six years since he had last trodden his native soil, and he had pined for it like most other exiles. But there was more than that to it. He had a love for Scotland and its people beyond all telling; and to be once again in his own land worked so powerfully upon him as to bring tears to his eyes, at this well-remembered vista or that, all so often conjured up before his mind's eye in far and alien places. Especially as, after the rather featureless moors and undramatic scenery of North Northumberland, the change to verdant Tweeddale, the rolling green loveliness of the Merse and all the Border hills which rose everywhere like leviathans from the far flung sylvan expanse, was so sudden, so breathtaking.
Nevertheless, despite emotion and a sort of heart-breaking delight, he went warily, Home's and Graham's warnings in mind. His political enemies still ruled here, however doubtful now their stance, and he was a condemned man in law. So he avoided most of the haunts of men and the castles and great houses of former friends, to ride by little-used byways and to thread the sheep-strewn Lammermuirs by tracks he had not followed since boyhood. He emerged eventually, as the early dusk was falling, in the throat of a little pass under Watch Law on Lothian Edge and looked down and out over the fair land of East Lothian to the distant waters of the Forth estuary, a lump in his throat. His eyes turned first, of course, westwards, towards the shadows some ten miles away that represented the woodlands, fields and pastures of his own Saltoun. Sighing, he did not head in that direction but turned his horse's head
downhill directly northwards into the mist-filled foothill area of Spott and Stenton. It was quite dark when he rode into the courtyard of the House of Beil.
His welcome by Lord and Lady Belhaven and Stenton could scarcely have been more wholehearted. It was as though he had been gone only a week or two - although Johnnie, and Margaret too, had changed in appearance somewhat, as no doubt had he. Johnnie was heavier, broader, more stocky but just as cheerfully good-humoured; and his plain-faced, gentle lady more matronly, more self-possessed, as became the mother of a four-year-old son - and obviously to be a mother again shortly - but just as unassumingly kind. Andrew was just in time for the evening meal, held early in country fashion.
It is to be feared that, however excellent the provision, he scarcely knew what he was eating, in trying to answer the flood of questions with which his hosts inundated him as they sought to learn of the adventures and experiences of six years of active exile, Johnnie agog, Margaret in wondering concern. But at length Andrew called a halt, flapping his hand.
"Enough! Enough!" he exclaimed. "Surely it is my turn now? There is so much I want and need to hear, have to know. First of all - Saltoun? Henry? And, and ... his wife!"
His friends eyed each other.
"Henry and Margaret are well," Johnnie said, carefully for him. "They have been wed since the spring. They suit each other very well - eh, my dear? As for Saltoun, they do their best."
"Aye. To be sure. They are . . . happy together?" "Oh, yes. Or, so it would seem, Andrew. Did you think. . . otherwise?"
"No, no. But - it was a surprise. To me. I only learned of the marriage two weeks ago. In London. From Claverhouse, of all men."
"You had not heard? They would send a letter . . . ?"
"No doubt. But placed as I was, letters could miss me. In April, May, I was in Hungary, fighting Turks. I am glad that they seem happy. Henry deserves his happiness." That was strongly, almost harshly averred. "Now, Saltoun? You say that they did their best. What does that mean?"
"It means that it is difficult for them, Andrew. In difficult times. Henry is a marked man also, you'll mind. He was imprisoned. Not that he had done anything but be your brother and send you moneys. But that was enough. I tried to get him released; but I am a watched man myself, with little influence. It was only the Carnegies who got him out. When he returned to Saltoun, it was to find Dumbarton's steward lording it in the Hall, his people managing the estate and farms. Henry was shown the door."
Tight-lipped Andrew nodded.
"He came here for a while. Then went to stay with the Carnegies at Pitarrow in the Mearns. Sir David and Southesk know the Douglases - Dumbarton is second son to the old Marquis of Douglas. They worked on him, Dumbarton, to at least let Henry return to Saltoun. Said that he knew the property better than any hireling. An
d could get most out of it - for Dumbarton! So that he could at least keep the place in fair order for the day that you won it back. Dumbarton is a soldier
—he is, or was, commander-in-chief in Scotland - with no knowledge nor care of farming and lands. He was not satisfied that he was being well-served by his steward and the others. He did allow Henry to return, but not with any authority. Only to advise and keep an eye on the steward. Not to stay in the Hall. He let him have your small dower-house at West Saltoun. So there they roost, he and his Margaret. Doing what they can to keep the estate together - although the revenues all go to Dumbarton."
"I see - yes, I see it all. The Carnegies have been . . . very good."
"Oh, yes. Sir David is one of the shrewdest lawyers in the land. He and Southesk have friends and influence in the highest quarters. Although not of the King's party."
"And Margaret has been so good, so patient and helpful. To Henry, and in your interests, Andrew," the other Margaret put in. "She is a dear."
Their guest cleared his throat. "I shall not fail to thank her," he said. "This man, the Earl of Dumbarton? I know nothing of him, save that he was awarded my forfeited estates. Why? Why him? What sort of man is he? You say he commands the army here. So Claverhouse - the Lord Viscount Dundee - serves under him?"
"Yes. As I say, he is a soldier only. And an able one, I am told. He learned his trade in the foreign wars. As did Graham. A younger son, as the Lord George Douglas, he inherited no lands or fortune, so made his own way. King Charles thought much of him. Created him Earl of Dumbarton, for his services in the Dutch war - when Graham was fighting on the other side! King James brought him back to Scotland and appointed him commanding General. He it was who brought Argyll to ruin. But he had no lands, only the title. Saltoun was confiscated and given to him. That is all I know. I have never met the man. Otherwise I have heard no particular ill of him - unlike his lieutenant, Graham."
The Patriot Page 18
