Behind Vincent, Tom lurked in the thicket. He looked serious and concerned. "We're here for the traitor pig!"
I realised that the two Guardsmen must have suspected Wilbur long ago. "You knew about it? Why didn't you arrest Wilbur before?"
"He's a Guardsman, by God," Vincent returned. "You don't just arrest someone like that. We only had suspicions about him until now. Wilbur was our weakest link. He left promissory notes all over town. And the rumour was that the MacGregors had bought up those notes. We were gonna nail him the day you finished your second test. We wanted to confront him. But we had no evidence against him. Only now that we have caught him in the act can we convict him of treason."
"Then you had better start soon," Richard interjected, "or he'll be long gone."
Wilbur had pulled his horse out of the forest hiding place. He was about to mount to return to camp when we stepped out to face him. I stood between Richard and Amos. Tom and Vincent formed the flanks. Simultaneously we had drawn our blades. Wilbur noticed us but did not think of fleeing. He let go of his horse and faced us. We formed a semicircle around him, our blades pointed at him.
Tom spoke up. "That makes me very sad, old friend. I believed in your innocence until the very end. Why on earth, Wilbur?"
Wilbur avoided his leader's eyes. He was feeling visibly uncomfortable. "Those damned MacGregors had bought up my promissory notes. It was so damn much money. I had no way of paying it back. They didn't want any money either, I'd tried, for fuck's sake. They were only interested in a bit of information."
" A bit of information!" Tom shouted tauntingly. I was getting scared of him. "That's why you betrayed your King?"
"Believe me, I didn't want to."
"Your sword!" demanded Tom.
With a trembling hand, Wilbur pulled out the blade and handed it over. Tears welled up in his eyes. I had never seen big, strong Wilbur look so pathetic.
Tom raised his knee and broke Wilbur's blade in one swing. The remains of the rapier landed in the snow. Now Tom turned to Vincent. "The decision must be unanimous. What say you?"
"Guilty!" A word like a lash of a whip.
"Guilty!" let Tom follow without any delay.
Wilbur bowed his head. He was broken inside.
What would happen now? What were we being asked to do? After all, we were only aspirants! None of us dared to move until Tom addressed us directly. "Don't you have a race to win?"
Amos understood first and pulled me to the back. We sheathed our swords and started to retreat.
"But what about the letters?" asked Richard. "We lost them all."
"Forget the fucking letters," Tom cried irritably. "First one to Dunnottar wins. So let's go!"
As we ran to our horses, I couldn't help glancing back. Tom and Vincent had simultaneously rammed their rapiers into Wilbur's heart. The giant toppled like a felled tree into the snow, which turned red immediately. His betrayal had cost Wilbur his life.
Chapter 40
After leaving the valley dip and reaching the icy plateau, we paused first to collect ourselves.
"What a fucking mess," Richard groaned, summing up well what we were all feeling. "Wilbur was a scumbag, I've always known that, but what just happened .... Oh boy, I don't know."
"The question is, why did they execute him so quickly and without a trial," I voiced what had been running through my mind all along.
"Well, I can tell you that," Amos now explained, which astonished me greatly. "Vincent specifically pointed it out, didn't he? Wilbur was a Guardsman. You don't accuse someone like that for no reason. You expect eternal loyalty from someone like that, even to the point of self-sacrifice. What Wilbur did was not only disgraceful, it must be kept secret at all costs. If the King were to find out that one of his closest guards was conspiring against him, he would distrust all other Guardsmen in the future as well. Perhaps he would even go so far as to disband the Guard completely. I bet the King won't hear a single word about this betrayal. Maybe not even all of the Guardsmen know about the incident. After all, only Tom and Vincent were present to confront Wilbur. If the matter had been known to all, surely they would have brought reinforcements."
Amos' words made sense to me, but they also astonished me. Amos had always seemed so spotless and noble to me that I would not have believed him capable of seeing through such sinister intrigues. I had believed that his world view consisted only of sinister villains, noblewomen to be saved and knights in white armour. That he was able to see through such intricate plots made my respect for him rise. He was apparently not quite as simple-minded as I had suspected.
"Where do we even have to go?" asked Richard.
I looked at my map. "Pretty much east until we reach the coast."
We tried to navigate by the sun, whose pale light showed through the drifting snow. Since it had to be about noon, it was to the south. So we turned in the direction in which it had presumably risen. The method was very uncertain, but all we had. In more southerly climes there had been signposts or roads almost everywhere to guide us, but here in the Highlands there was nothing, no villages, no towns, not even farmers with flocks of sheep to ask directions from.
We galloped along side each other as if there had never been any quarrels between us. The initial conversations soon ceased completely and we didn't even talk about the most obvious topic - the race. Tom's words - 'Don't you have a race to win?' - had been heard by everyone and everyone knew that our only task now was to compete against each other. As we trotted across the desolate ranges of hills, we watched tensely for any action from our fellow competitors. But we stayed surprisingly close together. Sooner or later, one of us had to try to escape and open the final race, because only one of us could win, that much was certain. But I shied away from it, even though my black stallion seemed to be a pretty fast runner. I still felt a deep guilt inside me for betraying Richard and Amos that night. That I had even let Dunter RedCap keep their coins so he could keep chasing them, the two of them didn't even know. I thought it best to keep this level of betrayal to myself.
But Amos and Rich didn't make any outbursts either. It was as if Wilbur's fate had made us think. Thinking only of ourselves, as Wilbur had done, was not the way to go. I had to think of the code of honour of the Three Guardsmen, each one stands up for the collective and the collective stands up for each one. But if the individual stood against the collective, he was lost. We had learned that. Wilbur had paid for this insight with his life and the three of us were well on the way to becoming enemies again, even though we didn't really want to be. So the day passed and night fell. We reached an old wooden bridge that led across a river on which small ice floes danced. Behind this bridge we now recognised what we had hoped to see - a wooden signpost. A path heading north pointed to a path running parallel to the river. 'River Dye' was written on it. Another signpost pointed east. 'Stoneheaven' was written there in ancient runes.
"That's it!" exclaimed Richard euphorically as he glanced at his map. "The castle is right near this town."
Now, of course, there was the option of dismounting, setting up camp and splitting watches, but none of us made such a suggestion. It seemed that confidence in our revived friendship was not that strong after all. I knew I could ride all night. I had ridden through from Dover to London, after all. It was difficult, painful and extremely draining, but still doable. The last part of our journey would be a test of strength.
In the dark of night, we followed the road east. The trampled snow helped us not to lose our way as the moon shone only pale and tired through a cold curtain of clouds. The night dragged on.
When the sun finally appeared on the horizon, Richard was slumped on his horse. Somehow he had managed to keep himself in the saddle while he slept, but now I noticed that his weight was slowly shifting and he was threatening to slip out of the stirrups. Quickly I was with him and shook his shoulder. "Hey, mate, you're not going to want to give up now."
Rich pulled up, clung to the pommel of the saddle an
d eyed me suspiciously. "Is this a new ruse, George?" he asked sullenly. "Why didn't you let me fall in the snow?"
I shrugged my shoulders without replying.
Soon we found ourselves galloping side by side again. The outskirts of Stoneheaven came into view. Straw-covered cottages from which the heavy smoke of morning fires flowed. Finally we saw people again. Simple figures leading their flocks of sheep to pastures where they hoped to find a few blades of grass under the blanket of snow.
The road forked. A signpost told us to follow the left direction to Stoneheaven and the right direction to Dunnottar. Our destination was within reach. Tension gripped us anew. We rode down the street in formation, already seeing the North Sea on the horizon. Where sky and sea met, there was a glaring silver line that resembled a rapier drawn bare. My friends were getting restless, and so was I. That was the moment Richard's horse broke free. I don't think Richard had made him feel his heels. It was more likely that his horse had picked up the pace of his own accord, but now there was no stopping him. Amos and I put our spurs to our horses at the same time and a wild race began. I quickly realised that I had the advantage. My black MacGregor stallion seemed stronger than the others' mounts. He ran unconcernedly to gain a decisive lead. The road now led across open fields. The buildings of Dunnottar Castle appeared behind a group of trees, an uplifting moment.
The entire complex of buildings nestled on a rocky outcrop that jutted far into the North Sea and whose cliffs were washed by the waves of the sea. Behind a rampart I could make out an elongated main house and a massive keep. The entrance to the gatehouse was open. Men in the red jackets of the Guard stood around. Above the gatehouse, the standard of the Guards Corps waved proudly in a cold North Sea breeze.
I looked back. Amos was close to me, but Richard had already fallen far behind with a despairing face.
That was when I made a decision.
I would not storm into the castle here alone. I would not leave my friends behind. Not again! The speeches of honour, fellowship and unity came to my mind. What kind of man was I if I could only act for my own benefit? What did that say about me? Did the Guardsmen even want someone like that with them?
I reined in my horse. In doing so, I was aware that I was taking a big risk. Amos could overtake me, and I would not be able to make up his lead over this short distance. However, I did what deep down I simply had to do. I slowed down. Amos closed in on me. "What's the matter? Is your horse lame?"
I shook my head and looked him straight in the eye. He seemed to understand immediately and nodded at me. We had made a silent pact. As Richard charged at us at a pace that did not slacken, I thought for a moment he was going to shoot past us, but even to him the sudden drop in speed of his two competitors seemed strange. He came up beside us, reined in his horse, started to ask a question, but then also showed recognition in his gaze. Together we rode leisurely side by side through the gatehouse of Dunnottar Castle. We had finished the Caledonian Race all together.
We looked around. No one was cheering us on, everything seemed to be going on as usual. Only a few guards looked at us. "We want to see the captain, John MacThomas," Amos addressed them.
"By the stables," came the prompt reply from a small Guardsman.
Quietly we now rode up the slight hill to the oblong stable building where we dismounted and tied our horses to a rail. Looking around, we realised that only one of the men present exuded the authority befitting a commander, a grey-haired hunk with an impressive goatee. We strode up to him side by side. "Are you John MacThomas, the captain?"
"Who wants to know?"
"We are Amos, George and Richard. Aspirants to be Guardsmen."
"Who's the winner? I can't make out who won the race."
"Sire," I said quietly but firmly. "We have learned on our journey that only as a collective do we stand a chance. Only unity and friendship have brought us here. We will not continue to fight each other, Sire. Either you take all of us or none of us!" With that I had sunk to my knees and lowered my head. With satisfaction I noticed that Amos and Richard had done the same. My words had been pathetic and completely exaggerated, but they sprang from a deep feeling. I only hoped I had not laid it on too thick.
A few agonising moments passed when I suddenly heard a choppy laugh. I looked up in confusion and recognised John MacThomas holding his stomach with laughter. Then he came up to me and let his heavy paw crash down on my shoulder. "Well said, lad. That's the way a future Guardsman speaks. Hell of a thing! You would have all been with us anyway, we do it every year. But I really enjoyed your speech." He continued laughing.
"We would all have been in anyway?" inquired Richard, confused.
"But yeah. You three were already selected in London. The race was just a kind of first try-out. We have recruitment troubles. We can't be too choosy about that."
"If that's the case, why do you make the tests so difficult?", I inquired in dismay, thinking of all the young men who had not left the docklands alive.
John MacThomas shrugged his shoulders. "Yes, we should perhaps revise our recruitment rules. I should talk to Stephen about that."
"And this Dunter RedCap wasn't really supposed to kill us?",
Again John laughed out loud. He seemed to be a right cheerful fellow. "Rowan! Come here!" he shouted loudly and piercingly across the courtyard.
Now a tall figure in a Guardmen's tunic appeared in front of us, whose face looked very familiar. He held a large wooden club in his hand. Thereby he looked at us disdainfully.
"May I introduce," John explained, "your instructor for the next while, Rowan MacLeod."
A broad grin appeared on the supposed RedCap's face. I caught the eyes I'd seen the last time on the moor. He hadn't laughed so arrogantly then. It would become apparent what kind of character the man actually had. For now, I felt deceived and fooled.
I didn't have long to reassess our situation, for Dunter (or Rowan) went into the stables and shouted loudly audibly, "I told you to attack me with your sticks, you maggots!"
Soon the noise of a practice fight could be heard. Richard, Amos and I turned to each other. We took deep breaths. Slowly we realised that we had reached our long-awaited goal. Each of us!
Amos murmured to me, "Well done! For a dirty betrayer, you're not bad at all."
Chapter 41
Two days later, Edwin also arrived at the fortress. We learned of his arrival at dinner. Before I could think of a plan to see my mentor, he had already found me. In the last light of the fading sun, we walked across the fortifications that surrounded the fort. We gazed out into the brooding sea. The wind ruffled my hair, which after many months had finally tasted water and soap again. I wore it long and had not cut it, for the current fashion favoured an untamed head of hair. I was a fashion-conscious young man, wearing clean clothes and the black leather buff coat that all recruits used to wear. I would not receive the cloak of a Guardsman until I had successfully completed my training.
"Congratulations, George!" said Edwin curtly. "John told me about your little speech. Seems some of my wisdom has stuck with you."
If Edwin hadn't had that ironic grin on his face again, I would have actually taken him to be a wise old teacher. This way, however, I understood that he was honouring my rhetorical skill rather than my beliefs - and yet I had been so convincing.
"We've been the main attraction at a play all this time," I said more seriously and aggrieved than I really wanted to. "Dunter RedCap and his iron spit have cost me a lot of sleepless nights."
"Well, we didn't want to make it too easy for you either."
"What about the assassin? Did you catch him?", I now reflected on the really important questions.
"Yes, I did. He's also the reason we're meeting here - out of reach of prying listeners."
I just looked at Edwin with wide eyes.
"After you chased that red-haired thief, it wasn't three hours before another rider left the MacGregors' castle. I pursued him, made sure he took the southe
rn route, and finally confronted him at dusk. Instead of shooting him in ambush, I challenged him to a fair duel. Clansmen from Scotland simply owe themselves that honour, even if we were not of the same clan. Like our fathers and their fathers - sword against sword - we fought until I finally took his life. The plot to assassinate the King is thus foiled, I just wanted to tell you that, George. Tell your friends, and tell them also not to breathe a word about it!"
Amos' astute remarks came to my mind. "The King should not know about it because a Guardsman was involved in the plot, isn't that so?" Instinctively, the three of us had kept quiet anyway. The new situation at Dunnottar Castle had troubled us enough.
Ed looked at me. There was that gleam in his eye again that appeared every time he thought he saw future potential in me. "Clever lad," he nodded appreciatively. I silently kept Amos' share of the realisation to myself.
"The MacGregors were once allies of the MacFarlanes. We fought and bled together at Glen Fruin. If the King were to discover the scope of the planned assassination, he might come to the wrong conclusion and no longer trust us. We don't want that for him or for us. You know how loyal to the King I am, George. But James has become an old, distrustful man. It's better he doesn't find out how close he was to the abyss."
"So you want us to conspire with you to cover up a plot against the King?", I inquired, deliberately naïve.
Annoyed, Edwin eyed me. "You are now being trained as a Guardsman. You are no longer a mugger, so stop acting like one! You understood perfectly well what I meant and you know I am loyal to James."
I bowed my head in dismay. The old man was right, after all. I should finally stop behaving like a criminal who was only concerned about his own advantage. I was genuinely ashamed of that little remark.
Edwin seemed to understand what was going on in my head, because he turned his gaze towards the horizon, where the low-hanging clouds seemed to be fighting the waves of the sea. The view was breathtaking. A fencing of the elements for supremacy in nature.
The Caledonian Race: A Pulp Adventure (George Glen Series Book 2) Page 23