The Prisoner's Dilemma (32 page)

‘The bed sheet was a brilliant conception, my dearest one,' said Dunbeath, beaming with pride at Sophie, ‘Captain Zweig spotted it immediately for what it was.'

Sophie laughed and gave an ironic bow towards Zweig.

But while she may have smiled as she ate, she was incredulous too. The last time she had seen the two men they had been sworn enemies, only brought together by a desperate need to co-operate. And now they were the best of friends! How did Zweig do it? Had he drugged him?

Dunbeath held his arms out to Sophie and then blew her a kiss. She smiled back at him, astonished at such a show of affection. Yet another mystery, she thought. He was a man transformed.
What alchemy did Zweig possess?

She leant forward as Dunbeath moved to nuzzle her tenderly on the cheek.

‘I have thought of little but you,' he said, quite unconcerned at who should hear him. ‘I began to wish that I was not in London.'

‘But you were, my lord,' Sophie beamed at him, ‘for all our futures. How did your meeting with the Board of Longitude progress? Did they accept our findings? And the Prize?'

Dunbeath laughed, easily and without any of his old rancour.

‘It was a great success,' he replied, ‘I tried to kill the King of England and Captain Zweig saved my life. Do not look so downcast, my sweet. I am quite decided in my own mind that it was for the best. The Board did not award the Prize and I have lived to fight another day. We shall finish this war now and then I shall win the Prize with another king. I am delayed, that is all.'

James McLeish had slept little since he'd discovered Zweig's deception with the wooden telescope. Dark thoughts raged constantly in him, pulling him in every direction, all of them bound up in hatred. The muscles in his face seemed to have developed a life of their own. Worst of all, his own mother had taken to asking him a barrage of questions, suspicious that the English soldiers hadn't returned to interrogate him further.

‘I decided not to sell Zweig's gift to me,' he'd lied. ‘I shall bluff it out if the redcoats want to speak with me again. I am not going to run away. Not now, not ever.' She had seemed mollified for a while, even heartened by this sudden show of courage. But her newfound respect was wearing thin as she saw the tension that increasingly showed in everything he did. However, just as she wondered about her son, so he was thinking about her, too and he saw how she was now looking at him, questioning and incredulous.

If she were ever to discover that he'd been to Craigleven, he thought for the thousandth time, she would give him a harder life than even that colonel was capable of. Still, he was sure he'd done the right thing. Why should he suffer for those bastards, Alexis Zweig and the earl? He was quite clear in his own mind: he'd made his bed, now he must lie in it.

Unable to sleep yet again, he had left the cottage early and was working on his nets as the first thin strips of dawn began to show in the east and the blackness of the night was losing its fight with the first faint streaks of the coming day. He glanced up towards the horizon. Then he looked again, his eye caught by a faint speck in the distance, a small boat, far out and hardly visible, beating up to pass the headland. His keen fisherman's eye was rarely misled – and he was quite sure that the boat he'd seen was Dunbeath's jacht.

He dropped his net and got quickly to his feet. He had thrown
in his lot with the English and they would want to know about this. He climbed the dunes to see where the boat was going and then turned and set off for Craigleven with the glazed expression of a man with the clearest of purposes, a man obsessed with revenge.

* * * 

Dunbeath cradled the glass of whisky his old housekeeper had handed him.

‘I'm going to get some sleep now, but you're to wake me in a couple of hours, Annie. We arrived here by rowing boat and the London coachman, Makepeace, has taken my father's jacht around Dunbeaton Head and he'll have anchored it in the bay beyond it. Go into Dunbeaton to get provisions for our luncheon rather than Wick, will you, and find a fisherman there that can take a boat round the headland to pick him up. Zweig and I took the tender so Makepeace has no way of getting ashore. Quiet and secret now, Annie. We don't want the English to know anything of this. We cannot have L'Arquen know that we're back.'

* * * 

The thin light from the tollhouse for the Meikle Ferry at Portnacoulter shone in the distance.

The King's Messenger rode on. Wet and cold, his glorious uniform splattered with mud, he gritted his teeth once more.

The final miles were always the worst, he knew, trying to cheer himself and rise above the constant pain in his neck. Craigleven was said to be some miles south of Wick, so this had to be the last day. His map was clear that once he'd crossed the Firth of Dornoch here, the rest was easier.

The ferryman asked about his insignia and they spoke for a time about his ride.

‘From London! How much further do you have?'

‘It is dawn now. Tomorrow's will see me there.' He was practically speaking to himself. ‘I shall sleep this evening and cover the rest at night. Many thanks for the crossing.'

‘God speed!'

He rode on.

* * * 

The trooper found Major Sharrocks in Craigleven's library, writing up yet another report for L'Arquen on the latest futile search for rebels. Sharrocks glanced up as the man knocked on the door.

‘That fisherman wants to see you again, sir. He's outside. Shall I send him in?'

Sharrocks breathed a sigh of relief. This had to be action.

‘Yes, good. You've done well, trooper.'

A few seconds later Sharrocks summed James up with a glance as he came into the room. Hell's teeth but he looked ready for death, he thought. He knew this type well – nervous as a weasel. The kind that would do anything to save his skin and could never be trusted in a fight – bluster and show before it but no bottom when the banging started. He looked at him again and saw the stress that was plain in every twitch of his features. He understood the reasons for it – Sharrocks wouldn't have wagered on the boy's chances of staying alive if the Jacobites ever discovered that he was helping them.

But the major showed none of this as he stood to welcome him.

‘Good morning to you, Mr McLeish,' he called out brightly, ‘you must have set out early this morning. What do your sharp eyes show you now? The men I have at the castle have told me nothing.'

‘Lord Dunbeath's boat. I saw it just as dawn was rising. Far
out – trying to get up the coast without being seen. It's here now. I walked up the headland and she's anchored about three miles north of Dunbeaton.'

Major Sharrocks leapt immediately to his feet, calling for the trooper.

‘Find McLeish here a horse. Rouse out two of the men. Quickly now. I want to leave at once.'

A horse was found and half an hour later James was leading the little group up a path, high on the dunes, well out of sight of the village. In a further five minutes they were looking down on Dunbeath's boat, her sails dropped, as it rocked gently at anchor about fifty yards from the shore.

‘How do we get out to it, McLeish?' Sharrocks was now frantic for action.

‘There's a rowing boat at the end of the bay. The lightkeeper uses it to get to the beacon. I'll go for that.'

James brought the boat close to the shore and Sharrocks could hardly contain his aggression and he ran out to it through the shallow water and hurled himself in.

‘Row! Come on man. Pull!' James McLeish stretched his arms out at the oars and the little craft shot forward towards Dunbeath's jacht. Sharrocks looked ahead and his eyes narrowed as he saw Makepeace come on deck and give them a friendly wave. Then his lips tightened and he reached for the pistol at his belt. As the tender came closer, he stood up in the boat, pointing it at the coachman's head.

‘Don't move. Stay where you are,' he shouted.

James climbed on board, tying the dinghy to the rail.

Sharrocks clambered up after him.

‘Right, you, where's Zweig?' he screamed. ‘Where's the earl?'

‘Just myself here, soldier,' replied Makepeace with a shrug.

Sharrocks handed James the pistol.

‘Shoot him if he moves,' he bellowed, and went below to the tiny cabin. As he reached the bottom of the short steps he
immediately saw the court finery and wigs on the bunks and he flung them on the floor, roaring with rage. Then he searched the minute space for any sign of Dunbeath or Zweig and found a tool chest. He manically rummaged through it, snatching up an axe. Almost beside himself with fury, he came back on deck and advanced on Makepeace.

‘Where are they?' he screamed at the coachman's blank expression. Makepeace shrugged once more and Sharrocks seemed to lose control. With a maddened roar he brought the axe down, narrowly missing the coachman but destroying the tiller. Makepeace at last made to stop him but Sharrocks lifted the axe once more, murder written on his face, and he took a step backwards. By now the major was almost deranged with anger, motivated no doubt by the thought that L'Arquen would blame him for letting Dunbeath and Zweig escape. He continued with his berserk swinging, rampaging through the boat, bringing the axe down on the compass, the cleats and winches, slicing sheets and slashing through halyards.

Eventually, he came to a stop, exhausted. The boat was smashed beyond repair. ‘McLeish,' he panted, ‘get the anchor up.'

Makepeace was bundled at pistol point into the rowing boat and as James rowed the three of them back to the shore, Dunbeath's wrecked boat began a new journey, drifting helplessly out to sea.

‘And then the fat prince stood there, shouting his head off to his toy soldiers. Charge! Kilt them! Kilt them! Goodness, how he was wobbling, Sophie,' laughed Dunbeath, ‘he looked as if he'd just left the jelly mould. By the way, Zweig, what regiment had those two ever been near?'

Zweig grinned in reply and the stories ran on. Breakfast had been over some time before and now the two men had their friends in thrall as Dunbeath reeled off a catalogue of their adventures. Hume and Sophie gazed on, amazed at the change that had taken place in the earl. Amused, energetic and generous with his praise for Zweig, the catastrophic trip had invigorated him in a way they would never have thought possible – even if he'd won a dozen prizes. Yet again, Sophie stole a look at the miracle worker. She'd heard their stories but she still didn't understand how Zweig had done it, how Dunbeath's trust had been won. But won it most certainly was.

Eventually, a lull came in the conversation and Dunbeath called Zweig to his side.

‘Perhaps we might have a quiet word together?' he murmured and then turned to the others. ‘Would you excuse me if I took the captain away for a minute?'

The two men walked over to the window alcove and began to speak in low voices.

‘How do you see your next steps, captain?'

‘Your jacht should have me back in Königsberg in two or three weeks,' said Zweig, urgent and serious now. ‘It will take me a further two to find the arms and gunpowder and arrange a ship and crew to bring them back. All being well, I believe I shall see you and your men at Lord Macdougall's landing place in two months time. I shall get word to you through his contacts.'

‘Excellent,' replied Dunbeath. ‘Our friends here must know nothing of this – we have to protect them should anything go
amiss. We'll keep them amused for now and they'll be unlikely to suspect anything. You will be setting sail after we've dined and I intend to leave here myself by the escape route at dawn tomorrow. I'll have no trouble in getting to Inverness, I know of many that will see that I get there safely. I'll be able to rendezvous with some of the clan chiefs once I'm in the city and then I'll get word out to my own people. Now, are you ready to set off later ? I think the tide should be at its lowest at around four o'clock this afternoon and you can leave by the cave then. I have your money ready in gold.'

Zweig nodded.

‘Good. All is well,' he said.

‘Before you go, captain, there is one last service that you could do for me.'

‘Of course, just name it.'

‘I would be greatly in your debt if you would speak to Sophie about what she wishes you to tell her father.'

‘Yes, willingly, my lord. Let me call her over now.'

Zweig wandered over to where Sophie was standing with Hume and Smith by the fire.

‘Sophie, might we speak? Gentlemen, with your leave.' She looked up in surprise as he gestured towards the bow window. They strolled over to the alcove and Zweig looked calmly out towards the open sea.

‘Lord Dunbeath tells me you are to be married,' he said quietly in German. Like a great fisherman, he would do nothing to spook his prey. ‘I wish you joy,' he continued, smiling. ‘I shall see your father when I get to Königsberg and tell him that the debt has been repaid and that you will be staying here in Scotland.'

‘Yes,' replied Sophie, in a completely neutral tone, ‘please tell him that. And send my love to my mother. Tell them I am content here and that I look forward to seeing them again when his lordship's war is over.'

Zweig smiled again but chose to say nothing. There was an odd silence. Then Sophie put her head closer to his. She spoke quietly.

‘Did you really save Lord Dunbeath's life?'

‘I don't think he intended to die,' replied Zweig with a crooked grin. He looked over to where Dunbeath stood talking to David Hume by the fire. ‘He becomes hot, does he not? But, yes, I saved the life of the man you would choose to marry rather than me.'

Sophie gaze moved to the window and she looked out at the ocean.

‘Yes, he becomes hot.'

They both laughed, easily and without pretence. There was another, far more comfortable silence. Then Zweig turned to her.

‘You have made your choice between the two of us, Sophie, and I have no doubt you feel you have chosen wisely. With Dunbeath there will be wealth and titles, servants and certainty. With me it would have been nothing but desperate stakes, wild ventures and awful risks. No certainty at all, only insecurity. We would never have had a quiet moment or even been sure of the clothes on our backs – always rising and falling, winning and losing. Exciting some might say. But a settled, comfortable life? No.'

Sophie stared out of the window. She didn't move and there was another silence.

Then Zweig played his final card.

‘Lord Dunbeath told me of the Prisoner's Dilemma. When we were journeying back from London in the boat.'

Sophie immediately brought her attention back to him.

‘Did he? What did you make of it?' she asked quickly.

‘I found it interesting. Then I thought of how we might have been, Sophie. There was no dilemma for me.'

‘What do you mean?'

Zweig looked intently at her. His eyes were clear. He was never more serious. All pretence had gone. There was no strategy.
There were to be no more games.

‘You must know that I would stay silent. You must know that I would only think of us together and not of myself. There would be no future for me if you were not there. And if you should decide to defect and confess then I should
still
stay silent – I would happily hang for you in a thousand lives before I ever betrayed you. I would go to my death with a smile on my face knowing that you would be going free.'

He spoke quietly and his eyes never left hers.

‘I have told you this many times …I love you. I showed you my heart in the days when I was on the dunes. And I told you again when I came to your room before I left for London and cried my bitter tears. Sophie, I would care nothing of dying. You could make your own choice in the Dilemma but I would be content to be hanged if it meant your freedom. You would know that my love for you could never die.'

Sophie looked steadily back at him. Then she rose to her feet and was about to walk to the fire when she turned back.

‘I know who you are,' she said, quietly. ‘You are a madman.'

* * * 

Sharrocks called for the duty officer when he returned to Craigleven.

‘Where is Colonel L'Arquen?'

‘He's out hunting highlanders, sir. I believe he is due to return shortly.'

‘In which case take this prisoner and hold him until he gets back.'

He turned to Makepeace, still bound tightly at the wrists.

‘Mr Makepeace. I'm quite sure you know little of what you are caught up in. But in the name of everything that you hold dear, I give you one last chance – will you not tell me where Lord Dunbeath and the other man are?'

Makepeace's face was a mask. He had been in Dunbeath's service for many years and he knew only loyalty to the Urquhain. He would stubbornly protect his master.

Sharrocks put his head closer to Makepeace and spoke quietly to him in an almost caring tone.

‘We shall put you in a cell now but I urge you to think again about your silence, my friend. My colonel is a devil for getting people to co-operate with him.'

Makepeace jutted his chin. But there was no disguising the anxiety that showed on his face.

* * * 

Dunbeath went to the door that led to the kitchens and shouted for his housekeeper. She appeared a few moments later, smoothing her apron.

‘There you are Annie, he said, ‘have you been to Dunbeaton yet?'

‘No, my lord. Not yet.' She wiped her hands as she spoke. ‘I was going soon to get food for our dinner. I'll talk to Gordon McKay about Makepeace then.'

‘Good, good,' said Dunbeath. ‘There will be many for luncheon I fear. And fetch up the finest wines from the cellars. We are celebrating are we not? The Urquhain are preparing to rise and we shall soon have the king over the water returned to us at last. Captain Zweig will be leaving when the tide is at its lowest at around four o'clock, so let us eat at two.'

Annie nodded and hurried away.

* * * 

Makepeace heard Major Sharrocks coming as his heels rang down the stone corridor. The cell door opened.

‘The colonel has returned. He wishes to see you.'

The guard led off but as Makepeace passed him Sharrocks touched his arm.

‘Please, remember that the Scots are our enemies, Mr Makepeace. The truth now, or he will be hard on you.'

But far from being hard on him, L'Arquen was friendliness itself when they were shown into his office. Drinks were offered and then the colonel asked Makepeace in a friendly and conversational tone to tell the story of the trip back from London.

‘There's very little to tell, sir. His lordship left his meeting at the Admiralty and I drove him back to his boat and helped him sail up here.'

‘And the German gentleman?' said L'Arquen, pleasantly. ‘Did he accompany you?'

Makepeace fatally hesitated for a second.

‘German gentleman? Oh, you'll be referring to his lordship's sailing master? Yes, he came with us.'

‘I see. And you threw them over the side on your way back did you? Major Sharrocks tells me that they were not on board when he took you off. Apparently you had no rowing boat with you. Had they used it to row ashore earlier?'

‘Yes sir,' replied Makepeace, ‘they took the tender when we anchored.'

‘A great shame,' murmured L'Arquen looking down sadly at the floor. Then after a pause he shook his head. ‘Yes, it is a shame indeed that you do not see fit to tell me the truth.'

‘But I am, sir,' blustered Makepeace.

L'Arquen shook his head with a show of deep sorrow at finding yet another example of human frailty.

‘It won't do, Mr Makepeace. No, I'm afraid it just won't do at all. You see, the problem for you is that when the boat was spotted sailing around the headland it had no tender with it. And you were the only person that my major found on deck when you'd anchored. Now, let me ask you again. When did Lord Dunbeath and Captain Zweig get off?'

Makepeace looked bewildered for a moment but then became sullen.

‘I don't know. I don't know round here.'
He closed his mouth with a studied finality.

‘You disappoint me, Mr Makepeace,' said L'Arquen politely. ‘Now, Major Sharrocks is going to take you back to your room and a gentleman called Trooper Williams will visit you later to ask you again about your trip. If you do think you have anything else to tell me I should be delighted to hear it when you feel ready.'

* * * 

James pushed open the door of the cottage. He immediately sensed the chill in the atmosphere. Mona was sitting on a low chair by the hearth. She didn't look up when he came in, but continued to stare silently into the smoking peat.

‘Mother?' said James, and a slight questioning note came into his voice.

‘You were seen, James,' his mother murmured in a dead voice. ‘You were seen with the redcoats.'

James's mind raced.

‘Aye. Well, I was just showing them where the old beacon is. There's no harm in that is there?'

Mona had risen to her feet. Now she stood, looking James in the face.

‘You've betrayed them, James, haven't you? You've betrayed Alexis and you've betrayed the earl. You've betrayed your country. And you've betrayed me.'

‘Mother, please! Listen, you must listen. It was Zweig that betrayed me! He lied to me. He stole the telescope. Mother! Please!'

Mona turned to stare at the smouldering turf.

‘Leave, James,' she said in a whisper, ‘I have no sons now.'