A fire in their hearts, p.14
A Fire in Their Hearts, page 14
And so the living become the dead and the last figure to walk up the steps to the platform is my own father. He looks fondly upon the four bodies that have been thrown to the ground below.
‘I shall be with you in a moment, my dear friends, and together we will watch from Heaven upon these misguided people.’
He’s stopped singing to speak and my four companions are too overcome by grief to continue. My own throat closes up and everything falls so silent it seems as if the air itself is stilled.
‘Take care, my son. I love you.’
I can’t watch and keep my eyes closed until finally . . . finally . . . a voice announces that he is dead. This war has taken so much from us, our home, our innocence, the lives of friends and neighbours, Violet’s father . . . now it takes my father too. Will there ever be enough deaths to bring it to an end?
The other witnesses and I weep openly, expecting to be taken back to the enclosure, but at that moment an official walks up to the scaffold’s platform. He doesn’t even wait for my father’s body to be taken down. It swings gently behind him as he speaks.
‘As is right by the laws of God and man, these traitors have met their death. Now their bodies will be used to demonstrate to others what will happen to those who show disloyalty to the king. Their heads will be removed and sent to the places from whence they came, where they will be displayed publicly for all to see. What’s left of their bodies will be hung in gibbets to rot. Let no one doubt the outcome of traitors. Long live the king!’
That Father’s head should be removed . . . something breaks within me, and even with my hands bound I push, kick and headbutt the unsuspecting guards until several lie on the ground around me. My rage is finally brought to a sudden end when the stock of a musket slams into my head and everything goes black.
* * *
Violet
24 August 1679, Greyfriars Kirkyard, Edinburgh
‘I need to speak to you about something.’
I’m bound to Hamish in a way that’s impossible for anyone to understand who is not a twin. We shared a world even before entering this one and since the moment we were born, we’ve slept, eaten, played, laughed, fought side by side and cried as if we were not two people but one. I’m instantly worried about what he wants to say when we’ve never had a secret from the others, and I try not to show I’m concerned. Of course, he knows I am.
‘Let’s walk,’ I say.
We slot in between small groups of people moving slowly around the enclosure. The number held here has grown following the mass departure of those agreeing to the Black Bond, with Covenanters captured after Bothwell plus others taken prisoner for different reasons being brought to Greyfriars.
‘I’m not brave like you, Samuel and Calum. I can’t go on, Violet, not like this.’
I don’t understand what he’s implying. The reality is that we have no choice, unless he’s planning an escape, but such an act would be out of character.
‘Hamish, we’ve all felt like that over the weeks . . . over the years even, when we’ve been hunted and attacked, homeless and despairing. You’re not alone and the feeling will pass.’
‘No, it won’t.’
‘We have no option but to go on.’
‘There is an option. The government is still offering the King’s Peace.’
I stare at him and for the first time in my entire life I don’t recognise the man in front of me.
‘Hamish, you can’t betray the cause now!’
‘I’m not. I just can’t go on living like this.’
‘I don’t believe you’ll sign, that you would go home to Mother and leave us here.’
‘Then come with me, Violet.’
‘After everything we’ve been through! I held Father in my arms at Bothwell while he bled out his life upon my breast. Samuel watched his own father hanged less than two weeks ago. How many others have died over the decades that people in Scotland might one day worship freely, and you would walk away from all that? People have fought for this even before we were born.’
He’s crying now, huge sobs bursting out of his emaciated body in a way that would have broken my heart until a few moments ago. I can’t hold him or offer comfort, and that is so utterly unnatural to me that tears flow down my cheeks.
‘Yes, I know.’
‘Have you lost your faith in the cause?’
‘No, I’ve lost the strength to fight for it . . . in my body, in my mind, in my soul . . . I no longer have the will to go on.’
We stand facing each other only a few feet apart, yet it represents a chasm that is so deep and wide we cannot reach across it.
‘Many people have signed the bond,’ he says.
‘Does that make it right?’
‘No. There’s what’s right and there’s what’s real, and this is the reality.’
‘Then here is my reality. You are no brother of mine!’
Never have I felt or meant words more strongly than the ones I’ve just spoken . . . and never have I regretted or hated words more than the ones I’ve just spoken. Those eleven words have cleaved me in half more surely than the sharpest Claymore ever could.
His voice is barely a whisper. ‘Please don’t say that.’
‘This is all there is to say. There is nothing more, Hamish. Nothing. We are no longer blood and kin.’
‘Violet?’
‘My loyalty is to Samuel and Calum and our beliefs, for that is what’s left for me.’
With those cruel words, I turn and walk away.
* * *
Samuel and Calum refuse to speak to Hamish, so we’ve had no contact with him since he confessed his intentions. Now, on the last day of August, he’s one of a handful of men standing by the gates waiting to be taken to Greyfriars Kirk, where he’ll sign away his soul. Everyone in the entire enclosure has gathered in silence, watching.
Hamish keeps his eyes firmly on the ground by his feet. The guards make them wait a long time and I suspect they’re doing this deliberately. Eventually, someone unlocks the gates and the five figures shuffle forward, appearing more like condemned men than those who so nobly walked out to be hanged in the Grassmarket.
Hamish is the last. As he’s about to step through the archway, he stops to look back at me. I meet his gaze without friendship or love, a woman of granite and a sister of mist. He has betrayed us. Those that leave this morning will never be forgiven by those left behind. With tears falling down his cheeks he walks slowly through the gates and out of our lives.
Part III
The Crown of London
19
Violet
15 November 1679, Greyfriars Kirkyard, Edinburgh
S
AMUEL AND I TREMBLE UNCONTROLLABLY as we hug each other, the thin blanket wrapped around us doing little to help. We’ve known lower temperatures but without the ability to light a fire and still with no shelter except the four walls of the enclosure there’s no escape from the cold. For weeks it’s been seeping into our bodies every single minute of the day and night. Hot food is a distant memory.
People are beginning to fear that the authorities will let the harsh weather kill us and solve their problem. Two Covenanters have died since the beginning of the month, the bodies stripped of clothing before being laid out for the gravediggers. These days they come in through the gates and pick up the deceased themselves.
My chest feels so constricted that speaking is difficult. ‘There’s one good thing about the cold,’ I stutter.
‘I’m struggling to think of it.’
‘Nobody considers it odd that we hug each other.’
All around us men are gathered in small groups, so desperate for warmth that they embrace each other as tightly as lovers.
Calum comes towards us. Like everyone else he’s swaddled in multiple items of clothing that make him appear misshapen, a parody of humour at which no one laughs. Clothes have been stripped from the dead or bought from the women who visit, using the remaining coin that hasn’t been stolen. His blond hair is hidden under a large bonnet held down firmly with a woman’s kerchief tied under his chin. Nobody moves quickly. When he reaches us Samuel opens the blanket and includes his brother within it, then the three of us stand, our limbs trembling and our teeth chattering.
‘Something’s happening,’ says Calum. ‘There’s a large number of soldiers gathering beyond the gates. I think they’re going to come in.’
‘To kill us?’ I say.
‘Why bother now?’ says Samuel. ‘Unless the authorities have finally lost all patience.’
‘We’re about to find out,’ says Calum.
The gates are being unlocked and moments later dozens of soldiers rush in, bayonets fitted to muskets in a show of force that is so unnecessary it’s almost laughable. The majority of us can just about walk.
‘Fall into lines! Fall into lines!’ shouts a sergeant.
Everyone is taken aback and many stand around without moving until soldiers start pushing prisoners forward and getting them into lines three abreast.
‘Violet, keep between us,’ whispers Samuel.
We join the others. There is some muttering and a few cries of pain when someone is hit or shoved too hard, but otherwise people line up without protest. There are over two hundred and most of us have lived within this open prison for almost five months. It seems unreal that we’re actually about to leave. But we do.
We stumble through the stone archway and into the first street, where crowds wait in silence. I assume that news of our departure has been deliberately spread throughout Edinburgh and residents are probably expected to come out and see what happens to those who defy the king’s authority. A couple of men call out insults, but most don’t comment. Whether they feel shock, disdain or pity, I’ve no idea and am too weary to care.
‘Why do they need so many soldiers?’ I ask. ‘We’re far too weak to fight.’
‘I don’t think they’re for us,’ says Samuel. ‘They must be worried that there could be an attempted rescue.’
We certainly see no sign of such a thing as we’re taken down street after street. Covenanters fall and are helped back up only to fall again as we trudge along on our journey of punishment. Finally, when there are more of us falling than walking, we arrive in Leith and are taken to the harbour, where we’re brought to a halt near a two-masted ship called the Crown of London.
‘It’s small,’ I say.
‘Too small,’ replies Samuel. ‘This isn’t big enough for so many.’
‘Look!’ says Calum. ‘Dear God above. Are those who I think they are?’
Arriving only minutes after us dozens of militia approach along a different street. They’re got cloths and scarves wrapped around their faces and some are carrying stretchers that, at first sight, seem to have dead people on them.
‘Samuel,’ I utter in horror. ‘These are the wounded Covenanters who were taken to Heriot’s Hospital when we arrived.’
‘I see them,’ he says, ‘though I don’t believe what I’m seeing.’
There are around twenty and the stench of their bodies overpowers every other smell around the harbour regardless of how unpleasant or powerful. It’s clear that most have lost control of their bodily functions and the poor souls haven’t been cleaned, or certainly not properly. I can hardly believe they’re still living. Everyone from the enclosure stares in shock at the sight and murmured comments are increasingly interspersed by angry shouts as more people realise what we’re facing.
Any further conversation about their arrival is prevented by the appearance on deck of someone I take to be the captain. He looks down upon us with such loathing that my skin suddenly feels even dirtier than it did moments ago.
‘I’m Captain Teddico,’ he says, ‘and you are the worst treacherous scum that ever walked this land. For your heinous crimes, you’ll be transported on board my ship to your final destination. I will brook no ill behaviour and any man who angers me will feel the lash of the whip. You’re going to stink my ship like rotting fish.’ He wrinkles his nose with a sneer before barking orders. ‘Get them aboard!’
We’re pulled and shoved into a line so that we can walk across the gangplank. I follow Samuel on to the rocking vessel, where sailors order us down a ladder and into the hold. It’s a slow process, as many need help. The captain’s anger grows by the second and he’s soon shouting obscene abuse at us while ordering sailors to push those who are considered not quick enough. Desperate cries of pain and warning reach us from Covenanters who have fallen off the ladder and landed on the hard floor below.
‘Calum, you go ahead of Douglas and I’ll go after him,’ says Samuel, trying to work out how best to protect me, although in fairness I’m more able than many others.
I descend into a world so unlike the one we’ve been held in since June that the breath is snatched from my lungs. Instead of an open space with no shelter we’re encased by walls of wood, pressing on us closer and closer.
‘It’s like a huge coffin,’ Calum whispers fearfully.
‘Let’s find a space,’ says Samuel, indicating a place not far from the ladder. ‘It’s going to get unbelievably hot and we need to get as much air as possible. And we want to be away from those.’
Samuel indicates a row of buckets against one wall and my heart sinks at the realisation that this is all there is for our natural needs. We spread out the thin blanket and collapse upon it, then watch as more figures come into the hold. Most people are shocked into silence. A few moan as though fighting some inner terror.
It doesn’t take long to study our new home. Half a dozen lanterns swing gently upon hooks in the ceiling and cast a flickering, yellow light upon the surroundings. Every surface is wood, without a single item to provide comfort.
‘We may be out of the wind and rain but even a cow in the meanest of barns would have some straw,’ says Calum.
‘I fear, brother, that we’ve swapped our hell for one even worse.’
Starvation has reduced our bodies till we are little more than walking skeletons. While Covenanters are still shuffling into the hold, I feel pain streaking up my legs and back in whatever position I sit.
‘Douglas?’
‘I’m all right, Samuel. I just need to settle down.’
‘Here they come,’ warns Calum.
Whatever discomfort, pain or fear we’re experiencing is forgotten at the sight of the wounded Covenanters. Men on deck lower them by their arms while others at the bottom of the ladder reach up and take the emaciated bodies, carrying them to various corners of the hold, where they’re gently laid.
‘There’s not going to be enough room for everyone to lie down at the same time,’ says Calum.
The wounded continue to be lowered, some unconscious, others moaning and a few piteously begging to be taken back up or to be killed. Their pleading is heart-breaking.
‘Are we really in Scotland?’ says Samuel, shaking his head in utter disbelief.
In the confined space the smell is like nothing I’ve ever known. A couple of men nearby retch, but they’ve nothing in their stomachs to bring up. Eventually all of the wounded are here and the remaining Covenanters start coming down the ladder. Upon reaching the bottom, one man suddenly screams. Two friends take hold of him and try to move him away, but he holds on to a step with such fierce determination that he can’t be shifted, no matter how much they try. Others have to squeeze around him to pass.
Someone calls out, ‘Get him away before a sailor comes down!’
The warning is too late, for moments later we hear angry shouts from the hatch followed by a stocky figure quickly descending the ladder. The sailor assesses the situation in an instant and the next moment he removes a wooden cudgel from his waistband and hits the hysterical Covenanter until he’s nearly unconscious. His friends pull him away from the danger as soon as they can. Everyone has fallen silent, shocked at the brutality but also at the way this foretells how we will be treated. The sailor stares around, completely unafraid at being surrounded by so many prisoners.
‘His certainty that he’s safe is worrying,’ says Calum.
‘The sailors must have clear orders from the captain for this one to be confident that he can treat us so harshly,’ says Samuel.
Taking his time, the sailor climbs back up the ladder and the flow of people coming into the hold continues once more.
* * *
As ever, Calum is quick to get involved in any activity that might be useful and later that day he’s one of the men who carries up buckets to empty over the side.
‘We’re being treated like animals,’ he says upon his return. ‘Some bastard Edinburgh merchant called Paterson has got the king’s approval to do a deal with the Provost of Edinburgh for us to be transported to America or the West Indies to work on the plantations.’
‘But we can’t be sold like slaves,’ says Samuel. ‘We’re Scotsmen.’
‘No, not slaves. It’s our labour that will be sold, and it’ll simply be bought by the highest bidder. We’ll have no say in any of it, so we could even be split up.’
This unconsidered possibility fills me with such dread that I can’t stop the tears rolling down my cheeks. That we should have endured so much to then be separated . . . Is it not enough that I had to be parted from my mother, my father, my own twin, and now I may lose Samuel and Calum too?
‘But how long can we be forced to work?’ I ask.
‘Nobody knows,’ says Calum. ‘I’ve heard that prisoners of war can be held for as long as ten years and Parliament says we’re rebels, which they consider to be an even greater crime. And the king proudly declares that he’s showing mercy by not having us executed.’
‘I can’t do this,’ I say, openly crying.
‘Enough for now, Calum.’
‘No, it’s not, Sam. You need to hear the rest. We should have been split between two ships, but the other one hasn’t arrived, which is why we’re so overcrowded on this one. Until that vessel gets here from London we’re going to remain in the harbour. However, the Edinburgh authorities are scared there might be a rescue attempt, so they’re pressing for the Crown of London to sail.’
