5 Chapter 5

It was not until later that I learned his name was Paul, but he was having a bad day; of that I was sure. I spotted him as I walked with my sheep on a hill above.

"It's a lovely day," he declared as he stepped out of the caravan that he appeared to be living in into the heavy horizontal rain. "Welcome to the Highlands, go to the Highlands, they said;great prospects."

He stepped out of the wagon into a massive puddle with ducks swimming in it, then turned and realised that the entire caravan was stuck in a muddy pond. He encouraged his horse to move, but before he knew what was happening, the animal had broken free. The horse galloped off into the heavy rain.

"Stupid cart!" he raged, and picking up a stick, began to hit the caravan. "You stupid thing! This is your fault! Now the horse has run off!"

Placing his shoulder against one corner of the wagon, he began to push, complaining all the while. Finally it was free from the mud,but he was on a slope, and the caravan picked up speed as it hit the rockier ground and in moments became a runaway. He pursued it as fast as he could.

"Stop! Stop!"

It went straight down the hill and into a tree. By now rage was written in every inch of his posture. He began to mock, "Pray, they say, well, here goes. O Lord, thanks for such a wonderful day-could you possibly make it any worse?"

His blasphemy was instantly rebuked as the wagon completely collapsed into lots of pieces.

He began to cry.

It was at this point I reached him, having started down the slope the moment I realised the caravan was stuck. I had seen what was going on in the distance whilst tending the sheep.

Paul Cope was a drifter. His past was hardly worth remembering, or at least that is what he told me when I invited him to come live with us in our village. He claimed to have been evicted from his father's land after his parents died during a cholera outbreak. He had no way on his own of keeping up payments, and it was certainly not unheard-of for lairds to clear their land of people to make way for more productive industries. Little did I know much of his story was exaggerated, and he was in point of fact a spy who had been paid by the redcoats to find out if our village was a haven for Jacobite rebels, as some had rumoured. What neither he nor the redcoats had expected was that my family would be so welcoming.

Paul was meant to turn us all in if there was even a single sign of Jacobite leanings, and as it happened, there were one or two in the village who were sympathetic to that cause. But he could not do his job. Not only were most of the villagers neutral when it came to the war, but in fact he liked most of the people in the village, and they liked him in return. It was for that reason he didn't report back to his superiors after his month-long infiltration. It was just a matter of time before the redcoats would take alternative action.

About two months after I invited him to live with us, Paul received a letter from his superior that requested he meet in the great woodlands near the village. Knowing that disobeying could cost his life, he complied with this command. Making his excuses, he left and walked to the centre of the forest where an officer was on his horse looking smart in his full red uniform, medals and all. It was none other than Draco Campbell.

Despite Draco's well-dressed look, a bloodstain-faded but still present-marked his white shirt. He was proud on his white and black horse, its height neutralising his lack thereof. On his coat was many a medal. His newfound wealth and position were evident by his composure and the manner in which he spoke.

"Today we will bring glory to our cause and our kingdom!"

Draco raised his fist in a signal, and more of his men appeared from within the depth of the woods. What he said sounded so inviting.Missing out the mention of death, maiming, blood, guts, mourning, and depression, he instead spoke of the glory of war. After all, he was an expert. Oblivious to his own cruelty and inhumanity, blinded by supposed duty, he had murdered his own conscience. Just as he had murdered so many others.

Seeing Paul, the young incompetent spy clothed in his working-class tartan kilt, his general smugness changed to a look of disgust.

"Well, if it isn't the worm that turned."

"What do you mean?"

"You seem to have feelings for this savage clan. You are in too deep. One could be forgiven for thinking you had turned Jacobite."

Paul's face went bright red, and he gulped, sensing the severity and potential implications of such an accusation "What! I will never become a Jacobite!"

"Well, what are you doing then?"

"I just don't understand why you wish to punish this village for simply having different views from yours. They are not all Jacobites."

"It's called WAR! Get used to it!" Draco roared.

"It is sick," Paul said, tight-lipped. "And cruel."

"I spoke to my superiors, and they don't need evidence. They have asked me to lead an offensive on the village-with you by my side."

"Why?"

"They need to be made an example of, and your loyalty needs to be tested. You will meet me here at first light and join my troops in this great task."

With that said, they parted. Draco, the hardened soldier, was unaffected by this encounter, but Paul was broken inside. He didn't return to the village immediately, but wandered through the woods crying and arguing within about what he should do. In the end, his conclusion was to follow the soldiers' plan. After all, he could do nothing to stop it-and there was no point dying as well as the villagers.

The next day he met the troops as planned and was made to ride on a horse that had a young prisoner walking behind it, a girl who was tied to the back of the saddle by a length of cord. She had dark skin, and he presumed she was a foreigner. He smiled at her, but she kept her head down, staring through hair that hung over her muddy face. Paul leaned toward one of the foot soldiers and quietly enquired what she had done.

The reply troubled him considerably. The girl had been arrested for no charge other than being attractive and speaking neither Gaelic nor English when the soldiers enquired as to who she was. Was she to bean object of pleasure? He knew that in times of war the lines between right and wrong could become blurred. In fact, though he had not admitted it to himself, he knew deep down this war was simply wholesale murder and lawlessness. It made no sense to him that individuals were not allowed to kill, nor were families, but the state was exempt from such a sensible rule. In fact, the way soldiers could kill with not just a lack of remorse but with celebration had always troubled him. He wondered if he should try to free her and pretend the rope had just come loose by itself. However, he pushed such noble thoughts to the back of his mind. It was every man for himself, and he planned to survive this war.

As they advanced, he saw the village and cringed. He knew the army would show no mercy. The scene unfolded before him like a nightmare.With swords and guns they went into the houses and killed without mercy or remorse. Then they set the thatched roofs alight. Hearing the screams, he turned his face away. He had no stomach for this cruelty, but seeing his reaction, Draco turned his face around with his strong hands, forcing him to watch the village of people who had been so kind to him burn to the ground. Paul's only relief was that there was no one to witness his sin other than those who participated in it-the soldiers, and this foreign girl who was crying quietly to herself and seemed to be praying in an unknown tongue.

All of this I learned later. I was in a faraway field tending my father's sheep as my home burned. My secret wife, whom I planned to finally introduce as such to my family that evening, was heading for the village. She had stopped to pick some flowers on a hillside and only missed being caught up in the slaughter by a couple of minutes.She heard the awful screams and hid behind a rock, watching in horror. She was powerless to do anything.

"That snivelling little coward," she mumbled with tears in her eyes as she caught sight of Paul. Then, to her surprise, she watched as Paul untied the foreign girl, who was by now frozen with fear.Paul proceeded to try to get away also and started to run away. The poor girl just stood there. She seemed to instinctively know that running was futile. Draco was sat on his horse overseeing the bloodbath. He turned and stared at her, then smiled.

"Smart girl . . . stupid boy. Seize him!" he ordered.

Within seconds, Paul had been dragged from the horse he was trying to get away on and taken to Draco. Draco stared at him in such a stern manner that he would have normally looked away-but he didn't. He stared him down.

The soldiers began to open fire in his direction, laughing and playing with him. "I thought war had rules!" Paul blurted,fearing he might be shot.

"Ha! You stupid boy! We can do whatever we like; we are the law now!" Draco laughed manically, followed by a chorus of laughs from some of his hardest troops. Paul raised his hands in surrender.

"Since you have been of use to us thus far, I shall show mercy. You have the choice of being a prisoner . . . and I think you know what that means. Alternatively, you can come quietly and be one of my soldiers."

Jenny wondered if I had fallen in the massacre or if I was in the fields still. It suddenly dawned on her that she needed to warn me.Without thought for her own safety, she stood up and began to run.This immediately caught the attention of the redcoats, who in an instant had her apprehended.

Any claim to be of noble birth and of a family with redcoat leanings would not save her, for Draco had immediately recognised her as the daughter of the man who had his son killed. Without mercy, he ordered her dress torn from her, removing any mark of her position in society. Standing helpless in her underskirt in the midst of violent men, she suddenly realised how vulnerable she was and began to scream.

Although they quickly shoved a gag in her mouth, her scream echoed across the countryside, and I heard it. I had been walking back to the village when I heard the scream-if only I had started home from the hills an hour earlier, I might have been able to do something to help the villagers, although I am not sure what one young man could do. Without a moment's hesitation, I picked up my pace and ran to her aid. The smells of smoke and blood in the air told me something was terribly wrong.

When I reached the village, I was horrified to see it still on fire,and no sign of Jenny. I fell to the ground and began to cry deep and painful tears from the heart. Father, my wee brother, and all the others were dead. I didn't care that my crying was echoing through the valley; I didn't care about myself anymore. Then, unexpectedly,I became calm again, and a sense of determination came over me.