The Highwayman's Curse (13 page)

I
t was Old Maggie's face I saw first, twisted and mad-eyed. She knitted, her twig-like fingers flying fast. And she rocked in her high-backed chair, gazing at us, yet not seeming to see us. She did not stop when she saw Red carry Bess out, and, though Jeannie rushed to our aid, to Old Maggie we might as well not have been there.

Where had her mind gone that she cared nothing for the present? Did she not care for Bess either? I turned from the old woman and told Jeannie, Jock and Iona what had passed.

“Aye, a snake could find its way to the cave,” nodded Jock. “There are many crannies through which such a creature could slip.”

I kept my silence. I had no wish to fan any flames of anger with my knowledge. Only I knew that the snake had not come to be there by chance. It had not slithered through some cranny. But I did not wish to say so.

It mattered not, for now Bess spoke out. At first we did not hear her words, weak as her voice was. “Hush,” said Jeannie, as she settled her down on the bed. But Bess would not be silenced.

“It came not by chance.” She spoke through clenched teeth, her breathing tight and irregular.

All now looked at her. Iona was heating water on the fire but even she turned quickly to look at her.

“How so?” demanded Jock. “Ye must have reason to think so.”

“The lass could be right,” growled Red. “And we ken who did it, do we no'? They canna get away wi' this.” He fingered the knife in his belt as though he would go after Douglas Murdoch now.

“Hold,” said Thomas. “We canna say for sure. She could be wrong. Why d'ye say the snake was put there, lass?”

But Bess was overcome by a bout of retching and shivering. “I'm so cold,” she said, when it was over. Every part of her shook, her muscles in spasm, her fingers like claws above the blood-soaked cloth.

“Leave the lass be,” urged Jeannie. “She must be kept quiet. And I must clean her hand.” She looked to me. “D'ye ken how to cure snakebite?” I shook my head and she must have sensed my fear. “Dinna fret, lad: a snake in these parts will no' kill a healthy lass. It will soon pass. But we must clean the cut, or it may turn bad.”

But Thomas now spoke to me, as I was turning to go to Bess. “Why would she say this? Where was the serpent? Did ye see it?”

I shook my head, shrugged my shoulders.

Bess's voice came again.

“In the box.” The words were clear, horribly so.

“The villains!” snarled Red. “The scabbit bastards!”

“Is this true, lad?”

“I didn't see. Not until afterwards. I think perhaps it hid there after it had bitten.”

I saw Bess look at me, but she was racked once more by painful retching and shivering.

“Leave us now!” snapped Jeannie. She called for Iona to bring the hot water and began to untie the kerchief from the wound and from Bess's upper arm. Wishing not to meet Bess's eye, I said I would go and set the fire in our own cottage, to warm the place for her.

It pained me to keep a secret from her. But I must tell no one about the words I had read on that paper. If they suspected that Douglas Murdoch might have had something to do with it, that was one thing. But the words on the paper would fan the heat of their hatred and terrible bloodshed would surely follow.

If I could safely have told Bess, I would have. But I feared that she was too near to Old Maggie's spirit, that she shared too closely her passion for the power of ancient wrongs. Wrongs which should be forgotten now, wiped clean by enough blood to make the seas scarlet.

These were thoughts I must bear on my own. And so I did, raking out the cold ashes from the fire in our cottage, setting a pile of straw and small sticks, as I had seen Iona do, as I had seen Bess do in her own cottage.

As the fire began to catch, lit from a spark from my flint, and the flames to lick the sticks, spitting as they flickered, I opened the door to make a draught pass up the chimney. Dawn was breaking, suffusing the sky with bloody orange, and an owl called eerily from a nearby wood.

Another day had come. I had not felt so alone since the day I had left my own home.

J
eannie's words had stopped me fearing for Bess's life. And in truth there was no need to fear, though she suffered badly for many hours that day. I did not like to see her like this, shivering with agues that twisted her face into a rictus. Her legs shook and she called for blankets. Jeannie and Iona warmed stones on the fire and placed them near her feet. They fed her sips of some herbal potage – I know not what it was. I wished to help, but there was no place for me, no task for me to do, other than fetch firewood.

I needed to ride, to leave the smoke and heat and Bess's suffering, and so later that day I set out on Blackfoot. The weather had turned dull, the sky mottled with cold clouds, and a chill wind blew against my face, but I minded little. I breathed deeply as I rode out of the yard in the late afternoon.

Shortly after, I heard hoofbeats behind me and I turned quickly. My heart sank when I recognized the narrow frame of Calum, his pony cantering towards me. He must have seen me ride out and had followed me. What did he want? I had wished to be alone, to explore the area without a guide.

He pulled his pony to a halt as he reached me, and it stood champing against its tight reins. I think he was a little older than I, but I was taller, and mounted on a well-bred horse. “Calum,” I simply said, looking down at him, keeping my face friendly but leaving it to him to speak.

“I was minded to ride wi' ye,” he said, tossing his hair from his eyes. Green they were, somewhat like Iona's though not so deep. His wide mouth did not smile. I know not if he meant to be friendly or if he meant to watch me for some other reason. Nothing could be read on his face. “I can show the way to the beach. If ye mean to bide here, ye should know your way around. One dark night, ye might need to know well.”

He kicked his pony to a canter and then a gallop and I followed at equal speed, the wind sweeping my hair back and stinging my eyes. But I am always happy to ride at speed, and any doubts I might have had were blown away on the salty wind.

We rode across uneven ground. Yet, where he led, it was firm underfoot and my horse leapt keenly over the bristles of coarse grasses and patches of dead bracken. Tiny rivulets did not slow us and my heart raced as we galloped, faster and faster in the direction of the steely sea.

As we came closer to the cliff, I could see the distant water. We were high above any beach and there must have been a sheer cliff dropping down not far ahead. Yet I did not slow, or even think of it – I galloped alongside Calum, trusting him entirely. I knew not a reason to trust him more than any other man, but something told me that he meant me no harm. He was a good horseman and as such would care for all horses – he would not cause danger to mine or his. And so I let go any fear and simply laughed in the wind.

Suddenly, Calum wheeled sharply to the right, and I followed him, with Blackfoot barely slowing as we veered. Now we rode close along the edge of the cliff and I did not look down. I could sense the drop to my left and did not wish to see it. Soon, the path sloped a little downwards, and now more steeply, and as it did, we slowed somewhat. There was now no turning back – we were cantering down a narrow path set into the side of the cliff. It was wide enough for one mount, but allowed no room for a misplaced hoof, no hope if the horse were to shy and swerve at some unexpected sound. If I were on my own, I would have slowed to a walk, but I followed at Calum's speed.

I did not look far ahead, but kept my eyes on the tail of his pony, my eyes narrow as the stones and grit flew up in my face from its flying hoofs.

Now our path took us through a narrow space, sliced between the cliff face on our right and a tall pinnacle of rock on our left. For a few moments, the world around us seemed dark, the light blocked by the sheer walls. With a squawk, a large bird flew from a ledge and flapped across my face. Blackfoot's head reared back and my leg scraped painfully on the rock to my left. With difficulty, I reassured him, grateful that at this moment we were not riding alongside the drop to the beach.

Now the path opened out again. We were nearly down at the level of the beach. In a few more moments, we were on the sand and we galloped together towards the water. At the foamy edge, we pulled our mounts to a halt and turned to each other, grinning, exhilarated. He was as good a rider as I and I felt some new warmth towards him for that. I knew he had been testing my courage and that I had passed his test.

And now, breathing heavily, we turned and looked back at the orange cliffs and at the beach. The beach was small, no more than a hundred yards wide at its widest point, and perhaps fifty yards from the edge of the water to the rock face. The sand was dark, wet across every part of the beach. I knew it had not been raining, so the wet sand must be from the tide.

This beach would disappear entirely at high tide, I realized. And as far as I could see, as I looked all around the cliff which enclosed the beach like arms, there was only one path, one way off the beach: the path down which we had come.

“D'ye see the cave?” Calum was pointing over to our left, past the beginning of the beach. Here the cliff fell directly to the waves, which lapped softly at the sheer rock face. It was not easy to see at first, for I had to crane my neck awkwardly: but then I saw the opening, more than the height of a man above the level of the water. From a boat, it would have been easier to see. From the beach it was difficult.

“That's the cave where the goods are landed. When we run a cargo.” So, that was why a cargo could only be landed at high tide. At low tide, as we were now, a boat could not reach the cave. “When the seamen in our pay have goods from one o' the trading ships, they bring the cargo in a boat to the cave and leave it there at high tide. When we see the signal, we collect it.”

I turned to him. “Does anyone else know about this cave?”

“'Tis no secret around here. 'Tis our territory. Folks respect it. Others use other beaches, other caves.”

“What about Douglas Murdoch and his men? Do they know of it?”

“Aye. But our cave leads only to the passage beneath our farm. They would gain nothing from it. They wouldna tell the excisemen, for then our smuggling would end and they would lose their cut.”

I was silent. For it came to me that Murdoch's men could enter the cave at high tide, after they saw a cargo being left. They could have done so, and left the snake in the box, disappearing quickly without anyone knowing or seeing. I already knew that our men only fetched the goods from the cave when the tide had fallen a little – so that they could be sure that no one was in the cave. It had seemed a sensible precaution, since Tam would be at great risk otherwise.

Now Calum was pointing to the right, at the other end of the small beach, by the cliff. At first I could not see what he indicated, only the shadows of crevices and protruding rocks. He kicked his pony and, as I trotted after him, I saw another cave, at the level of the ground. The sand was lower here, the lowest point of the beach, and rock pools sat, murky and still, seaweed swaying, sea anenomes pulsing. This cave would be quickly covered by a rising tide.

As we approached the opening, Blackfoot jibbed at the bit, though the cave mouth was easily large enough for us to ride through. He tossed his head, dancing in fear, and tried to turn away. I urged him on. It was only a cave and he should trust me. But, try as I might, I could not settle him. I could have forced him to enter but I did not wish to.

Calum's pony was little keener and we both dismounted, fastening the reins to the saddles and letting the animals go free. They trotted a short distance away along the beach and then stood and watched us.

The cave was small, perhaps ten paces to the back of it. Weeping water ran in rivulets down the jagged walls, collecting in pools on the sand. Lichen and seaweed lay in splashes on the rocks and the whole place was cold and miserable, sunless. I shivered.

Calum was walking towards the back of the cave and I followed him. I saw the passageway before he pointed it out to me. A black hole in the back of the cave, as tall as I and only a little broader.

“Does it lead anywhere?” I asked, thinking that he must have a reason for showing me this cave.

“Ye remember when we leapt o'er the hole in the tunnel floor?”

And then I realized. “At high tide, the waves come through here and push their way to that place?”

He nodded. “The tide rushes through this cave – there's nowhere else for the water to go so it's forced through this tunnel. Even afore high tide, the water fills the tunnel. Ye wouldna wish to be caught in this place wi' the tide rushing in.”

Indeed I would not. I had seen the force of the waves, the fierce fountains of water spouting up the passageway.

But my eye had been caught by something else. Quite close by the entrance to the tunnel, set into the stone, was a huge iron ring.

I suppose it was for mooring a boat. Man-made, it looked out of place here and I reached out to touch it. I caught Calum looking at me.

“They would have tied ye to that, ye and Bess. And as the tide rose, ye would have drowned. And when the tide had fallen once again, they would have cut ye free and left ye to the fishes and crabs. And no one else would have known.”

“I think you would not have minded much.”

“I thought as they did. At first, I thought ye were Douglas Murdoch's men. I thought ye had killed Old John and harmed wee Tam. I would have killed ye myself.”

“And then what? Where would it end? Bloodshed never ends.”

“I know not.” He looked troubled, confused. “I din-na think o' such matters. And my grandfather and my father and my uncles, they decide what we should do.”

“And you do everything they say?”

“O' course! How should I no'? I must obey my father.”

“They are strong men, that's true,” I said, carefully, thinking perhaps to goad him. But he said nothing. Perhaps he had no ambition in him, no frustration, no need to break away. “Do you not wish to have a different life, to leave your home and … do something different?”

“And what's wrong wi' what we do?” he retorted, turning his face away, biting his lip. “Ye know nothing o' it. ‘Tis the way we live, no better and no worse than yours.”

I opened my mouth to speak, but I held my tongue. Besides, what did I care what Calum did, what choices he made? One thing I wished to know. Whether he would help Iona if he knew what I knew? If he knew that she was in love with a boy from a different church.

Yet I could not take the risk of asking. Not directly.

We turned and walked from the cave, towards the sea and the horses.

“What think you of the curse?” I asked. “Old Maggie's curse?” It was easier to talk while walking. We need not look at each other.

“I fear for Iona,” Calum answered. “She shouldna know her future. 'Tis a heavy burden.”

We mounted the horses, and kicked them towards the path once again. I did not look back at the sea – I did not like to think on its hungry power, its greed, its cold depths. Seeing that iron ring had made me think not only of what might have waited for us, but of what had been done to Old Maggie's mother. And I preferred not to think of that.

“So you believe she is cursed?”

“Aye. Why else does everything bad befall the female line?”

“Perchance she will break the curse. Or one day the curse will end.”

“Aye, mebbe.” He had not seemed to think of that. Or, I think, to believe it.

“And what of Old Maggie? Her hatred of the people who killed her mother is powerful. She curses them and all their descendants. But their descendants are not guilty.”

Calum pulled his pony to a halt, roughly. We were some way up the path by now, the cliff dropping away steeply to our right. A stone, dislodged by the pony's feet, rolled over the edge and I was aware of it tumbling, faster and faster to the beach below. A light rain had begun to fall, the wind scattering it to a fine sheeting spray across my face. Blackfoot's mane was whipped sideways. His ears went back.

Calum's face was harsh. “D'ye know what they called those times? The Killing Times. Because they killed so many – men, women, children. For our faith, our true faith, our love o' God. I hate them, their descendants too. They are o' the same blood. Old Maggie is right. Though she seems mad, she is right about that. There is a truth in her, perhaps from God. A holy fool, I once heard my uncle Hamish call her. If one o' their folk crossed my door, I would kill him. And there's many o' our people feel this too. 'Tis right.”

I turned away. I could not meet the violence in his eyes. He was no different from the others. The madness of Old Maggie had seeped into him as well.

What good would such hatred bring them?

But worse, what protection would Iona find in her own family if they knew what she was doing? She had no one to protect her, other than me. Yet what good could I do? If Calum was the same as the older men, as steeped in hatred, then how would they ever change?

I wished again that Bess would come away with me and we could leave these people to their warring. It was not for us to be part of it. And yet we
were
part of it now. I was tied to Bess. She seemed drawn to Old Maggie. And Iona had need of me.

In truth, I was trapped.