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Chapter One

As the morning sun began to rise above the landscape of middle Scotland, colours of dark and light green, browns and yellows, purples and greys began to push away the mirk of night. The sky above was the purest blue, devoid of cloud as far as the eye could see, and the eye could see for many, many miles.

At the summit of this high hill Alex dismounted and looked over at the old metal circle where someone from a past generation had etched the points of the compass and indications as to the places that could be seen. On this crystal-clear early morning at the beginning of September of 1572, young Alexander Campbell of Backhills was eighteen years of age, tall, blond, clear of eye and truly good looking, and he was in deep trouble.

However, as he stood on the summit of Ben Cleuch, at more than 2,000 feet above sea level the highest of the range of the Ochil Hills, which range stretched from Dunblane of Perthshire in the west to Leuchars of Fife in the east, Alex's clear blue eyes were filled with the powerful vista, which stretched three hundred and sixty degrees about him.

From the summit of Ben Cleuch--but only on a clear September morning--could be distinctly made out the great Nevis to the north, highest in all the islands that made up Britain. Stirling Castle, that had been recently re-built by King James V, stood on Castle Craig hill with the Abbey Craig, made famous by the legendary William Wallace, to its immediate north. The peaks of Arran could just be made out away far off in the west, beyond the line of the Gargunnock and Kilsyth hills. To the south lay the Border hills with Edinburgh, now becoming established as the capital city in all Scotland, with its castle on its mound--not unlike Stirling's splendid edifice. To the northeast Dundee Law stood above the growing port town of Dundee on the estuary of the River Tay, the so called 'silvery Tay'.

With a lingering look round, Alex gave a sigh, remounted his pony, and set off for home in the basin of hills high above Glen Devon. Not to be home for much longer, Alex now knew, as he well remembered his father's private meeting with himself last evening. Alex could never remember his father being as angry as he was last night. As he rode down through the sheep and cattle-strewn hills, the source of the family wealth, he thought over and over again in his mind what his response should be to the pronouncement to be made this morning after family breakfast. Probably best to say nothing.

Since a lad, Alex, together with his brothers Archie and Allan, had been warned by their father, Colin, of what would happen if they overstepped the rules of the house. Alex knew well what was coming after breakfast. His father, Colin, had been 'sleeping on it' but Alex knew only too well what the outcome would be. He was sure that his father had taken advice among the older males of the family.

The house was warm and welcoming with a cheery fire set against cooler nights, but breakfast was a somewhat bleak affair as no one at the table spoke. Alex did not avoid his father's face but felt the tension building. The scene was set when Alex's two sisters had cleared the dishes away.

Colin Campbell's face was red--almost purple. He had been building himself up for this for hours. The veins in his neck stood out prominently as he glared at the fourth of his brood. Marjory, Colin's wife, still young looking and still very attractive at the age of forty-two years, stood sobbing at the back of the room with her daughters, Elizabeth and Mary, trying to console her. Colin's other two sons, Archie and young Allan, both tried to placate their father but to no avail. He was determined in his course of action and no pleading on behalf of his reprobate child would sway him. Colin stepped over to Alex and said, "Here is your letter of explanation to your good-uncle at Linlithgow. I am off to visit with Tullibardine at Blackford for the day and demand that you are out of this house when I return. You can return when and if your honour is intact. There is no more to be said on the matter." With that said, Colin strode out of the house towards the stables and, presently, was seen to be off, riding north in the direction of the hill road to Blackford, northwards beyond the Ochil Hills.

Marjory wailed. Elizabeth and Mary fluttered about and looked distressed. Archie looked at his younger brother with a degree of sympathy. He had known, as they all had known, what lay ahead for Alex. To be sent to their mother's brother at Linlithgow was to be sent to fight in the Low Countries.

Marjory's brother was recruiting mercenary men-at-arms and Alex was being sent to the Low Countries where many Scots had gone recently to fight in service of the Statdholder of some of the Provinces, in especial Prince William of Orange, against the Spanish. Young Alex would be leaving home that day to be 'sent for a soldier', a term used when miscreants were sent from home following some bad behaviour or acute embarrassment to the family. Archie shook his head and turned for the door. At the front door he turned and beckoned to Alex to follow him outside, away from the women of the house.

Outwith the din of wailing women Archie gave his brother a pouch, given to him for that purpose by his father. He said, "Alex, this siller should keep you going until you have a wage you have earned yourself. Faither was good enough to supply it. Please God you use it wisely and look after yourself. The women are packing for you. You and I will look out two good horses for you for your journey." Alex thanked him for his understanding, his kindness and support over the years. Together they selected two good mounts, suitable for the long journey ahead.

Just over an hour later Alex left his home at Backhills House, possibly he thought for the last time in his short life, to venture forth by way of Glendevon, Glenquay, Dollar, Tillicoultry, Alva, Menstrie and the Blair of Logie to Stirling. He chose to use the old hill road by Glenquay as it was a shorter journey to the village of Dollar and the route avoided the tollgates at Yetts o' Muckhart. He set his horses to the steep downward brae southwards. The river, a mere stream at this height in the Ochils, tumbled downhill to his left. The sounds and smells of the hills, of cattle, of sheep, the birdsong, surrounded him.

Chapter Two

The wagon track from Backhills House down to Glendevon was fairly steep and Alex guided the horses gently down until, in the glen itself, the track merged with the north/south public track and he set off for the Glenquay to Dollar hill road with more speed. The glen itself was clothed in the colours of late summer and the many trees, which followed the southward course of the River Devon, showed the first signs of autumnal shades, of amber, yellow, bronze and red.

Turning west Alex took the steep brae up past the mill buildings at Glenquay and on to the track over the watershed at the foot of the hills, emerging eventually at the imposing site of Castle Campbell. The castle had been built about two hundred years before and was first called Castle Gloume but Alex's ancestor, the mighty Lord of Argyll, had bought the place about one hundred years before when it became known by its present name. The castle stood high on a promontory above the small village of Dollar. Colin Campbell himself had been wounded some years before in a general defence of the castle against the supporters of Queen Mary. The castle had fallen and the defenders lucky to escape alive but no great damage had befallen the place.

Soon, Alex was in Dollar and heading west. The road led across the small bridge at the Dollar Burn and on via Harviestoun into the Parish and village of Tillicoultry. The villages were fairly quiet as the guid folk were working in their fields, gathering in the ripened crops before the harshness of the coming winter. Alex rode towards Alva and Menstrie, intending for Stirling to stay overnight.

The steep sides of the same Ochil hills kept him company to his right as he rode along and, soon he had passed over the Alva and Carnaughton burns on his way towards Menstrie. Craigleith Hill towered above the west end of Alva village, suitably named for its grey crags frowning down on the valley of the River Devon. In the distance, as the road rose and fell and the view opened out, mighty Stirling Castle could be seen. The Abbey Craig of William Wallace fame also came into view. Wallace had gathered his forces behind the Abbey Craig hill whilst awaiting the English army's crossing of the River Forth at Stirling Bridge.

After the small village of Menstrie, the road to Stirling hugged the foot of the hills, passed the small community of Logie, before ascending the brae behind Abbey Craig and descending sharply to the head of the causeway leading to Stirling Bridge. While the foundations of the bridge of Wallace's time could still be seen at each side of the river further west, a newer stone bridge stood proudly, giving access to the town. In direct line with the bridge stood the Castle Hill, the High Hill and the Gowan Hill. The latter was somewhat infamous, its summit being the residence of a beheading stone--place of public execution of the mostly rich and famous--a gibbet in the Broad Street being used for the commonality.

Alex's aunt Aithne, his mother's sister, lived with her husband, George Gray, in a town house within the walled Stirling town. The couple had no children and George was devoted to his work as one of the area's grain merchants and burgh councillor. Stirling was the principal grain market town in Central Scotland and one of the prestigious Royal Burghs of Scotland. Alex would stay overnight with his aunt and uncle. He did not see them too often but had always found his aunt to be a warm, smiling person, and his uncle always pleased to welcome his wife's family whenever they called.

As he led his two horses over the cobbled surface stonework of Stirling Bridge, walking in front himself, he was spotted by an older town guard as he reached the port customs or south side of the bridge. The guard challenged the young man with the two horses as to the contents of his packhorse. "Whit's a young heilant gentleman got in his saddles, then?" he asked with something of a sneer on his lips. Alex took this sneer as being the usual lowlanders' low opinion of people from the Highlands of Scotland. Alex stared the man straight in the eye and replied, "Nothing that such as yourself will be looking at." The guard tried to outstare Alex's steely blue eyes but could not. He turned his attention on some other poor unfortunate and Alex walked on by before remounting and continuing south for the wynd leading upwards towards the Castle.

At the junction of Saint Mary's Wynd and the Broad Street, Alex again dismounted and led his animals upwards then inwards and along the vennel which opened out to his relatives' town house. A small stable with a young groomsman was set off to the right but Aunt Aithne, on hearing the horses entering her vennel had appeared at the front door of the house and was welcoming her nephew with open arms. Alex had been a little apprehensive about his reception as both George and Aithne were well aware of his shortcomings but, if they held other opinions, Alex was not aware of them.

George Gray came home from business towards evening, a small but robust man of middle age who was neatly attired and fully looked the part of one of the foremost gentlemen in the town. He greeted Alex warmly and made no comment on the reason for Alex's visit. When they dined and Alex checked on his horses, he found that the groom had attended them well. Alex sat with his uncle and told him about his troubles. George was quite aware of what young Alex had been up to but made no comment, other than to speak of the outcome.

"It's a sair fecht, laddie. And now you're off tae your mother's ain brither at Linlithgow. Is that the way of it?" He glanced over at Alex and saw his face reddening.

"Aye, uncle. It is my ain fault and that is the truth. I shouldna have taken up with thae lassies and that's a fact."

Uncle and nephew talked long into the evening and, as the evening passed, Alex became slowly aware that his uncle knew a vast amount of information about the Low Countries and had visited them on many occasions. George Gray, his nephew discovered, was deeply involved with the export of various Scots products and the import into Scotland of many products from the very area that Alex was bound for. Here was a rare coincidence and much was to be learned.

George persuaded Alex to stay with himself and Aithne for the next two days while he, George, would help his nephew prepare in various ways for his long journey. Alex agreed, and eventually the two got to their beds close to midnight, much having been discussed. Alex slept like a log.

The next two days were full days. The young man was taught by his uncle the art of pistol shooting. Normally, the use of firearms was frowned upon within the confines of the town but, of course, George had the dispensation within the curtilage of his own extensive gardens to practice with targets. Alex took to it like a duck to water and soon bested his uncle in accuracy and in speed of reloading. George knew well what his nephew was getting into and that his life may well depend on his skills with sword and pistol.

On the evening of the second day, after the evening meal, George presented his nephew with a pair of French-made pistols. "Less ornate than the Italian models I've seen, Alex, but functional, aye, functional." Alex was astounded, embarrassed even. "I can't take this as gift, Uncle. They must have cost a fortune. They're....they're beautiful." he stammered. George smiled and shook his head. "Take them Alex, take them man. They are a present from myself and your aunt. To keep you safe in unsafe places. To guard you against those who would do you ill. Just remember what you have learned and remember...to always keep you them to hand, loaded, and your powder dry." With that, he presented his nephew with an excellent powder horn of local design, tipped with silver mined in his own Ochil Hills. Alex was rendered speechless.

George gave Alex the two promised letters. One to his uncle, Iain Munro, at Linlithgow and one to his late good friend's widow, Mrs. Meena Murdoch, in the town of Veere in Zeeland. Nephew and uncle had never been closer and Alex knew that he would be loath to leave this warm and friendly house in the morning.

Chapter Three

Shortly after breakfast, Alex got saddled up and said his farewells to his uncle and aunt. His thanks were profuse but George insisted that he must get on his way as he had arranged for the local smith near the south port of the town to check Alex's two horses before setting off on his journey.

Downhill at the smithy about an hour passed whilst the horses were attended to very ably by the smith, a Tom Strang of pertinent name. A burly character, bearded, with ruddy face from working at the fire, he told stories of men and women that gave Alex a red face. His humour extended to the political scene in and around Stirling and he had his audience sore with laughter until he had finished his business with the livestock in question.

Eventually Alex left and made his way out of the walled town in the direction of the small village of St. Ninians. At St. Ninians he turned towards the village of Bannockburn. He was aware that Bannockburn, the village, was named after the stream which wound its way to the great River Forth and not the famous battlesite itself which was about a mile to the north-west, nearer Stirling. The borestone, where the Bruce had erected his standard, could still be seen.

The village of Bannockburn passed, Alex rode on past rigs of ripened crops. The field workers were busy with the harvest now and their hooks and sickles could be heard swishing away. Often he would hear a voice or voices raised in light song, the rhythm dancing to the rhythm of the cut.

Alex's route skirted the great Tor Wood before coming to a crossroads at the small village of Larbert. He carried straight through the busy town of Falkirk and reached the Linlithgow Road, heading east out of the town. It was still a warm day and the birdsong mingled with the insect noises to form a background of sound as he meandered along. At the little village of Lauriestoun, an ale-house met his eye, standing as it did at a small crossroads. He stopped to slake his thirst with a small flagon of the local ale and found the inn-keeper's wife to be a baker of some local renown. One cooked, minced lamb, pastry-covered pie later, the young man was ready to travel again.

The road to Linlithgow dipped and swayed and passed through the outskirts of the village of Polmont. Some of the local children began following him as if in procession. One youngster, bolder than the rest, shouted "Whaur's yur sword, Heilantman?" Alex laughed and kept riding on. Again the voice called out, "Yur no a Heilantman wi' oot yur sword. Can you no' hear me?" Alex thought it wise to dismount and speak to the youngsters. They were getting too far from the village now.

"Why should I need a sword, young speug?" he asked the bold one. "A' you Heilantmen have got swords, have ye no'?" piped up a wee lass. Alex was forced to laugh. The little one had a somewhat grimy face and her reddish-brown hair had at sometime been braided by her mother or an older sister but now it looked as though she had been pulled through a hedge backwards. The children had obviously been out playing for a few hours after helping their parents with the crops earlier in the day.

"See you bairns, does this satisfy you?" Alex swept out his shortened broadsword from his left pack on the back of his second horse. The children, as one, stepped back and exclaimed a loud "Oh" as the sun caught the extended blade of the sword, causing it to flash in the sunlight and look twice as long as it really was. The wee lass with the grimy face and the birds nest hair, the first to recover, spoke up. "It's great, sir. We....we didnae doubt ye for a minute. Honest." The first lad to have called out said "An' are they pistols real?"

"Enough of weaponry, bairns. It is time you were all home. Here's a small token to share between you. Make sure the lassies get their proper share too or I'll come back and you'll hear me." With that he tossed them a full halfpenny. "Thank you, sir....thank you" the whole small company said aloud while the sword was restored to the pack, the rider remounting. Giving the children a wave, Alex looked back to see them also waving, but laughing, squealing and jumping, before all running back in the direction of their homes.

The journey to Linlithgow was not long now although the home of Iain Munro, Alex's uncle, lay some distance to the south among the steep-sided hills overlooking the valley of the Forth River. So, crossing Linlithgow Bridge, Alex skirted the main town and set off up the steep inclined track towards the pass which separated his uncle's land, covering a large part of the Riccarton Hills from the bare but sheep-strewn pointed hill known locally as Cockleroy.

This was a very steep climb for the horses and, in keeping with his attitude towards all animals, Alex dismounted and led on foot until level ground was reached. He stopped occasionally to look back over the widening scene. The main river began to widen considerably here and the sun, beginning to sink in the west, caused sparkling on the water. From here the Ochil Hills, the Lomond Hills, and the hills of Fife could be seen in all their splendour--a magnificent patchwork of myriad greens, browns, golds, yellows and black, fronted by the sparkling grey-blue of the water. Our young man was uplifted by it all and, for a minute or so, completely forgot his present troubles and the reason for his being there.

But time does not wait for any young man, reprobate or no, and the journey was not yet completed. Mounting up again, Alex rode on towards his destination and his highly uncertain future.

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