The Three Big Fellows
Spring snowstorms are not unheard of in
Highlands, but this was the
Every 50 years or so, about once in a lifetime, a storm hits that surprises
everyone. So it was in early 1562 that a storm hit and stranded three "Big
Fellows" in a lonely tavern near the Scottish border.
Archibald Campbell, Earl of Argyle, was a man of substance and known
throughout
the de facto Lord of the Isles and an elder of the Congregation of the Way.
He was a devout Calvinist, by his reckoning, and had a vision of a
kingdom
be a Protestant bulwark in defiance of that Red Whore of Babylon, the
Papacy. Astute enough to know he had too many enemies to lead this kingdom
himself he would position himself to be a king maker.
First, there was "the ould
made an alliance to counteract the rising power of
many of his fellow Scots despised
reasons. That was why many of them supported the return of that young French
lady who was returning to the throne once held years ago by her long dead
father. To his mind she was a foreigner and a papist who had no business
ruling
allowed some of his countrymen, good Protestants though they be, to support
Mary Stuart and her mother Marie de Guise.
James Hepburn, Earl of Bothwell, was one of those Protestants who supported
the "auld
when he visited the French court in the autumn of 1560. He was kindly
received by Mary and her husband Francis. He received from them 600 Crowns
and the post and salary of gentleman of the French King's Chamber. It was
on one of Bothwell's ships that Mary returned to
Protestant to be sure but he was a Scotsman first and foremost. He was the
4th Earl of Bothwell, succeeding his father Patrick in 1556. He was
Hereditary Lord High Admiral of
was a trap. Bothwell knew his history and knew what
conquered foes. One need look no further than gallant
rabble, the Irish. Both were conquered by English steel. Would the rampant
Lion fall to English steel? - No! - but might they be seduced by English
gold? - not if he could help it.
Way up in the
still prevailed. A clan leader was not to lord this authority over his
fellow clansmen. He was viewed as responsible for the well being of his
people. Just as Jesus washed the feet of his disciples the clan leader was
a servant to all. That was how Heber MacPhearson was raised to belief and
behave. The intrigues of courts and kings and foreigners seemed strange and
remote. Heber was astute enough to know that these intrigues could send
shock waves that could reverberate back into Badenoch on Spey and to the
very foundations of
to keep an eye on what was transpiring in the court of the young queen from
over the water. Life for Heber grew further complicated when he fell in
love and married Fionnula. As she was half Irish his father gave him sound
advice, "If you marry a woman you marry her entire family." Heber and
Fionnula were happily married and their love grew everyday. This was just
as well for Fionnula’s Irish relatives proved to be both a blessing and a
curse. The beauty and charm of Gwen, the wife of Cullen Elliott, and their
daughter Laurie would brighten the gloomiest day. Even Ma'ire de Faoite,
his wife's second cousin, was dear to his heart and he treated her as a
daughter. Ma'ire's father, however, was another matter. He was a master
brewer. The ales he secured from Desmond in
and far to the Wicked Eye. Philip MacAlisdair, a poet, friend, and frequent
patron once said de Faoite "could brew the tears of God" into the finest
ale. But Maitiu' also had a thirst that could drain a loch, if it was
filled with ale. He had a bar tab that even the Earl of Argyle could not
cover. Besides the Irish the Wicked Eye seemed to be a refuge for every
forlorn and lost Highlander. Besides Philip there was his wife Katie, a
MacLeod by birth, and her cousin Maureen, the lost daughter of some luckless
gallowglass. There was Faolan, Sara, Akira, wee Trinity, Detta, and their
family members. Thanks to God his sister Elena and Morna MacGregor were
capable lieutenants who could help run the business and keep the rabble in
line.
When the storm hit these three "Big Fellows" found themselves seeking refuge
in the same place. Heber was down near the border settling a score with a
blagard named Armstrong who had harassed Maureen MacLeod. James Hepburn
was inspecting his holdings and investigating rumors he had heard about John
Knox preaching and fomenting disturbance amongst his tenants. Archibald
Campbell had traveled down this way to lend support to Knox and perhaps
"drop a few coins into the till".
As the storm struck late in the afternoon, just as the sun was setting in
this northern clime, all experienced travelers sought shelter. The locals
returned to the safety of home and there were very few travelers about
during spring planting time. Each Earl had secured separate lodging for
their small retinues. The thought of spending God knows how long in a small
room in an Inn was far too daunting for these gregarious men so they found
themselves assembled in the tavern seeking good ale, stimulating
conversation, and to check out the local wenches.
The small tavern was blessed with a blazing fire, a cauldron of lamb stew,
and the aroma of fresh baked brown bread. The innkeeper, an opportunistic
man , had plenty of food and drink for stranded tourists with enough money
to afford the recently escalated prices.
The Earls recognized each other immediately and despite their difference
sought out each others company, being men of equal station. Heber was over
in the corner glowering at the price gouging of this innkeeper when Argyle
waved him over. Argyle recognized MacPhearson and invited him over as a
fellow Highlander and a possible foil if Hepburn became bothersome. Heber
was well aware of the social status of these earls and dared not refuse
Argyle's offer, especially so far from home. He reluctantly joined the two
earls.
"MacPhearson, meet James Hepburn, earl of Bothwell."
"My Lord Earl, I am honored." To himself Heber thought, "So here is the man
Cullen has told me about, the man who stole the Elliott's castle."
"Archie, you and your Highlanders are a pretentious lot. MacPhearson, what
is the nature of your business down here near the border? Are you with this
rogue, Campbell?"
"I am on my own business, my Lord Earl, a no doubt trivial matter to your
mind I am sure."
Bothwell continued, "You wouldn't be down here to settle a score with
Armstrong would you?" Heber was thinking to himself how Bothwell knew about
that when Bothwell said, "Not much passes my attention down here. Armstrong
can be useful and annoying and lately he has been annoying so I decided to
let you settle with him."
"Ah, James, you'll be frightening this man with your omnipotence. See here,
MacPhearson, you are a fellow Highlander and you need only ask and I will
have your back."
"Your offer is most gracious, my Lord Earl, but I can handle myself" Heber
replied as he looked but briefly straight into Bothwell's eyes.
"So you won't take my help but would you take a pint if I offered it?
Barman, bring 6 pints, one for each hand and make it some of that dark Irish
porter everyone is talking about."
The barman, a weasel of a man named Alan Bell, replied, "It is a most rare
ale and expensive. Perhaps a local brew will suffice just as well."
"I am the Earl of Argyle, sir, and I demand the best. We will drink it dry
and when its gone then we will drink your local swill. And you'd best not
gouge me little man."
Bothwell added, "For once I agree with Argyle, Alan, no gouging." Alan Bell
scurried away to the cellar to retrieve that precious brew, that dark Irish
ale.
With a pint in each fist the three big fellows down the first without a
word. Before the second Argyle paused and proposed a toast, "Up the tall
ladder and down the short rope. God bless John Knox and to Hell with the
Pope!" Bothwell drank straight away but MacPhearson hesitated. "Are you a
papist, MacPhearson?", queried Argyle.
"I am not. I am glad to have the yoke of the priests and bishops off of my
back. I have found more Pilates than prelates in that crowd. But each man
must follow his own conscience. My wife's people are all Irish papists and
we MacPhearson's, being a tolerant clan, will allow those who choose to
worship as they please in peace."
"Yes, Archie, tolerance is the best always the best course. Good man
yourself MacPhearson. Let's have another round", ordered Bothwell.
"You only say that, Bothwell, because you are in league with the French
papists."
"I am a Scotsman first. The welfare of
Trade, shipping, commerce, and business are my priority. Religion plays
second to that. Besides no French papist has ever tried to force his
religion on me."
Argyle persisted, "John Knox preaches the true word of God!"
To which Bothwell countered, "Tis a shame you don't embrace those teachings
by example, you and all your wenching. But alas, that is the
is it not?"
Heber was stirred to strike a middle ground, "The Gospel John Knox preaches
would freeze up all the joy in a man's heart. His fire, brimstone, and
horrors of Hell teachings are merely the bargain the people have had to pay
to rid themselves of a feckless and corrupt clergy. But I am a Highlander
who remains devoted to his wife. Sure, my head turns when I see a pretty
wench and a bit flirting does no harm but I swore an oath of fidelity to
Fionnula before God and the congregation. Remember, a man's integrity is
the gift he gives himself."
Argyle smirked with amusement and a bit of admiration, "MacPhearson, you are
a feisty man, especially with some pints in you. You're picking a fight
with two Earls." To himself Argyle thought, "If they are all like this man,
Clan MacPhearson may be a force to reckon with in the future. I will
remember this." Aloud he continued, "James, you are no pillar of virtue
yourself. I hear a certain Norwegian noblewomen, Anna Throndsen, lost her
dowry to you before you abandoned her. So your "wenching" is acceptable so
long as it is done for profit".
Rising half up out of his chair, hand on his hilt, Bothwell responded, "Damn
your eyes,
friends,
for gold to fill your pockets. The English may be Protestants but they are
English first. Your best remember you are Scottish first. What say you
MacPhearson?"
Stalling for time to respond Heber called out, "Barman, another round,
quickly, I am buying." To himself Heber wished for the counsel of his
sister Elena or Fionnula or even Maitiu' on what to say and not to say to
these powerful men. But his pride swelled up and his tongue, loosened by
ale, spilled forth these words, "I am first and foremost a MacPhearson. My
loyalties lie first with my family and my clan followed closely by my
friends. Beyond that I suppose I agree with Earl Bothwell. I am none too
fond of the English. I have heard from my wife's cousin what happens when a
country falls under their sword."
Continuing to drive home his point Campbell persisted, "Gentlemen, a
kingdom
Combined we would have the finest navy and merchant fleet in the entire
world. Our system of trade would be unsurpassed. A united Protestant
nation could withstand any evil the Papacy or its sycophants could send our
way and we could spread our influence over the entire world."
Bothwell replied, "The English are not to be trusted. Our history tells us
that. If Scotsman is allowed to sit on the throne of this "
" it is only because the English want him there.
and trapped and then cast aside when it suits them."
All this heated discussion caused the big fellows to grow even more thirsty.
Someone called out for another round. Argyle continued to argue that
Bothwell had no vision and MacPhearson's views were too parochial. Then
MacPhearson, in an attempt to defuse the tension, told a joke that had both
Earls chuckling. Not to be outdone by a commoner each Earl countered with a
joke of their own. With more pints came more jokes then songs and stories
and the hours passed as quickly as the shutters on a weaver's wheel. Words
were slurred as vision blurred and then silence.
Bothwell was the first to look up and saw Argyle and MacPhearson, heads down
on the table. "No Highlander can out drink the mighty Earl of Bothwell".
Bothwell then saw that the sun was up and shining brightly over the freshly
fallen snow. The air felt unusually warm so he knew the snow would be gone
in a few days. The roads would be nearly impassible as a result. He arose
and staggered past the sleeping Highlanders toward the window. His head was
aching, his stomach was queasy, and the taste in his mouth made his think of
the entire Flemish army marching barefoot over his tongue. When he first
saw it he shook his head. He looked again. "Wake up lads and see this."
At the sound of Bothwell's booming voice both Highlander's stirred and
staggered toward the window.
were praying!" Heber's eye opened wide when he saw a carriage with rails,
not wheels. He had heard of these in
a small Irish pony. Maitiu' called them
stocky, and could travel well over bogs and mountains, just like the
Bogtrotter, himself. Faolan was driving the rig and in the back was a keg
with the seal of the Earl of Desmond on it.
"Faolan, what are you doing?"
"Maitiu' said you might be needing this and if you were in trouble I was to
trade this for you."
Alan Bell, the barman, appeared out of nowhere and clapped his hands with
delight. "I'll take it off you hands lad, what is the price."
Bothwell said, "Ach no, Alan, Argyle and I will be taking this to
and if not that, then all of
Argyle said, "MacPhearson, care to join us?" Heber graciously declined. He
did not want to offend Cullen by going to Hermitage and he was eager to
leave the company of the Earls lest he say something to get in trouble. He
was also eager to get home to Fionnula and his family. If he wanted to have
more Irish ale he knew where to get it. The keg was off loaded and Heber
jumped up and off he road toward home with Faolan on a Norwegian sled and
pulled by an Irish pony.
After listening to Heber's adventure, Philip MacAlisdair, the resident poet
of the Wycked Eye, was inspired to verse. When it was recited to the Three
Big Fellows on a later occasion they all agreed it was most excellent,
poetic summary. It also marked another rare moment when all three agreed
about anything.
Snowy Lowlands
One nigh’ in a tavern near the border they met,
Lords Argyle an’ Bothwell, an’ a Chieftain, well met –
They argued their causes, an’ spoke of religion,
Common ta all, love fer ale ‘twas their pigeon.
Aye, they maneuvered fer gain,
An’ all watched their backs –
As tha snow it didst swirl,
An tha trees they didst crack.
Argyle follows John Knox,
An’ Bothwell tha Queen –
Chieftain Heber ‘is family,
‘Twas a sight ta be seen!
Indeed drank themselves silly,
That evenin’ they did –
Passed out willy-nilly,
As the wee-est o’ kids.
They ‘twere out of ale,
Whenst Faolan appeared –
Wit’ a keg full of ale,
Naught ta be feared.
Ta tha castle they went,
All but good Heber –
Who went ‘ome ta ‘is wyfe,
Aye, away from tha strife!
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