Page 10 of A Fire in Their Hearts

H AMISH AND I CREEP BETWEEN the trees until we’re at the edge of the woods about ten yards from a farmer working in his field.

We haven’t eaten in two days, and if the farmer cannot see us, he will soon know we are here by our growling stomachs.

When we saw the figure a little earlier we decided to watch him closely before asking for help, although how studying a man at work will reveal his inner beliefs .

.?. well, it’s just what we agreed to do.

We hide behind a gorse bush while he pulls up turnips and throws them into a small handcart nearby.

Most will probably be used to feed livestock over the winter.

It’s a peaceful scene; one repeated across the length and breadth of the country.

After about five minutes, Hamish taps my arm with a finger and indicates with a head tilt that he thinks we should show ourselves.

I nod and he’s beginning to rise when I thrust out a hand and slam his body into the earth.

‘Keep down!’ I hiss.

A small number of mounted soldiers have appeared at the far edge of the field and gallop towards the farmer.

We’re stuck, unable to move without almost certainly being discovered.

The farmer stops what he’s doing to wait and appears unconcerned even when the soldiers form a rather menacing semicircle.

‘Were you at Rullion Green?’ shouts the corporal.

‘No. I’ve never been more than a few miles from here. There’s enough work to do without travelling to places I’m not interested in visiting.’

‘You know where it is, though.’

‘Only because of the battle. People everywhere are talking about it.’

It’s obvious that he’s speaking the truth, but the truth isn’t heard by those determined to be deaf to it. He takes a step back, clearly beginning to realise the danger he’s in.

‘Seize him!’

Two soldiers jump down and roughly grab an arm each. The corporal dismounts and faces his victim. Without any warning he starts feeling the man’s pockets and with a cry of triumph pulls out a Bible.

‘You carry a Bible!’

‘Yes.’

‘You’ve been to a conventicle or you’re on your way to one!’

‘No! I’m lifting turnips. I read a little of the Lord’s good book while I have my bread and cheese midday, as any Christian might do. There’s no crime in that. I’ve broken no law.’

‘You’re a filthy Covenanter!’

‘I’m not, I swear it. I work the land and care for my family. We attend the kirk every Sunday and listen to the new minister. I won’t raise my hand in violence against another.’

Despite what we experienced at Rullion Green, what happens next shocks me to my core. The corporal throws the Bible to the ground, pulls out his sword and rams it into the man’s stomach.

‘Damned lying traitor! Now there’s one less.’

The farmer makes no sound as he sinks to the ground. With distaste, the corporal wipes his sword on the man’s jerkin. As he’s doing this, one of the soldiers dismounts.

‘What are you doing?’

‘I need a piss, corporal, and my cock’s so big I don’t want you lot to be envious.’

As the others laugh, the man walks over to where we lie and starts to relieve himself. I can’t believe he doesn’t see us. We’re feet away and he’s facing towards our hiding place; the branches might as well not be there. Hamish has buried his head in his hands. I stare in horror at the soldier.

And he stares back at me.

We’re dead men.

The man gives a small cry of alarm.

‘What’s wrong?’ asks the corporal, who has remounted and is waiting with the others.

My heart is about to burst in panic as the soldier hesitates to reply.

‘Nothing, corporal. It’s just that my cock’s so heavy, it’s difficult to hold at times.’

They laugh raucously at this, while the one in front of us fastens his breeches, staring at me for one last moment, and rejoins them. I don’t know why he’s given us our lives. Maybe one brutal murder is enough for this bright November day.

‘Hamish, they’ve gone,’ I whisper, when my shaking has finally reduced enough for me to speak. ‘Come on.’

Our hunger is forgotten as we kneel by the side of the injured man. It’s clear that he won’t survive long.

‘We saw what happened,’ I say. ‘I’m sorry we didn’t help.’

‘Here’s your Bible,’ says Hamish, putting it gently into the man’s hand.

‘You’ll tell my wife? The cottage .?.?. three fields away.’ He points weakly in the right direction.

‘We’ll take you there,’ says Hamish, ‘in the cart.’

‘Not alive .?.?. take my body home. Tell Peggy what happened.’

‘We will,’ I reassure him. ‘You have our word on it.’

‘Perhaps .?.?. you’ll read something .?.?. from the Scriptures?’

He’s failing fast, his breathing quick and shallow while the effort to speak is almost beyond him. I take the Bible and hold his hand. His eyes are closed. I don’t open the book for I know Psalm 121 by memory and this is the most appropriate I can think of.

‘I will lift mine eyes unto the mountains, from whence mine help shall come. My help cometh from the Lord, which hath made the Heaven and the earth .?.?.’

He dies while I’m reciting the psalm, but I finish it nonetheless, then we empty the handcart of turnips and do our best to be respectful as we replace them with his body.

The cart’s too small and no matter what we do his legs dangle over the side, denying him any sort of dignity on the journey.

It takes both of us to push and we have to rest often before we see the cottage.

A woman outside watches us approach. She’s joined by a boy and girl probably a couple of years younger than us. As we get nearer, the girl bursts out crying and the boy picks up a hayfork, holding it like a potential weapon, but he lays it back down following a comment from his mother.

When we reach the cottage the five of us stand around without speaking, merely staring at the body with its legs hanging over the side.

The only sound is the girl weeping. It seems completely unreal, as if Hamish and I couldn’t possibly have actually just brought a dead body to this family and changed their lives forever.

‘I’m very sorry,’ I say eventually. ‘There were soldiers .?.?.’

‘Didn’t you help?’ asks the boy accusingly. He’s trying to hold back tears and I don’t blame him for the hostility.

‘No,’ I reply, ‘and we’re ashamed because of it.’

‘There’s no shame needed, unarmed and the pair of you looking as if you’re about to collapse with exhaustion,’ says the woman. ‘Thank you for bringing Walter home to us. Is any of that blood yours?’

I’d forgotten that I look like a butcher who’s been gutting pigs all day. ‘No .?.?. at least not enough to worry about.’

‘Robert, help them get your father laid in the barn. We’ll organise his burial later on. Bessie, sort out food for them.’

‘Mother?’

The daughter is distraught and surprised at the order but I understand how the mother is giving her a task to help cope with the tragedy, at least for now.

‘Busy hands calm the mind’ my mother is always saying.

Robert is stocky and in truth we’re glad of his aid in moving the body.

Once we’ve laid his father out Hamish hands over the Bible, which he had tucked into a pocket for safety.

‘Your father’s Bible. Samuel read from the Scriptures. It gave comfort in his last moments.’

‘Thank you.’

The tears come, so we go to the cottage to allow the son time alone. We’re invited to sit at the table and I almost fall into the chair.

‘Do you wish to know what happened?’ I ask, appreciating that it’s only proper to make this offer before we eat. Our hunger is nothing compared to their loss.

‘Eat first,’ says the wife, ‘then we should hear what happened together.’

Afterwards, when we’ve had our fill and the terrible tale has been told, the five of us remain silent for a long while.

So far, Walter’s wife has been nothing but practical and kind; a different kind of strength from what we’ve seen recently.

We haven’t mentioned why we came to be at the edge of their field and I sense this will not go unanswered.

‘Were you at Rullion Green?’ she asks at last.

Hamish and I look at each other, hesitating, yet the woman’s husband has just been murdered for nothing more than carrying a Bible and there’s no reason for us to deny it in such company. We nod.

‘Soldiers are hunting everywhere for rebels who fought there,’ she says. ‘They’ve intensified their patrols and their brutality. Could you ever have won?’

The question throws us and we consider it for quite some time.

As usual, Hamish lets me answer. ‘I don’t believe so,’ I say.

‘We were swept along by events and emotions like twigs caught in a flood, but there was no real planning or preparation for the battle. We were unlikely to ever beat an army such as the one we faced.’

‘So all for nothing then?’ She heaves a deep sigh.

‘And my husband dead because soldiers are even more obsessed with killing, whether they’ve found a Covenanter or not.

Walter was a farmer. He loved the land, the animals and his family, with no thoughts of taking up arms. Such a violent death goes against everything he believed. ’

I’m crushed by the weight of guilt. The food feels like stones in my stomach and for a moment I fear I’m about to be sick. Our actions have been partly responsible for the cruel murder of an innocent man going about the task of lifting turnips.

A madness has taken hold of men in this land, and a fearful knowledge takes root within me – it is only going to get worse.

*?*?*

I’m shaking and breathing hard as I try the door.

It’s bolted so I slap my hand several times against the wood.

There’s the sound of movement from inside and moments later my father stands before us, crying out that we’re home.

Hamish and I are bundled inside. My mother stifles a scream.

Calum looks scared. In the light of candles and the fire, we must appear as if we’ve emerged from the bowels of Hell.

It certainly feels as if that’s where we’ve been.