The Battle for Duncragglin

by Andrew H. Vanderwal

  The path narrowed rapidly, and the horses moved into single file. Alex found himself right behind the swordsman, Neil, whom he recognized by the oily-black shiny hair that protruded from under his deerskin hat.

  Ahead was a hazy mist. Branches brushed past when the horses maneuvered turns. After being slapped in the face by a wet leafy branch, Alex learned to watch Neil's back and duck and weave when he did.

  As if to better assault the riders, mist particles banded together to become a chilling, penetrating drizzle. The light rain soon pasted Alex's hair to his head and sent trickles of water down his neck. He fumbled to button up his jacket with one hand, the other holding the reins of his trotting horse. Although thankful that his jacket held back most of the rain, he wished it had a hood, or that he had a hat like the others … or better yet, that it would stop raining.

  By the time they reached the coast, the rain had become an outright downpour. They took shelter under the canopy of large trees, but cold splatters of water continued to find them. Soaked all down his back, Alex sat shivering, hunched in his saddle, feeling miserable. Here he was, seven hundred years from his own time, his friends captured or dead, no place to call home…. Unexpected tears mixed with the rain that trickled down his face.

  Through the din of rain crashing through the forest, Alex heard one of the men speak. “Good thing it's coming down like this,” the man said. “Less likely for soldiers to be about.”

  “Aye, it will send them dashing back for the shelter of the castle,” said another. “Besides, it can drizzle for days, but rain usually stops after a downpour.”

  Sure enough, it was not long before the steady roar became lighter and the rain stopped altogether.

  Malcolm dismounted and signaled for the others to stay put. Sprinting across the wet grassy plateau, he kept low to the ground all the way to the cliff edge, where he scanned the base of the cliffs and the shoreline.

  “No sign of soldiers,” he reported. “But some might still be lurking about, so proceed with caution. There are many wee coves and inlets that I couldn't see into.”

  They followed a soggy path along the edge of the forest, keeping a close eye for patrols now that they were in open view. Their horses had recovered from the long run through the woods and clopped along at a brisk trot.

  Alex did not know where he was. The forest all looked the same to him: trees, trees, and more trees. He did not recognize the place where he had stolen a horse until they were riding right past it.

  “Here! Here's where I left the other soldiers.”

  Malcolm reined in his horse and led the men into the trees. Alex showed them where the soldiers had tied their horses and then impatiently turned his horse about.

  “Annie and the others should be in our hiding place,” he said. “I gave them plenty of time to hide. Let's hurry. We should be able to bring our horses down that gorge.”

  Sir Ellerslie grabbed the reins of Alex's horse. “Wait just one moment here, young lad. We cannae just go blundering along. The soldiers might still be there, hiding – waiting for ye to come back.”

  “So what do we do?”

  “We ambush the ambushers.” Sir Ellerslie shifted in his saddle. “Malcolm, have Reagan go down the cliffs. Donald and Hugh can take up a position along the top ridge to the south. From there, they will have a good view of the shoreline and can fire down on any soldiers they see. Neil can go with ye down the gorge to the north to cut off any possible escape. Alex and I will draw them out. We'll circle back to the water's edge far to the south. The tide is on its way out and there's plenty of beach. As we proceed along the water's edge, they'll see us coming and think we're alone. We'll be out of the range of their arrows, so at a certain point they'll make a move. Once they're out of hiding, your men can take them down.”

  Malcolm grinned. “That's no unlike how we defeated them at Loch Karins. A fake to the left followed by a shot from the right. Do ye think they'll ever learn?”

  “Aye, they might. And we'd best be prepared for that too. Keep an eye out.”

  Sir Ellerslie gently tugged his horse's reins. With a jerk of his head, he motioned for Alex to follow. They set off back the way they came.

  Winding along next to gently lapping waves, their horses' hooves muffled by the firm wet sand, all was calm and still. The setting sun peeked out from behind dark clouds, casting warm rays over Alex's wet clothes. He rocked back and forth on the saddle. For the first time in hours, he felt relaxed. Wouldn't it be nice, he thought, if our ride ends at a log cabin, with a crackling fire, a table set with a hot cheesy-pasta dinner, pumpkin pie for dessert … with Annie, Willie, Craig, and Katie all there with me, laughing and joking about their adventures?

  Sir Ellerslie's quiet voice brought him back. “We're getting close; be alert.”

  Alex recognized the stretch of sloping rocks sticking out into the sea and he felt his heart quicken. He strained his eyes to detect movement. Which of those distant sloped rocks is their shelter? The shoreline looked completely deserted.

  Even as they drew nearer to the point, there was no sign of anyone having been there. Alex recognized where he had searched for Katie. They were close to the hideout now, but still no sign of anyone. Please let the soldiers be long gone, he prayed, please let Annie and the others be here.

  Sir Ellerslie drew in his horse and signaled for Alex to halt. He scanned the rocks, bow ready.

  The first soldier Alex spotted came out from behind rocks further up the coast. He was soon accompanied by another, then another, until a half-dozen soldiers blocked their way.

  “Those are not the same men …,” Alex began.

  From behind nearby rocks, more soldiers leapt out and, battle cries ringing, charged.

  Alex tugged hard on his horse's reins to turn it around. His horse reared, flipping Alex off its back onto the wet sand. His horse screamed and kicked madly, an arrow protruding from deep in its rump.

  Suddenly an arrow lodged directly in Sir Ellerslie's back. Fighting to retain control of his horse, Sir Ellerslie did not fall. Instead, he kicked it into a gallop.

  Alex did the only thing he could think of – he ran straight into the ocean. Water splashed around him, slowing him as he ran. When almost waist-deep, Alex dove, holding his breath. He kicked hard and breaststroked with all his might, until his lungs were screaming for air.

  Gasping, Alex surfaced and swam straight out to sea. Arrows splashed into the water next to him, bobbing up to float harmlessly on the surface. He took another gulp of air and went back under. Within seconds, out of breath, he surfaced. He swam farther and farther from shore until, too exhausted to continue, he flipped over into a float.

  Arrows were no longer falling around him, nor did it appear that anyone was coming in after him. Rising and falling with the ocean swells, Alex tried to see what was happening onshore. It had become dark. He listened intently, but could hear only distant waves upon rocks. Every now and then, he thought he heard a shout.

  Alex was afraid that they might as yet set out after him and knew he could not stay for long in this numbingly cold water. He started swimming. The only stroke he could maintain for any length of time was the apple-picking sidestroke, and then only on his right side. He decided to fill bushels of one hundred apples each. He measured his progress in bushels and by the slow passing of a black peak silhouetted by an orange and red sky. His apple-picking was taking him north, towards the castle, towards more soldiers … towards the caves.

  Cold racked Alex's body. Soldiers or no soldiers, he had to head in. Seventy-eight, seventy-nine, eighty apples. He remembered which bushel he was filling by concentrating on a particular finger. As he was now on the pinkie finger of his left hand, he must be filling his tenth bushel. The picking was getting slower. He shuddered each time he stretched out for yet another apple and felt himself sink further each time he passed the apple back. It took greater and greater effort to reach out. His body seemed determined to curl into a ball, but he knew he had to stretch
out into the cold again, he had to … or he would sink.

  Alex took in a gasp of water. He kicked hard, spluttering, coughing, flailing…. He tried to hack his airways clear. Lungs screaming, he sucked in convulsively and felt more water coming in. Everything was spinning, and he could no longer tell which way was up. Blackness swirled around him. His twitching became weaker, his gasps for air futile. A wave of darkness swept up and receded, followed by another and another. And then a last large wave of blackness flooded over him … a wave that did not recede.

  PART III

  A CHANGE IN DUNCRAGGLIN

  17

  THE CAPTIVE IN MALCOLM'S HOME

  Alex woke to find himself in a bed under snug covers. A small coal fire flickered shadows over a sloped plank ceiling. Lifting his head, he discovered to his delight that the bundle next to him was Craig, sleeping soundly the way he usually did: head tilted back, mouth slightly open, making gentle gurgling noises.

  “Shh!” An ancient, wrinkly woman was raising her finger to her lips. “He's been awake for hours, watching ye, asking over and over if ye're alright,” she rasped. “Let him sleep.”

  “Is Annie here, and Willie?”

  The woman shook her head, her piercing eyes fixed on Alex. His heart sank.

  “Are they … are they …?” Alex could not bring himself to say the D word.

  “They're missing.” The woman drew her loose shawl up around her shoulders. “Sir Ellerslie thinks they were captured and taken away before ye got back.”

  “Sir Ellerslie's alive?” He thought of Sir Ellerslie, struck by an arrow. “Is he here?”

  No sooner had Alex spoken than Sir Ellerslie appeared, his tall lean form looming up behind the elderly woman. Alex could see fresh white bandages bound across his chest. In several places, splotches of red had soaked through.

  Alex gasped.

  Sir Ellerslie laughed. “Aye, they got me good.” He held up a rustling, metal tunic. “I knew this coat of mail would come in handy one of these days. The arrows didn't go in very far … still hurt, though.”

  “Malcolm? And the men?”

  “I'm here, laddie.” Alex instantly recognized the gruff voice. Malcolm emerged from an adjoining room. He gave Alex an affectionate clap on the shoulder. “Ye gave us a right fright. If big George wasn't such a strong swimmer, we'd have lost ye for sure.”

  Alex was bursting with questions. He sat up, careful not to disturb Craig. “What about the soldiers? And the others? How did you –”

  “Settle down, settle down,” Malcolm said, pulling back a chair. “All in good time. Let's get some hot soup in ye and I'll tell ye the rest – it's no all good news, mind.” He looked grim.

  Alex clambered half out of bed before discovering, to his horror, that he was wearing nothing at all. He pulled the covers back up all the way to his chin.

  “Dinnae be silly.” The old woman smiled as she shuffled over to the fireplace. “I've raised four boys of my own and they were no shy.”

  She felt a few of the dark shapes hanging before the fire. “These'ns are dry,” she said, lifting them off the hooks. “I'll need to dig out a coat and boots though. Yours were lost to the sea.

  “Have ye ever seen anything like these wee breeks?” She held up Alex's underwear to show Sir Ellerslie and Malcolm, giving a tentative tug on the elastic waistband. “They have some magical weaving about the waist.”

  “They're truly wondrous.” Malcolm gave the band a little pull. “I wish I had wee breeks like these. Then I wouldnae feel such a breeze under my tunic.”

  Alex felt his face flush. “Excuse me, but can I have my clothes please?”

  “But, of course.” Grinning broadly, Malcolm handed the underwear back to the elderly woman. “Pass these to Alex, would you please, Gran?”

  Gran? Alex's eyes widened.

  “Aye, that ruffian is my grandson.” The woman's eyes twinkled as she handed Alex his clothes. “I helped my son raise him after his mother died, God rest her soul.”

  “That's my old bed ye're in. I shared that with my older brother….” Malcolm looked away.

  Alex suddenly remembered the words of Malcolm's father, Mr. Bruford, when he said: “That's no my son.”

  “Me'n my three brothers shared two beds here in this room. Ma and Pa and my two sisters had the other room, yonder,” said Malcolm.

  Alex dressed under the covers, drawing smirks from the others.

  “So, tell me what happened.” Still buttoning his shirt, he sat at a rough plank table, where Malcolm's grandmother had placed several bowls of steaming hot soup. “How did we get away from the soldiers?”

  “It was them that had to get away from us.” Malcolm picked up his bowl and took a loud slurp. “They were clearly not expecting to see us. Sir Ellerslie's plan worked, although there were more of them than we thought. Those we didn't kill ran for their lives….” Malcolm stared into his soup. “They got Neil though … the poor devil got run through.”

  “He's dead?” Alex gasped.

  “Aye, sad to say it's true. He was bristling with arrows, but still managed to get out his sword and carve a few….” Malcolm blinked back tears.

  “He died the only way he would have wanted to – his sword stuck through the last foe he faced,” Sir Ellerslie said quietly. “Without his heroic efforts, all might have been for naught.”

  “Aye, he broke their offense.”

  “He did more than that,” Sir Ellerslie said. “He broke their spirit. Once they saw the kind of men they were up against, they knew all was lost.”

  They sat hunched over their soup, each lost in private thought – a moment's silence for Neil.

  “Well, that's it then,” Sir Ellerslie said. “We'd best return to Wallace's camp to join forces for the main assault on the castle.”

  Alex was aghast. “What about the caves? And the plans to get into the castle and open the main gates for the attackers?”

  “The tide'll no be at a low point again until tonight. I don't think that gives us enough time. Besides, with the capture of your friends, they may know of the caves and be waiting for us there.”

  “Annie and Willie wouldn't tell them about the caves!”

  “Ye don't know Hesselrigge and his men, Alex,” Sir Ellerslie said gently. “They have … methods. I've seen them snap many a strong man.”

  “All the more reason to go after them.”

  Sir Ellerslie and Malcolm were unmoved. They stared into their soup.

  “I'm going alone, then,” Alex said.

  “Dinnae be daft,” Malcolm said flatly. “Ye'll be captured or killed.”

  “It's better than doing nothing.”

  “No, it is not,” Malcolm said. “Sometimes, the best thing is to do nothing.”

  “You can do nothing all you want. But I will not – not when my friends are in so much trouble.”

  “We cannae let ye go, Alex,” Sir Ellerslie said firmly. “I'll tell ye why: simply put, ye know too much. If ye were caught and Hesselrigge's men got ye to talk –”

  “So I'm a captive now, is that it?” Alex banged the table angrily.

  Storming away, Alex returned to his bed and pulled the covers up over his head. He wanted no more to do with these people. He imagined himself, armed with a dagger and sword, charging through the castle in search of his friends. He killed every soldier he encountered. It was a bloodbath.

  “Alex, Alex, are you okay?” A little voice penetrated the layers of thick covers.

  He pulled them back just enough to see Craig peering anxiously at him.

  Alex nodded. “And how are you, Craig? What happened after I ran away?”

  Craig looked off into the distance. When he spoke, his voice was flat and expressionless. “The soldiers that chased you were only the first that came looking for us. We split up and hid in separate places. Annie found a hollow under a rock for me to hide in. She made me promise not to move, no matter what. I told her, ‘Yeah, yeah, I promise,’ but no, that was not good enoug
h for her. She told me to pinkie swear like I showed her, then she gave me a hug and said, ‘Really, really, promise, okay?’ So I promised, and I did a pinkie swear, and I stayed hidden even when the soldiers got really close….”

  “Yes … then?”

  Craig covered his face with his hands. “She made me promise,” he said, with a muffled sob. “I heard her screaming when they dragged her away … I heard Willie too. It sounded like they hit him pretty hard.” Craig collapsed onto the bed and pounded it with his fist. “Why did you make me promise? Why did you make me do that?” he sobbed.

  Alex sat frozen on the bed. He did not know what to do. He no longer expected things to get better.

  Suddenly Alex knew he was prepared to die. But he would not die quietly – he would die fighting, railing, screaming, lashing out at all that opposed him. Rage shook him as he looked about the small cottage. They were alone. Sir Ellerslie and Malcolm had gone to the other room, closing the door behind them. Malcolm's grandmother had left some time ago, the early-morning sun briefly streaming through the cottage door as she went out. Alex got up and buckled a dagger belt around his waist. He did not bother with a broadsword, too big and heavy to be of use. Instead, he took a crossbow down from a shelf and slung a quiver full of bolts across his back.

  Alex tugged the laces of the leather shoes Malcolm's grandmother had given him. They were too big, but Alex didn't care about things like that anymore. He didn't care that the coarse woolen jacket prickled him through his cotton shirt. All that mattered was what he had to do.

  Without a word to Craig or anyone else, Alex unlatched the cottage door and stepped outside.

  18

  PREPARED TO DIE

  Alex blinked in the morning sunshine and tried to get his bearings. Around him were hills crisscrossed with low walls and dotted with thatched-roof cottages, not unlike the one he had left. Each cottage was surrounded by a few ramshackle sheds and animal pens. There was a distant bustle: the bellow of a cow, a clanging of buckets, the persistent crowing of a cock. The fields were dotted with people hard at work – stooping over crops, pushing wheelbarrows. One was in an animal pen, shoveling.