by Alan Gold
Thomas Reid shrugged his shoulders and said, “Not with any certainty, I’m afraid, ma’am. But the likelihood is that many will die as a result of his impetuousness.”
“Then what shall I do?” she asked. “Do I support my master, Sir Alexander, who believes that the Stuart should return to France and not provoke the English, or do I support my mistress Margaret and stand for the Jacobite cause?”
The three men looked at each other until Adam Smith said softly, “I’m afraid we’re only philosophers, Mistress Macdonald. Our thoughts are those that originate from a rational mind. A mind, ma’am, that is the very opposite of that of a king or of a prince.”
THE PALACE OF ST. JAMES, LONDON
His Royal Highness, King George II sat in increasing impatience in the Audience Hall of St. James’s Palace, and listened to the stultifying tones of Henry Pelham patronizing him as though he was a mere princeling instead of a monarch who had been ruling England for eighteen years. If Queen Caroline were still alive, she would no doubt already have sensed her husband’s imminent explosion and would have moved to sit by his side and stroke his arm to quell his rising temper. Calming him down was the only way to prevent a Hanoverian outburst that would cause the recall of Parliament and further fulminations by the damnable anti-Royalists in their libellous pamphlets adding to the litter in London’s filthy streets.
So the king was forced to listen to his prime minister droning on about this issue and that matter. George never truly understood why, as the king, he should be bothered with issues that were, by rights, the responsibility of the prime minister. Try as he might, he couldn’t prevent his mind wandering to matters outside of the palace. No matter how important Pelham considered the issues brought to the royal attention, the dreadful little prime minister didn’t have the voice or manner to make his audiences sufficiently interesting to stop the king’s thoughts from wandering. He began thinking about the new uniforms he’d ordered for his detachment of guards; then he thought of battle plans and ways of manoeuvre in a war field; from there, he thought of the hunt he would enjoy in Richmond Park this coming Saturday. He sighed involuntarily and deeply regretted the onerous duties of a king, when all his friends always seemed to be having so much fun and left the running of their estates to competent managers. All his friends seemed to do was accept the money their tenants paid and live in the precincts of the court enjoying his royal patronage. Yet as king, he was forced to pay attention whenever Pelham felt he needed to bring a matter to the royal attention.
Since the death of Caroline eight years earlier, life within the court had become utterly boring. He missed her keen sense of humor, her brilliance, her ability to judge issues that he found difficult to understand, and her ability to advise him on the proper course of action. Since her death, he had sought consolation outside, rather than inside the court. And it wasn’t just with his mistresses, for no woman could satisfy him in the bedchamber like his wife Caroline had been able. And she, a lusty woman, had enjoyed his performances just as much. So his dalliances with his many lady friends were little more than a relief, and although he enjoyed their company, none had the wit or judgment that he had always come to enjoy from his long-dead queen.
Still, he mused, not all of the pleasures of life had departed with her death. Just the other day, the king had indulged in a new sport, and he was eager to return to it. It was all so exciting. A goose was hung upside down by its legs from the branch of a tall tree, its neck and head covered in grease and oils, and despite its squawking and twisting, a horseman had to ride at high speed toward it, grasp it by the neck as he passed, and attempt to pull off its head. It was far more difficult than the king thought, and on the few occasions that he had managed to clasp the bird while riding at speed, his hands had slipped off the goose’s neck six times before he finally gave up. The more the animal shrieked, the funnier the game became.
He and ten other lords and ladies of the court had spent a merry afternoon until Lady Albemarle had finally managed to dig her fingers into the pathetic animal’s neck and tug off its head. The game had the unusual distinction of providing both entertainment and a good feast. After that, he’d watched some bear baiting by a pack of wild dogs in the pit in Windsor Park before returning to the draughty corridors of St. James’s Palace.
And now, instead of being outside of these monstrous walls riding in the park or visiting one of his lady friends, the king was forced to sit on his throne and listen to a man who really should have been a fishmonger importuning customers in the streets, or a cobbler, or a clerk in a counting house, drone on about this and that. Yes, of course, they were important issues, but when Walpole or the Earl of Wilmington addressed him, they knew how to make their topics interesting. But Pelham . . . he was so boring that sometimes the king found himself asleep during the audience and having to be woken by one of the court.
Where, George wondered, were the real men of England? Why did he have to be served by men such as Pelham, mere functionaries who carried as much grace as a village bailiff or a costermonger in a small shop in Pimlico? Where was Walpole, dead these past few months? Where was Carteret? Where were the great and decisive men of Hanover who understood the need to keep France in a state of neutrality? Only his damnable British counsellors, and the British people it seemed, failed to understand why he had committed money and troops for the safety of distant Hanover against the damnable French.
Something that Pelham said attracted his attention and his mind was forced back onto the here and now of this interminable audience. “It appears, Majesty, that this young man landed on a remote island on the westernmost shores of the Hebrides. Our spies in Paris tell us that he sailed with two ships, the Elisabeth and the Doutelle. The first ship carried his munitions and a treasury that had been supplied to him by the king of France, but this ship was set upon by the dogs of the British Navy, the HMS Lion, a 54-gun two-master man o’war, which did so much damage that the Elisabeth was permanently crippled and forced to return to France. Any rational and normal invader would, having lost so much, return to the land from whence they came and regroup, but not this headstrong boy. Instead, he refused to make passage back to the bosom of the king of France and the bosoms of his many mistresses, and so the second ship carried the Young Pretender onward to the islands until the boy landed in a rowing boat with a handful of courtiers and a priest.”
“And his army?” asked King George.
“No army, Your Majesty,” said the prime minister still reading from the notes his secretary had given him for the audience and refusing to look up into the king’s eyes. “It appears that the king of France, though promising the Young Pretender an army, decided at the last minute that the sea between our nations was too rough for his troops to set sail, and so he ordered them to return to their barracks. Undaunted, the boy continued to sail, obviously intent upon attacking our realm with his few . . . his very few.”
The king, and the court following, burst into laughter. “He marches upon us with a rowing boat full of courtiers. Is he mad?”
“It appears, Majesty, that he is intent upon raising an army from amongst the lords of Scotland. However, he has already alienated many of these gallants because he refuses to heed proper advice. He still insists upon beginning every conversation with whomever he meets by repeating the motto of the House of Stuart, a Deo rex, a rege lex, which means . . .”
“I am not an uneducated man, Mr. Pelham,” the king hissed. “I speak passable Latin. It means ‘the king comes from God, the law comes from the king.’”
The lords and ladies of the court looked at the king in anticipation of the sudden eruption of a quarrel between him and his prime minister. They knew in how much contempt the king held Pelham and were hoping for his exasperation to turn into an explosion. But Pelham continued to refuse to look at the king and maintained his indifference to their ranks by reading from his notes. George’s body seemed to slump further into his throne at the calculated insult.
“W
hen the young man was ashore, my spies tell me that he demanded fealty from those around him, but he was rejected. He claimed at every vantage point that his family were the rightful monarchs and stewards of the realm . . .”
“So the Stuart wants to be a steward, eh Mr. Pelham. Eh!” said the king and burst out laughing. The court joined in, the ladies in their crinolines banging their closed fans against their hands in approbation, the gentlemen in their fine silks raising their hands and shouting out “hurrah!”
When the noise of the court had quietened, Pelham looked up at the king, then back at his notes and continued with his audience. “Indeed, Your Majesty. The boy has now traveled inland and has gained a foothold in the Highlands. My spies in Scotland tell me that he has sent letters of demand and requirement to all the clan leaders telling them of his arrival and stipulating their fealty to his cause. However, your government doubts that the Scottish lords will rally around him. The Presbyterian church is strong in the south of the Scottish lands and is an important buffer for us in England against the more brutish of the clans.”
In surprise, the king exclaimed, “The Church? What has the Church of Scotland to do with the landing of this young man? Good God, Mr. Pelham this isn’t going to turn into another religious engagement between Protestants and Catholics, is it? Surely the Catholics of England have accepted the results that were obtained after the Battle of the Boyne? The Irish have accepted the result, and the Catholics of Scotland aren’t so firm in their beliefs that they’ll oust the Presbyters and all the councils that run the affairs of that nation, are they?”
For one of the few times during the incessant audience, Pelham looked up from his papers and addressed the king directly. “Majesty, there may or may not be a strong Catholic following among the lords of Scotland. But the land is more tribal a clan than religious and holy. The tribes prefer to dance to the tune of Scottish pipers rather than bow to the dictates of Mr. Knox and his disciples; yet for all that, the Presbyters are held in high regard. However, and this is my reason for concern at the landing of this youth, I am informed that Catholicism still runs strong in the hearts of many in Scotland, and it is always possible that they see the divine right of kings having been broken by the accession of King William from Orange and his wife Mary. As Your Majesty might know, Mary may have been the daughter of England’s Catholic James II, but she professed the Protestant faith. According to my agents in Scotland, there is an undertow in the currency of affairs that says that they’d rather have a Stuart on the throne of England and Scotland than a Hanoverian.”
The king of England raised his voice to argue, but Pelham talked over him. The court was stunned by the man’s arrogance, and even more surprised that the monarch allowed it to happen.
“However,” Pelham continued, “the wishes of the Scottish lords are difficult to ascertain. The Young Pretender to your throne might not on his own be able to convince them to join him in an adventure against your rule; but as you know, there is nothing that the kings of France and Spain would like to see more than the triple tiara of the pope placed high above the Crown of Britain. This boy has landed in order to replace Your Majesty with the Crown of the Stuarts, just as his father, the Old Pretender did in his attempt to replace your father with himself nearly forty years ago. We understand that Prince Charles has landed intent on placing his father on your throne as James III of England and VIII of Scotland. And there’s no doubting that it’s in his young head to crown himself Charles III. Whatever fealty he has toward his father is surely tempered by the simple fact that he will soon be the heir to the throne if he defeats Your Majesty’s armies, should the circumstances arise. I have no doubt that this is the reason he has embarked upon this perilous mission.”
“Be it reason or treason, Prince Charles must be stopped,” demanded the king. Lady Winchelsea, one of the ladies of the bedchamber, thought that the rhyme was another of the king’s quips, and burst out laughing, but stopped immediately when she realized that she was the only one.
Pelham nodded. “Your government will listen carefully to your thoughts in this matter as we always do, Majesty, and then we will act in the best interests of Britain. There are a number of alternatives. Either we could allow his folly to play itself out and for him to be rejected by the lords of Scotland, returning defeated and humiliated to France and Italy; or we could send a small expeditionary force to greet him, arrest, and imprison him, and embarrass the king of France at the same time. The choice, Majesty, is yours.”
King George II looked around and saw that the entire court was staring at him, waiting for him to make a decision. He glanced to his left to consult his wife Caroline, but when he saw her empty throne, he was overwhelmed by dejection. If only she hadn’t died.
AUGUST 1745
If courage defined the difference between bold action and craven acquiescence, then surely her audacious stance would bring results. Despite her stepfather’s disapproval and her mother’s consternation, and even disregarding her own concerns about being so closely and publicly identified by such a course of action, Flora knew in her heart that this was the moment for which she’d been born.
A dispatch rider had given news to Hugh that the Prince of Scotland had written letters to the leaders of the clans, but their response had been tardy—no, not tardy, utterly and totally and callously and indifferently silent. The young prince had been completely ignored by the clans and was waiting every day for some sign that his life’s mission wasn’t to be dashed on the rocks of the Scottish shore before he’d had a chance to reach the pinnacle of the Highlands. But Flora knew the clans well enough and understood that they’d be reluctant to embark on a war with England without the support of the French or Irish. Hugh had told her in no uncertain terms that landing without King Louis’ army spelled certain defeat for Prince Charles’ plans to regain the throne for the Stuarts. But Flora wouldn’t allow that to happen. Not while there was a morsel of Highland air in her lungs. She’d told her employer the news, and now was her moment.
“So,” said Lady Margaret Macdonald to her young companion, “what is this magnificent conspiracy you’re involving me in? And why must I say nothing to Sir Alexander?”
“Ma’am, as you know, the lairds won’t rise up unless they’re pushed. Their lordships are reticent because the prince hasn’t brought with him any artillery or men. Yet we Scots have more than enough to drive the English back off our land.”
Lady Margaret looked at Flora in suspicion. “Go on.”
“Well,” said Flora, “what if the women of Scotland were to rise up? What if they were to force their menfolk into supporting the prince?”
Margaret laughed. “And how precisely do you think that we women could do that?”
Flora grinned. “The wives would threaten to withhold their womanly favours from their menfolk until the men agreed to go to war behind the prince.”
This was too much for Lady Margaret, who burst out laughing. “Like Lysistrata in ancient Greece? But Flora dear, Lysistrata arranged for the women of Greece to withhold their lovemaking in order for their men to stay at home and stop fighting, not for them to go to war.”
“I don’t know who this lady is, but if it worked in ancient Greece, there’s no reason it couldn’t work in modern Scotland.”
“Lysistrata is a play, darling. She isn’t real. And there’s no way in the wide world that a Scotsman would allow his wife to refuse him her duty on condition he’d go to war.”
Downhearted, Flora nodded and continued with her tapestry.
“However,” said Lady Margaret. “Like you, I believe that Charles’ arrival spells a moment of destiny for the Scottish people. I believe fervently that we must be the masters of our own destiny in our own land. And I do agree with you, as well you know, that the Jacobite cause is worth fighting for if we’re to remove the English yoke from our necks. So while I don’t think I’ll advise the other wives of clan leaders to do as you’ve suggested, I will write to them, and point out th
e importance of the prince’s rallying cry and why they should encourage their husbands to comply with his wishes. But withdraw their sexual favours? I think not. Scotswomen are known to be lusty, and I can assure you that my request would fall on deaf ears.”
She burst out laughing again and asked Flora to fetch her a fresh duck’s quill, several nibs, two pots of ink, and a quire of paper.
Chapter Two
GLENFINNAN THE WESTERN MAINLAND OF SCOTLAND
AUGUST 1745
It was already after noon, and his confidence was fading rapidly. Another few hours and the sun would drop behind Loch Shiel and then the chances of anybody coming before the middle of the following morning, if at all, were remote. Since he’d landed by rowboat at noontime on Loch nan Uamh and had been met by the laird of Morar, who stood at the head of 150 of his clansmen and made the prince’s honor guard, he’d marched up the Glen expecting to see crowds of Highlanders cheering on his venture. But the entire glen beside the River Finnan had been empty of almost anybody other than the occasional crofter and his family.
The prince had spent some time with one of the families, but the laird advised him to walk onward to Glenfinnan in case any Highlander had accepted his invitation and was coming to meet with him. This he did, but the man who walked besides the banks of the river between the grand hills that formed the valley, was a very different man to the expectant youth who’d landed at the mainland lochside not four hours earlier full of hope and excitement for the future.
It was nearly a month since he’d first made landfall on the Island of Eriskay in the Hebrides, and Prince Charles Stuart had suffered rejection by almost everybody he’d approached. He had left France expecting his arrival to be welcomed, but from Island to Island, and now on the mainland, every lord and chieftain he’d met had told him to return home, assuring him that they wouldn’t join him in his venture, especially as he’d come without a French army and with no money to purchase loyalty.
