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the
forces o" righteousness. And, mark you, the common folk's
righteousness, no' ours! This will ring round the land — that
it was the Edinburgh wifies who did it, no' John Leslie and James
Graham!'

'For
that I will thank God, at least!'

'You
say so ? I wonder.' He had to shout above the uproar. 'I say, I
wonder. Think you it best that the folk should lead in Scotland? No'
the nobles? Will you win your moderation that gait? Use your wits,
man.'

'Mm.'

Archie
Napier had come up. 'John's right,' he said, urgently. 'I have
just had a word with Tom Hope. He is saying the same. That we will
have to act quickly now - or the whole cause could get out-of-hand.
As this morning has done. This could be like a heather-fire, burning
all, bad and good alike. We must control it-if we can ...'

6

There
was indeed much talking, and some action in
Scotland
thereafter. The country rang with that Sunday's doings in Edinburgh
- and with the name of Jenny Geddes, stool-thrower and
bishop-feller, who suddenly became something of a national
heroine. Not with the gentry, of course, who could by no means
countenance such abandoned behaviour. But amongst the ordinary
people the die was now cast, the issue clear-cut, the anti-episcopal
cause their very own.

That
it must not remain so was the concern of thinking folk who sought
the realm's weal. Leadership there had to be, demonstration that
mob-rule would not serve. Which demonstration was not easy - for in
fact this display of mob-rule
had
served,
most effectively, at least for limited objectives. For after
that Sunday no attempts were made to read the new prayer-book from
any pulpit in Scotland, the bishops lay very low, and Archbishop
Spottiswoode repaired in haste to London for fresh instructions.

So
there was much debate, argument and suggestion, in castle and manor,
town-house and manse; also much recrimination and dissension.
Montrose's scheme for a petition of rights at last saw fulfilment —
although it was not until the 18th of October that it was finally
signed, sealed and sent off to the King. It was wordy, and rather
uninspiredly styled
Scotland's
Supplication and Complaint Against the Book of Common Prayer, the
Book of Canons, and the Prelates;
not
at all what James Graham had visualised. He signed it, nevertheless.
None really believed that it would convince King Charles of the
error of his ways.

It
was not until almost a month later, when not so much as an
acknowledgment had been received, that positive and effective action
was taken by the born leadership of the country, after so much
feeble bickering and delay. For almost every day there were scenes,
crowds rioting, magistrates shut up in the Tolbooth of Edinburgh,
prayer-books burned, the Lord Treasurer, the Earl of Traquair mobbed
and his staff of office broken, old Bishop Sydserf almost killed.
Great crowds flocked on Edinburgh from far and near, agitating
against the cleric-dominated Privy Council. Sir Thomas Hope, putting
at risk all his career, declared that Scotland was not so much
misgoverned as not being governed at all. He suggested that the
Privy Council's request for a committee of complainers was apt,
permitting the calling of a Convention. He suggested that it be done
forthwith, as pursuant of the Privy Council order, his own name and
style being sufficient authority.

And
so, on the 18th of November, 1637, a great Convention of all
those entitled to attend a parliament was called in the Parliament
Hall of Edinburgh. By no means all who were invited attended, many
holding that to do so would brand them as having taken sides against
the monarch. But sufficient did so to produce a large and
representative assembly - larger than many a true parliament. Out
of it all came the decision, not unanimous but carried by a large
majority, that a standing commission of the Convention be set up,
not just as a committee to speak before the Privy Council, but as a
much more meaningful, permanent and effectve body. It would consist
of representatives of the four constituent sections of the
Convention, the nobles, the lairds, the Kirk and the burghs, these
all to meet together, but each at a separate table for their order,
thereat to take council for and action towards the proper regulation
of the realm's affairs until parliament itself appointed otherwise.
It was, in effect, a provisional government.

Montrose
found himself appointed to the Table of the Nobles, but declined the
conveners hip, when it was proposed by Rothes, who himself refused
the position. It was then filled by John Campbell, Earl of Loudoun.

So,
at last, the rudderless ship of state began to sail on a
recognisable course, however unacceptable to some. Montrose
himself by no means approved of all that was decided upon: but
having spoken out against courses he objected to, he could do no
less than go along with the majority decisions thereafter. It was
the voice of Scotland, spoken in more democratic fashion than any
there had known previously; and while he would not fail to seek to
influence it, he would not controvert it.

Quickly
the results were seen. Mob violence diminished, the people
quietened, the Privy Council was left in no doubt as to strength of
opinion throughout the country against the royal ordinances, and the
ministers of the Kirk sobered somewhat in their pulpit agitation.
The Lord Treasurer Traquair, a stupid man, departed for London, if
not wiser, at least better informed.

Strangely,
where King Charles had shown little concern over riot and fury in
his nothern kingdom, he reacted sharply to these latest
developments. Royal commands and edicts came flooding north. All
petitioners and objectors soever were commanded to disperse on pain
of treason; and not to reassemble without the Privy Council's
consent. To amplify this, the Council itself was ordered to remove
itself from Edinburgh and meet in Linlithgow. And as further
intimation that the King meant business, the law courts were
also commanded to leave Edinburgh. The capital was to be isolated as
a plague-spot - and warning was served on the Lord Advocate and
judges. Finally, Charles, with firm courage if nothing else,
announced that he took complete and personal responsibility for the
new prayer-book, insisted upon its immediate introduction, and gave
the sternest orders to all ministers to impose it at all costs. It
was to be war, at least to the paper-knife.

The
Tables, meeting under the threat of treason, decided at last to take
up seriously the idea of a great national covenant, no mere
supplication or petition this time, but a manifesto of the people's
rights, a clarion call to action, and a bond of engagement.
Montrose, torn by doubts, assented.

Even
such wordy warfare exacts its price on the individual - and James
Graham learned something of the cost, other than to his peace of
mind, when he returned home to Kincardine after that third
major sitting of the Tables, at the beginning of December. He was
surprised to find Magdalen, with the boys, all packed and ready to
leave - despite the fact that she was nearly eight months pregnant.

'My
dear,' he exclaimed, 'where are you bound?'

'Home,'
she told him briefly.

'But
- this is your home.'

'Is
it? I think not.'

At
her tone, he eyed her thoughtfully. 'Magdalen - what is to do?'

'My
father is come. He will take us back to Kinnaird. For Yuletide.'

'Southesk
here?'

'He
is gone today to Inchafray. To speak with the Lord Madderty.
Awaiting your return. He will be back anon. We ride tomorrow.'

'But
...
I had no thought to go to Kinnaird. For Yule. Nothing has been said
of this, nothing discussed.
¹

You
have been little here, to discuss anything.'

‘
I
have been much thronged with work.'

You
are ever much thronged with work, James.'

'These
are fateful, anxious days..

'They
have been long, weary days. For me.'

'I
am sorry. You are drawing near your time. It must be grievous for
you. But that will soon be by with. And then'

'And
then - what betterment? Waiting for the next!'

'My
dear, you are distraught"

Distraught,
yes. Distraught with waiting. For you! I waited all the years you
were gone beyond the seas. And still I wait, idling my life away. So
- I go to Kinnaird.'

'Idling,
girl? With our two sons to rear? And this my house to keep? Not so
large as Kinnaird - but not small. Sakes - you will have less to do
at Kinnaird! In another's house.'

'It
is at least my home. As this crow's-nest can never be!'

'I
did not know that you so misliked it here. It seems to me a bonnie
house enough..,'

Then
why not bide in it?' she flashed. 'If you like it so well. You are
scarce ever here.
I
might
esteem it better if I shared it with my husband!'

He
bit back the hot words that sprang to his lips, 'Magdalen,' he
said slowly, carefully, 'the kingdom is in grievous state. It
demands the service of all its true sons. I am an earl of Scotland.
One of those on whom rest the greater responsibility. Chief of
a great clan, I have set my hand to the task of seeking to right
some of the realm's wrongs. With others. I could do no less. Would
you have me, the Graham, fail in my simple duty?'

'Have
you not simple duty to more than the realm?'

'I
have, yes. More than duty - love and affection, and my own concerns,
But, meantime, I have no choice but to do what I was born to do.'

'Were
you, the Graham, born to rebel against your king? You, one of his
earls, who should be his main support?
¹
That came out in a rush. 'My father is another of the earls of
Scotland. Though a new one! He sees not his duty so!'

Montrose
took a deep breath. "Do I hear your father's voice speaking
there?' he asked, at length.

'My
father can say as he will. He never lacks for words I But even a
woman, even Magdalen Carnegie, can think her own thoughts. I . . .
oh, James,
1
believe
you do wrongly! You are another man, since you returned from foreign
lands, I feel... I feel that I do not know you, any more.