The Prisoner's Dilemma

by Sean Stuart O'Connor

  He reached down and took Zweig’s hand.

  ‘Yet again, captain, I have reason to thank you.’

  * * *

  James was working at his nets early the next morning when Major Sharrocks rode up with an escort of three troopers. The officer dismounted and walked over, barking loudly at him with his usual ill-tempered menace.

  ‘A word with you, fisherman. What’s your name?’

  ‘James McLeish.’

  ‘Well, Mr McLeish. You may be just the man to help us. I’ve seen you often with your friend, the one that likes his glaring at the castle. He doesn’t seem to be doing it any more. Do you know where he is?’

  ‘Aye,’ replied James sulkily, ‘I might. But he’s no friend of mine. What’s it to you, anyway?’

  ‘Never mind what it’s got to do with us,’ snapped Sharrocks sharply, ‘I know he’s no friend of yours, McLeish. My men tell me they saw him treating you ill some days ago. So, where is he? Quick man, out with it, or I’ll have you into Craigleven and ask you there. No doubt you’ve heard that Scotsmen go in but do not come out. Would you like that?’

  James thought for a moment. Why should he care if the redcoats knew where Zweig was? And why should he run the risk of getting into trouble for lying? Of being tortured by these cruel people, just to spite them because they were English? No, he had no reason for protecting either Zweig or that bastard Dunbeath. In fact, he’d like to see them both in hell.

  ‘He’s gone to London. With Lord Dunbeath. His lordship had to be there in haste and they sailed down together.’

  But, with instant horror, he saw how appalled Major Sharrocks was to hear this.

  ‘What?’ Sharrocks screamed at James. ‘Gone to London! By heaven, Colonel L’Arquen will not like to hear this. When did they go?’

  ‘Over a week ago,’ said James, his voice wavering as panic rose in him and his chest tightened. He had no idea that Sharrocks would have reacted in this way.

  Sharrocks flung himself at his horse. He mounted and jerked its head round, then stared at James with horrible menace.

  ‘I’ll want to speak to you further about this. I know you by name now, James McLeish, so don’t be foolish and think you can avoid me. Colonel L’Arquen will no doubt want to talk to you himself. And, McLeish, I know my colonel – if he does, I advise you to find your tongue.’

  Sharrocks shouted a further order and the troop careered off at a furious gallop. James stood as still as a stone, knocked silent, utterly terrified at what he’d just unleashed on himself. His head spun and a sickness rose in his throat. He was at first paralysed with inaction but quickly became manic in his terror, and he now ran headlong back to the cottage. His mother looked up from her work as he threw the door open and was immediately aware that something had gone badly wrong. She set her sewing down and listened as James stammered out the story of Sharrocks’ cross-questioning. Even though he tried to exaggerate the extent of his resistance to Sharrocks, his heart quailed as he saw how horrified his mother was at the news.

  ‘You didn’t tell them who Alexis was, did you?’ she asked breathlessly when he’d finished. ‘Oh James, I know full well your dislike for the man but if you let slip to the English who he is, they would certainly hang him when he gets back from London. They know what was in that ship. And they’ll want to know who’s been sheltering him! They’ll think we’re with the uprising. They’ll blame us. Oh God, James. What have you done?’

  She thought for a few moments. Then she turned back to look fiercely into her son’s ash-grey face.

  ‘You have to get away. You can’t let them take you to Craigleven. They’ll have it all out of you in five minutes if you go in there. If those soldiers come again I’ll say you’ve gone out with the fishing fleet. We could even say that you’d drowned. No, better still, just disappear. Go to Edinburgh and hide yourself there until this rebellion is over. I’ve no doubt larger matters will be filling people’s heads by then. And, who knows, the English may lose the war and be thrown out of Scotland. Yes, we have to hope for that. That’s the best thing to do. Disappear. Go to Edinburgh.’

  ‘But I have no money, Mother. I’ll starve. They’ll find me in a ditch. The only thing of value I have is the package that Zweig left with you for safekeeping. If you give it to me, I’ll be able to sell it when I get to Edinburgh.’

  A dark look came into Mona’s face.

  ‘I can’t give it to you, James. You know that I gave my word not to hand it over unless Alexis didn’t return. I will not break my bond.’

  James was too desperate by now to be put off by what he believed had been half-meant promises.

  ‘You must give it to me,’ he shouted, his fear mounting by the second in the face of her reluctance. ‘Mother, it’s all I have in the world. How am I to survive if I’m not able to sell it? It’s the only money I have.’

  Mona McLeish looked back at her son with suspicion, her anxiety raised by his evident panic.

  ‘But what is it that matters so much? What’s in that bundle anyway, James? Why is it so important?’

  James turned away, biting his lip.

  ‘I …I can’t say,’ he stammered. ‘It is between myself and Zweig. It’s of great value. It was something Zweig had with him when he swam ashore from the shipwreck. And he promised it to me for saving his life.’

  James looked at Mona imploringly.

  ‘Mother!’ he wailed finally, his voice breaking with a mixture of fear and desperation. ‘I must have that package. If I’m to live I must have it. Mother, I’m your son! Do you put Zweig before me? Do you?’

  By now he was sobbing on his knees before her and Mona looked at him for a few seconds.

  ‘Wait here,’ she said at last, her lips set in a tight line, and left the cottage.

  James was still on his knees when she came back a short while later and handed him the long object wrapped in its oilskin.

  * * *

  Hume set the book he was reading down on the sofa beside him. It was dull stuff and he knew he’d far rather be talking to Sophie – by a long way the most stimulating woman he had ever met …in his limited experience, he admitted to himself, ruefully. More difficult to admit was the sense of loss he felt when she wasn’t in the room with him.

  Why, Mr Hume, he thought with sudden pleasure, realising that he was more than a little in love with her. Perhaps there was hope, after all, that he might find a wife for himself one day if he was capable of having these feelings.

  He was rather pleased with his conclusion and now wandered from room to room, looking for Sophie like a bored puppy. He even put his head into the kitchen before he set off with a sigh to haul himself up the long climb to the observatory. If she was nowhere else, he thought, she would be up there.

  She was indeed, but as Hume came into the glass sided room he was immediately aware of a change in her mood. He now stood watching her as she went about in a desultory way, tidying papers and moving instruments in a dispirited fashion.

  ‘I was wondering where you were, Sophie. I’ve become so used to seeing you by the fire with your workings. I hope you’re not sickening. Or have you given up on the Dilemma?’

  ‘I must be honest with you, Mr Hume,’ she replied with a sigh, ‘I have become dejected by where it is taking us. I’m afraid the conclusions are pointing me in directions I do not wish to go. They show me things I do not wish to find.’

  Hume took a step towards her, a look of concern on his face.

  ‘I am so sorry to hear that, Sophie. I know from experience how hard the road can feel when we enquire too closely into our natures. But what is it that’s bothering you so?’

  ‘Well, it was when we were speaking of King Solomon and the power of a mother’s love …and I heard myself talking about it with all the dispassionate manner of a doctor discussing a patient. That’s not as it should be, we’re not dissecting a body here, we’re not cutting people up to see how they work. We’re humans – feelings and hopes as well as flesh and blo
od. It was the story of the two women that brought me to my senses. One was so evil that she would even see a child killed rather than admit to her selfishness. Yet the other would sacrifice everything, even to agreeing to this wicked woman having her child, rather than see it harmed. Such a great love as this must be the most pure and wonderful thing in the world. But where was the Prisoner’s Dilemma in this? Where in the Dilemma is there room for passion and compassion, the great love a mother has for her child or a woman might have for a man? Where is such love in all this mathematics and talk of hawks and doves, of free riders and defectors?’

  Sophie came to an abrupt stop and walked to the window. She gazed out of it, clearly upset at her thoughts. Hume was standing quietly and after a brief pause she turned back to face him.

  ‘Are we not doing exactly what St Paul told us not to do?’ she continued, tersely. ‘Understanding all mysteries and yet lacking charity? Lacking love? Are we not simply the sounding brass and tinkling cymbals that he warned us of?’

  Hume sighed and stepped towards her. He took her hands in his.

  ‘Dear Sophie,’ he said softly, ‘only a heart and mind as great as yours could find yourself in conflict on this. To have the intellect to analyse what you see but also the compassion to be saddened by the fact that you can. Lord Dunbeath is the most fortunate of men that you should have come into his life. But, yes, I do understand your thoughts and the questions you ask. And indeed I have an answer to them although you may not like to hear it.’

  Sophie smiled, warmed by Hume’s kindness.

  ‘Well, I have come this far, Mr Hume. Perhaps I should stay and hear the worst.’

  ‘Very well,’ began Hume, ‘I believe the logic we have found is this. We do good – but the Dilemma tells us that we are doing it to get rewards. Although these acts may have a selfish origin we learn that altruism and virtue attract others and lead to trusting relationships. Unlike defectors, co-operative people do not look for exact exchange or immediate rewards, yet they expect a return at some point nonetheless. And we know that some of these co-operators will not tolerate continued defection – they will either avoid it or sometimes fight back, be a retaliator we called it.

  ‘Visible charity or compassion enhances one’s reputation and we applaud it in people. If one lacks for these feelings then the Dilemma shows us that such a person is a rational fool. But, if we are to be applauded, it seems that charity must be seen to come at a price – after all, who do we more admire: the rich man that gives alms that mean nothing to his purse or an act of kindness that involves some effort?’

  Hume looked out to sea, picking his words with care.

  ‘So, where then is the ‘pure’ love that you spoke of?’ he continued. ‘Love that is not part of the intricate human transactions we have exposed? Why do we think of this love as a mystery described only by the poets and saints? Why don’t more of us practice what we admire so much?

  ‘I’m afraid the reason is this. It is because when we commit ourselves to others in such a way that we give ourselves up to them – we lose control. In fact this loss of control is our priceless gift to them, the ultimate sign of love. It is a sign that the person who loves in such a wonderful, completely selfless way, has stopped playing the game. After all, how can one play a game if one ignores the rules? Unconditional love may be the greatest sacrifice we can make to another person but it comes at a great cost, because it leads to one being dangerously revealed and exposed. And, so dangerously vulnerable.’

  Hume paused and then seemed to rally as he looked at Sophie’s sad face again.

  ‘And here, I fear, is laid bare the greatest of paradoxes, Sophie. We admire the givers in life, the compassionate, the charitable, the great hearts. We are against self-interest. We applaud love. So why are not more of us compassionate, openly unselfish, even altruistic? Sophie, it is because we are afraid of it ruling our lives. There can be no avoiding the fact that this is understandable – because what is obvious is that the more that other people show compassion and give love, the better it is for us. And, equally, the more that we can practice self-interest, the better it is for us also. That is what the Prisoner’s Dilemma shows us. So here is your answer. We may admire such love in others and we may like to benefit from it – but it doesn’t suit us to give it ourselves.’

  Sophie stood up silently as Hume finished speaking. Then she looked away and a tiny groan came from her.

  ‘I see,’ she said. ‘I understand what you mean. What a mess. What a tangled mess we make of the precious lives we have.’

  * * *

  Once he had the bundle in his hand, James ran from the cottage and climbed high onto the dunes. He didn’t slow until he had reached a secret spot he knew, far from the cottage and far from where prying eyes might possibly see him. Nevertheless, he looked carefully about himself, making doubly certain that he was alone. Once he was satisfied, he turned his attention to the wrapping and his hands shook as he untied the twine and wrenched the oilcloth off the long bundle in his hand.

  For a second he stood stupefied, unable to take in the sight of the wooden fake.

  For a further second he stared at it in disbelief. Then he gave a great bellow of anger and fear as he flung it to the ground. Terror at the thought that he must now stay and be interrogated by Sharrocks swept over him like one of the breaking waves on the far shore – and any shred of loyalty he might have had towards Zweig had gone forever.

  Chapter 22

  ‘How can you eat that, Zweig?’ said Dunbeath with a mixture of exasperation and admiration.

  Zweig glanced up but then went back to his breakfast.

  ‘You should do so yourself, my lord,’ he replied. ‘I dare say you feel yourself too agitated for food, but this mutton is quite excellent.’

  He continued to chew as he looked Dunbeath up and down.

  ‘You look the part, I must say, my lord. I would not refuse you the Prize in that finery.’

  ‘You are a new man yourself, captain,’ replied Dunbeath, glad to be distracted from his frayed nerves. ‘That powered wig has turned you into quite the Englishman. I’ve no doubt we shall be seeing you at court if we prevail today.’

  There were a few final changes that Dunbeath felt he had to make but it was not long before the two men emerged from the great mansion for the short ride to Whitehall. Outside the front entrance an exquisite carriage waited for them, four perfectly matched white horses standing calm yet alert to the coachman’s orders.

  As they crossed the courtyard towards the carriage in silence, both men carried rolled charts, each lost in his thoughts, each gathering himself for the meeting ahead. Dunbeath climbed stiffly into the coach first, his face tight with determination.

  But Zweig had been very aware all morning of the mounting tension in Dunbeath and he knew only too well the dangers of his brittle personality. He now put his foot on the riding plate and dropped the bundle of charts he was holding inside onto the carriage seat.

  ‘One minute, my lord,’ he said, ‘I need a quick word with your man.’

  He climbed up beside Makepeace and whispered to him.

  ‘Who knows what we may find today. Do you carry a weapon?’

  ‘Indeed I do, sir,’ said Makepeace grimly, and showed Zweig a heavy cudgel that he kept under the bench, ‘never fear for that.’

  Zweig returned to the carriage and Makepeace called to his team. There was a clatter of bridles and harnesses and then, together, they set off for the Admiralty.

  * * *

  James McLeish had walked the seven miles to Craigleven in less than two hours. Now he presented himself to the sentries manning the roadblock outside the lodges.

  ‘I want to see Major Sharrocks. It’s urgent. I have information I wish to give him.’

  The guard looked at him sourly, wary of trouble from embittered Scots. However, there was something so blankly insistent about James’s manner that made the redcoat put his suspicions to one side and, instead, he called over the othe
r sentry.

  ‘This trooper here will take you to the major,’ he said to James, ‘I hope what you have to say is worthwhile, my friend, or you shall suffer for wasting his time. And so shall I.’

  But it was only half an hour later that Sharrocks was knocking hard on L’Arquen’s door and then nudging James forward into the office.

  L’Arquen rose from his desk with his usual mock courtesy.

  ‘Major Sharrocks has told me who you are,’ he purred. ‘He has informed me that you have something to tell us but that you wish me to hear it first. I am most interested and I would be obliged if you would proceed. I understand you told Major Sharrocks that Lord Dunbeath went to London over a week ago – with that ruffian we saw outside the castle. What is their business there?’

  James wrung his cap in his hands.

  ‘Ruffian? Someone has misled you there, sir,’ he said. ‘No, that man is no ruffian at all; his name is Alexis Zweig and he was the captain of the ship that was bringing gunpowder from Prussia. He survived the explosion when the ship sank.’

  Even L’Arquen’s studied insouciance slipped as he heard this. But he recovered quickly.

  ‘Indeed, that is most interesting. Yes, most interesting. You are right, I was indeed misinformed. But why have you decided to tell me this now? How do I know that you’re telling me the truth? My men reported that you were seen fighting with this man you say is called Zweig. Perhaps you are inventing all this to cause trouble for an innocent person?’

  At this, James protested passionately.

  ‘Oh no, sir! I have my reasons to speak about Zweig as I do and I want nothing more than to see him hang. And I have no love for Lord Dunbeath either. I shall tell you everything I know about them.’

  ‘My goodness, Sharrocks,’ murmured L’Arquen softly, ‘we seem to have found an intelligent Scotsman. At last.’