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'It
is.'

Then
we but waste our time here,' Dickson declared. 'The Lord has
hardened the King's heart. This is a stiff-necked servant of a
stiff-necked master! There is nothing for us here. Let us be gone,
in the name of God!'

Loudoun
nodded. 'On these terms it is profitless to talk. We shall bid our
Commissionership a good day.'

'Wait,
my friends,' Montrose intervened. 'It were as well, I think, to
ascertain whose is the hard heart and the stiff neck. The master's,
or the servant's ? Since the master is not here.' He had not
forgotten something that Hamilton had let slip, on their ride to
Edinburgh - that, as a 'kindly Scotsman' himself, if they were
both reasonable and firm in their attitude, they might win something
of what they fought for. Hamilton had been a rather frightened man
when he said that, and possibly only seeking to buy time. But it
could have been a revealing remark. 'It comes to me that the King
would not have authorised concessions such as these had he been so
stiff-necked as now seems. A man who will make one concession will
make another, be it reasonable. And to demand that a national
covenant, signed by all but a whole realm, be abandoned out-of-hand,
is not reasonable. We have heard that my lord Hamilton brought
two
proclamations
in his pouch. Both signed by the King. His the choice which to read.
Perhaps my lord has forgotten the second proclamation?'

There
was a tense silence in the throne-room.

Then
the Archbishop of St Andrews leant and spoke in the frowning
Commissioner's ear. He spoke at some length. When he drew back, die
Marquis of Douglas, at the other side, whispered likewise. Both
looked anxious, urgent

The
Covenanters stood, waiting.

At
length, Hamilton spoke stiffly. ‘Very well. This once I will
be merciful. Will exercise the clemency His Majesty entrusted to me.
To my discretion. The Covenant is not, cannot be, acceptable to the
King. But I will allow the concessions to stand, meantime.
Allow that they be made known and permitted. For the present, I can
do no more. I shall return to London. With this of the Covenant. To
lay before His Majesty. He may command otherwise thereafter. It is
probable. He may countermand the concessions. You understand?
More I cannot do.'

'More
we cannot ask, meantime,' Montrose acceded. 'We thank you. But
knowing your lordship's great influence with the King, we will hope,
with some confidence, that His Grace will be at least as careful for
the feelings of his kindly Scots subjects.' Deliberately he
used Hamilton's own former phrase.

To
that there was no response.

Alexander
Henderson spoke. ‘We have brought sundry matters,
propositions, outstanding questions, for consideration. To put
before your lordship. The Laird of Warriston, here, has them all
wrote down. Would you wish us to expand upon them now? Or to leave
them with you to read and think upon?' In the circumstances he
forbore from calling them 'articles of peace', as they had been
referred to in committee.

'God's
wounds - no! Leave them, man.' The Commissioner half-rose from
his seat, in alarm at the notion of further wordy debate. 'Let them
lie. We shall look at them. My lord Archbishop. And others. Leave
it. Er . . . this audience is now closed. You have my permission to
retire.'

If
Hamilton would have preferred the deputation to move out backwards,
he was disappointed, and had to be content with a selection of bows,
some perfunctory.

They
were hardly outside the great double doors when Rothes was slapping
Montrose on the back. 'Man, James!' he hooted. "Yon was
magnificent! Threatening to call the man Majesty! You had that
bladder of lard fair dumb-foonery! Fear't for his neck. We must see
that Charles Stewart gets to hear o' this. That his beloved Hamilton
was like to be styled His Majesty, in Holyroodhouse! It may not
greatly advance
our
cause
- but I swear it will no' advance James Hamilton's!'

'It
served its turn,' the younger man agreed, unsmiling. "But it
was unimportant, quite. What matters is that these concessions be
promulgated and made effective. They will never dare withdraw them
afterwards.'

'Think
you them so important?' Loudoun growled. ‘When we know that
Hamilton and the King but play for time? Time to muster and arm! All
else is but play-acting.
¹

'I
cannot think that you are right in this,' the Graham said. 'Even
King Charles would not make war on his own people and realm.' But
his voice lacked its accustomed calm assurance.

9

Four
weeks later, with the Kino's Commissioner
returned
to London, Montrose was in the saddle again, riding north this time
- to play something of the commissioner himself. Once more he had
Black Pate and a force of Grahams to escort him; but this time there
were many more of them, and he had the Lord Kilpont as another
lieutenant. As well as these, however, he had a different kind of
companion on this occasion - the triumvirate of ministers who
were now the acknowledged spokesmen of Scotland's Kirk, the
Reverends Henderson, Dickson and Cant. They were on their way to
Aberdeen,

The
Tables, and the Covenant leadership, were concerned about that grey
northern city. Led by the University doctors of divinity, the
ministers, and almost all Aberdeen in their wake, had taken up an
anti-Covenant attitude. They were not so much for Episcopacy as
against Presbyterian ism, and the theories propounded by the
Universities of St Andrews, Glasgow and Edinburgh. And the former
Catholic Gordon influence was strong, with Hamilton known to have
been in contact with the Marquis of Huntly, their chief, as to armed
aid. Montrose had been made a freeman of the city at the early age
of seventeen, and was fairly well known there, his Old Montrose
estates being only some forty miles to the south. So now, the
Graham, with copies of the Covenant in his baggage, was to convince
the hard-headed townspeople, and if possible Huntly, to sign; and
his clerical colleagues to show the professors the errors of their
ways.

He
had spent the night at Kinnaird, and now rode northwards past
the fine new castle Sir Thomas Burnet of Leys had built out of an
old ruin at Muchalls, along a rocky coastline. He had not
imposed his following, even the three ministers, on Southesk and
Magdalen, but installed them all in die town of Montrose, at his own
charges, riding back alone to Kinnaird. Magdalen had reverted very
much to being daughter rather than wife, and there was no doubt as
to whom she accepted as prime authority; but she was obviously glad
to see her husband, and their lovemaking that night had been more
successful than for long. There had even been tears at parting. The
children were all growing apace, and most evidently delighted with
their handsome father, young John, eight years old, pleading to be
taken with the cavalcade to Aberdeen. Their grandfather, Southesk,
was less appreciative, declaring bluntly that his son-in-law was
meddling in matters too great for him, and that he would be lucky if
it was only his fingers that got burned. That his daughter should be
wed to a man who set himself up against his king was beyond
Southesk's understanding -and no declarations to the contrary
affected him in the slightest. Nevertheless James, Lord Carnegie,
came spurring after Montrose as he left in the morning, declaring
that he wished to accompany him. His brother-in-law found this an
odd request. They had never been friends; and though Carnegie's
attitude towards his overbearing father was normally a sulky
suspicion, the fear was that here he might have been sent to spy
upon Montrose. His wife, after all, was a daughter of the Earl of
Roxburgh, one of Hamilton's associates and very anti-Covenant.
The Graham's refusal of his company, though couched in friendly
terms, was obviously not well received.

So
now Montrose rode towards the crossing of Dee in much less assured
and single-minded state than when he had ridden south to meet
Hamilton. He rather wished that he

had
never called in at Kinnaird. Family relationships and public duty
did not seem to harmonise.

He
was far from comforted by the conversation which developed between
the three ministers riding behind him, and to which Kilpont was
obviously listening interestedly. It concerned King Charles, how
much responsible he was personally for his policies, and what would
happen if he sent an army over the Border against his Scots
subjects. It was the sort of talk which greatly grieved the Graham,
but of which he was hearing more and more. When David Dickson
declared that, in the event of war, the King should be deposed,
declared abdicate as far as his Scottish realm was concerned, and
the young Prince Charles elevated in his stead, Montrose could stand
it no more.

"Sir,"
he exclaimed, turning in his saddle, 'in my presence such words will
not be spoken! The King is the King. To whom I - and you - have
vowed fealty and allegiance. Whether we agree with his policies or
no. The King's person is sacred. He is the Lord's Anointed.
¹

'A
Popish doctrine, my lord,
^'
Dickson snapped.

‘
Not
only Popish, sir. Christian. The Kirk assents. Agrees that the
monarch is divinely appointed and sustained . . .'

‘
Only
on condition that he maintains the true and reformed religion.

'On
condition?
My
oath
of fealty was certainly not so conditioned! If you, sir, and those
who think like you, would ride the same road as Montrose, you will
respect His Grace's royal position, and utter no talk of deposition
and forced abdication. Understand it, if you please.'

'My
lord - we were only speaking of what might happen in the unhappy
event of war,
¹
Henderson put in placatingly, 'I believe that it will not come to
that. We are loyal subjects. The King will respect the feelings of
his people, in the end.
¹

'But
if he does not?' Dickson insisted, 'If he sends armies against us?
Shall we not fight back? Shall we let them lay us low? And if we do
fight, we arc in arms against the King. What then, my lord?'

'We
will not be in arms against the King, Iwill not - that I promise. We
may resist religious practices imposed upon us against our
consciences. But not rise in arms against the monarch."

'It
is a fine distinction, Earl of Montrose.'

‘
Not
in
my
mind.
I ask you all to remember it.' In that spirit they came to the Dee.

Warned
of their impending arrival, a great company awaited them at Bridge
of Dee, the Provost and magistrates of the city and some hundreds of
the townsfolk. But it was noticeable that none wore clerical black.

Provost
Patrick Leslie greeted Montrose respectfully, almost effusively,
declaring that the city was his, as its honoured freeman. He was
affable to Kilpont and Inchbrakie also - but it was noticeable
that he had little more than a glance to spare for the three
ministers. He was handed a letter from his kinsman and chief, the
Earl of Rothes, urging him to do all in his power, both in the city
and in the country round about, to aid that noble and true-hearted
cavalier the Earl of Montrose - and this he protested vehemently
that he would do, in the name of God and of the Saints Nicholas,
Mary and Machar, the patrons of New and Old Aberdeen respectively -
a reference which drew frowns from the clerics.

On
this somewhat equivocal note they crossed Bishop Elphinstone's great
seven-arched bridge and into the purlieus of the granite city.

Before
they reached the Town House and Tolbooth in Golden Square, where
apparently a banquet awaited the visitors, Montrose was already
going warily. Provost Leslie was skilfully avoiding all references
to religion and politics, and behaving as though their freeman had
come on a private visit.

To
put matters to a test, Montrose interrupted the determined
adulatory flow. ‘I have a copy of the National Covenant with
me, Mr Provost," he said. 'It is my hope that you will sign it,
before all. As lead to others. And urge that your magistrates do
likewise. Aberdeen has been backward in this matter.'

Leslie
drew a deep breath. 'My lord,' he all but croaked. 'Not I
Your
pardon - but no. I
...
I pray to be excused. Not to sign.'

'Why,
man? What ails you at it? Is it a matter of conscience?'

‘
Ah
. . . umm . . . conscience?' The Provost bit his lip perceiving a
pitfall. 'No,' he decided, after an agitated moment. 'Not
conscience. But
..‘