“This is wonderful,” he said. “I canna believe it. I dinna think any of us can. Janet, I’ll say as Alex did; I’m sorry we doubted ye, and I’ve never been so glad to be wrong in my life as I am right now. Away and fetch the bairns. We’ll find out where Simon’s been the last two years and we’ll celebrate his homecoming soon enough, but let’s wait until he’s well enough to enjoy it too, shall we?”
There was a chorus of agreement, and then the clan dispersed. Angus knew without a doubt that by the end of the day Janet would be overwhelmed with clothes, salves, food and anything else that the others could provide to aid Simon’s recovery.
Within an hour Simon had been carefully washed and shaved by Janet and Alex, his hair, which was matted beyond combing, shorn off, and all his clothes burnt, which got rid of the vermin. Then salve was applied to his sores and his bloody and infected feet were bathed in whisky, the fact that Simon was too weak to do more than moan softly at the pain that caused being noted by the company with an exchange of worried looks. Angus in the meantime made some stew. Simon, placed gently in the bed by Alex, managed two spoonsful before drifting into sleep. While Janet sat by his side, stroking his hand, Angus beckoned Alex out of the house.
“D’ye think he’ll live?” Angus said bluntly as soon as they were out of earshot. “I’ve never seen anyone look like that and be breathing still.”
“Aye, he’ll live, if anything I can do will make it so,” Alex replied with a ferocity that surprised Angus, who had grown accustomed to his brother speaking emotionlessly, if at all.
“Where do ye think he’s been?”
“In prison,” Alex said. “He tellt me so, but I’d have kent it anyway. Sarah tellt me that Beth—” He stopped abruptly and his face closed down, becoming grim and hard again.
“I wanted to say, I think it wise if the bairns stay wi’ me and Morag for a few days, until Simon’s a wee bit stronger,” Angus said after it became apparent that Alex was not going to divulge what Sarah had told him about Beth.
“Aye, that’s a good idea,” Alex agreed, his voice steady again, his feelings back under control.
But for a moment he had showed emotion, then and earlier too, when he had first recognised the ancient cadaverous creature to be Simon. That was a good sign, surely? Whether it was or not, Angus grasped onto it in the way that a drowning man would grasp at anything that floated past him.
Later in his house, as Morag bustled around cleaning and he kept an eye on Simon and Janet’s two children, who were playing on the floor while he rocked the cradle containing the sleeping Sandy, Angus thought about the crack he had witnessed in Alex’s seemingly impenetrable armour.
It would take time, maybe a lot of time, but the brother he had known and loved his whole life would come back to him. They just had to keep him alive long enough for that to happen.
If anyone in the clan could stop Alex being killed in a fight, the enormous red-haired Kenneth with his unnatural strength and unstoppable ferocity in battle was the one to do it. Angus would help him as best he could, and would continue to pray for something to happen to break down Alex’s defences and bring him back to life again.
To paraphrase Alex, it would happen, if anything he could do would make it so.
Over the next few weeks Simon started to recover, sustained by his wife’s devotion and determination and the support of the whole clan, who rallied round to make sure that the only task Janet had to concern herself about was the care of her husband. Meals were brought to the house three times a day, firewood and peat delivered, several changes of clothing were provided for when Simon was well enough to get dressed, dirty washing was taken away and returned a few days later, clean and dry, and the couple’s two children, four-year-old Simon and three-year-old Jean were brought by Angus or Morag for short visits to become acquainted with the father neither of them could remember, then taken away again the moment Simon showed any sign of tiredness.
Under this deluge of care and love Simon put on a little weight and his sores started to heal, although his feet still gave cause for concern. After three weeks he could sit up and had started to show a real interest in life again, but still could put no weight on his feet.
When he’d expressed a fear that he’d never walk again to his chieftain, Alex had dismissed it, telling him that after Culloden Lochiel had been unable to walk for a long time, but was now completely healed and leading a regiment in France.
“Ye’ll walk again, laddie, dinna fash yerself,” Alex said. “Give it time. You’re feeling it more because we’re all sound now, but Dougal took a good while to recover from his wound, and I was walking wi’ a crutch for months after Culloden.”
“But I wasna wounded at Culloden,” Simon said. “No’ even a scratch.”
“Aye, ye were. The wounds and scars ye’ve got now are from Culloden, even if ye didna get them on the day. Ye’re just a wee bit behind the rest of us in the recovery, that’s all.”
One day towards the end of March, when the sun actually held a little warmth in it, Alex called a clan meeting.
When everyone arrived, Simon was once again sitting on the bench, but looking considerably better than he had the last time he’d sat there. Although still very thin and with his feet bandaged, he wore a clean shirt and breeches, and had put on weight. His hair was starting to grow back, a mixture of its original brown and grey, and his eyes had life in them now.
Next to him Janet was sitting clasping his hand, and Alex stood in the doorway.
“I’ve called ye all together, because I ken that ye’re all very curious to find out what Simon’s been doing the past two years, and he tells me he’s feeling strong enough now to talk about it a wee bit. If he gets tired, though, or just doesna want to talk more, I’ll end the meeting and ye’ll all understand why.” That last was delivered as an order rather than a request. Alex knew only too well how difficult reliving traumatic experiences was, let alone talking about them to others.
The previous evening when Simon had expressed a wish to tell the others what had transpired, Alex had sat down next to him.
“Are ye sure ye’re ready?” he’d said.
“Aye. Everyone’s been so good and patient wi’ me. They deserve to ken what happened.”
Alex had not been leader of the clan for so long without getting to know his clansfolk well. It was obvious that on one level Simon felt inferior to the others in some way, partly for not having sustained a wound at Culloden, and then for allowing himself to be taken prisoner when the others had either died or escaped in spite of their injuries.
Alex had told Janet to go off and visit her children, and then had talked to Simon, who, once he had no need to put on a brave front for his wife, admitted that he was also worried he’d never be able to walk again and would be a liability to the clan for the rest of his life.
“I was so desperate to get home, that I didna think any further than that,” Simon said. “Perhaps it would have been better if I hadna come back. Janet could have married again, a whole man.”
“Simon, ye loon, Janet wouldna ever have married again. She was convinced ye were alive, and never wavered for a moment from that conviction. It’s no’ just a story she’s telling ye. And I firmly believe ye’ll walk again, but even if ye dinna, ye’re no liability. Ye’re one of the bravest men in the clan, braver than I am.”
Simon had looked at his chieftain in shock.
“No,” he’d started, but Alex had gently laid a finger on Simon’s lips.
“It wasna your fault ye were taken. It was just bad luck. Dougal would have been taken or maybe killed, but a redcoat helped him off the field and tellt him to hide. I’d have been taken too if Angus and Kenneth hadna been there to carry me away. We all got to come home and heal together, but you’ve had two years of hell, man, and survived it. And how ye managed to get home, the way ye were, I canna think. There isna a one of us that doesna admire you for that. And now ye want to talk about it all.”
“I should
tell ye all, for ye’ve been so good to me,” Simon said.
“Aye, well, I should tell ye all what happened to me in London in October, but I canna find the strength to do it, and I doubt I ever will,” Alex said softly. “And that’s why I say ye’re a braver man than I am. And it’s why if ye find it too hard tomorrow, ye must tell me. Promise me.”
Simon had promised, and his chieftain’s words to him had boosted him a little, although he still believed that Alex was just being kind, but he sat upright, and for the first time since his return found the courage to look his clansfolk in the eyes as he spoke to them.
“First I want to thank ye all for the help ye’ve given me and Janet these last weeks,” he said. There was a general chorus of ‘nae need’ and ‘ye’d do it for us’ or words to that effect, which was true. He looked round at them and smiled shyly.
“It’s time tae tell ye what happened,” he said. “Alex tellt me last night that Dougal was wounded, but was rescued by a redcoat. And ye’re perhaps thinking that man was the only decent one of the enemy on the field, but I owe my life to another.
“As I tellt Alex and Janet, I wasna injured at all in the battle. I dinna ken where the rest of ye were, but I ended up in a big crush of men trying to get to the redcoats, too crushed tae swing our swords even, wi’ the guns o’ the British playing on us. I lost my footing for a minute in the mud and went down and the others ran over the top of me. I think someone caught me in the head, for I lost a few minutes somewhere, and when I came round there was a heap of bodies on top of me, and not a one alive.
“I managed to push them off me, but when I could see what was going on, everyone was running away, and it was clear that the day was lost. I kent well that if I’d have tried to get up and run too, I’d have been dead, for the redcoats were nearby, laughing and stabbing at anything that moved or groaned. Maybe I should have at least tried to kill a few of the bastards, but I thought it better to hide and wait for them to pass on, so I could get away to Ruthven and hopefully join ye all to fight on.”
“Ye did right. Ye’d have thrown your life away to little purpose otherwise,” Alex said.
“Aye. So I pulled someone’s body over me and lay there as still as I could, listening to the redcoats laughing and suchlike, and then after a time they moved on and I couldna hear them any more, so I thought it safe to move and see if I had a chance to escape. And when I heaved the body off me, I looked straight into the face of a soldier. I’d lost my sword when I fell, and anyway he had his bayonet ready, so I just closed my eyes and waited for him to finish me.”
“But he didna?” Allan asked, his face rapt.
“Of course he didna, ye wee loon, or he’d no’ be here the day,” Alasdair said, to general laughter and Allan’s embarrassment.
“No, he didna,” Simon answered, as though the question had been perfectly reasonable. “When I opened my eyes again, he was still standing looking at me. He was nobbut a boy really, and he was a Scot, too, a lowlander by his accent. And then he said, ‘I canna do it. I canna kill any more,’ but soft, to himself, like. Then he asked me if I could walk, and when I said I could, he looked around and tellt me to be quick. So I got up and we both ran off behind they walls that ye said should have been pulled down to the right of us, and we sat there for a while in the rain.
“He tellt me that he hadna wanted to enlist really, but his brothers had so he felt he should too, and he wanted to stop the papist Charlie frae winning, but that he hadna kent it would be like this, and tae hell wi’ the war, he was going back to Glasgow. He said he thought that if he kept his head down when he got home, it might be thought he’d died on the field, for there were so many dead it wouldna be possible to identify them all. He was a redcoat, but he was a kind young laddie.”
“Aye, the dragoon who took me away, he was a good man too,” Dougal said. “The redcoats were no’ all bastards.”
“I’ve met many good supporters o’ the Elector in my time,” Alex put in. “Two in particular, who I call friends, and would kill or die for.”
At that astounding sentence from a chieftain who was currently slaughtering every redcoat he could find with neither remorse nor mercy, the whole clan as one moved their focus from Simon to Alex. He reddened slightly.
“Go on, man,” he said softly to Simon.
“Aye. So we’re sitting there having a wee blether and waiting for a chance to get away, when along comes another redcoat, an officer of some sort, because the puir wee laddie stood to attention and when the officer asked what the hell he was doing talking wi’ the enemy, he thought fast and said that I’d surrendered to him, and that he was going to take me to Inverness as a prisoner. So the officer said that they’d been tellt to give no quarter and he must kill me and have done with it, and he drew his sword. And the laddie, Archie his name was, stood in front of me and said he couldna kill me or let anyone else, for he’d given his word of honour that he wouldna.
“And the officer tellt him he was a stupit wee loon and no’ worth shit, but if he was determined, then he’d take me to Inverness wi’ the other prisoners. Which tellt me that Archie wasna the only one who’d refused to give no quarter. But I couldna escape then, so I was taken to Inverness wi’ hundreds of others. I’ll never forget that laddie, though. I hope he got back to Glasgow.”
“So is that where ye’ve been, Inverness?” Dougal asked.
Simon shook his head, and wiped his hand across his face.
“Have ye had enough?” Alex said, instantly concerned.
“No, I’m well, just a wee bit tired, but I’d rather tell it all, now I’ve started,” Simon replied. “There’s no’ so much to tell, really. When we got to Inverness there wasna any room in the prison, so we were put on a ship. A man came and asked our names and regiments, and I said I was Simon Anderson and that I’d fought under Glenbucket’s, because I kent I couldna say my name was MacGregor.
“We were kept on the ship for a long time it seemed, and then we were tellt we were being taken to Newcastle for trial, but when the ship got there we couldna stay, I dinna ken why, so we carried on to Tilbury. And then we thought we’d at least get to go on shore, but we were kept on the ship. I canna begin to tell ye how bad it was,” he said.
“Ye dinna need to,” Angus commented. “We saw ye three weeks ago.”
Simon shook his head.
“No, it was worse than ye can imagine. I was one of the lucky ones,” he said. “We were kept in the hold, and at first there was so many of us we couldna lie down. We werena allowed up on deck at all, and we had to piss and shit where we were. The food was thrown down to us and we just had water to drink, and not enough of that. Then the fever came and it took a lot of us, so once the bodies had been taken away those of us left could lie down, at least. When the guards leaned in to throw the food down to us, you could hear them retching from the stink, but we’d grown used to it then and we couldna smell ourselves, thank God.
“When we got to Tilbury and they tellt us that we were staying in the ships until our trials, I prayed harder than I ever have that I’d get the fever too, because I couldna stand the thought of living worse than an animal for months, maybe years, only to be hung at the end of it.”
“I’m glad that ye didna get it. Ye mean the gaol fever?” Alex said.
“Aye. I did get it, though, but I didna die. I’ve never felt such pain in my life. I thought my head was going to burst open, and all my body was on fire. I thought I’d died at one point, and was in hell. But then I got well again, and realised that I was alive, but it was hell all the same.
“One day a soldier came, and they brought us up on deck. Some of the men couldna manage to crawl up the ladder, but those of us who could were tellt that we were to draw straws, and that out of every twenty, one of us would stand trial and the others would receive the king’s mercy if we signed a petition saying that we were guilty of treason for rebelling against our lawful king. So we drew straws and I was one of the nineteen, but I said I wasna sig
ning anything, because I’d risen for the rightful king and that the Elector of Hanover wasna the lawful king of Scotland, or England for that matter.”
Simon’s next words were lost in a great cheer from the assembled clansfolk, and he took the opportunity to drink some ale. Alex leaned over and asked him a question, but he shook his head and waited until everyone was quiet again.
“I thought then that they’d hang me anyway, but they didna. We were tellt that the so-called king’s grace was that we’d be transported to the Colonies for life, or some of us might be given the chance to enlist in his army instead. A few of us tellt the soldier to tell the Elector to go and fuck himself wi’ his grace, and I think he’d have had us flogged, which would have killt us, for it was all we could do to stand, but no one would come near us because we reeked so bad and we were alive wi’ vermin, so they put us back down in the hold.
“We found out later that the soldiers signed for those that wouldna in any case, but at least we kept a wee bit of pride. But those that signed, we didna blame them. Living like that, it takes the fight out of ye, some quicker than others, that’s all.
“So we waited to be transported, and more of us died, and then one day we were tellt that there’d been an Act of Grace, and we thought it was another load o’ shite about being slowly killt in a different way. After that every few days men were taken up on deck and didna come back. I thought they were being strangled or suchlike and thrown overboard.
“Until it was my turn and I was tellt I was free, and given two shillings. Then I walked home. I kept away from the towns, because I looked bad, and I ken that the English have no love for the Scots. I spent the money on food, and then I stole some, because it being winter there wasna anything to be had in the fields, and I wasna strong enough to hunt. I washed myself in the rivers at first, but by the end I didna have the strength to do anything but just keep walking.
Tides of Fortune (Jacobite Chronicles Book 6) Page 40