The Battle for Duncragglin

by Andrew H. Vanderwal

  Alex took a deep breath and recounted the events of the day, starting when he woke with the others and discovered that Katie was missing. Sir Ellerslie and Malcolm shook their heads in amazement as Alex described climbing the tree to evade the soldiers. They burst out laughing when he told them that he'd escaped by stealing their horses.

  When he finished, Sir Ellerslie turned to a large person seated beyond the glow of the oil lamp at the far end of the table. “We may need to advance the timing of our attack,” he said. “Particularly if Hesselrigge thinks to have the lassie interrogated. She knows our plan to use a tunnel.”

  “I am no convinced of this plan.” Wallace's deep voice rumbled down the length of the table. “I am no convinced that diverting a team of my best men to finding tunnels and caves that might not even exist is a good idea. These men will be needed in our assault.”

  “Aye, I understand your concern,” Sir Ellerslie said. “But if the tunnel does exist, and if we do manage to open the main gates from within …”

  “Those are a lot of ‘ifs.’ Tell me …” Wallace leaned forward and addressed Alex directly “… this tunnel ye say can be reached only at the lowest of low tides, what makes ye say it connects with the castle?”

  “I was told this by a professor who has studied the history of this area,” Alex replied. “He said that battles over the castle were won and lost because of the caves.”

  “A professor? Be that one who professes knowledge?”

  “Yes, he is a learned man – a scholar.”

  Wallace turned to Sir Ellerslie. “There will be no rescue if ye fail. Ye will be vastly outnumbered within the castle, and heaven help ye if ye are caught: Hesselrigge will show no mercy, far from it in fact.” He pulled Sir Ellerslie aside and continued in a low voice. “Are ye quite sure to put so much confidence in the word of this lad? As I've said before, he does appear to be a bit soft in the head, does he no?”

  Sir Ellerslie smiled. “I'll stake my life on it,” he said simply.

  “That is precisely what ye are doing.” Wallace picked up his gloves. “Very well; this bizarre plan is a long shot, but worth a try. However, ye will get no more than a half-dozen men. Our main force will begin the assault of the castle one hour before the second dawn – whether ye have successfully penetrated the castle or not.”

  Bursting with excitement, Alex struggled to maintain restraint as he said, with his head bowed, “Thank you very much, sir.”

  Wallace looked at Alex quizzically. “Quite un expectedly, we now have a lot riding on ye, m'lad. Fate can never be foretold and forever surprises. Be off now, and Godspeed.”

  Malcolm followed Sir Ellerslie from the tent. “We'll need to bring five of your best men,” Sir Ellerslie said, “and only your best. We'll also need torches, ropes, and picks.”

  “Aye, Sir, I know who to choose.” Malcolm gave a half-salute. “Give me one hour.”

  “Very good.” Sir Ellerslie gave Malcolm a nod of farewell. “Alex, I have some affairs to attend to. I suggest ye get something to eat from Groenie.”

  Alex was left alone to explore the camp. He stayed well clear of the area where men were practicing, clashing swords with vigor. He didn't want to get in their way.

  Alex hoped to make it past the kitchen lean-to unnoticed, but Groenie spotted him, calling out with surprising joviality, “Alex, m'lad, ye're back! From the dead, it would appear! Would ye be here to help me this time? I've been so busy with all these extra men.”

  “I'm sorry, Groenie. I am to depart on an important mission with Sir Ellerslie and Malcolm within the hour.”

  Groenie scrunched his brow. “It's always the same.” He took up a dirty scrub brush. “Ah, well, never mind. Come and have some grub before ye go. I've baked a new batch of bread, and there's some venison stew ye can dip it into.”

  Alex gratefully accepted the offer. He sat at the long wooden table while Groenie ladled it out. Placing the bowl and a hunk of fresh bread before Alex, Groenie looked at him with a glint in his eye. “Whatever your mission, m'lad, do me one favor: Win. Defeat the enemy. The sooner they're defeated, the sooner I get to go back to my land and see my wife and bairns.”

  Surprised, Alex watched Groenie resume his pot-scrubbing. He had not thought of Groenie as a man with a family.

  Alex finished his meal and had some time on his hands, so he decided to stroll about the camp. Passing the blacksmith's workplace, he noticed racks of shiny new swords, shields, and breastplates. It appeared Wallace had plans for enlisting even more recruits.

  A solitary older man was wheeling a squeaky wheel barrow down a bumpy trail. The wheelbarrow's contents were covered by a dirty cloth. Curious, Alex followed, catching up to him on the outskirts of camp, where the man was struggling to push the heavy load up an embankment. Failing at his first try, the man backed up to take another run at it.

  “Can I help?” Alex offered.

  “Aye, can ye carry my shovel for me?” The man carefully set the ends of the wheelbarrow down on the uneven ground. “It keeps falling off my 'barrow when I go over bumps.”

  Alex took the long-handled shovel. “Do we have far to go?” He did not want to be late for his scheduled rendezvous.

  “Nae, just over this wee rise here.” The old man wiped his sweaty hands on the back of his trousers. Pulling up on the wheelbarrow handles, he ran at the hill, the load bouncing and thumping with each bump. The cloth cover shifted and a bare human foot protruded from under the folds.

  Alex stopped dead in his tracks.

  “Cm on, then,” the old man called back over his shoulder. “Here's the spot.”

  Ahead was a ridge of freshly dug earth. Reluctantly, Alex followed as the old man pushed the wheelbarrow over the last crest. The man set the wheelbarrow down before a trench, put his hands on his hips, and stretched. His backbone popped and crackled.

  “I'm too old for all this haulin' about,” the old man grumbled. “I should be home sittin' before the fire with my pipe, havin' my bairns and their bairns tendin' to my needs.”

  “Why don't you do that?” Alex asked, from ten paces away.

  The old man's eyes lost their focus. “Aye, laddie, why indeed. At one time, I thought that is how I would live out my old age. Me and my missus worked hard on the land all these years; we had enough to share, and share we did. Those were good days. We had four sons and two dochters that grew to be big – and a few more that didn't, mind ye. Then the dark days came. As the price for staying on my land, the purser demanded more and more of my crop 'til there was no enough for us. We grew more and more hungry, and there was nothing I could do. My wife, my dear wife of so many years, got sick. I had no money to pay for a healer – I pleaded with the lord's men to give me a reprieve on my taxes so we would have enough food … so I could take my wife to a healer and pay for some medicine….”

  The old man was no longer talking to Alex; he was talking to himself. His voice was strained. “I miss you, Lizzie. I will to my dyin' day.”

  Alex did not dare interrupt.

  “My dochters have married good lads, but they cannae make enough to live. Their wee bairns cry out in hunger. Two of my sons were taken to be soldiers. Before the soldiers could come for my other two sons, I met the good William Wallace, who told us we could fight – aye, fight and win!”

  The man paused and looked intently at Alex. “To me dyin' breath, I shall fight. It's better to die spittin' on the dead of your enemy than living with them spittin' on ye every day, don't ye think?”

  “What happened to your sons who became soldiers?”

  “I've never seen 'm again.” The old man abruptly pulled up on the wheelbarrow handles. The wheelbarrow's nose dug into the dirt and the grisly contents slid out and tumbled into the trench.

  The man squinted at the twisted corpse. Although all his armor had been removed, Alex recognized him as the soldier that had chased him.

  “That's no my son,” the old man said, with a tired note of relief. “Now, lad, ye know why
I have this job. If I do find my missing sons, I will want them to have a proper burial.”

  “Where are your younger sons?” Alex handed the old man his shovel.

  “They're no so young. Big strappin' lads they are, and they're here fightin' with William Wallace.” The old man flung a shovel of fresh earth down into the trench. It landed with a dull thud, splattering dirt over the white dead face.

  “I just hope they don't meet their older brothers on the battlefield. And if they do, I hope they won't know it.”

  The old man flung down more shovelfuls until the corpse was but an outline in the dirt. Only the toes of one foot protruded. Waving away the persistent flies, Alex noticed there were many more outlines in the dirt, each covered with squiggling, whitish gray shapes – clusters of feasting maggots! Suddenly, Alex knew why the air about him had such a strong sickly-sweet odor. He felt the now all-too-familiar sensation of blood draining from his body.

  Waving away the flies, Alex said weakly, “Good-bye. See you again sometime, Mr….”

  “Bruford,” the old man said with a smile. “Alan Bruford's my name, and y'rs?”

  “Alex.”

  “I thought so. My son has told me much about ye already.”

  “He has? Do I know him?”

  “Aye, ye've met him a few times. Malcolm's his name. Say hello to him for me. Hurry off now.”

  Alex raced back down the embankment. He was still stiff and sore from having run so much earlier that day, but he did not want to be late.

  16

  THE MISSION

  Alex jogged through the entire camp without finding Malcolm and his men. He did not know where they were to meet and was worried that he might not find them.

  Heavy clouds had rolled in, bringing a bout of drizzle and mist. The damp took the enthusiasm out of the war games. Men sat clustered near their tents, playing games of chance and dexterity with small sticks, ready to take refuge should the rain come down harder. They shouted and threw back their heads with great bellows, exchanging coins whenever someone won.

  A tent flap flung open and Sir Ellerslie appeared. Relieved, Alex was about to shout and wave when he noticed, barely visible in the darkness of the tent, a woman in a long dress. Sir Ellerslie turned back and they embraced. Alex kept going, not wanting Sir Ellerslie to catch him watching.

  Horses neighed in the distance. Alex explored the outskirts of camp and found Malcolm with a small group of men, leading the horses from paddocks. The men were dressed entirely in black. Their horses snorted impatiently, sensing a hard ride ahead.

  “Everything ready?” The voice came from behind him. Alex looked over his shoulder and saw Sir Ellerslie approaching. He was alone.

  “Aye, Sir.” Malcolm slapped a saddlebag. “We have torches in watertight bags, with flints to light them, rope to help us climb, and picks to hack our way past underground obstacles. We have a few skins of water also. Beyond that, we'll have to live by our wits – and the sword.”

  “That we will do – well done, Malcolm.” Sir Ellerslie ran an appraising eye over the men. “And tell me, who have ye chosen to join us?”

  “The best!” Malcolm said, holding out his arm toward a slight, fine-featured man who, at first glance, seemed better suited for the ministry than part of a crack assault team. “Reagan here is an expert climber. He spent much of his youth in the Highlands and was renowned for his ability to climb sheer cliffs – even when they sloped forward over the climber. He can hang out over nothing. I thought his talents would be useful to us.”

  Reagan finished tying a coil of rope to his saddle and made a small bow.

  Malcolm gestured to an intent-looking man with neat, oily-black hair. “Neil, on the other hand, is a champion swordsman. He can swing a sword so quickly that before his opponent can counter a move to one side, Neil has him on the other.”

  Neil's eyes never left Sir Ellerslie's, even as he gave a slight nod.

  Sir Ellerslie suddenly made as if to draw his sword, but before it cleared the scabbard, Neil's sword was under his chin. Sir Ellerslie swallowed and slid his sword back. “Nicely done.”

  Neil put his sword away and bowed.

  Malcolm carried on to the next – a tall man with several daggers protruding from over his shoulder in a modified quiver. “Hugh here is good with a sword too, but what distinguishes him is his ability with a dagger. He can throw one with such force that it sinks to the hilt, unless, of course, it's stopped by a rib.”

  Sir Ellerslie rubbed his chin. “That's an unusual talent. Can we have a demonstration on yon tree?”

  Hugh reached back over his shoulder. There was a flash of spinning steel and a dull thud.

  Sir Ellerslie let out a low whistle. “That would be very effective in confined quarters – if ye can strike a spot with no armor.”

  “I've seen him skewer an apple thrown into the air. Now George – that large muscular man there – is the best at unarmed combat. He can outwrestle any man I've ever met and can snap a person's neck at will. But when he's not agitated, he's the gentlest man around. Aren't ye, George?”

  George tipped his cap and bent to pick up a heavy saddle. Seemingly without effort, he swung it high and lowered it gently onto his horse's back.

  “He loves animals and playing with children. When he stands with his arms out, children pretend he's a tree and climb all over him.”

  There were a few smiles, but no one laughed. They knew better than to laugh at big gentle George.

  “And who's that man with the unusually short bow?” asked Sir Ellerslie.

  A barrel-chested man not much taller than Craig looked up from tightening his horse's saddle.

  “Yon's Donald. We have many men who excel with the longbow, even more that are good with a crossbow, but none who fire a short bow like Donald. He can fire one arrow after another so quickly that the second is airborne before the first has struck.”

  “Short bows are hard to pull – and hard to shoot straight,” said Sir Ellerslie.

  “Aye, but they're good for short-range conflict, such as we may encounter in caves or a castle,” Malcolm said. He gave Donald a nod.

  Following a flash and a blur, two arrows quivered in the tree, one on either side of Hugh's dagger.

  “Hey!” Hugh protested. “Ye could have damaged my dagger. That handle is finely carved from deer antler –”

  “Calm down, Hugh,” said Malcolm, stepping between them. “If Donald wanted to hit your dagger, he would have.”

  Hugh looked unconvinced, but retrieved his dagger from the tree. He hesitated, then pulled out the arrows and handed them to Donald.

  “Well, this is an excellent collection of talent ye have assembled here, Malcolm.” Sir Ellerslie gave a playful smile. “So tell me, what speciality do ye bring to the team?”

  Malcolm did not hesitate. “I lead, Sir. I apply the talent where and when it's best used.”

  “Then we truly have everything we need for success.”

  Sir Ellerslie clapped his hands and raised his voice so everyone could hear.

  “This will be a difficult mission, one where we will face grave danger and near impossible odds. But when we succeed, and succeed we will, Hesselrigge will swing from a gibbet, and we will have gained a great victory in our fight for liberty. It is also a secret mission. Once I tell ye of what we are to do, there is no turning back. Should any of ye wish to decline, tell me now.”

  Reagan spoke up. “We're with ye, Sir Ellerslie. I believe I speak for us all.”

  “Aye, I'm with ye as well.” Neil's pronouncement was followed by nods from the others.

  Sir Ellerslie smiled. “Very well, let me tell ye of our mission. We will be penetrating the castle by way of secret caves. Once inside, we will disrupt the defenses and find a way to facilitate a main assault, which will commence before sunrise the day after the morrow, approximately thirty-six hours from now.”

  The men murmured their surprise.

  The questions came in rapid succession: />
  “Where are these caves?”

  “Are they guarded?”

  “Will we have to dig our way in?”

  “Who is this lad?”

  Sir Ellerslie raised his hands.

  “This is Alex.” He had Alex stand before him and face the men. “The first time I saw this lad, he was lost in the woods and about to become intimately acquainted with the working end of a robber's club. He is a bit of a mystery to us. He speaks strangely, and no one is sure from where he comes, although he claims to be of Macpherson lineage.

  “Alex is not alone. Every time I find him, he's with young folk, all of whom speak strangely, though none as strange as him. The others claim to be of the McRae clan, but none of the McRaes have knowledge of them. He has told us of a secret tunnel that is rumored to access caves beneath the castle. It's our job to find it.”

  Sir Ellerslie paused for this to sink in and gently clapped Alex on both shoulders. “Tell the men, Alex, what ye know of these caves.”

  “The caves are old,” Alex began hesitantly. “They were here before the castle was built. Not many know they exist. Some who found them went in and were never heard from again….”

  The men rolled their eyes.

  “It's true!” Alex tried desperately to sound more convincing. “My parents were among those who disappeared in those caves, and I'm going to find them –”

  Sir Ellerslie cut him off. “We will be searching the caves only to find a way into the castle. But I do commit to ye, Alex, that when our battles are over and Duncragglin is ours, we will do what we can to help ye.”

  Sir Ellerslie turned to address the men. “Our first task is to find the tunnel. If we do not succeed, we will have lost no more than a day's effort. If we do, the game is on.” He put his foot in the stirrup and swung onto his horse. “Let us be off.”

  The men headed out, leaving Alex to scamper up the horse Malcolm had prepared for him. As Alex caught up, his horse slowed to a steady canter. The men let the horses find their own pace, and before long, they were down to a brisk trot. Alex bounced painfully in the saddle until he got the hang of the new rhythm.