Hammy is a young lad with a face full of freckles and lanky long limbs. He’s wearing a once-white sark and the leather chest plate his dad lent him, which doesn’t fit, but it’s light and gives him protection, which is good in his line of work. Hammy is a Galloper, a messenger for the Covenanter Army, a good one. He's fast on horse and foot, can navigate the terrain like a deer, and he has a knack for anticipating the weather, like today. It’s still early, and there’s a dull mist hanging, but he knows it will soon burn off, and the sky will turn blue with a blazing sun.
He has led his horse, Elowyn, to drink in a hidden glen near the army camp. It’s a haven of greenery, soft mosses, and silken leaves, surrounded by hazel and there’s an oak tree he has come to in the past to pray. The peaceful silence is broken only by the morning calls of blackbirds and the gentle murmur of the water in the clear burn. He is at home here in the hills of Kilsyth and feels close to God.
Growing up, Hammy would help his father with his farrier work, making and fitting horseshoes, but as soon as his father dismissed him from the forge, he’d be off, disappearing into the hills. He had found the source and course of the rivers, scaled the cliffs and crags, and discovered every waterfall, proud peak and hidden glen like the one with the Oak Tree which he prayed under now.
When the Covenanter Army came to Banton to recruit, Hammy was of age - just. He was thrilled at the prospect of adventuring to new places, but the recruitment broke his father’s heart. He was proud of his son for enlisting, and he believed in the Covenanters’ cause. No man is above God, not even a southern king, but he suspected the dangers Hammy would face and lost a part of himself as he watched his boy leave home.
In the nine months since, Hammy has travelled farther than he could have imagined, all the way to the shadow of Ben Nevis - can you believe it? He’s done his job well, mainly carrying reports amongst the army’s rear echelons, the healers and cooks, but his skill has been noticed, and his knowledge of these hills has seen him promoted.
“HAMMY! Get up here. The committee have nearly finished!”
Angus, a junior messenger, is frantically waving from the crest of the glen. Nodding, Hammy tightens the straps on the leather chest plate and scrambles up the steep banks, half dragging Elowyn from the grass, before shoving her rein into Angus’s hand.
“Tack her, get her ready to ride.”
Hammy senses a shift in the camp as he runs through the rows of scattered tents. Soldiers rush to sharpen weapons, tighten armour, and gulp down a quick meal. He reaches the command tent at the heart of the camp, which a battle-ready soldier guards. Hammy tries not to sound out of breath and puffs out his chest.
“Messenger for the front!” The guard lifts the fabric tent flap, and Hammy slips inside.
The noise from the camp immediately quietens. The committee members surround a wooden table strewn with maps and look to Lord Argyll, whose iron voice cuts across the room.
“The highlanders of the right flank will continue to move east behind the rim of the Valley Basin.”
“My Lord!” interrupts Lieutenant Baillie, his face aghast, his voice shaking with passion. “We cannot win unless the covenanters fight together. We must not divide the troops. Moving the right flank to the east will weaken our entire formation. You must withdraw the right flank and bring the highlanders back into the body army. We must hold. And we must wait for reinforcements.”
Rage seethes between the two men. Argyll’s lips have turned white, and when he next speaks, it is whispered.
“Inverlochy, Auldearn, Alford. Do I need to remind you of the men you have failed in these places, many mere boys, like this messenger?”
The whole room turns to look at Hammy, who blinks under their stares, Argyll continues in his cutting tone.
“You lost your right to object, Baillie. You carry out our orders. You do not give them anymore. The right flank will continue moving east. When they are in position, they are to wait for the signal to attack. Galloper, have you understood your message?”
“Yes sir, understood.”
Hammy blinks in the bright sunlight outside the tent where Angus has readied Elowyn. Hammy nods his thanks to Angus, mounts his mare, and kicks off, thundering out of the camp and into the Kilsyth hills.
Hammy reaches the high rocky crags to the east, where he can see the whole valley and assesses his next move. He creeps forward on his belly to the cliff’s edge and peers over. His heart skips a beat. He can see his own village, the forge and the stables where his dad will be but scattered among them - the enemy army. They have set up camp there amongst the buildings. What have they done with his father?
The sunlight glints off a metal object somewhere on the hillside below. Hammy screws his eyes against the sun and can just make out a highland soldier from the separated right flank. He scrambles down, darting between boulders and bushes and making his way to the regiment’s chief, Lord Leslie.
“Let me guess,” Leslie utters through gritted teeth, “Orders from the committee to hold our position until we get the attack signal?”
“Yes,” Hammy nods, “Sir, the rest of the army aren’t quite…ready. Argyll said you must hold for his signal.”
Leslie spits on the floor. Hammy can sense the men around them listening in.
“We should hold for the enemy to have a good sleep, water their horses, and sharpen their swords before we make an appearance? They gave no such courtesy to our families - our loved ones had no time to prepare or flee. They were met with fire and steel, and we will have our vengeance.”
The men drew their muskets and turned to Hammy’s village below in the valley.
“Are we holding, men?”
“No!” the reply echoes.
“Then we march!” Hammy watches, weak with shock and unable to move, as the highlanders ignore the order to wait for the covenanters, as the entire eastern flank of the Covenanter Army emerges from behind every boulder and gorse bush on the hillside. Low and snarling, they make their way into the valley and the Battle of Kilsyth.
