Page 22 of A Fire in Their Hearts

O UR JOURNEY TO EDINBURGH HAS been marked along its route by hurriedly made graves which were sometimes no more than piles of stones.

To our shame, there were occasions when a body was simply laid by the side of the track and left because we weren’t allowed to stop, although the militia escorting us always found time to strip it of anything valuable.

Perhaps some kindly souls may come across the remains and put them in the earth.

A handful of Covenanters have been killed trying to escape but several were successful, normally in ones or twos. We would only attempt such a thing if the five of us could get away – a plan so dangerous that it’s never been discussed in earnest.

The residents of the city are silent as we stumble and stagger through the first few streets. Even the tall, dark buildings seem to look down upon us with disdain. We are such a miserable, wretched group of filthy, stinking people that folk in the street recoil from us.

When a figure rushes out from the watching crowd towards me, I instinctively flinch in expectation of being hit, but the woman thrusts a hunk of bread into my hand.

I’m too surprised to speak, though tears make their way slowly through the dirt on my face.

Others try to follow the example but the guards force them to keep away.

It’s as we slowly make our way further into the city that the attitude of those looking on changes.

‘Where’s your God?’ jeers a man, as if we somehow worship a different one.

Nobody replies and the question is soon taken up by others, who call out repeatedly:

‘Where’s your God? Where’s your God?’

It becomes a chant, yard after yard it’s thrown at us like a weapon on the battlefield until the streets echo with the words. The hostility is relentless, burrowing into my heart until it too takes up the chant.

Where is our God?

Eventually we leave the calls behind as we trudge through imposing wrought-iron gates into a large grassy area surrounded by high stone walls.

‘What’s this place?’ asks Hamish.

‘Just the other side of that wall is Greyfriars Kirk, where the National Covenant was signed in thirty-eight,’ says the Reverend Colvil.

‘So many men of influence, power and wealth added their signature that day and those that followed. I doubt there’s ever been a document like it before or since in the history of the world.

My father was there, and he often spoke about the great hope there had been for the future. ’

‘And look what it’s come to,’ says Hamish. ‘The authorities can’t possibly mean for us to be held in this space. There’s no shelter here .?.?. nothing.’

There’s been a deep change in my brother since our father was killed. He rarely speaks and, when he does, he seems lost. I suspect he’s not alone amongst the prisoners in this.

‘The Edinburgh gaols are probably full,’ says Calum.

‘If they hold us here long enough then disease, hunger and despair will rid them of the problem of what to do with so many captured Covenanters,’ says Samuel.

We watch as hundreds of figures enter the enclosure. Those brought on carts or carried are being laid out in one particular area and after a while the captain of the dragoons that escorted us along with the militia starts walking up and down, studying the wounded.

‘I shall find out what’s happening to them,’ says Samuel’s father.

‘Reverend Colvil, the question may appear less confrontational if it comes from a woman,’ I point out.

He studies me for a moment, then sighs in resignation. ‘Yes, daughter, you’re right .?.?. as ever. The place is filling up. Let’s claim a spot over there. Violet, that’s where we’ll be.’

‘I’ll wait for you,’ says Samuel.

‘Go with the others, my love. I promise, nothing is going to happen to me.’

I approach the officer while he’s still walking along the line of injured men. ‘Captain, may I ask what plans there are to care for the seriously wounded?’

The captain studies me in silence for several moments and I know that I was right to be the one to put the question. Samuel’s father would be in an argument with the man by now and we don’t need more animosity.

‘The only possible place to put them is Heriot’s Hospital. It’s just the other side of that wall.’

The upper part of the large building is visible and I take a few steps in its direction before stopping. He hesitates a moment then follows me and with that gesture I’m reassured he is a man of some compassion. To speak of death in front of dying men would be cruel beyond measure.

‘Thank you, captain,’ I say with a lowered voice. ‘I fear many of these men will not survive a night in the open.’

‘That’s what I was thinking. I’ll order them to be moved as soon as the remainder of the prisoners are inside.’

It always amazes me how men so young can have such responsibilities that they are forced to make quick decisions over life and death.

‘What on earth were women doing at Bothwell?’ he says.

‘What were any of us doing? All we ever wanted was to be free to worship as we had been.’

‘Well, that’s not a question for me to answer. I’m a simple soldier.’

‘Captain, I believe you are much more than that.’

For a few moments we stand and watch as exhausted figures stare in disbelief that this is where we’re being held.

It’s a strange feeling, for a couple of days ago the officer and I could have faced each other on the battlefield.

I thank him again then rejoin the others and tell them of my conversation.

‘A soldier with honour,’ says Calum.

I’m so thirsty it’s difficult to speak. ‘The troughs?’ I say, indicating several stone troughs in a line near the gate.

‘Dry,’ says Samuel. ‘I’ve checked them. I doubt we’ll get any water tonight. This land may belong to the Kirk, but for us it’s going to be Hell, one that will soon start filling up with the dead.’

*?*?*

The morning brings a sight of such misery that I fancy it can be tasted upon the air, which is already tainted enough with a mixture of putrid smells from the capital.

Now we’re adding to it; a dyke runs the length of one side of the enclosure and this has become our latrine, the water already filthy before coming in under a wall.

At least the captain proved to be honest in what he said and about thirty Covenanters were carried away last night to be held where they can be better cared for.

Samuel and I walk around in an attempt to understand our new prison and gain a better idea of the state of others. I’ve spoken to several people and inspected a few wounds, but there’s little that can be done for anyone here.

‘Violet, there are only a handful of women.’

‘I’ve counted five and I hear there are two more, although I haven’t seen them yet.’

‘So, fewer than ten out of more than a thousand men.’

‘Do you worry for my virtue, Samuel?’

‘I worry that you’re going to be punished as if you had actually fought at Bothwell.’

‘I did fight at Bothwell.’

We fall silent, walking past figures lying on the ground, groups gathered around preachers and others walking as we are, trying to make some sense of what’s happening.

Samuel fears that I’ll be haunted by the memory of the soldier I killed, but the truth is I haven’t thought about him.

The man was about to murder my father lying helpless at his feet and I won’t waste time remembering him.

My father’s death, however, is like an open wound that someone is constantly rubbing salt into. I’m surprised there’s any moisture in my body to produce tears, but they fall freely down my cheeks. Samuel takes me in his arms.

‘You are my life, Violet. I wish there was something I could do. If women are given the offer to be set free, then you must go with them.’

‘I said it at Bothwell .?.?. All the men I love are together and I’m not about to leave them, regardless of the danger.’

*?*?*

Samuel 1 July 1679, Greyfriars Kirkyard, Edinburgh

Hope seeps away from us like the stinking sludge that flows under the far wall.

Every day I see friends who faced battle without flinching lose their strength and will to go on.

They shun all company and refuse their food rations, choosing an isolated spot to simply wait for this misery to end.

Who knows, perhaps they are wiser than the rest of us.

Each of us is given a penny loaf per day, handed out at the gate along with some biscuits, both of the poorest quality. People are so hungry that they’ve already eaten the grass in the enclosure. The troughs are filled with water each morning but by noon they’re empty and our thirst is fierce.

Local men are not allowed to approach the gates but women can, and many who are sympathetic to the cause bring us food, clothing, blankets and small items to make our lives a little easier.

The militia check their baskets and can be distastefully abusive but don’t actually prevent them, although a few demand bribes.

Deaths are common and this morning is no different.

I help carry one of two Covenanters who have died during the night to the gates.

It already feels like months since we walked through them that first time.

The guards take no chances and when the gates are unlocked, they stand with muskets aimed almost as if wishing someone would try to escape.

The idea is ludicrous. Most of us are so weak that it takes four of us to carry one person.

We shuffle through and gently lay the body on a hand-drawn cart belonging to the gravediggers.

We haven’t found out where Covenanters are buried and suspect it’s somewhere unwholesome.

There’s a corner in Greyfriars cemetery for ‘thieves’ but even Calum, with all his charm and skill at gaining information, hasn’t discovered this answer.

A guard shouts at us to return to our prison, so we walk back inside to allow the second body to be carried out.

‘You know,’ says Calum when no one is near enough to hear, ‘the soldiers never check the bodies.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘They watch us through those bars every single moment of the day and night, but someone being laid on the cart is never even glanced at.’

I take care to keep my face expressionless as I whisper back. ‘Escape?’

He gives the barest of nods. ‘It’s a possibility.’

‘What about the gravediggers?’

‘They’re just gravediggers and there’s still quite a lot of coin amongst us.’

For all the thieving by soldiers, most Covenanters have been able to hide some of their money. Even amongst the five of us we could put together a decent bribe.

‘Die here, or die trying to escape,’ I say. ‘I suppose it’s something to consider, brother.’

*?*?*

Violet and I walk slowly around the enclosed area along with many others .?.?. round and round. She listens in silence as I recount Calum’s idea.

‘Assuming they weren’t discovered at the gate and killed, how would we ever know that it’s succeeded?’

‘What do you mean? People would have got away.’

‘We would see people taken on the cart but could never be sure the gravediggers hadn’t later killed them and taken the money, ready to do the same deed again. They could be paid without the risk of an escaped Covenanter being recaptured and tortured into revealing the truth.’

I’ve never known someone so astute as Violet, but her ability to instantly spot the problem in something can be bloody infuriating. Nothing gets past my Violet.

‘Why are you smiling, Samuel Colvil? I’ve not seen you do that in a very long while.’

‘I’m smiling because I love you so much and whatever happens, I’ve been blessed to have shared my life with you.’

‘We’ve been through a great deal together. While we remain on this earth I struggle to see any joy ahead, yet I wouldn’t alter anything we’ve done. I love you, Samuel. I’ve loved you since we were six years old.’

‘Were we ever that age? Where did that innocence go?’

‘Just life, I guess. You can’t grow older and keep the innocence of childhood.’

‘It’s sad that we’ve never been blessed with children.’

‘I think the Lord has other plans for us,’ I say.

‘What plans, I wonder, does He have for us now?’

Our conversation is stopped abruptly by the sound of shouting and we turn around to see about two dozen men near the gates, angrily calling to the soldiers, who start running from other areas to join those already with muskets levelled.

‘What’s brought this about?’ I say, half expecting Violet to have the answer.

We’re near the latrine end of the compound and everyone’s attention is on the loud exchange taking place at the other end, where more people are joining in, either side of the bars.

‘It’s a deception,’ says Violet.

‘What?’

‘Don’t make it obvious .?.?. glance over your shoulder.’

I see what she has already spotted: three men are climbing the wall just beyond the dyke.

‘Well, that’s taken some organisation,’ I say, annoyed that we haven’t heard of the plan, yet also impressed at the scale and, so far, apparent success. I don’t want to attract attention to them so return my gaze to the argument.

‘It’s a dangerous thing to do,’ she says. ‘It would take very little for those soldiers to fire a volley.’

As if her words have power, the crowd suddenly begins to disperse, a few men shouting back over their shoulders but otherwise moving away. The guards lower their muskets, puzzled.

‘Come on,’ says Violet, ‘let’s start walking again and make everything appear normal .?.?. as if there’s anything at all normal about our lives.’

When we turn, I glance once more at the wall, but there’s no sign of the three Covenanters.

‘God’s speed,’ I whisper.

And I wonder if we will also escape before this prison kills us.