SCENE FIVE

(OGILVIE’S room, nine days later. The bed has been removed and OGILVIE is seated at the table. He is a terrible sight. His shirt is torn to shreds, his hair is in disarray, there are enormous black rings about his eyes and scratch-marks and streaks of blood all over his hands and arms. He has been denied sleep for the past eight days.

    It is four o’clock in the morning. ANDREW, on the night watch, is seated on the edge of the table. He has shed his sword, helmet and tunic and has no other weapon except for a dagger which he keeps in a leather sheath strapped to his bare arm. OGILVIE’S head falls on his chest and his eyes close. ANDREW slaps him hard across the face several times)

ANDREW: Come on, Faither, come on! Ye ken ye cannae get tae sleep! (ANDREW’S slapping has had no effect so he draws the dagger and jabs at OGILVIE’S shoulder several times) Wake up, man, wake up, wake up!

(OGILVIE staggers back out of his chair like a startled beast. He stumbles once or twice but eventually manages to stand up fairly steadily, albeit in a stooped position)

OGILVIE: (peers in ANDREW’S direction, shading his eyes with his hand) Who — who is it this time? Andrew? Is it you, Andrew? You’d never believe … Is it you, Andrew? Yes. Yes, it is! It is you, Andrew. I know it is. You’re the one. You’re the one who never says anything. You never say anything. Well, very little anyway. So it must be you, Andrew. It must be …

ANDREW: Aye, Faither, it’s mysel.

OGILVIE: Oh. Oh. I knew it. I knew all the time that it was you. I knew it but I hoped — oh, never mind! I hoped — I hoped it might be one of the others. Because you’re the worst, Andrew, did you know that? The worst, the very worst of the lot. The very worst (Laughs) of a bad, bad lot! (Laughs louder) The Praetorian Guard of His Heretical Holiness! (Bitterly) Bunch of workshy know-nothings and broken-down has-beens! Sandy — God, Sandy’s bad enough! He talks and talks and talks and talks. He hardly stops for breath. His tongue chisels away all the way into the farthest extremities of my brain! Oh, I know all about you. Andrew — what a great warrior you were, all the battles that you fought! Sandy makes it sound like some great legend (Laughs) — a great legend that goes on and on and on and on! (Shakes his head) Sandy — poor Sandy — Sandy is a bore. But he’s not the worst — no, no, not by a long chalk he’s not the worst. Neither is Will — oh my God, Will, Will, what am I saying? Will’s the best! The only one of the whole damned lot of you with a morsel of charity in him. He’s a good boy, Wullie — a very good boy. Now don’t mistake me! Don’t misunderstand! He does his job, he keeps me awake — nothing else you hear? (Softer) But he’s kind. He’s considerate. He talks to me — he talks to me without shouting, without argument, without — without — without … oh dammit, what’s the word, what’s the word! What I mean to say is that, when he talks to me he listens to what I say, there are no barriers between us, no implacable stone walls! I have not talked to another living being, the way that I sometimes talk with Will, for many a long, long day. And perhaps I never will again. And if he could just — if I could get him to — Oh, no, no, no, it’s useless, useless! He will not listen. He’s a heretic, another damned heretic just as you … just as you (Gives ANDREW a shifty suspicious look) all are! (Whispers)
Andrew? Andrew? Is that right? Are you a heretic?

ANDREW: Eh?

OGILVIE: A heretic. I asked you if you were a heretic. Are you a heretic?

ANDREW: If ye say so, Faither.

OGILVIE: No! Not if I say so! I am not you! It’s not for me to tell you whether or not you are a heretic. It’s not for me to say! It’s for you. You. It’s your own decision! The facts are before you, you can make up your own mind. You don’t have to be a heretic, you know. You don’t have to be! (Suddenly weary, he passes his hand across his eyes) I was a heretic once, did you know that?

ANDREW: (more to himself than to OGILVIE) Wadnae surprise me, Faither.

OGILVIE: Eh? What was that? What did you say? It wouldn’t surprise you, It wouldn’t surprise you, eh? Why not? Why not, pray? Do I look like a heretic! Do I sound like a heretic! Do I behave like a heretic? What am I doing here if it would not surprise you?

ANDREW: (uneasily, not really wanting to talk) Jist passin a remark, Faither. Didnae mean ocht by it.

OGILVIE: No? No? It occurs to me Andrew, that you do not care for heretics. Is that right? (ANDREW says nothing) Now Andrew. I asked you a question. I want an answer. I get the distinct impression that you do not greatly care for heretics. Andrew, am I right? (Again ANDREW says nothing) Andrew, I am talking to you! I am asking you a question and I want an answer right now. Do you or do you not care overmuch for heretics? (Still ANDREW says nothing. OGILVIE bunches up his fist and shakes it at him) You! You! You! Oh you! I might as well try to communicate with a rock as bother with you! You are always this way. You hardly say a word. Sandy speaks too much and you speak too little and Wat (recoils as if in pain). Wat! Oooh that twisted pig, Wat! (Holds out his hands to ANDREW) Have you seen this, Andrew? Have you seen Wat’s latest? Clever wee Wattie’s latest trick to torment Father Ogilvie? He took ten nails, Andrew, ten nails and drove them — one at a time, with his mallet — right under my fingernails! Oh, the cunning little bastard, why did he have to do that! His ingenuity, his bestial ingenuity knows no bounds! (Pauses to recover his somewhat fragile composure) And yet and yet, I’ll tell you something — I prefer, I much prefer Wat to you. Yes. Yes. His torture, his physical torture, is far more bearable than the torment that your silence inflicts on me! (Pauses to gather his thoughts and puts them into words) Wat enjoys himself you know — he enjoys himself. You’d never guess it from his expression — that dour, heretical, swinish little face — but he does enjoy himself. Everything he does — every new source of pain that he invents comes from up here. (Taps his head) Nobody tells him. Nobody gives him orders — how he must think and rack his brain for originality! He brings his tortures to me with all the enthusiasm and delight of a devoted father with gifts for his new baby! Mind you, there’s nothing personal in it! It has nothing to do with me! But I am a Catholic, you see — and Wat is strong, strong against the papes! Oh aye! So he doesn’t worry about me at all — and he enjoys himself. But Andrew — it works both ways. D’you understand what I mean? D’you understand? D’you understand what I’m trying to say? Wattie doesn’t think of me as a human being at all — that’s why he can approach his work with so much equanimity. But, you see, it works both ways. I don’t think of him as human either! No! And when he was hammering those nails into my hands, there was a part of me — not all of me, I admit, just a part, a small part — that was enjoying it every bit as much as he was! Can you understand that? Eh? (ANDREW looks sceptical but says nothing. OGILVIE laughs) You don’t believe me, do you? You don’t believe that anyone could enjoy it! (Thrusts his hands in front of ANDREW’S eyes so viciously that ANDREW recoils, reaching for his dagger) But I did, I tell you — I did. You see, Andrew, when Wat was tapping in the nails — the nails into my fingers — there were no complications, no extraneous considerations. There was a confrontation going on, a divine confrontation, that had nothing to do with Wat or myself, with the logic or wisdom of my beliefs or the logic or wisdom of his, with his cruelty or my pain. No, no, it was more than that, much more. We were only the instruments, the weapons of a conflict that was ultimately between the Almighty on my side and the Devil on his. Now do you understand why I hate you more than the others? Now do you understand why I asked you that question? Now do you understand why I must know what you feel about heretics? (He has wound himself up almost to breaking point and now begins to weep) Why don’t you answer me? Why don’t you say something? Why do you just stand there and smirk?

ANDREW: Naethin to say, Faither!

OGILVIE: That’s what you always say! (Mimics) ‘naethin to say, Faither’. Don’t try to fool me, Andrew. Don’t try to pretend to me that you are a man of few words — because I know different! (Turns wearily away, worn out by his fury but turns back almost immediately in a more composed, if intense, vein) Andrew. I am not a fool. I’m not a child. Eh? I know, you know. I know why you won’t talk to me. I know. You will not talk to me, you refuse to talk to me, you are afraid to talk to me because you (Points) are a Catholic!

(ANDREW gives a scornful, embarrassed laugh but says nothing)

OGILVIE: How long have I been without sleep. Andrew. How long? Must be — a week? Must be. Eh? Is it a week? It must be that at least! Even so. Even so, Andrew, after all this time, after all this time without my natural rest — even so, there are periods, there are short spells when I have complete, absolutely complete lucidity. There are periods when I am as awake and as aware as ever I was. And believe me, Andrew, I am fully awake now! (Goes quickly to ANDREW and takes him by the shoulders) Andrew, I am going to ask you a question. I am going to put a question to you. And if you refuse to answer — or if you should answer falsely — Andrew, Oh Andrew, Andrew you will surely be damned! (Takes a deep breath)

Now. Tell me. Are you or are you not a Catholic?

ANDREW: (hesitates, looks OGILVIE in the eye, turns away) That was a while syne. Α lang while syne.

OGILVIE: (exulting) You are! You are! I knew it! I knew it! You are a Catholic. Heaven be praised!

ANDREW: (angry and embarrassed and evasive all at the same time) My faither was! My mither was!

OGILVIE: (without noticing the evasion) Your mother — your mother was a Catholic? Is that right? Is that right now, Andrew? (Turns away as if in a dream) So was mine, Andrew. So was mine. Oh Andrew, it is the Catholic women who are the backbone of our faith — the Catholic women. There are many — I myself have known many, a great many men who were holy, truly holy. But I never met any man who was as holy as my mother. (Closes his eyes as if in prayer) Oh you are a woman of great faith. What you have desired will be accomplished for you. (Turns again to ANDREW) Tell me, Andrew. Where do you worship?

ANDREW: (amused) Worship, Faither?

OGILVIE: Worship. Yes. Where do you worship? Where do you receive the Mass.

ANDREW: (shaking his head) I never worship, Faither.

OGILVIE: (shocked) Never.

ANDREW: Naw!

OGILVIE: Then how … how do you serve your faith?

ANDREW: Faither (With some hesitation) I hae nae faith.

OGILVIE: No faith? No faith? This — what d’you mean, you’ve lost your faith? Is that it? Have you become a heretic? (ANDREW turns away, says nothing) Answer me, Andrew. Answer me. You’re not going to turn dumb again, are you? Just when you’ve started to talk? Don’t you understand Andrew? Don’t you understand that I cannot bear those silences? I cannot bear your terrible silences!

ANDREW: (savagely) Faither, I hae nae faith. Leave it at that!

OGILVIE: But Andrew — a man cannot live without faith!

ANDREW: (turns savagely once more, suddenly smiles gently) Faither, I am forty-twa year auld.

OGILVIE: Oh Andrew. Oh Andrew, Andrew, Andrew. Oh — Oh Scotland. What kind of country have you become? What depths of barbarism have you reached? When a man can stand before his priest without shame and tell him that he has lost his faith! (Turns to ANDREW again) So. You are beyond even the evil sin of heresy. You are a pagan. You have lost your faith. (Suddenly savage) Well, I have not lost mine! That is why I am here. That is why I am enduring this — this torment! That is why I will endure all this and more! Spottiswoode — did you know that Spottiswoode threatened me with the boots. Yes. The boots. (Smiles and shakes his head) I think he broke poor Wattie’s heart when he decided not to use them. And he told me — Spottiswoode did — he told me, he said to me that I was lucky. Lucky! (Mimics) ‘Ye hae been used in a maist merciful manner, Faither Ogilvie’. (Laughs bitterly) You’re all fools, do you know that? (Slaps his leg) What’s this. Eh? It’s a leg. That’s all. A leg. What good is a leg to a priest? To carry him into chapel, that’s all. To carry him into chapel. I can be carried into chapel! Don’t you understand? Take my leg, take both my legs! Take my arms! I do not need them, they are of no use to me! But you, you …

(Suddenly he screams and staggers about with his head in his hands. ANDREW stands by, aghast and helpless, looking towards the door every now and again as if unsure about going for help. OGILVIE turns on ANDREW forcing him up against the wall and ranting at him in a voice that seems stretched to breaking point:)

OGILVIE: You, you, you, what are you doing? What are you doing to me? What are you doing? You are driving a wedge into my mind! You are crushing my brains and my reason is running from my skull in rivers of grey! (Pushes himself away from ANDREW who now seems considerably alarmed) You are driving me mad! You take my mind, you take my body, you take my reason, you take my comfort. Very well, then! Take it — take it all! I have no use for it, for any of it! I tell you only this (Gathers himself together in one last defiant bellow) You shall not have my faith!

(OGILVIE collapses. ANDREW rushes to him and tries to bring him round, without success. He goes to the door and bangs on it repeatedly)

ANDREW: Sandy! Sandy! Whaur are ye, ye donnert bugger! Wake up, for Christ’s sake! I want ye!

SANDY: (off) Is that yersel, Andro?

ANDREW: Whae the bluidy hell d’ye think? Come in here, for Christ’s sake! I’m needin ye!

(The door opens and SANDY enters. He is a wiry little man, extremely talkative and of roughly the same age as ANDREW)

SANDY: Is it the Faither? I heard aa the rammy. Away again, is he?

ANDREW: Aye. Come on, gie’s a haun wi him.

(ANDREW bends over OGILVIE’S body, taking him by the armpits. SANDY follows, dithering and talking all the time)

SANDY: My my my my, Andro, I’ll tell ye straucht. I cannae be daein with this wey ο warkin. I tellt the Bishop, I says tae him, I says …

ANDREW: Shut yer bluidy face and get on wi it!

SANDY: (unperturbed) … this offends my sense ο professional decorum …

ANDREW: (struggling with OGILVIE) Jesus Christ, Sandy! Get him up! (Together they manage to get OGILVIE to his feet)

Right. Twice roun syne let him faa. Come on.

(They half-walk, half-drag OGILVIE twice round the room. SANDY keeps on talking)

SANDY: They’d hae been far, far better wi the buits — far far better. I’ve said frae the start that this was a daft-like wey ο warkin — wastin aa this time and no even a cheep of whatever it is the Airchbishop wants. Ye can say whit ye like, Andro. Ye can say whit ye like. It’s jist no right that professional sodgers like you and me should be asked tae tak on duty like this. This is Wattie’s game, this. The torture tredd. It micht be aaricht for Wattie — aye, it micht be aa very weill for Wattie! No for me. I ken wappins, I tellt the Bishop, I ken wappins, been a sodger aa my days, that’s my tredd. I says tae Spottiswoode I says …

ANDREW: (with long-suffering patience) Are you fuckin finished?

(They have once more reached the centre of the room)

SANDY: (slightly cowed) Weill, ye ken whit I mean.

ANDREW: Dae I? Jesus Christ, I sometimes wonder if ye ken yersel! Have ye got him?

SANDY: (taking a firmer grip on OGILVIE’s arm) Aye.

ANDREW: Are ye ready?

SANDY: Aye.

ANDREW: Right, Wan. Twa. Three.

(They stand back and allow OGILVIE to keel forward on his face. OGILVIE rises to his hands and knees and shakes his head)

OGILVIE: (rising) My God. Oh My God. (Shouting) My God! I have kept my promise! I have made you known to the men you gave me! I have given them your word and they have received it! My God, My God, I pray for them, these men. I pray for them and them alone because these are the men you gave me. Let them be with me, Oh Lord! Let them be with me in my hour of glory. Let them be with me in the glory you will give me! Let them be with me that they might see, that they might know that the glory that is mine is the glory of Almighty God! Father, the world does not know you as I know you … the world does not know … Father … the world …

(He is reeling and tottering and obviously about to fall over again)

ANDREW: Watch him!

(ANDREW and SANDY manage to catch OGILVIE safely but his falling weight makes both of them stagger back. They stand, holding OGILVIE, and panting for breath)

SANDY: Jesus Christ! Andro, he’s weill awa nou. Did ye hear whit he was sayin? He’s haverin nou — we’ll no get onything oot ο him gin we keep this up! He’ll no last the nicht. Aw Andro, when I think ο aa that you and me hae seen through thegither — I never thocht I’d see the day that …

ANDREW: Shut up, Sandy! Shut up! Gie yer fuckin erse a chance, will ye? Christ, ye never stop!

SANDY: (hurt by ANDREW’S rebuke) I’m sorry, Andro. I didnae mean tae … Will we tak anither turn?

ANDREW: Naw, naw, it’ll dae nae guid. We’d jist tire ane anither oot. We’d better gie the drap anither try tho. Are ye ready?

SANDY: Aye.

ANDREW: Richt. Wan. Twa. Three.

(OGILVIE keels forward again. ANDREW and SANDY go to him. ANDREW kneels down and listens to his heart)

OGILVIE: You’re damned, Andrew! You are going down to the burning fires of hell! You have thrown away your faith and you cannot be saved or released from your damnation! God is not mocked. Andrew, God will not be mocked. I know where you are, I know where you live. I know the spirit that burns within you, the flame, the dying flame, the dying flame which yet might live! Wake up, Andrew, before it’s too late and the fire consumes you. Wake up, wake up, wake up! Feed that flame that it might not die! There are few here in Scotland who have kept their clothes clean — but wake up, only wake up and I tell you that you will walk with me dressed in the purest of white raiment. You will walk with me dressed in the raiment of the blessed of Christ. Oh, I know you do not love me as you must have done once — I know you do not love me now as you did then. Only turn from your sins and do as you did then — turn from your sins, I beseech you, turn from your sins! For if you do not turn from your sins I will come and I will find you and I will leap upon you like a thief in the night! Listen to me, Andrew! Listen to me if you have ears! Listen to me if you have ears! Listen to me if you have ears!

(OGILVIE collapses again and, this time, SANDY and ANDREW are so horror-struck by him that they do not even try to catch him. He lies on the floor gabbling for a moment before passing out again)

SANDY: (breathlessly) He’s gane badgy!

ANDREW: (glancing dazedly at SANDY) Guid God! Guid God!

(SPOTTISWOODE enters briskly, followed by a DOCTOR, a severe-looking young man)

SPOTTISWOODE: What’s happening here? What’s the trouble? Andrew?

(THE DOCTOR goes to OGILVIE and starts examining him. ANDREW takes a step back and looks at SPOTTISWOODE, shaking his head)

SANDY: Gin ye want my opinion, M’lord, I’d say that he’s gey near it. I mean to say, sir, echt days and nine nichts, I mean tae say …

SPOTTISWOODE: (completely ignoring him) Andro. What d’ye think?

ANDREW: (hesitates before he answers) I dinnae ken, m’lord. Shair as daith, I dinnae ken. I thocht that … weill, I didnae think he had it in him, I didnae think he had the smeddum tae see it through this far. And nou — nou I hae the idea, I’m jist as shair that he’ll see it through till daith. Daith and worse nor daith. I think he’s past tholin ony mair ο it.

DOCTOR: M’lord, gin this man is no let to sleep within the hour, he’ll no survive.

SPOTTISWOODE: Ye’re siccar ο that?

DOCTOR: Aye, m’lord.

(SPOTTISWOODE paces the floor, hands behind back, deep in thought)

SPOTTISWOODE: Very well. Andro. Sandy. Bring him a bed.

(Exit ANDREW and SANDY hurriedly, followed by the DOCTOR)

SPOTTISWOODE: Damn ye, John Ogilvie. Damn ye!

(Exit SPOTTISWOODE)