‘Stop!’ I said. ‘I just can’t stand that. I don’t mind political astuteness taking a fellow’s land from him. Edward’s cleverness may have been diabolic but at least it was something the other fellows didn’t possess—and would probably have liked to have possessed. But this propaganda—already—against the Irish! It’s low. It’s an ugly sin. For if one thing is certain—and history is there to prove it—it is that the old fighting Gaels never killed women and children; they were chivalrous to an almost idiotic degree. Even in our own country, take the Prince Charlie rising and the march on Derby. Not one single little atrocity all the way from Moidart to Derby and all the way back to Culloden. The thing is phenomenal. As Cumberland proved within five bloody minutes. Or take Edward’s sack of Berwick and slaughter of the women and children. It’s remembered there to this day. What I’m getting at—’

‘ “Thai bestly folk”—this is Blind Harry, the Scots poet, on the Irish—“could nocht but byrn and sla”.’

‘Go on,’ I said. ‘Edward knew. Divide—and destroy. When you can’t fight the enemy, get him to fight himself. And there’s always money.’

‘Neil Campbell retired before Makfadyan to the head of the Pass of Brander and broke the bridge behind him. Wallace, having taken Stirling Castle, decided he had better have a look at this business in the west and set off with 2,000 men and Duncan of Lorn for guide. And in due course they came to the Pass of Brander and the fight took place in that narrow defile, high rocks behind, and in front “watter depe and wan”. It was a desperate encounter, for Makfadyan’s men fought stubbornly, but in the end Wallace prevailed, and Makfadyan jumped into the river Awe, held on to a rock until he got his armour off, swam across, and climbed up into a cave under Craigmore. But Duncan of Lorn went after him, and slew him in the cave, and brought his head back, which was stuck high on a rock for “honour of Ireland”—which I think was pretty savage,’ finished the Crew.

‘Hm. The irony, yes. Let us go and see that cave.’

‘Are you sure you wouldn’t rather go to the Gulf of Coirebhreacain?’

‘None of your Edward tricks on me. Come on.’

So off we set on a sunny day. And within the first mile or two of that public road, under repair, the sweet-smelling peace of our boat was brought forcibly home. Dust, petrol stinks, flies, sweat; vehicles bouncing past, eyes concentrated on a highway fenced in with barb wire. And we used to enjoy this!

The volume of water in the Awe surprised us. A large river, with salmon fishers here and there upon it. We watched a graceful if not very expert young woman until her fly stuck in the bottom, which I had prophesied would happen, and I was wondering whether I should risk telling her how she should set about getting the fly free, when she broke. Then her gillie came up and she handed him the rod, amused.