The Rogues

by Jane Yolen

  There was some laughter at this foolish talk, but I heard a voice say, “There’s some point to this laddie’s words.” I tried to see who it was, but the kirk was too dark for that.

  “He’s said what many a man here was feerd to,” added another from out of the dark congregation.

  “Do ye want to go up against the law?” Colin asked, wagging a bony finger. “Do ye want to end up a fugitive like Alan Dunbar?”

  “The laird’s bent on making us that, if we let him,” I answered. “Isn’t it better to make a fight of it?”

  “Aye,” Lachlan piped up, holding up a fist, “let’s make a fight of it.”

  Tam turned to Da. “Roddy’s yer boy, Murdo. What do ye say? Is he daft?”

  “He’s daft most of the time,” said Da, and the men laughed. “But …” He hesitated and I felt my heart pause too. “But maybe no today. As I now see it, we would still only be bringing our grievances before the laird, which is our right. But we’d be bringing the cause of our grievances there as well. We willna be fighting the laird, but asking his aid. And offering our own.”

  “Bringing our grievances …” The phrase went around the men.

  “Aye,” said Tam, “it could work.” He rubbed his hand against his nose.

  I let out the breath I hadn’t known I was holding. The kirk seemed suddenly filled with light, and I realized that the clouds had moved away from the sun. A few more voices called out their approval, and those few calls quickly became a roar.

  Lachlan leaned close to me and whispered, “For yer sake I hope this turns out well.”

  “Ye agreed with me!” I rounded on him.

  “Aye, but just to stir things up,” he answered with a crooked smirk. “Mind ye, I never thought yer idea would work.”

  I jammed my elbow into his ribs, and he doubled half over, but that didn’t wipe the grin from his face.

  We strode home proudly, like soldiers returning from a great victory, not something a Highlander knows a lot about. We laughed and joked along the way. Even Da seemed excited about what we had decided, as if it had been his own idea.

  The last of the afternoon sun was once again disappearing behind dark clouds. That did nothing to dampen our spirits. But as we drew closer to our cottage, our confident steps faltered. When we could smell the peat fire, we stopped, as if signaled to halt.

  Da began to chew on his mustache. I knew what he was thinking. Ma had always cheered us on in our endeavors, but Ishbel was different. What would she make of this turn of events?

  We held back until we looked foolish, all three of us standing nervously in front of the door, and Lachlan said, “Da?” And Da grunted, squared his shoulders, and pushed through into the cottage.

  Ishbel was bent over the cook pot with her back turned toward us, the light of the peat fire blazing a halo around her. “So yer home at last,” she said without looking around.

  “Aye, home and hungry too,” said Da, staring at the table that wasn’t yet set for dinner.

  We boys didn’t say a word but simply sat down quickly on our stools.

  “There’s fresh water in the bucket,” Ishbel said.

  After a pause, Da added, “Best see to it, boys.”

  We went to the bucket and took turns washing our faces and hands. When we sat down again, we wiped our palms dry on our jerkins. I smiled at Ishbel’s back.

  Lifting four wooden bowls down from the shelf, she ladled stew into them, turned and held them out to us one at a time, along with wooden spoons. We stood, grabbed the bowls, then sat again, spooning the vegetables into our mouths with hardly a pause for breath, as if that could keep us from talking.

  Ishbel took a slow spoonful from her own bowl and asked, “So, what was the end of yer meeting?”

  Lachlan and I kept shoveling the food in and let Da answer her.

  “If ye were so curious, ye should have come along,” he said. “Some women were there.”

  “With their husbands, I would guess,” Ishbel retorted sharply. “I’m an outsider here. There’d be no place for me.”

  Da shrugged. “There was a lot of talk,” he said slowly. “That’s all.”

  “There’s always a lot of talk,” said Ishbel, shrugging back at him. “But is anything to be done?”

  Da took another mouthful of stew and chewed it thoughtfully. He chewed so thoroughly, he must have made mush. At last he said, “We’re sending a deputation.”

  “To the laird?” She held up her spoon.

  “Of course to the laird, woman,” said Da.

  “To do what?” She leaned forward.

  “To ask him politely to release the cattle.”

  Ishbel huffed derisively. “And why should he listen? It’s a poor pipe that blows only wind.”

  “Because we’ll be taking all the sheep with us!” Lachlan piped up loudly.

  Da glared at him, but it was too late.

  “The sheep?” Ishbel repeated. “Ye mean the sheep from Glendoun?”

  Da nodded mutely.

  “And whose cracked notion was that?” She stood and went over to stir the fire, which made shadows dance around the table.

  We all three stared down into our bowls, but I could see Lachlan’s eyes flicking toward me. My belly began to twist into a tight knot. If Ishbel knew I was behind it, if she thought I was getting the family into trouble, I’d be living on thistles and silence for a week.

  Ishbel’s question hung over us like a sharpened ax dangling from a thread as she returned to the table and sat down again.

  Finally Da said, “It was Alan Dunbar who stirred things up.”

  I let out a silent breath.

  Cocking an eyebrow, Ishbel asked, “And what was that rogue doing at a meeting of decent folk?”

  “He came to sell whisky,” said Lachlan brightly. Then he fell silent.

  “By the sound of it, ye must all have drunk yer fill.”

  “No one bought a drop of his brew,” said Da.

  “Then why have ye taken up this mad scheme?”

  Into the new silence that greeted her question, I finally threw an answer. “His words affected us strongly. Better than any brew.”

  “His words!” Ishbel repeated mockingly. “And is Alan Dunbar a minister that ye should listen so closely to him? He poaches off the laird’s land and worse besides.”

  “He’s bold,” said Lachlan, “and takes his lead from nae man. I heard he once stole a whole herd of a neighboring laird’s cattle all by himself, took them all the way to Edinburgh. He sold them at the market before the sheriff’s men could catch him.”

  I could see from Ishbel’s stern expression that was the wrong thing to say, and I decided to leap to Dunbar’s defense. “I heard he killed twenty Frenchmen at the Battle of Waterloo,” I said quickly, “and took a gold coin from the emperor Napoleon himself!”

  “Aye, it’s easy to believe he was killing and thieving even then,” said Ishbel, changing my words.

  “It’s all rumors, Ishbel,” Da said quietly, looking steadily at her. “And nobody should be condemned because of rumor.”

  Ishbel fell silent, and her brow wrinkled. Next her eyes filled with tears, and she stood up again, going over to stir what was left of the stew with a shaking hand.

  Da meant the rumors that had spread through the village about him and Ishbel, of course, rumors that they lived as man and wife without being married in the kirk. Lachlan and I knew they slept apart and sometimes didn’t even speak to each other for days. We knew that any soft words between them were so rare as to be small miracles. So if those rumors weren’t true, maybe the things said about Alan Dunbar weren’t true either. At least I thought that was what Da meant. But I hoped Dunbar really did have Napoleon’s coin. I would dearly love to see it.

  Ishbel turned back, her eyes shining with unshed tears. “I canna see that ye’ll get justice from theft.”

  “It’s nae theft,” said Da. “We’re taking the sheep direct to the laird’s house. And asking him to remember wha
t bonds are between a laird and his kin.”

  “And if ye’re caught before ye arrive there? Nae matter what ye mean to do, it’s the likeness of what yer doing ye’ll be hanged for.”

  Da looked down and said to his bowl, “What would ye have us do, Ishbel?”

  “I understand now, even if ye dinna, that times are changing,” she said slowly. “This poor country life is doomed. When there’s a flood coming, ye have to move to higher ground. It’s that or be drowned.”

  Da looked up and said quietly, “Ye want me to leave this land my family has lived on for generations?”

  She nodded, gazing straight into his eyes. “Yes, Murdo. Leave their graves behind before ye join them.”

  I held my breath, and I could hear Lachlan doing the same. The fire in the hearth too seemed to stop burning for the moment.

  “Ye speak easily of abandoning graves when ye have nane to leave,” Da said.

  Ishbel stood and stacked the empty bowls together with a loud clatter. “Yer wife was my cousin, and dinna ye forget it. I have graves here as well. But there’s places we can go while we’ve still got a choice and not lying in our own dirt.”

  I suddenly remembered what Josie had said to me. “Do ye mean going to the New World?” I burst out.

  “Nae such nonsense,” said Ishbel. “I mean the cities—Glasgow, Aberdeen. There’s work to be had for those with willing hands.”

  Lachlan snorted. He knew what Da’s answer would be before it was spoken. As did I.

  “Locked up behind brick walls, laboring all day out of sight of the sun, and all for another man’s profit?” Da’s tone would have withered an oak tree.

  “And what profit do ye expect to find here?” Ishbel demanded sharply.

  He glared at her. “There’s profit in the old ways, of a man plowing the fields that his father and grandfather plowed before him. Of putting my hand on the trunk of a great tree that I planted as a boy. Of knowing that my sons will visit my grave after I am gone.”

  “It’s nae longer yer choice, Murdo,” she said in a sudden quiet voice. “The laird’s mind is set.”

  “We’ll see tomorrow,” Da answered grimly. “We’ll take the bloody sheep to the poxy laird and find out how set his mind really is. But we’ll do it gently.” He slammed the flat of his hand down on the table. “And that is that.” Da turned and walked out of the cottage, leaving Lachlan and me to face Ishbel alone.

  But she turned her shining eyes to the hearth and said simply, “Go after him. I’ll no be having him going to the laird’s in the morning hung over from angry drinking.”

  So we went.

  9 THE RAID

  Da didn’t get drunk, nor did we follow him far, only to the kirkyard, where we heard him talking to Ma in her grave. A small cross marked the spot, still looking fresh amid so many moss-covered stones, with the kirk looming black against the darkening sky. Da went down on one knee, a hand touching his brow.

  We stood back and didn’t eavesdrop. There are times when a man’s sons have to leave him alone. Besides, we each had our own times talking to Ma. Mine mostly took place in the morning once or twice a month, after my chores. Usually after Da had had at my backside with his belt.

  When we went back to the cottage, we spoke no more about what had been said. I think we all longed for the morning and action.

  The morning was overcast, three layers of clouds crowding the sky and all of them threatening rain. My stomach churned as if a battle were being fought there. I had grown up on the tales of clan cattle raids and border skirmishes, battles against the redcoats and the bloody great wars. It was never the victory that mattered, only a man’s courage, we were told, mostly because though we Scots managed to win a few battles, we rarely won the wars.

  Yet as we marched out the door, sticks in hand, I wondered: Had any of my ancestors felt the way I did at this moment? Had their bellies turned like butter in a churn as they went on their way to the fight?

  Lachlan seemed to be taking everything in his stride as we followed Da down to the crossroads. Crows followed us as we went, crossing and recrossing overhead and commenting on everything below.

  I said to Lachlan, “Bad sign,” pointing up at the black birds, but Lachlan only laughed.

  “Cheer up, Roddy!” he said, slapping me on the back. “This is going to be a rare lark.”

  “Lark, not crow?” I said through parched lips. “And if it all goes wrong, I’ll be the one taking the blame.”

  “Oh, dinna carry on so,” he told me cheerily, waving his stick. “The notion was already hanging in the air. Like an apple on a tree ready for the picking. Only it was you that plucked it.”

  Thinking of apples tart off the tree set my stomach roiling again. Which made me think about the meager breakfast I’d managed. Those few spoonfuls of porridge weighed me down as if I’d eaten a sack of neeps. I set my lips together and looked away.

  At the crossroads, with a small raw wind rising and a sky threatening rain, we met up with the men and boys of our village.

  “A good day for battle,” Colin called out, holding his stick in the air. He was wearing a blue bonnet on his head, the kind our grandfathers had worn when they marched behind the prince to fight the English. It made his bony face seemed skull-like in the dawn’s half-light. “A great day for battle.”

  “Aye,” Da said. “Grey.”

  Colin laughed as if Da had made a joke, and his son, Hamish, laughed with him, but I knew better. Da never joked. Especially about important things.

  “All here, then?” Da asked.

  “Every man and boy,” Tam McBride called out, waving a hand over the crowd.

  I looked at the faces I knew so well—two dozen or more—and saw grim determination written across every one. Not a smile among them. The wind blew everyone’s hair about and almost snatched Colin’s bonnet off. He clamped his hand on top of it and smiled, but there was little mirth in it.

  “Then let’s go, lads!” Da called.

  We marched on up the road three and four abreast, more men rushing to join us as we went. Now a thin sun, like an old copper coin, was peering through the grey clouds. By the time it was shining full on us, I’d begun to sweat with it despite the continuing wind.

  Soon we’d gathered nearly half a hundred more men and boys from the neighboring towns. That surprised me. I suppose a call had gone out, as in the old days when the men were roused to battle, but I hadn’t heard word of it. Yet still I felt wary. I wondered if they felt as nervous as I, for they were a grim-looking lot.

  To lighten the mood, Tam started singing. “A beggar man came o’er yon lea.…” His black beard waggled with each word, and the others quickly took up the song.

  Lachlan bellowed out the chorus—“Lassie to my tow roo ray!”—in such a tuneless voice, I couldn’t help but laugh. When I finally joined in, my stomach felt fine again. There were fifteen or so verses in the song, which took us well over a mile. We followed it with rousing versions of “Johnny Cope” and a round of “Maggie Lawder” as well, and so we passed over the hills.

  As we neared Glendoun—a solid wave of men—we were spied by a solitary shepherd. He almost dropped his staff as he turned and ran down into the valley. Probably going to warn his companions.

  Da raised a hand to bring us to a halt. “Once we march over that hill,” he said, pointing to the spot where the shepherd had disappeared, “there’ll be nae turning back. That’s where we’ll be rounding up the sheep. It’s illegal to touch the laird’s sheep, as ye all know well enough, even if our excuse is that we are bringing them to him. So, if there’s any who want to leave, do it now. After that, we are all in it together, for curse or cure.”

  There was a gruff murmur of agreement and a slow nodding of heads. No one made a move to go back. We were Highlanders, after all. Cattle and sheep raids were in our blood.

  “Good, then,” Da said. Then he and Tam McBride ordered us to spread out in a long line just an arm’s length apart. It made us look like
an army lined up for a charge. Though some army we were, with nae sword nor musket in sight.

  Then up the slope we went, keeping our line, all chatter quieted, all songs fled.

  I nodded at Lachlan, at Hamish, at the other boys I knew, but didn’t whisper any encouragement. It felt like the moment before battle, and I was now cold as ice but hot too.

  When we overtopped the hill, we saw the sheep spread out below us, drifting about in small knots, like eddies in a snowy sea. If we were a hundred, they were a thousand, but we’d come to make them work for us, not against us, to turn the tide of their coming. One or two turned their black faces up to have a look at us, but the rest kept cropping the grass.

  The shepherds who retreated to the far side of the glen clung tightly to their staffs, as though their flimsy shafts of wood lent them some authority. A bearded fellow, short and stocky, raised his staff at us as if firing a musket, then Colin laughed and pointed at him, and he lowered it again. We were far too many for them to fight, and they did the right thing by keeping away from us. No need to suffer a broken head for another man’s property. Besides, they could identify us later to the sheriff and his men.

  Down we went, our line curving in to keep the flocks contained, driving them together into one bleating band. As we closed in, the sheep swayed this way and that, like water sloshing in a tub. For all their size and richness of fleece, they were no cleverer than our own animals and just as easy to drive. A great heaving sea of sheep.

  The sheepdogs looked puzzled, keeping their distance and growling deep in their throats. Still, without encouragement from their masters, without a whistle and a shout to guide them, they didn’t dare move. They were too well trained to go out on their own.

  Lachlan and I were standing by Da when one of the shepherds shouted at us. I could hardly hear his voice above the bleating sheep.

  “This is no more than stealing!” His voice was raw and flat, an English voice, not a Scot’s.

  Da faced the man squarely and shouted back, “We’re taking them to our laird’s house,” he said. “How can that be stealing?”

  The shepherd’s large jaw gaped open. He hardly knew what to answer. Taking several giant steps forward, he waved his fist at Da and called out, “You’d best keep those beasts safe. Any one of them is worth more than the whole gang of you!”