Flower of Scotland (3 page)

Four years away, and I’d become soft; too used to heat and sand and unprepared for the rigours of a Scottish winter.

By the time I arrived at the castle I was frozen to the bone, and my horse was lame in one leg. The snow whipped around my face like biting flies, and the wind whistled like a banshee in my ears. I have never been so happy to see a lump of rock in my life.

Dunnotar Castle sits on a rocky outcrop, jutting out into the sea like the prow of a giant boat. The stone buildings rise almost seamlessly out of the cliffs, and it is hard to see where nature stops and man’s work begins. It is even harder to see when the wind is screaming and the snow is falling in an endless white sheet. On that night only a single light led me across the causeway, and a single guard took my horse and then showed me to the Great Hall.

‘Donald, Lord Allan of Strathallan.’

A servant announced my presence in the room, and ten heads turned as I strode across the expanse of floor, trying not to seem too eager as I made my way to the fire and got my hands as close to the flames as I dared. The months in the desert had made me particularly aware of just how cold my homeland was, and on a night like this, with six inches of snow and a howling gale, I wished I had never returned. But then I would have missed my triumph.

I could feel the heavy weight of the thing as it hung against my chest, the cold metal pressing against my skin, but I left it there. I had to wait until the right moment.

The feeling was just coming back to my hands as I turned away from the roaring blaze and faced the room. A flagon of mulled wine was thrust at me from my right.

‘Here. Get this inside o’ ye.’

Jamie, Tenth Earl of Dunnotar and Defender of the Crown’s regalia was a big man, six feet tall, broad of shoulder, with flaming red hair and a beard in which you could have hidden a family of mice. His face flickered redly in the flames and when the candlelight glinted in his eyes he looked like the devil himself. But then he laughed, and the spell was broken.

‘Your sojourn amongst the barbarians has enfeebled ye - eh man?’ A huge meaty palm slapped me on the back, almost making me spill my wine as he laughed again. ‘Never mind. Come and meet the gentry - we’ve got some women here that’ll bring the colour back to your cheeks.’

I managed to avoid another slap on the back as I followed him across the room. I had not expected a social gathering - I had thought to get straight to the business - but Jamie obviously had his own games to play. I would just have to wait until the main player arrived.

Making polite conversation had never been a favourite pastime of mine, and I am afraid that I bored the fine ladies of the court, but my mind was forever wandering back to the desert, back to that sepulchre where my long quest had reached its end. Again I touched the cold metal at my chest, and again I felt its power, its need. It had been growing stronger during my journey, sensing we were nearing its home, the place where it still had its old, legendary strength. I hoped we knew what we were doing.

I was standing alone by the fireplace, trying vainly to remove the chill in my bones, when the servant made the announcement I had been waiting for.

‘Robert, Lord of Arran, High Steward of Ayrshire, Grand Master of the Kilwinning chapter.’

With such a build up one might have expected a formidable figure, but the man who entered looked like he was struggling to live up to his name and titles. His dress was fine enough - all wolf’s fur and soft leather, but the body inside had been racked by too much illness. He could no longer stand straight, and his back was twisted in a hunched curve. His hair hung across his scalp in a lank wave and his beard was as fine as duck down. Only his eyes seemed truly alive as he came across the room and took my hand.

‘Donald,’ he said, and there was genuine warmth in his voice. ‘I knew you would return. Do you have it?’

‘I have it,’ I said, patting my breast to show that it was safe.

He did a jig of excitement, the reflected firelight dancing in his eyes, then clasped me around the shoulders. I had to stoop to allow him the embrace.

‘May I see it?’ he whispered, his voice so low that I had to strain to hear. Before I could reply, he had already pushed himself away. ‘No. It must stay hidden until the right moment.’

I suddenly realised just how long I had been away. There was a spread of grey in Robert’s hair, a grey that had not been there when I left, four years before.

‘So, Donald - do ye have tales to tell, wonders to relate? I’ll wager those barbarian beauties taught you a new trick or two.’ Jamie bellowed, coming up beside me and pushing another full goblet of mulled wine into my right hand.

‘Can you not see it?’ Robert said, still barely above a whisper. ‘It shows in his eyes - he is not the boy we sent away. Aye - he has tales to tell - and not all of them fit for polite company, I’ll be bound. But come with me Donald,’ he added, taking me away from the fire. ‘You can tell me some of your story, at least.’

I was reluctant to leave the warmth, but the mulled wine was serving its purpose, heating me from within, and Robert had a right to hear - he was the one who had sent me on my way all those years ago.

I did not bore him with details of the journey itself. It had been slow, it was mainly dull, and that was not what he wanted to hear anyway.

‘It was where the Knights of Malta said it would be,’ I said, and the act of saying it sent my mind back, so that although I was talking to Robert, I was almost dreaming of the events in that distant land, in that dark and forbidding tomb.

We had been at the site for nearly six months, with little company but the dirt and heat and the flies. The temple had long ago been covered by sand - buried by the wrath of Allah according to the locals I had employed to aid me. With diligence and much back-breaking work we had slowly uncovered its splendour: its massive columns and the fine mosaics of its floor, the dry, dead ruins of a glorious past.

Finding the entrance to the catacomb had been more difficult, but I had the drawing which Robert had given me and, one evening, just as the stars were bursting into the sky, I found myself standing in front of a black hole leading down into the earth.

I did not want to go in. I have never been one for scurrying around in holes - that was more for Robert - but if the promised treasure was within, I was going to have to go and get it. Too much depended on me for it to be thrown away on a sudden chill and a sense of foreboding.

The natives refused to go with me. I was left alone with only a single, smoking oil lamp as I put my foot over the threshold.

The flickering lamp sent shadows dancing over the walls like scampering, capering devils and my feet disturbed small clouds of dust to float, wraith-like, in the air before me. Rough-hewn steps led me down to where the darkness was thicker, and the silence fell over me like a shroud.

Great stone coffins lined the walls, the stone figures sleeping above the mortal remains of the great knights, the lamplight flickering in grey-black eye sockets. I tried not to think of the years that had passed since anyone had walked among the dead.

I struggled to peer through the gloom, the light from the lamp barely reaching the walls. Then I caught it - the barest gleam of red, as if answering my own faint light. As I got closer the glow intensified until its source was revealed, the great figure recumbent upon a coffin that I knew for certain was empty.

It was just as the knight had said. The carving was so life-like that I had the feeling the great man could sit up and greet me, and there, in the gloom of that place, it did not seem too unlikely an occurrence.

The red glow deepened around the carved chest as I approached, and I suddenly felt warm - hot and sticky with sweat.

It was there, on top of the coffin, the small iron lattice enclosing the object of my quest, and the source of the red glow.

I was finding it difficult to breathe, and my feet did not want to take me any closer, but I forced myself onwards.

Suddenly there was a creak, a rasp of stone against stone, and I had a vision of the tombs behind me opening and their long-dead occupants pulling themselves out of their sleep, skeletal arms reaching for me.

I took what I had come for and left hastily, grateful to get back out into the cool night.

‘So the temple was there.’ Robert said, talking to himself. ‘Just where they said it would be.’ He looked up at me, and there were tears in his eyes. ‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘For myself, for my ancestor who you have vindicated, and for future generations of Scotsmen who will know you as a hero.’

He looked like he wanted to say more, but he turned away from me, ashamed of his tears. I was about to reach out for him when a huge hand grasped me by the shoulder. I turned to see Jamie’s wide-eyed, slack-mouthed grin - he had drunk too much, but that was part of what him Jamie - I would have expected no less from him.

‘So laddie,’ he said to Robert, ‘Are you satisfied? Are you going to have your wee show?’

Robert merely nodded. ‘Aye. It is time. Come with me.’

I was confused. ‘What is this all about?’ I asked Jamie as we followed Robert’s bent figure. He wouldn’t answer at first and I had to ask him again before he deigned to reply.

‘Robert has found a use for yon trinket of yours,’ he said.

‘But I thought it was to be a symbol,’ I said. ‘A focus for the clans in the battles.’

‘Aye,’ Jamie said. ‘It’ll be a focus all right - but if what wee Robert has in mind comes to pass, it will be more than that - much more.’

He would not say any more as led me further from the fire, towards the door. I had one last look backwards as we left the room, but the rest of the occupants seemed to be pointedly ignoring us, trying too hard not to note our passing.

The snow hit me full in the face as the door closed behind me, and the wind howled its rage in my ears. Far below the waves beat hungrily at the cliffs, flecks of white spume being flung high to mingle with the white, dancing flakes of the storm.

‘A fine night for it.’ Jamie bellowed in my ear. Even his great voice was torn away by the wind. I was unable to reply - I was having too much trouble fighting the wind to bother with speech. We followed Robert through the grounds of the castle to the chapel at the east-end, high above the sucking sea below.

A great oak door, some four inches thick, swung shut behind us as we entered, shutting out all sounds of the storm and leaving us alone in thick, quiet darkness. Robert struck a light and at first all I could see was his face, lit from underneath by the candle, its light throwing the upper half of his face into deep, black shadow.

It was only when my eyes became accustomed to the darkness that I realised what was about to occur.

The windows of the chapel had been covered in thick, green velvet drapes, and all the wooden seats had been removed from the room, leaving only empty boards on the floor before the altar. On the floor, a circle within a circle had been drawn, circles surrounded by dense Hebrew script. A five-pointed star was inscribed inside the inner circle, and a candle was placed at each point of the star.

I felt a chill settle in my bones, but it was answered by a sudden burst of heat from the thing around my neck.

‘It it time,’ Robert said. ‘Fetch it out, Donald.’

The red light blazed between my fingers as I opened my vest and took the chain from around my neck. I handed it to Robert, who took it gingerly between his thumb and forefinger as if it might burn him.

‘Remember,’ he said to both of us, ‘you must not enter the circle until the conjuration is complete.’

Jamie and I nodded in unison. It was not the first summoning we had attended - but I had the feeling it was going to be the most memorable.

It grew perceptibly colder as Robert steeped into the circle, and I realised that I missed the comfort of the ancient chain around my neck. It had been with me for a long time. As if in answer to my thoughts the red glow blazed up one final time before fading. Robert raised his hands towards the roof and began to chant.

Elohim do battle for me in the name of Tetragrammaton.

Malachim protect me in the name of Jod He Vau He.

Seraphim cleanse me in the name of Elvoih.

Hajoth a Kadosh, cry, speak, roar, bellow.

Lion of the North, be with me.’

Robert was enveloped in a red glow, a glow that grew and spread from the object on the chain, a glow that moulded itself into a form around a body, obscuring his features as it deepened and took on shape.

Robert seemed to expand; his back straightening and his chest filling out, his face melting and running like wax from a candle.

He groaned, a loud moan of pain, and Jamie moved to step forward. I only just stopped him in time - it would have been death for us all had he crossed the circle then.

Both Robert and the source of the glow had disappeared inside the growing shape in front of us, and as the shape coalesced it formed the figure of a man - gigantic of stature and imperious in his stance. His blue eyes stared unblinkingly at us, and we stared back, struck dumb by the vision.

‘Well?’ he finally said. His accent was strong, but the meaning of his words came through. ‘Why have you called me here?’

He had the bearing of a soldier, and his voice held a tone of command, so much so that my legs were trembling and my tongue felt as if it was struck in my palate. Jamie had no such trouble.

‘We need you, Sir - your country needs you - these are perilous times in your homeland.’

The figure threw back his head and laughed - a great bellowing sound that shook the whole room.

‘Hs it come to this? Have you become so weak?

He laughed again, and I felt like cowering before him. Jamie was becoming angry.

‘You cannot deny us. We need the old strength.’

‘You would command me?’ the figure said, his voice low, his eyes flashing angrily. ‘You cannot live in the past. Each generation must fight their battles alone. Live for now, not for a time that will never return. Leave me in peace - I have long ago played my part in this mummery.’