These walls which could still be seen for miles, refused to die. Two hundred years ago, protestant zealots had labelled the ancient church a monument of Catholic idolatry, and ordered the townspeople to cast it down, which they did, stone-by-stone until it was almost erased from memory.
Only these magnificent walls remained now in modern day 1745, guarding the desolate churchyard and a few old gravestones. James felt a kinship with the stone walls. They were of God. And of all the Scottish Kings in the past who had built them, and of all who had had resisted the English who now occupied the Kingdom.
He turned Balgair slowly away from the church toward the adjoining village of Lochend. They were on their way to meet Prince Charles.
As James reached the narrow cobblestone lanes of Lochend, the Prince called out to him. “Perth! The King would be pleased to know you hold this parish firmly in your grasp.”
“Thank-you,” James replied as he brought Balgair alongside the Prince’s mount. “Our conquest of Edinburgh extends far indeed.” James smiled thinking how easy it had been to take the Scottish capital. The English army had been disorganized and the city had welcomed their Bonnie Prince and his colourful army with open arms. The enemy had been quickly vanquished.
The Prince raised a hand to stop the procession of men and horses marching behind him.
Charles seemed in good spirits. He was dressed in a coarse blue grogram coat trimmed with gold lace. Together with his red waistcoat and breeches, a star and garter on his left shoulder and a rich sword belt over his other side, he made a royal impression. Even James felt in awe. But it was the Prince’s attitude, not his dress, that gained James’ admiration. He had watched the Prince lead the charge, both on foot and on horse many times since he arrived in the Highlands almost ten weeks earlier. And now he demanded a level of military discipline and sacrifice that began with himself. The Prince insisted on daily drills and challenges and sent out orders of the day, every day.
“How many men in your regiment?” the Prince asked.
“Over a thousand make camp here today,” James responded. “Good men and strong boys, ready to fight. But most aren’t prepared for the strength of body and mind you demand.”
Charles nodded his head and looked out toward the village and the smoky grey clouds. It was getting colder with each passing day and the breeze this morning was particularly fresh. “Winter is near, Perth. We need to gather our forces on the Canongate to prepare for battle. We must not get too comfortable with our victory at Edinburgh.” He raised a hand and the men on horses behind fell silent.
He pointed toward the town square. “En avant tout!”
James turned Balgair around and trotted beside the Prince’s mare. “Any news of Cope?” he asked. James’ regiment had been ordered to disperse to the ridge of the ‘miry land’ as the Prince called the Restalrig area, to prevent spies sent by the English General Cope from learning the true strength of the Prince’s army. Over 7,200 infantry and 300 horse from across the Kingdom were now at his command to wrest control of Scotland and depose King George in the process.
“The General has no idea what awaits him,” the Prince said. The two horses walked slowly side-by-side along the cobblestone street leading into the village. A few of the townspeople had come to see the Prince’s parade, and he bowed his head in a gesture of humility. James noted the warm ways the Prince was greeted here and everywhere he went.
“The Council is still divided on our course,” James said as they continued along the street. “You allow them much power over our future.”
“Indeed, they slow us down and expose our divisions,” Charles responded. “But I give them a voice hoping to ensure their support.” He paused a moment. “And you, Perth? What are your thoughts?”
“Your Highness, we can hold Scotland. You have given rebirth to our pride, a pride the King in London tries to kill with noose and musket,” James said. “Beating Cope in our own Kingdom and holding Edinburgh and Glasgow must be our obsession. The Highlands are with you. Most of the Lowlands from here to Aberdeen have been waiting for this day since my father dared dream of seeing your father on the throne again.”
The Prince said nothing as the two men rode in silence. Charles Edward did not look pleased though and tightened the reins to stop his horse. The column behind halted once more. Charles looked sternly at James pulling back hard on Balgair’s bridle. The big stallion snorted his objection loudly.
“This will all be for naught if George remains King,” the Prince boomed.
James turned in his saddle, still fighting his horse. “I will follow your orders to the death, but I must warn you. Marching on England will leave us weak. It will scatter our forces. We may take Lancashire and the north country, but we may lose Scotland if we turn our backs on her now.”
The Prince sighed. “James, I need your support. I came to restore my father’s crown. That is what gives our cause legitimate claim. Indeed, divine blessing. France and her armies will soon be here to support us, a glorious dirk to cut the English throat. And then, the entire island will once more be ruled by a Catholic King.”
“And if the Council does not agree?”
“That is why I need you, James. I need you and your passion, your forward views. I need you to help convince the Council to invade England. Ten days from now, we will lead the charge to take back the crown that was stolen from our fathers and from our grandfathers.”
ADEENA WAS GLAD to be alone again. She had spent the last few days at the lake with her parents, and they all needed to find a little space.
Her parents were having a hard-time with her, and she knew she was probably being difficult. It was a lot for them to make sense of. Hell, it was a lot for her. Her dad seemed like he just might want to believe what she was saying, but her mother? It felt more like she was dealing with Jackie Ph.D. from the hospital, than with a nurturing parent.
I wish this was a condition that could be treated.
Her parents were gone for the day to shop and have lunch, visiting all the little places around the lake they loved so much, leaving her alone to practice. She had both the Duncan Cello and her own instrument with her. She sat staring at both of them. Her own cello an old friend – reliable, solid and comfortable. While it wasn’t full of surprises, she knew how to draw music from it even if it took effort some days to find her motivation.
The Duncan on the other hand, was the gateway to another world. It was a fix for the aching inside of her, a conduit to the musical expression she had searched for her whole life. It may have been built for Katharine, but it gave Adeena the voice she had never found.
She thought of all the bad decisions she made growing up.
None had ever led to what she really wanted, a need that even now she couldn’t put into words. A longing. A desire, always unfulfilled lying just beneath the surface. Doing what had already been done held no attraction. Creating something new on the other hand, music that had never been heard before, gave her a maddening drive that never relaxed its grip upon her.
Adeena stood up and touched the Duncan Cello. It felt powerful. Timeless. It fused art and love. It made her whole, even if it meant living as someone else, born three centuries earlier.
Her own cello sat on the corner. Unassuming. Timid.
She closed her eyes and felt bittersweet emotions sweep across her. She shook her head back and forth and began humming in a trance-like moan.
Another bad decision was on the way.
JAMES DRUMMOND KNEW the Tolbooth on High Street in Dalkeith well.
His men feared its ‘black hole,’ the underground dungeon. Poor souls sent there in irons rarely survived the blackness and filth that awaited them. And if they did manage to, they returned missing limbs, ears, blinded or horribly disfigured. It was an image James found useful to conjure at times. Fear was a powerful ally, although he used it sparingly, preferring to inspire his men through examples of bravery.
He turned Balgair toward the markets of Dalkei
th, the bustling village, a few miles from Edinburgh. It was late October and his officers were busy buying up most of the last of the harvest from the vendors.
James’ continued to where his men were bivouacked not far away, between Newbattle Water and Melville Burn. The sun was sinking low in the sky and a few of the boys were lighting the evening fires. He halted a moment to watch his men roll one of the heavy 12-pounder cannons towards the camp.
He called out to one of them. “Be quick! The ‘morrow will not wait!”
A sooty-faced man marching in front of the cannon spat without missing a step. “Aye, and nay will I.” He raised a hand admonishing the men pushing the cannon behind him to pick up the pace. He directed them to an encampment at the ridge of the berm where another five cannons already sat positioned for the battle to come. “Forward!”
James watched as the cannon procession picked up speed, even as the road ahead steepened. His men were becoming more disciplined with the drills the Prince insisted they practice each day. But they were anxious to march, to move, to fight. The Lowland divisions, like their Highland brethren, were not really an army, but a collection of private regiments, small clans, horses, and guards. They got to drinking, raping and fighting when they were too long in the one place. They used their muskets to shoot small game and sometimes after too much drink, each other.
That would change tomorrow. Last night, in a heated meeting of the clan chiefs, lords and dukes from across the Lowlands, the Prince’s Council decided by a single vote to invade England. James was reluctant and agreed with those who thought it prudent to secure Scotland, raise funds and wait for help from the French. But when Prince Charles finally persuaded the majority that bold action was needed before the English could organize an effective army, James had accepted the decision.
And sworn his life in allegiance.
Now his men would lead the Lowlanders, providing an army train of heavy cannon and mortar. They were to begin the march west by way of Auchendinny, Peebles and Moffat towards Carlisle in the morn, while the Prince and the lightly-equipped Highlander Division would take a more easterly route.
As James rode ahead, he saw fires lighting up the darkening sky. The glow from the setting sun was just about extinguished and the moon was rising, full and threatening through a gap in the dark clouds. He felt the wind picking up as he looked ahead for his tent. He was surprised to see it lit up. He kicked Balgair hard, but the stallion needed little encouragement to trot quickly towards camp.
As he approached the tent, a soldier came running towards him to take his horse. The man looked wild-eyed at James and was about to say something, pointing toward his tent, when James heard it.
Music.
The music that filled his dreams by night and lifted his heart by day, poured from his tent glowing bright and warm against the dark sky.
ADEENA DREW HER bow against the Duncan cello.
She was unsure of herself. Unsure of why she needed to do this, to be here and risk everything she wanted. But she was not Katharine. They might share a soul, but they lived in different worlds, in different times. They were loved by different men.
“Katharine!”
Adeena looked up as the canvas door of the tent was torn open and James stood silhouetted before her. She stared at the imposing figure and lowered her head. Wetness stung her eyes. She trembled as she continued playing the song that burned within her.
James rushed to her and took her face in his hands. She peered up through tears at his blurry outline.
“What happened?” He bent down to kiss her head tenderly. “Why have you come here?”
James took the cello, laid it aside and pulled her into his arms. She was frozen at first, unable to speak as she tried to separate herself from Katharine. He held her tightly and she found herself beginning to sob.
“Shhhhhh” James whispered.
She fought for control, finally taking a deep breath. She pulled back and he stood staring at her closely. In his eyes she could see only tenderness. On his face, only compassion.
“Katharine?” he began. “I am with you. No matter what you may have to say to me.”
Adeena hesitated. “I know. I know you are James. And Katharine . . . she loves you, very much.”
If he was puzzled by this statement, he did not show it. He fixed his gaze on her with the same intensity he had upon entering the tent. “I have come to warn you about the future,” she finally said. “Even if I can’t change it, I have to tell you what I know,” she paused a moment and then added “to save you.”
James did not look worried. In fact, he looked so content to be with her, that it seemed nothing she could say would change his demeanour. He spoke with a strong fortitude. “Katharine. I know for what I live. And I know for what I will die. I only hope by the grace of God, that before I do, I may come to know you. To be with the one I was meant for.”
Adeena felt time moving through her. Could she change it? Or could she only observe what was destined to occur, and no matter what she might do, have no effect upon it? “James, I am not who you think I am. I can’t explain how, but I know more than Katharine ever could.”
At this James began to look confused. “What are you trying to say? Have you seen spirits, had dreams you don’t understand? What do you mean ‘more than Katharine’?”
Adeena let her head fall.
She wasn’t sure of anything anymore. Maybe this was a dream, and she had created a world of characters so real that she could not distinguish them from reality. James put his arms around her again, and she felt his strength radiate through her, his chest rising and falling with hers. His hand touched her head, sending tingles down her spine. She drew herself closer to him. She could feel every muscle in his chest and even it seemed, each beat of his heart.
“James, you’re a good man. You deserve more than what awaits you.”
“Be not worried, Katharine. Believe in me, believe that I will come to you when this is over,” he said holding her. They drew each other closer, their bodies merging tightly as he continued in a soft voice. “I fight for us, with your music in my heart and your face in my dreams. It gives me the courage to confront what awaits me.”
Outside, the winds grew louder, and the canvas walls of the tent flapped angrily against the thin wood frame. The lanterns providing a faltering light, struggled to remain lit. She could hear men outside singing. For all their sake, she needed to tell him what she knew. Adeena raised her head from his shoulder and looked at James. His eyes were wide, his face full of trust.
“You must listen to me,” she said. “You cannot invade England. The Prince’s plan is doomed, he will lose everything.” She saw she had his full attention as their eyes locked. “And I will lose you.”
“That we could lose all may be true,” he replied. “But that you will lose me? Never!”
This isn’t working.
She had to be more direct. “James, most of your men will die. The Prince will flee back to France in disgrace. The symbols of Scotland will be outlawed, and you…” she hesitated seeing his face grow dark, “you won’t live to see another summer.”
James pushed her away. “Have you come here to curse me?” he replied tersely. “Are your dreams so full of bitter spirit? Where is the hope that your song speaks of, that your voice inspires me to find?” The lines on his face grew sharp with anger. “I fight for all those who died before me. Those who died for me. And Katharine, I fight for us.”
She looked down at her feet. Outside it was beginning to rain and she could hear heavy drops spattering against the canvas creating an eerie echo inside the tent. The wind picked up and she felt cold, drawing her arms together with a deep shiver. “James, please…”
“You must not come here, if you are not ready to fight. Stay away from me if you cannot find the strength to believe and to risk everything, no matter what may come,” he said. “My whole life has prepared me for this moment. My father, my grandfather, and their fathers before them
fought for the Kingdom, for their King. And most importantly, for their family.” He paused looking at her sternly. “I can do no different.”
“I know,” she gasped. “But you can still serve them by staying and fighting here!”
“The Council has decided, even if some of us have our doubts. We must accept the Prince’s decision and follow him.”
“But he will fail! And you will die!”
“The shadows of my future may be dark, but I have no choice but to follow them. Wherever they lead.”
She stared in silence. Maybe time couldn’t so easily be deterred from its course. Maybe destiny was written with an ink that forever stains.
But she had to keep trying.
“No! No! No! James, why can’t you understand? You deserve more than to die without a country, without a King, and without…” Adeena paused. She and Katharine were not separate. They were the same person. “Without me.”
James seemed to be in pain. She had not helped convince him, only given him another burden to carry into battle. He fixed his gaze on her. His caring expression was gone.
Time had won this round.
“You must leave, Katharine,” he replied “Go, now! Hope is all that I have to face the ‘morrow, and you have taken even that from me. Be gone. Do not return to me.”
He gave her a last look, betrayal written across his face. Then he turned, ripped open the flaps of the tent and stepped out into the driving black rain.
22
THE USUALLY STIFF breezes of Wolfe Lake were still this afternoon. With autumn shadows growing longer, the lake was a sheet of dark glass. It felt to William that the world itself had stopped spinning.
“The lake is so still,” he said to Jackie as they gathered baskets and boxes from the Volvo. They had found some great little local shops and their Coleman cooler was filled with cuts of lamb and beef from farmers around the valley.
Song for a Lost Kingdom, Book I Page 25