Highland Soldiers: The Enemy

by J. L. Jarvis

  *

  The funeral service was simple. With no burial, they had only to go to the kirkyard where Callum had spent his last days. When they arrived at the gate of Greyfriars, Mari stopped outside. As a woman, this was as far as she would be permitted to go. But no women were there to wait with her. There were only soldiers. They filed through the gate—dozens of them. In her short time in Edinburgh, Mari’s life had been caught up in Callum’s. She had no women friends to stand with her or go back to prepare food for the dredgy, when the men would come back to feast and drink and remember. She longed for her childhood friend, Ellen. But she was gone, too. As the men filed in, a hand slipped into hers. Hughie stood beside Mari and listened with her as the pipes played for Callum and Duncan. Alex and Charlie spoke briefly, then the piper played one last tune. As the last tune neared its end, the piper walked away playing, and with him the music faded away.

  At home, the dredgy was lively with drinking and dancing. Mari found herself comforted by the presence of so many of Callum’s friends. They told stories and laughed, and she felt closer to him for it. It was a boisterous affair until, many hours later, the door closed and sudden quiet draped itself over them. Mari could not give into the stillness, for pain would soon follow. She busied herself cleaning up.

  “Och, we’ve left the old milk and butter in here, and the onions!” she said as she gathered them all. “Tis no good to keep them in the house.”

  “Why?” asked Hughie.

  “The spirit might enter and never find rest.” But as she echoed the words she had heard as a child, she now wondered if Callum’s spirit might find its way to her from so far away, and she started to hope that it would. She set down the onions and gave into the thought.

  “Mari.”

  She whirled around toward the voice from the door.

  Duncan stood quietly watching as Mari stared, numb for a moment. “Is it you?” She drew closer and touched a tentative hand to his chest, making sure he was real.

  Her words drew a worried expression from Duncan. “Are you not well, Mari?” He then looked about at the stunned expressions. “What is it?”

  “Well, Duncan,” said Charlie, as he grasped Duncan’s shoulder, “we’ve just had your funeral.” He laughed, only now absorbing the truth that Duncan was alive.

  “An’ you did not invite me?” He gave Charlie a smirk.

  Mari gripped Duncan’s arms. “Where is Callum? Please, Duncan. Tell me. Where’s Callum?”

  He exchanged glances with Charlie, then Alex, whose grave looks confirmed his fears. “I was hoping that he might be here.”

  Mari’s eyes drifted down, unaware that her hands fell to her sides. She could not speak, for the only words that would form in her mind she would never say. Why was it not Callum who had lived?

  Duncan seemed almost to know her thoughts as he said, “I’m sorry.”

  Alex interjected, “Come in. I’ll get you a glass so you can drink to yourself.”

  *

  Later they sat staring into the fire as Duncan took another in a series of drinks. “I had him in my grasp. We held onto each other with all the might we possessed, but the ship tore apart, and the waves were too wild.”

  “But did you look for him? He might have washed up alive and needed help.” Without meaning to, Mari’s tone accused, and Duncan had had too much to drink to ignore it.

  “Aye, I looked. I looked all over the whole bloody island. I bloody walked, and I bloody looked everywhere for your bloody Callum!”

  Charlie cleared his throat. “Em, Duncan, you’re not talking to sailors. It’s Mari.”

  Duncan shot a glare at Charlie that chilled him to silence. “I ken that it’s Mari. It’s always been Mari. I combed every inch of that shoreline for Mari.”

  “For Callum,” Alex quietly added.

  Mari sat still, watching Duncan with wide-open eyes.

  “Aye, for Callum. Who else would I look for?” Duncan poured another and drank it down. “I knocked on doors, asked around at the docks of Stromness to see if he might have escaped on a ship. You see, I wasnae the only one looking. They wanted their prisoners back.” Duncan’s eyes grew glassy with tears, but he closed his eyes and willed them away with clenched jaw. He set down his glass with a resonant whack, and then picked up a bottle and took a long drink. He wiped his sleeve across his mouth and said, “Bodies washed up for days and for miles. And I looked at each bloated, drowned carcass.” He leaned back with a hollow-eyed stare. “The sea just swallowed him up.”

  As if Mari had spoken to him, Duncan looked at her with bitter sorrow. “I ken what you think—that you wish it were me—and I’m sorry. For to come back to see you looking like that at me now—I’d liefer be under the water getting smashed to the rocks than for Callum to—”

  Mari got up and left the room. Hughie rushed after her.

  “I’m sure that was a comfort,” Charlie told Duncan dryly. Before Duncan could react, Alex leapt up and led Duncan outside with a promise of pubs and loose women.

  Charlie considered for a moment and, with the tilt of his head and a shrug, rose up to follow. He stopped to give Mari a kiss on the forehead. “I’m away, dearie. I’ll be back in the morning.” He gave a Hughie a questioning look, which Hughie answered with a nod. He would stay here with Mari.

  *

  Alex was first to awaken that morning. He lifted a woman’s arm from his chest and set it down gently so as not to wake her. Donning his plaid and brogues, he went across the hall and gave the door a light knock. “Charlie,” he said in a loud, raspy whisper. After some jostling about on the other side, he heard a quiet, “Aye, dearie,” from Charlie. After a cajoling whine and a soft woman’s laugh, Charlie emerged with a lingering trace of a grin.

  Next was Duncan. The two rapped on the door, and were answered with curses. Alex burst through the door and hoisted Duncan up by the shoulders. “Come on, lad. We’re away to see Mari and tell her you’re sorry.”

  Duncan cursed and leaned over the basin to splash water on his face. A woman rolled over in bed, then went back to sleep, snoring. He looked up and said, “Sorry?”

  “Do you not remember last night?”

  Duncan buckled the belt about his plaid, and frowned as he thought for a moment and shrugged. “No.”

  Charlie said, “It’s probably best that you not, until your head ceases pounding.” Then he looked closer at Duncan. “It is pounding, is it not?”

  “Och, aye, it is that,” he said in a gravelly voice.

  “Good,” said Alex. “You deserve it.”

  Duncan gripped his forehead. “Bloody hell.”

  “That’s what you said to Mari last night.”

  “Duncan’s eyes lifted painfully to meet Alex’s direct look.

  “Aye.”

  Still groggy, Duncan said, “I cursed her?”

  “Och, no. You didnae curse her,” Alex said.

  Duncan relaxed.

  Alex went on. “You just cursed at her.”

  Duncan shut his eyes and moaned, and then looked up. “Why?”

  Charlie chimed in. “We stopped asking that about you long ago.”

  Alex clapped a heavy hand onto Duncan’s shoulder. “Come. We’ll go have some breakfast while you sober up.”

  Duncan squinted in pain as they stepped out into the bright morning sunlight.

  Charlie said, “I can just taste some porridge with cream and some fresh brown bread slathered with butter.”

  “And salmon!” said Alex with mounting enthusiasm. “And oatcakes.”

  “And cold sheep’s head,” added Charlie.

  “Excuse me, lads,” said Duncan, as he ducked into a close and heaved the contents of his stomach.

  *

  Mari answered the door and eyed Duncan with quiet reserve. She stepped aside to allow them to enter. Alex and Charlie let Duncan go first, while exchanging a look upon seeing Duncan’s humble expression and bonnet in hand. Few others ever saw this side of Duncan.

 
Mari took a step toward the sitting room. “Come in and sit down.”

  “Mari, forgive me,” blurted Duncan.

  She stopped, but did not turn to look at him.

  He went on. “I dinnae recall very much. But I ken I was—”

  Mari interrupted. “Drunk. Vulgar. Rude.”

  “Aye. All that and more.” He absorbed all of her hurt and resentment, for he knew he deserved it. In a deep, quiet voice, he said, “I’m sorry, Mari.”

  “I am too, Duncan.” She stunned all of them by turning to rest a softened expression on Duncan. “I practically accused you of not caring enough to look for him. I ken that you did.” She laid her tender hand upon Duncan’s. “Last night I was overwhelmed by the grief of it all. I’m fearing I let you feel as though I was not happy to see you alive. And for that, I am truly sorry.”

  Duncan swallowed and put a hand over hers. “There’s no need.”

  Tears fell as she looked up at him. “Duncan, I am so glad to see you.” With that, she put her arms about him, and he held her there.

  Charlie eyed them with growing amusement. “I’m glad to see you too, Duncan. Gie us a hug.” He held his arms out, grinning broadly. He was repaid with a quick fist to his gut, which he dodged, but just barely. He doubled over, but from laughter.

  Mari looked from one to the other. “You’re a troublesome lot, but I’m glad that you’re here.”

  The late afternoon darkness of winter was falling on Edinburgh, casting the closes and wynds in deep shadows. Across the street, a shadow clung to the wall of the wynd. Its kilted silhouette caught Alex’s attention.

  “What is it?” asked Mari.

  “Em, nothing.” Alex turned around, forcing a grin.

  “Is there a fair lassie out there that you fancy?” asked Charlie.

  Alex’s face brightened. “Aye, that was it. But not so pretty as the lassie right here.” He gave Mari a wink. He turned his attention to Charlie. “Come help me pour some ale.”

  “Are you so weak that you cannot manage alone?”

  “Aye,” Alex said, as he walked by him and gave him a subtle kick in the ankle.

  They served everyone ale, and then Charlie and Alex leaned against the window frame. Soon the others were engaged in lively conversation and Alex spoke to Charlie under his breath. “Look across at the wynd. There’s a figure there in the shadows. Do you see it?”

  Charlie said, “I think I saw something move. I cannot be sure.”

  Alex looked again. “He’s gone now.”

  “He’s probably waiting for a friend.”

  Alex stared down at the wynd. “Aye, that’s what I thought yesterday when I saw him.”

  “I’ll tell the others to keep an eye on that wynd.”

  “But there’s no need to frighten Mari.”

  Charlie gave a nod as he turned from the window. “There are a dozen or more others who bide in this building. Even if he is watching this building, it could be for them.”

  “Aye.” Alex frowned. “But still, I dinnae like leaving Mari alone.”

  “We can take turns staying here.” Charlie sighed. “It’ll be hard for the lassies—not being with me.”

  Alex winced. “Oh, indeed? The lassies tell me it’s not hard without you or with you.”

  Alex dodged Charlie’s fist and escaped to the safety of Mari’s company. “I’ll take that tray for you, Mari, lass.”

  “Why thank you, Alex.”

  Alex took the tray, and tossed a mischievous smile back at Charlie.

  Chapter 16

  Callum opened his eyes to see an old woman sitting beside a peat fire and knitting. Wiry gray curls sprang from her cap, framing her plump face.

  “Thou art awake!” The old woman came over and felt his forehead. “I’m fair blide to see thee feeling better.” She studied him with kind eyes, and then rose abruptly. “Here’s some soup for thee. A rookle o’ bones thou wert when we found thee.”

  Callum looked at her, puzzled, as she brought him a bowl of soup.

  “Beuy? Dost thou ken where thou art?”

  He looked away as he tried to remember. “The ship sank… ”

  “Aye, the finfolk nearly got thee.”

  “Where?”

  “Scarva Taing.”

  “Orkney?”

  “Aye.”

  “Duncan pulled me out of the hull.” He looked about the cottage. “Where’s Duncan?”

  “Thou hast been asking for Duncan. An’ Mari, as well. I’ve no idea where they’ve geen.”

  “Mari wasnae on the ship. But Duncan was.”

  The old woman settled into troubled silence at the question of where Duncan might be.

  “Thou maun sleep now. And when thou art awake, a grand talk we will have,” she said, tucking a blanket over his shoulders and smoothing his hair back as though he were a child. Feeling already weary, Callum drifted to sleep.

  *

  “Beuy.” Someone pushed his shoulder.

  It was dark, except for the light of a candle on the table.

  “Beuy, wake up.”

  Callum opened his eyes and bolted up, ready to lunge at his attacker, when he saw that it was the old woman. “Sorry,” he said, withdrawing his arms and then putting a gentle hand on her forearm. “Have I hurt you?”

  She spoke between deep breaths. “No. Faird of thee I was, but I kent thou did not mean it. Thou wert dreaming. Listen, beuy, men art about looking for folk frae the ship.”

  Callum tried to get up, but she held him steady. “Some men—friends of mine—will come get thee and take thee to Stromness.”

  “Stromness?”

  “Aye. Thou cannot stay here. There is no place to hide. If they find thee, it’s to the plantations for thee, and to jail for me.”

  Callum sat on the edge of the bed. “I’m sorry. I dinnae want to put you at risk.”

  She shook her head. “Dinnae be sorry. It was my choice to bring thee here. No one forced me.

  “When thou get to Stromness, my friend Angus will hide thee until thee can board a ship to go hame.”

  The old woman put some clothes on the bed. “Here, put these on.”

  “Where’s my plaid?”

  “Lost in this storm.”

  “And my leine?”

  She shook her head and suppressed a grin. “Thou arrived lightly dressed.” She went to the cupboard and pulled something out of a jar. “This was next to thine hand when they found thee.” She handed him the double-hearted charm Mari had given him. Seeing the faraway look on his face, she smiled gently and went back to her cooking. With her back to Callum, she busied herself while he put on a shirt, breeches, waistcoat, and coat. As she stirred a steaming pot, the old woman said, “Those belonged to one of my bairns. He was a strapping lad, but not quite so tall as thee.”

  “You had a son?”

  She smiled. “Three bairns I had. Lost at sea were they, and their father as well.”

  “I’m sorry.” Callum thought of the loved ones he had lost, and he imagined how unbearable a loss Mari would be. She must think him dead now, and be grieving his loss. It made his heart ache.

  When he was dressed, Callum sat at the small wooden table, feeling weary from the exertion of just getting dressed. His weakness frustrated him.

  The old woman smiled to see him. “Aye, that will do. Thou could pass for an islander now.

  “When it’s dark, they will come for thee. Here, eat this.” She put a large bowl of porridge before him at the table.

  “Thank you… I’m sorry, I dinnae ken your name. Mine is Callum.”

  “I am Phoebe. Phoebe Flett.”

  “Thank you, Phoebe.”

  She smiled and went to retrieve something. “This will help keep thee warm on thy journey,” she said as she poured a tot of whisky into his porridge.

  While he ate, Phoebe bundled together some knitting. Its patterns were more intricate than any he had seen done by the women at home. When she saw Callum watching, she said, “The beuys look after
me. When they go out to sea, they always take some of my knitting to sell in the ports down south. I grew up on Shetland, and learned the lace knitting from my mother, and she from her mother. It puts food on my table and keeps me busy. In spring and summer I fetch what I need for the dyes. I scrape moss off the rocks, collect seaweed, and gather heather, bloodroot, meadowsweet and dock. Could you help me with something?”

  “Aye, Phoebe. What is it?” Callum was glad for the chance to help her. She had done so much for him. Although what help he could be in this weakened state was doubtful.

  Phoebe looked at him frankly. “When the need arises, you could leave me some piss in that barrel outside the door. I use it for the dyeing.”

  Callum laughed. “That should not be a problem. I’ve been told I’m quite full of it.”

  “I thought as much,” Phoebe said with a grin. “Once I have all of my moss and flowers and roots, I can dye the wool, and then spin and knit through the winter. The beuys tell me it fetches a fine price, but I sometimes wonder if they dinnae add a bit of their own money to it. Folk here are like that. You cannae trust them to tell you the truth.” Phoebe tossed a knowing look with a twinkling eye.

  Dark came in late afternoon. Callum was finishing his porridge when two farmers arrived with a plow horse for Callum to ride.

  Seeing the horse, Phoebe said, “Good. I told them that you were not ready to walk for four hours to Stromness.”

  While the men tied her bundle of knitting to the horse, she pressed a knitted cap into Callum’s hands. He put it on, and grasped her hands in his. “Phoebe, you’ve saved my life, fed me and clothed me, and I have nothing for you.”

  Her warm nature shone through her eyes. “What thou will do is get home to thy Mari.” She smiled with glistening eyes, and gave Callum a hug.

  *

  A smoky gray light faintly outlined the edges of buildings as the men walked down the flagstone street of Stromness to the dock. Around the corner, the sound of a lone pair of gritty footsteps grew fainter. It was the desolate time before dawn, when the water lapped up against boats in the harbor as a reminder that there was something beyond the gray mist.