by Jane Yolen
Da nodded and Ma went over and held her hand.
Maggie put her head in her ma’s lap and cried aloud. But Ewan said nothing, slamming out of the cottage.
“Go to him,” my aunt told me. “He’s like a bull that’s been stung by a burr. There’s nae telling which way his pain will make him charge.”
So I went out after him and found him down by the stream where the women do their washing. He was all alone, staring into the rippling water, looking where the April ice had made a rippling white skin against the shore. For a moment I wondered if he could see his father there as I could see Mairi when the world went watery.
He didn’t answer when I spoke his name, but when I got closer, he knelt and dashed a handful of icy water over his face to disguise his tears. When he stood up again and faced me, I could see that his ma had been right. It wasn’t grief that burned in his eyes now. It was a terrible anger, like lightning seeking to blast a tree. If I didn’t take care, I’d be that tree.
“Yer da died as he would have wanted,” I said. How stupid the words sounded, but I couldn’t stop myself. “He was in the front line, fighting bravely, Da said.”
“Aye, and yer da’s alive and here to tell ye all about it,” Ewan answered sharply.
I ignored the barb in his words. “I wish yer da was home and safe as well.”
“I’ll wager ye do, but they’re different men, it turns out.”
“This is nae time for us to quarrel.”
“Is that what ye think in yer craven’s heart?”
All I felt in my heart at that moment was anger, but I kept myself in check.
Then he added, “Have ye given up on yer prince?”
“How can ye say such a thing?”
“How could yer da do such a thing?” he countered. “Come home when the prince needs him most?”
And for that I had no answer.
“What do ye want to do, then?” I asked.
“Go.”
His answer didn’t surprise me. “But surely yer ma will never let ye go now.”
He shrugged.
A cold wind puzzled through the trees. I shivered with it. “Maybe ye should wait a bit for yer ma’s sake,” I said.
“My ma has her grief, and I have mine,” Ewan said. “A woman doesna understand these things. I’m going to take my da’s place. I’m set on it, Duncan, as sure as stone. And ye must take yers.”
“Yer speaking through pain,” I said. “Ye need to think longer.”
He shook his head. “I’ve done all the thinking I mean to,” he said. “My father died in battle, Duncan, like a true MacDonald. At least there’s glory in that. And honor. I’ll no bide here while there’s fighting yet to be done.” If anything was stone, it was his face.
“Ye’ll never find the way, Ewan,” I told him. “Yer as likely to walk into Butcher Cumberland’s camp as into Prince Charlie’s.”
“I’ll have my dirk drawn if I do. I’m no afraid. Ye can bide here if ye like—with yer da.”
He didn’t call my father by a shameful name, though it was all there in his voice and in the curl of his lip. My fist clenched all by itself and I swung at him then, but it was a clean miss.
Like gunpowder that’s felt the touch of a taper, Ewan exploded. His fists pummeled me—my arms, my ribs, my jaw—until I lost balance and toppled to the icy ground.
“None of yer family are fighters,” Ewan crowed. “Why dinna ye crawl off home like ye’ve been taught!”
Sucking in a deep breath, so cold it made my throat sting, I grabbed his right leg and pulled it out from under him. He fell backward with an angry yell and splashed into the burn. The water did nothing to cool him off and he was on his feet again before I could blink. But this time I was ready, and my own rage was up. I’d not let him speak ill of my father, not without making him pay.
I fended off his first blow and drove him back with a jab of my own.
“When we practiced with yon wooden swords,” Ewan said through gritted teeth, “I thought we were making ourselves ready.”
“So did I, Ewan.” Not the whole truth, I knew.
Suddenly he lunged forward and grabbed me by the front of my sark. With a shift of his weight he threw me to the ground and landed heavily on top of me. I smacked the flat of my hand into his chin and we rolled over and over, grabbing and punching.
“If ye’ll no come, then I’ll go without ye,” Ewan gasped. “Ye can lie abed and think of me at the prince’s side.”
The prince’s side. “Ewan …” I began.
He rammed his elbow into my cheekbone, which ended my sentence, and my head rang like a chapel bell. I grabbed his hair and pulled him over so that we rolled together into the burn, kicking and splashing. The shock of the cold water brought us both up straight.
“Ewan …” I tried again, but his hands were on my throat.
“Two lads can turn the tide of a battle,” he said.
I struggled to prize his hands away but when I did, I found I had no voice with which to agree.
“You know, a grown man will fall from his horse when he tries to skelp a wasp that’s buzzing in his face. So we can be wasps, Duncan,” he said. “And sting the redcoats.” Then he thumped me in the belly so hard, we fell free of each other and I retched into the stream.
Ewan stood and glared down at me. “Maybe another man will die for want of somebody to guard his back if our fathers’ places go unfilled.”
I clambered to my feet and saw Ewan’s fist coming at me. I ducked under it and charged headfirst into his midriff. He staggered back, the wind knocked out of him.
With all the strength I had left, I smacked him hard in the jaw and he reeled back, twisting, about to fall face first into the burn.
“I agree with ye, Ewan,” I said to his back, my voice hoarse as a crow’s. “So, stop thumping me for a minute and let me agree.”
Ewan neither spoke nor moved and for a moment I was amazed at my triumph. Then an awful thought occurred to me. Ewan might drown, just like Mairi.
And again it would be my fault.
“Ewan!” I screamed, grabbing him under the arms and hauling him up onto the bank. He coughed up water, then lay gasping, his legs twitching like the tail of a fish caught in a net. Relieved that he was alive, I flopped down beside him.
“I’m coming with ye,” I heard myself saying. “We swore it—remember?” Besides, if Ewan went to war and never returned, I would always wonder if he died for want of my guarding his back.
Without getting up, Ewan stretched his arm toward me, offering me his hand. I clasped it for a moment, then let it drop. Eventually we recovered our breath and sat side by side, dripping wet, shivering with cold, grinning like fools.
“We’ll go right after noon then,” said Ewan. “Put on some dry clothes and then go off as if to do yer chores. Ye can slip away then. Meet me at the copse as soon as ye can.”
“I will.”
“By the time anybody marks that we’ve gone, it will be too dark to follow. Before they can catch up, we’ll be gone for soldiers.”
“Gone for soldiers,” I repeated. The words gave me a queer feeling inside.
20 GONE FOR SOLDIERS
I went quickly back to our cottage, half-excited, half-fearful to be caught out. When I got in the door, ready with explanations, I had to offer none. Ma was still off comforting Ewan’s ma. Sarah and Andrew were away somewhere doing chores. Granda was probably grousing at Da in the byre. I had the place to myself. I was glad of that, yet oddly I missed the to-do when the room was filled with family.
First, I knew, I had to get warm. I dried off in front of the fire, peeling off my plaid and sark once they were dry. Then I opened the big chest in the corner, pulling out my other plaid, the plaid stockings, my good sark, and the wool jacket. Then I rooted around until I found my bonnet. If I was going to be a Highland warrior, I wanted to look like one.
Dressing quickly, I turned my attention to food. I packed bread, cheese, oats, and a flask o
f water, but took only enough to last me a few days, for I wouldn’t steal from my family.
Besides, I thought, soldiers on their own land should be able to eat well enough. I’d already forgotten Da’s experiences in the snow and the cold.
I thought about taking down my da’s sword. He’d hidden it again behind the lintel stone. But I doubted I could get the stone out and onto the ground and back again by myself. Besides, it was his sword, not mine.
So I went over to my pallet and, reaching under, pulled out the dagger Granda had given me on the march to Glenfinnan. Thrusting it in my belt, I stood and ran my hands down my chest, finally feeling like a soldier.
Then I looked around our little cottage, so warm and familiar. I knew every stone, every beam, every stick of furniture. Would I miss it? I hadn’t given it a thought when we went to Glenfinnan. But this time was different.
Dinna be a daftie, Duncan, I told myself. If ye keep this up, ye’ll soon be weeping like a bairn.
A noise at the door startled me and I turned around. Granda pushed the door open and was just coming into the room.
“There’s a chill tightening my chest,” he said, beating his fist against the front of his sark. “I need a wee dram to loosen things up.” He reached up to the shelf where the whiskey jug sat, and poured himself a cup.
“I’d best be off about my chores,” I said, backing toward the door.
“Yer chores, aye,” said Granda. “Ye’ll be needing that old dirk of mine to keep the wolves and bears off the cows, I suppose.” He pointed at the knife in my belt.
“Ye … ye told me I could keep it,” I said, nervously fingering the handle.
“Aye, I did,” Granda agreed, sipping his whiskey, “and I’ll no take back what was freely given. But ye should have a care for where such a gift might lead ye.”
“What do ye mean?” I had a sinking feeling Granda was about to tell one of his tales. I’d have to stop and hear him out lest he grow more suspicious.
Granda sat himself down on his stool. “I’ve told ye many stories in yer time,” he said. “Some of them happy and some of them sad.”
“Aye, Granda.” I kept my voice free of the hurry I felt.
“Dinna let yer own tale be a sad one,” he said, looking down into his whiskey. “We’ve had enough of that. Stand proudly on the MacDonald line, to the right hand of the prince. Our rightful place since bloody Bannockburn.” He smiled into his cup. “That’s tradition as ye know. Come back safe bringing yer story with ye.”
“How did ye guess …” I began. Then I had to laugh. Here I was standing in front of him in my plaid and stockings, the bonnet on my head and the dirk in my belt. Even a village simpleton would know what I was about.
“Haste away,” he said, “before yer da and ma have ye tell a different story.” Then he turned from me, but not before I saw that his eyes had grown watery.
I raced out of the cottage, feeling blessed. Granda would surely stall them and give me extra time to get away.
I climbed the northernmost hill overlooking the village to meet Ewan as we’d agreed. He was dressed in his best clothes as well, and was crouching low in the dark bracken that was brittle with cold. I saw he’d armed himself with a pitchfork and a hunting knife.
“So here we are,” I said.
He hissed, “Get down, ye ass, or we’ll be seen.”
I sank down beside him and looked back at the rough little cottages that comprised our village. “No one’s looking for us yet, Ewan.”
“Ye canna know that.”
“I can.”
“Nae, ye canna.” Then he laughed. “Squabbling like bairns when we’re soldiers?”
I laughed, too, and held out my hand. “Peace?”
“Aye,” he said. “Then let’s swear again to be brothers-in-arms, Duncan, until this thing is done and honor satisfied.”
“We’ve done that already with spit.”
“When we were boys,” he said. “We’re men now, and they do it with blood.”
Nodding, I took out my dirk and held it between us. Ewan drew his thumb down the edge until it drew blood, then showed me the cut. I did likewise. A sudden wind bent the trees. I shivered, and not with the cold.
“Till this thing is done,” I said.
“Till this thing is done,” he agreed.
We looked at each other, suddenly too awed to grin. Blood is a great binder.
“Well,” Ewan asked at last, “are ye ready to march?” It sounded like a challenge.
“Of course,” I answered. I think I meant it. “We’d best shift or Prince Charlie will have to hold up his big battle for us.”
That made him grin.
Then side by side, we marched like soldiers through trees already topped with the growing dark. Down the far side we went, heading north and east toward Inverness, toward the place where the prince waited.
21 THE ROAD TO CULLODEN
Before nightfall Ewan managed to sneak up on a rabbit and bring it down with a throw of his knife. I couldn’t hide the fact that I was impressed.
“That way we can save the food we brought with us,” he said, for he’d taken the same cheese, bread, and oats that I had.
“For emergencies,” I agreed.
We made camp at the edge of a field, under a canopy of pine. I put together a wee hearth of stones and we piled branches and bark in the middle. But though Ewan struck the flints a dozen times, he couldn’t get our little heap of kindling to burn.
“I’ve a knack for this,” I said, taking the flints from him, and making a spark on the first strike.
“So, Duncan, we’re a good match,” he said. “Only I’ll play Da and ye’ll be the wife, tending the fire!”
“Och, soldiers need to know how to make a fire, too, ye ninny,” I said, heatedly.
“Peace, peace.” He held up his hands. “Can ye no take a joke?”
To show him I could, I let the argument go, and instead set about finding more kindling. I even came upon a well-aged log that I put on the flames. Soon we had a fire going that was as cheery as any in the hearth at home.
“Do ye think they’ll come looking for us?” I asked, as Ewan roasted the rabbit over our makeshift spit.
“If they’ve any wit at all, they’ll know where we’re bound. As many as wish can meet us at the prince’s camp,” he said.
Two days later, in a rain that bucketed down, we found a road running north, around the shore of a great dark-water loch. We guessed it would lead right to Inverness but were wary about being seen.
“We dinna want to run into a troop of redcoats,” I said. “Just the two of us.”
Ewan agreed. “A pitchfork willna help us much then.”
We stayed in sight of the road but never set foot directly on it. We saw carts pulled by oxen, horse-drawn carriages, even men and women on foot carrying baskets, but we didn’t see a single soldier. Still, we were wary of being on the road ourselves, so it took us longer than the five days Ewan had predicted. In fact, it took double that. But not one of those days was I sick with a fit, as if heading toward the prince had brought back the healing magic.
When we lay down to sleep that final night, deep in the last year’s bracken, we could see lights far off in the distance. Our supper that night was a cold one. This close to our goal, we were afraid the wrong folks might spot our fire. We ate what was left of the cheese and were glad of it.
“What do ye think?” I asked, pointing to the far-off lights. “Might that be Prince Charlie’s camp—or is it Cumberland’s? Will the army still be there?”
“I reckon those are the lights of Inverness,” said Ewan. He pulled out his knife and made a great show of sharpening it on a nearby rock. “And of course they’re still there. We’d have heard otherwise.”
“Inverness.” I’d never been to a city. The thought of the place, bustling with city folk, markets everywhere, made my breath momentarily feel solid in my throat. I didn’t question Ewan’s certainty. I wanted it to be true.
>
All at once, the lights grew dim, then disappeared completely. For the first time, a nameless fear gripped me, as if I were about to have a fit. I knew a soldier shouldn’t be afraid, but I was trembling all over.
“What’s happened?” I managed.
For a moment Ewan looked as confused as I, then he sniffed the air and laughed. “It’s only a mist, Duncan. We’re going to have a damp night. We’d better get to sleep while we can.”
Now I could feel the mist myself, and was embarrassed to have let myself be so frightened, like a bairn frightened by a bad dream. But at least Ewan, too, had been uneasy.
And why shouldn’t I be a wee bit afraid? I asked myself. There’s certainly much out there to be afraid of. An entire redcoat army somewhere ahead of us. Or behind.
This did nothing to make me feel better. So I decided to tell myself one of Granda’s stories to put myself to sleep. The only one I could remember was about a piper lad who walked deep into a dark cave in search of a magic chanter for his bagpipe. It wasn’t a comforting story, for it ends badly for the boy. He disappears and his family never sees him again, but at last I fell asleep. I suppose I dreamed of victory. Soldiers always do.
We woke very early. The line of light was hardly on the horizon and the mist was slow to clear, as if the day were loath to begin. The middle of April can sometimes be cold and sometimes promising. This day stood somewhere in-between. More hopeful were the bluebells already poking out their brave little heads all around us, and the damp curls of ferns pushing up through the black ground.
We stood up and shook out our plaids to get the damp out of them.
“What’s left to eat?” Ewan asked.
“Only an oatcake,” I said, taking it out of the pouch at my belt. It was mostly crumbles. We were lucky to have it, though. Ewan had killed our last hare two days earlier, and the bread had gone then, too.
“That will have to do us,” said Ewan, taking half from my hand. “Until we feed on the Duke of Cumberland’s best beef,” he added with a grin.
I tried to grin back but I was too cold. I shivered visibly and Ewan stared at me. “Now mind ye have none of those fits, Duncan,” he said. “I canna be waiting on ye. Besides, Prince Charlie needs hale men in his army, no sick ones.”