Free The Patriot by Nigel Tranter

contender, Charles's brother, James, Duke of York, was unfortunately an enthusiastic Romish convert. Moreover, Monmouth was married to their own Countess of Buccleuch, head of the house of Scott - they had in fact been created Duke and Duchess of Buccleuch and Monmouth at their wedding, when he was aged fourteen. It was a less than successful marriage, but there were children - so that the Protestant succession might well be ensured. Small wonder, then, if men were unsure how to greet this latest representative of the ancient royal line of Stewart.
    One thing was certain - there could be no doubt about his male parentage. Monmouth was all but a reproduction of the King, although somewhat better-looking, with the same sardonic features, long nose and great lustrous dark eyes, inherited from James the Sixth. He stood now in the doorway, smiling faintly, until the stir subsided. Then he raised hand and voice.
    "A good day to you all, my lords and gentlemen," he said pleasantly, with just the slightest impediment of speech, another Stewart inheritance. "I thank you for coming to attend on me here. Refreshment is forthcoming. I shall have a word or two to say later, if you will bear with me." He nodded and came forward.
    "A change in dukes from Lauderdale and Hamilton, at least!" Andrew said. Various great ones were brought to be presented to Monmouth by his entourage, in distinctly royal fashion. These were, however, very much government supporters. Servitors brought wine and small meats.
    Sir David Carnegie came over and was introduced to Johnnie.
    "Are we being honoured, cajoled or threatened and warned, Mr. Fletcher?" he asked. "I find this assembly intriguing. But there will be a purpose behind it, undoubtedly."
    "I was saying to Lord Belhaven that this duke is an improvement on Lauderdale and Hamilton, sir. However peculiar his position."
    "Be not too hard on Hamilton, my friend. We would be a deal worse without him. But this Monmouth will want something of us - or we would not be here."
    "I do not question that, sir. How is your daughter, may I ask?"
    "Sufficiently well, I believe. Although to tell truth I see little of her. She spends most of her time, dressed like a fish-wife, carrying baskets of food up to the kirkyard of Greyfriars!"
    "She is here? In Edinburgh?"
    "Why yes. Has been this past week. I had business in the law-courts. But any small gain I made out of my suit, Margaret is spending on feeding the starving unfortunates at Greyfriars."
    "They are starving? The Bothwell Brig prisoners . . . ?"
    "They are not being otherwise fed, I understand. Save by sundry soft-hearted folk of Edinburgh. And such as my daughter. Over one thousand of them penned in the kirkyard, without shelter or care."
    "But - I had heard that this Monmouth was more kind? Or less harsh?"
    "Perhaps he is. Or perhaps merely he does not enjoy hangings and shootings. Prefers something less . . . abrupt!"
    "I did not know of this of the prisoners. It is shameful! Perhaps I might accompany Mistress Margaret? See for myself . . .?"
    A further thumping of halberds gained silence for the Duke.
    "My friends," he said modestly, "I am no orator, as some here. So I ask forbearance. I have come to Scotland at a sorry time, and would have wished it otherwise. But I consider myself no stranger amongst you. After all, my wife and children dwell here. And from here come my illustrious ancestors. It would please me, indeed, to be here more often, even perhaps to reside here myself."
    He paused, as though there was some special significance in that.
    "It is my hope that the changes which must be made in Scotland hereafter may be as little to the hurt and discomfort of all as is possible. But change there has to be — let none think otherwise. As this uprising has shown, a firmer hand is required. Firmer and less distant. But, also more fair, more understanding, I am assured. Therefore my message to you all is clear, but that of a friend, indeed almost one of