SCENE THREE

About a month later. Spottiswoode’s study in the Castle of the Archbishop of Glasgow. It is a well-furnished, comfortable room, the most dominating features of which are: on the right a writing desk and chair, in the centre a large fireplace with comfortable chairs on either side, on the left a small table with a decanter, water and goblets. It is well past midnight and the fire has died. SPOTTISWOODE sits on the left of the fireplace, a book in one hand and a goblet of wine in the other. He sighs and, laying the book aside on his lap, takes a sip of the wine. His wife, LADY RACHEL SPOTTISWOODE, dressed in a nightgown and carrying a candle, enters from the right.

RACHEL: (reprovingly) John! Are ye wyce, man? For heaven’s sake, what ails ye? Ye should be in your bed!

(SPOTTISWOODE looks up at her, shakes his head and sighs)

SPOTTISWOODE: (absently, almost defensively) I hae been reading the epistles of the apostle Paul.

RACHEL: (sarcastically) Oh. I see. Are ye to be examined in them then? — the morn’s morn — that ye maun bide up aa nicht in preparation?

SPOTTISWOODE: (with a faint smile) Woman, your wit is sour.

(RACHEL comes forward and places her candle on the mantlepiece)

RACHEL: I ken. It’s the time of nicht — and the sair trial of haeing sic a husband as I hae.

(She sits down opposite him)

SPOTTISWOODE: (still smiling, rises and takes his goblet over to the drinks table) Hae I been sic a bad husband to ye, lass?

RACHEL: (turning in the chair to smile at him) No, John. No. Ye ken better than to speir that. But there was a time when ye’d tell me aathing — a time when ye’d bring aa your sair bits to me.

SPOTTISWOODE: And do ye think that time has gane?

RACHEL: It looks like it, John. It shairly looks like it. St Paul, it would seem, has mair to offer in the way of comfort than I.

(SPOTTISWOODE laughs loudly)

SPOTTISWOODE: Rachel, there can be smaa comfort for me in these times we live in. The office I hold in our Kirk is hardly a comfortable ane! Will ye tak a cup of wine with me m’lady?

RACHEL: Dearie me. (Sighs) Just a small one please, John!

SPOTTISWOODE: (grinning) For the stomach’s sake?

RACHEL: Aye.

(As SPOTTISWOODE pours the drinks, the smile leaves RACHEL’s face and she becomes apprehensive. She turns away from him)

RACHEL: John — I went to see John Ogilvie the nicht.

SPOTTISWOODE: (turning, astounded) You — what?

RACHEL: I went to see John Ogilvie the nicht.

SPOTTISWOODE: Certes, woman! Whiles ye go past it! What would Mistress Calder and the leddies ο the congregation …

RACHEL: (With a wave of her hand) P-y-e-e-h!

SPOTTISWOODE: P-y-e-e-h yourself! Rachel! What in creation garred ye do a thing like thon! Ogilvie has set this toun on fire! If it is kent — and certes, it will be kent! — that Spottiswoode’s wife … (Hands her the goblet) I do not ken where ye got the gumption!

RACHEL: (taking the goblet) Weill — I maun admit to being a wee thing leerie about it myself — so I took a rather large glass of this before I went. So they’ll maist likely let on that I was fou at the time!

(SPOTTISWOODE is about to take his seat. He turns on her, fuming and speechless. Looking at her, his temper fades and he smiles and shakes his head hopelessly)

SPOTTISWOODE: Rachel, oh Rachel! What am I to do with ye?

RACHEL: (seriously) What am I to do with you, John? I’m sorry if I’ve offended or upset ye by going to see Ogilvie — but I’d hae thocht myself a sorrier wife gin I had stayed away! John, d’ye no understand? I had to try to discover what it was about this man that was bothering you.

SPOTTISWOODE: (irritably) Bothering me! Huh! It’s no Ogilvie that bothers me!

RACHEL: Is it no? I’m no so sure! John, ye’ve no been yourself this while past — ill-tempered, growling and snarling aa owre the place, biding up gey near aa nicht, tossing and turning when ye do come to your bed … Na, na, my mannie, ye’ll na tell me that it’s no John Ogilvie that’s bothering ye! This aa started on the very day he was arrested! Your bad humour started then. I had a notion to speak with the man that had put ye in sic a humour! So I went to see him.

SPOTTISWOODE: And are ye any the wiser?

RACHEL: I am not! I fail to see what there is to worry ye about this man! I canna help but feel sorry for him, but he’s a wrongheaded fool! He micht be a cliver fool, but he’s a fool just the same.

SPOTTISWOODE: D’ye tell me that, woman? A clever fool?

RACHEL: Ye needna laugh! Ye ken fine what I mean! The man has faith enough, I daresay! Faith of a kind — but is it the Christian faith? I beg leave to doubt it. I jalouse that even a papist micht beg leave to doubt it! That man cares for nobody but himself — his ain hurts and grievances! And how can he hae any sympathy with the concerns and conditions of ordinary folk? He kens nocht about them. He has charm enough to spare and a braw sharp tongue — he’d make a bonnie courtier no doubt. What does he ken ο the sufferings ο Scotland? He maybe kens principle and argument. He kens nocht ο flesh and blood!

SPOTTISWOODE: Principle is necessary, m’dear, in any undertaking — and so is argument. Flesh and blood survive and flourish on the guid maintenance of baith. (Gets to his feet thoughtfully and walks about) What troubles me in this matter is no Ogilvie’s faith — I have never doubted nor grudged him that for an instant. He is a man of great faith, of great courage — and of not inconsiderable intellect. Really Rachel, John Ogilvie is a maist byordnar man. I wish we had a few like him in our Kirk. Paul tells us — as ye weill ken — that every man should bide the way he was when God called him. I cannot blame Ogilvie for his faith — in his own way, he is as true to his principles as, in his place, I would hope and pray to be to mine.

RACHEL: Aye. Maybe. But ye ken as weill as I do that there is mair to this than John Ogilvie’s faith! Since Paul appears to be in favour the nicht, I would commend to you the advice given by Paul to the Romans anent their responsibilities to the authorities of the State!

SPOTTISWOODE: (shaking his head irritably) Oh it’s no that, Rachel! It’s no that, it’s no that!

RACHEL: Weill what is it then?

SPOTTISWOODE: Ye ken what men say about me — and what they said about your faither?

RACHEL: (hotly) And you ken me weill enough to ken that I do not care a docken for what men say. My faither stood fast against the papes — and against the presbyterians! You have done the same and I’m proud of ye baith! What time of day is this to be bothering about what men say?

SPOTTISWOODE: Rachel, I am a man of the cloth! It is my business to take tent of what men say. And they say that we were bocht — that we served the King no out of conviction but for the stipend.

RACHEL: Och, John. Ye ken that’s no true.

SPOTTISWOODE: Aye! Aye! But d’ye no understand? We were taking a gamble — your father and myself and the others — we were taking a gamble with our own guid names, with our reputations. We kent that it would take time but what we were ettling to effect was a reconciliation — we thocht and gif the Catholics could bend a wee bit and the presbyterians could bend a wee bit, we could bring them aa intil ae strang kirk. Ae kirk in Scotland and peace in the land!

RACHEL: Aye. That’s what ye’ve aye wanted.

SPOTTISWOODE: It was the King’s plan but it was us who had to carry it out — it was men like your faither and me who had to take the gamble. We kent that it would be a gey hard trauchle. A hard ane and a lang ane — your faither died still trauchling. But we kent anaa that it was the only way. And nou (sighs) nou we are going to spoil it aa. The morn’s morn John Ogilvie will be tried and condemned and the haill thing — years of work — will aa be up in the air!

RACHEL: But John — it’s no siccar yet that Ogilvie’s to hing!

SPOTTISWOODE: Is it no! Losh woman, ye ken yourself — ye have seen Ogilvie, ye have spoken to him. Is it no obvious what he’s after? He pants after the martyr’s croun like a dog at a bitch! And they’ll gie it to him, thae men that you tell me no to take tent of!

RACHEL: Och, John!

SPOTTISWOODE: Oh aye, they will. Since we came back from Edinburgh, John Ogilvie’s name has been on every lip. Gif — no. — When he mounts the gallows, the Scottish Catholic community’ll take him to their hearts and there will be blood. It’ll be war aa owre again! As for Ogilvie, he’ll hae got what he socht, what he returned to Scotland for. Glory, Rachel, Glory and a place in the bloody history of our country! What does he care if the rivers of Scotland run black with the blood of her people, as long as he gets his glory!

RACHEL: But John, that’s no your wyte …

SPOTTISWOODE: Did I say it was? Woman, d’ye no understand yet? I hae given everything — my capabilities, my intellect, my honour and my — oor guid name — everything to ae single course of action. And the morn’s morn, I maun sit doun in that court yonder and watch aa the work that I hae done — and, what’s worse — the work I micht hae done being brocht doun and connached by ane fushionless fanatic!

RACHEL: (Going to him) John, John, my love, ye’re making owre muckle of this! (Sighs) Ye said one true thing anent Ogilvie — he’s a byordnar man. There’s no mony’d have stood what he’s stood — I ken what ye did to him in Embro, John — and if he wants his martyrdom, he’s surely earned it. But it’ll be an empty thing, folk’ll forget aa about it in no time! Hing him, John, hing him and ye’ll never see his like again!

SPOTTISWOODE: Will I no? (Breaks away from her) I’m no sure. Oh gin I just had the power, gin I could just get him to listen! Gin I could persuade him! Persuade him to change his mind …

RACHEL: (With an empty laugh) Recant? Fegs John, he’ll never do that!

SPOTTISWOODE: Gin he doesna, I’m feared. Gin he doesna I’m feared that I’ll be hinging him again and again and again. Owre and owre and owre and owre! Martyrs are a queer-like breed, Rachel — they hae a way of turning into saints. Saints! Saint John Ogilvie — can ye no imagine it? Oh Rachel, I look intae that young man’s een and I see a dream — a dream that is alowe with a bitter hatred. And it is a hatred that he has never learned — it is a hatred that he has only dreamed. Oh God! Rachel, how does a man learn sic hatred — how can a man learn to dream sic dreams?

RACHEL: (quietly) John, I’m sure I dinna ken.

SPOTTISWOODE: No more do I, love, no more do I. (Savagely) but, shair as daith, I’d better learn! I’d better learn gin my work in Scotland is to mean ocht ava! For I hae a dream of my own Rachel, I hae a dream of my own! Christ’s sheep maun aa be brocht thegither in ae fauld! (Stops and smiles a little at his own emotion) Paul again, Rachel. Gin we dinna aa eat thegither at the same table, there will be some wha maun gang hungry — while ithers get fou! I want a Kirk in Scotland that will serve aa men. I want a Kirk in Scotland that will bring Catholic and Protestant thegither in the ae faith, in the ae life; I want peace in the land and britherhood and guidwill amang aa men — as the Guid Lord aye intended it should be! That is my dream, Rachel, a dream that is biggit nocht on hatred but — I pray to God! — on love!

RACHEL: Ogilvie can never change that, John.

SPOTTISWOODE: No, but he can stop the dream from coming true! He can set the clock back twenty years! Ogilvie can change reality — and it is reality that is important, no dreams! That is a lesson we maun learn here in Scotland! (Gives a bitter laugh) D’ye ken what is the maist absurd thing in this haill business? My auld teacher, my auld lecturer here in Glasgow — Andro Melville — preached the doctrine of the Twa Kingdoms. The temporal and the spiritual. D’ye mind? D’ye mind when King Jamie was seventeen year auld and auld Maister Andro took a grip of him by the arm and tellt him he was ‘nocht but God’s silly vassal’? Aye, aye. Maister Andro was aye strang for the Lord and against the King! Nou Andro Melville’s in the Tower of London for exactly the same reason that John Ogilvie’s doun the stair! Would it no gar ye laugh? Gin it wasna so deathly serious would ye not see the humour? Melville, wha railed against the ‘Harlot of Rome’ and Ogilvie wha cries ‘damn aa heretics’ with geynear every second breath, are both facing death for geynear the exact same reason. Catholic and Protestant could aye unite better in death than they could in life! But where’s Scotland aa this time — where’s the sheep that we were aa tellt to feed? They’re aa starving to death!

RACHEL: (thoughtfully) John, d’ye mind if I tell ye something?

SPOTTISWOODE: Woman, I’d like fine to see the day when I could stop you!

RACHEL: You’re a clever foo anaa! Ye are. Oh I’m no complaining! Ye hae great faith, great learning, great generosity and great compassion. But ye’ve barely enough imagination to fill this cup!

SPOTTISWOODE: Woman, what time ο day is this …

RACHEL: Na, na, na, na, na! Just you haud on and leave me have my say! Ye’re sitting there, raxing yourself to daith, biding up aa nicht, pouring owre puir auld Paul looking for some divine answer to your predicament — and aa the time, there’s a simple solution to the hail affair staring ye in the face gin ye only had the gumption to take a look at it!

SPOTTISWOODE: There is, is there? And what is that, woman?

(RACHEL goes to the mantlepiece and retrieves her candle)

RACHEL: (turning to him with the candle in her hand) Ye’re siccar that he’ll be condemned the morn?

SPOTTISWOODE: As siccar as I’m standing here.

RACHEL: And ye’ll keep him in thon cell there, with a lock on the door and an armed guard ootbye?

SPOTTISWOODE: Aye.

RACHEL: So. Send the guard awa. Unlock the door. What would ye think of that gin you were Ogilvie?

SPOTTISWOODE: Ye think he’d run.

RACHEL: (Going slowly to the door) Ogilvie’s young — he’s time yet to be a martyr. (Grins) And I ken what Andro Melville would do in he’s place! (Sweeping out)

Come awa to your bed!

(SPOTTISWOODE, bewildered, gazes at her departing presence)