The smell of manure hung about like an invisible fog. Alex felt it stick in his throat and cling to his clothes. None of that mattered.
By the position of the sun, Alex figured left was east, and east was the direction of the sea. So that was the way he went, crossbow over his shoulder. The footpath he was on spilled into a muddy road, barely wide enough for two carts to pass. That road suited him fine. It headed, more or less, in the right direction.
The ruts in the road brimmed with water from yesterday's rain. Puddles spread right across the road. To get around them, Alex climbed a bordering wall, crossed a muddy field, and rejoined the road farther down. He wished he could walk balanced on the stone walls, but the tops were too jagged.
It was not long before Alex's feet were so wet that puddles hardly mattered. It was no different for others Alex encountered. Having muddy wet feet appeared to be an accepted fact of life here.
Alex stood next to a low stone wall to make way for a small flock of sheep, ushered along by a woman with a swishing stick. Her dog dashed back and forth, yapping whenever one lagged. Alex smiled at the woman as she passed. In return, she gave him a wary glance.
Alex passed a man leading a fierce-looking bull, with a long and shaggy red coat. The man squelched his way through the ankle-deep mud.
“Excuse me, sir,” Alex called out. “But, could you tell me if this is the road to Duncragglin Castle?”
The man gave Alex a suspicious sideways stare. “What business would ye have with Duncragglin Castle?”
“That would be my business, sir,” Alex replied boldly. This was, after all, the day he was prepared to die. He might as well be brazen about it.
“Turn about and go back home. Nae good will come of ye at Duncragglin Castle.” The man and his shaggy bull continued on their way.
Home, and where would that be?
The man said he was to turn about, which must mean that by not turning about, he would be going the right way. Encouraged, Alex quickened his step, splashing along through the mud.
He was further encouraged when the road joined another to make a wider but equally muddy road. Roads would get wider closer to the castle, he thought.
On this wider road, an ox-drawn cart tilted dangerously, one of its two large wheels sunk deeply in the mud. Its teetering load of hay and produce was ready to fall, but for a few puny slats.
A man struggled knee-deep in watery muck to insert a plank in front of the sunken wheel. It looked hopeless. The wheel had sunk in the ooze right up to its axle.
The man did not take heed of Alex until Alex stood next to the cart and asked, “Can I help with something?”
The man looked up angrily. Mud was spattered over his face and dripped from his beard. “I ask the heavens above for some help, and what am I sent – a laddie. Bah! Away with ye. I've got work to do.”
Normally, Alex would have been quite stung by such a rebuke. But not on the day he was prepared to die.
“Why don't you use the plank to lever it?” Alex asked. “You might be able to raise the side of the cart enough to put some rocks under the wheel.”
“Levering it will never work. Be gone, laddie, and leave me to my task.” The man turned dismissively, resuming his efforts to wriggle the plank into place deep in the slippery, sloshing, water-filled rut.
Embedded in the mud at the roadside was a large rock that looked just the right size for a fulcrum. Alex shrugged. He could not leave the man like this. With a sigh, he slung off his quiver, leaned his crossbow against a stone wall, and looked around for something he could use to dig out the rock. He climbed over the wall and kicked about in the field. Finally, he found a stick. It was small, but looked sturdy enough.
It took awhile, but with a steady effort of scraping and scooping, Alex managed to remove enough dirt to loosen the rock. However, it was still in a hole and it was still a long way from the cart.
Alex dug a makeshift ramp. He got down low behind the rock to give it a push. Water seeped into the hole, making the rock slippery and hard to handle. Alex put his shoulder to it, even though that meant he had to put his knee right into the mud. Head down, he heaved and felt the rock move. To his astonishment, the rock lifted into the air. Looking up, he saw the cart owner struggle to carry it, his muscles popping. The man staggered across the muddy road and dropped the rock behind the cart, where it landed with a heavy thud.
“Let's try it your way,” the man panted, his chest heaving.
“We've got to get it closer to the axle.” Alex crawled under the listing cart and used his stick to scrape away some mud to make room for the rock.
“Get out of there!”
Hands seized Alex's ankles and pulled him backwards. He was no sooner dragged out from under the cart when it settled deeper into the mud.
“It's dangerous under there,” the man said gruffly.
“Thank you for your concern.” Alex looked dubiously at the mud that now caked his clothes right up to his chin.
The man chuckled. “We're a right mess, are we no?”
“I was fine until I met you,” Alex said, dismayed at how wet and filthy he had become.
They wriggled the timber so one end rested squarely on the rock and fit snugly under the axle. The other end stuck high up the back of the cart. The man tried to push the end down, but the cart did not budge. He leapt and landed heavily, draping himself over the end of the plank. This time there was a slurping noise.
“It's coming, it's coming. We need more weight,” he shouted.
Alex scampered onto the plank. More slurping noises came from under the cart. Alex shuffled up to the end of the timber, his arms outstretched for balance. In his enthusiasm, he stepped right up onto the man's back and jiggled his weight up and down.
“Oof,” the man said.
The timber started moving, gathering momentum until it had lowered all the way down to the ground.
“Stay here. Keep it down.” Alex leapt from the man's back. He scrambled to collect rocks to place under the wheel, wishing he had thought to do this beforehand. He searched further and further from the cart while the man continued to lie down in the dirt, puffing on the end of the timber.
“You can get up now.”
Gingerly, the man pushed up with his arms and legs. The timber under him rose slightly as the cart wheel settled onto the rocks. He got up and slowly walked around the cart, stroking his beard. “Good job, laddie. Is there anything I can do to repay ye for y'r hard work?”
“That's okay.” Alex gathered up his quiver and crossbow.
“Glad to have been of assistance. I think I'll be off.” He balanced the end of his crossbow on his shoulder and turned to proceed down the road.
“Where would ye be going, lad?” the man called after him.
“The castle.”
“I am also. I'm off to sell this hay and greenery.”
Alex stopped, struck by a sudden thought. “Do they let you in?”
“Of course – how else could I unload?” The man stooped to pull his timber out from under the cart.
“Can I come with you? I'll help.”
Surprised, the man straightened. “I don't need any help unloading….” Seeing Alex's disappointment, he said, “Alright, alright. Ye can come with me. I'll tell the guards ye're my long lost nephew from o'er the east side of the Highlands … no, that won't do … I'll tell them ye were born with a strange way of speakin' … better yet, how about ye don't speak at all, boy. I'll tell 'm ye were struck dumb at a wee age.”
“Thanks a lot … I think!”
“Don't mention it.” The man held out a big paw for Alex to shake. “Donald Dundonnel's my name. My friends call me Don-Dun, that is, when they're being polite.”
“Hi, Mr. Dundonnel.” Alex grasped the huge hand the best he could and pumped it up and down. “I'm Alex, your dumb nephew from over the hills.”
Don-Dun flicked a switch across the ox's backside. “Cm on, Rhua, go. Hup, let's go!”
The ox lowere
d its head and strained, its eyes bulging. The cart creaked and swayed, and its wheels started turning.
“Keep it going, Rhua, hup, hup. That's it, we're out of here!”
Rhua settled into a leisurely plod, the cart groaning and swaying behind him. The two travelers strode alongside, exchanging stories as they trudged down the muddy road. Don-Dun led the ox by a rope attached to a large ring in its nose, and Alex learned that the cart and the ox were all that Don-Dun had. From the farms up and down the coast, Don-Dun bought hay and produce that he sold at what higher price he could fetch from the cooks and stablemen of the castle lords and earls. Sometimes, Don-Dun said, he would end up being paid less than it cost him to buy. At best, he made a meager living off the difference. “Ah well, enough to buy an ale or two with dinner some nights. It would be nice, though, to save up a bit and buy a piece of land and have a missus and together have a few wee bairns … but I don't see how that's possible, the way things are these days.”
The last time Don-Dun had saved up a bit of silver, he was robbed by soldiers. Two held swords to his throat while others searched for his purse. They tipped over his cart, laughing as they rode away. It took him half a day to right his cart and reload it. That was a year ago, and he had yet to earn enough to replace the silver pieces he lost that day.
“Oh, aye, they were Hesselrigge's men alright, but there's naught to be done about it. Who's there to complain to? Soldiers? They'd laugh in my face. It's no right, but what's to be done?”
For his part, Alex told Don-Dun about having come from the future, where people could fly in big metal ships with wings, some of which could hold over eight hundred people.
Don-Dun smiled politely. “That's more than all the folk in Duncragglin Castle.”
Alex knew Don-Dun didn't believe a word he said, but he didn't care. This was the day that nothing mattered, nothing except the mission he was prepared to die for – and he was getting closer: he actually had a way to get into the castle now! He didn't even have to use the caves.
Don-Dun shared his dry, crusty stick of bread. It took a lot of chewing for each bite to go down, but Alex was not complaining, far from it. The afternoon sun was beginning to dry their clothes, and Alex was able to pick some dried clumps of mud out of his hair. He felt better than he had in days.
19
BREECHING DUNCRAGGLIN
The traveling produce merchant with his dumb nephew, plodding ox, and cart full of the best greens this side of the Forth crested a high hill. Off in the distance were the imposing towers and walls of Duncragglin.
That was where he was going to die.
Alex felt a cold shiver pass through him. Each step was bringing him nearer. He closed up his jacket below his neck and shifted his crossbow from over his shoulder to under his arm.
“I suggest ye keep that thing under the hay,” Don-Dun said. “That's where I keep my lance. If ye carry it out in the open anywhere near the castle, soldiers will take it away.”
Alex reluctantly took his suggestion. The road was getting busier, with farm and trade folk going about their business, and he did not want to attract attention. They overtook a man who hobbled along, bent forward under a tremendous bundle of firewood. Coming the other way was a woman with a large basket of eels on her back, which were poking out from under the cover. The basket looked heavy.
Don-Dun gave a pleasant hello to those who passed. Some replied with a nod or a small wave, others ignored him. No one gave Alex a second glance. He was nothing but another dirty urchin – not an unusual sight on this road. Alex was careful not to speak when people were within earshot. To help him remember, Don-Dun suggested he think of his mouth as being sewn shut, “'Cause that's what might happen if they think ye're a foreign spy.”
“Do they leave a little gap for food?”
“Only if ye're unlucky – ye live longer that way. Now wheesht, before someone hears ye babbling away in that strange way of yours.”
They fell in behind a box cart drawn by a pair of oxen and led by a tall thin man in black. Alex noticed that although the man's clothes were black, they had not been black originally. And what looked like black gloves were not gloves at all; they were the man's own hands. Jumping up to see over the sides of the box cart, Alex saw it was full of coal.
They plodded along behind the coal cart in a silent convoy. Together, they rounded a bend and arrived at the arched gates of Duncragglin's outer walls. Beyond them, Alex saw numerous stalls and shops lining the castle's outer courtyard. Armored guards blocked the convoy's passage. Don-Dun pulled back on Rhua's rope for him to slow up and stop.
A guard slowly circled the coal cart. The blackened driver watched impassively as the guard knelt to look underneath, then climbed the back end to prod into the coal with his lance. The guard then leapt to the ground, scowling and clapping black coal-soot from the front of his tunic. The sooty driver handed him something small.
The guard glanced at it and jerked his head. “Get on with ye,” he growled. The driver calmly urged his oxen on through the open gate.
The guard turned to Don-Dun. “Move on up here,” he barked. “What have ye got?”
“Hay for the stable master and greenery for the lord's kitchens,” Don-Dun sang out. He stood stiffly, with Rhua's rope in his big hands as the guard slowly walked around him, eyeing him suspiciously.
Turning to the cart, with its towering mound of hay topped with a crown of green vegetables, the guard asked, “What else is in this cart?”
“Nothing,” Don-Dun replied. “Just a few crusts of bread and a blanket to cover me at night.”
Without warning, the guard stabbed his lance through the hay. Over and over, he stabbed at it, seeming disappointed that the lance point came out yet again with no blood on its end.
The guard turned to Alex. “Name.”
“Alex!” Don-Dun shouted. “Er, his name is Alex.”
“Let the boy answer for himself. What's your name, boy?”
Alex opened his mouth, but he thought about his lips being sewn shut and no sound came out.
“Answer me!”
“Nnnaahhaa,” Alex croaked.
The guard angrily turned back to Don-Dun, who raised his hands apologetically. “The lad's been struck dumb at an early age,” Don-Dun said. “That's the most I've ever heard him say.”
The guard pointed to the cart. “Unload it.”
“Oh, please, no!” Don-Dun fumbled for his purse. “Wait. Forgive me, did I forget about the toll? Here, I have a penny.”
“A penny?” The guard eyed the coin coldly, making no move to take it.
Don-Dun pulled out a second penny. “It's the best I can do. I'm but a conveyor of hay. Sometimes I dinnae make more than a few pence for all my efforts.”
“That's no my problem.” The guard hesitated. Scowling, he snatched the pennies from Don-Dun's hand and jerked his head for them to move on.
Once clear of the gates, Don-Dun pounded his fist into his palm. “Damned robbery. The way it works here, m'lad, is either ye pay them a bribe that ye call a toll, or they make ye spend the day unloading and reloading your cart. I couldnae have that. My hay would've gotten all muddy … besides, they would've found your bow.”
“Does everyone pay them a toll?” Alex felt guilty.
“Oc/i, no. They'd be too afraid to seek a bribe from the powerful. It's only poor folk like me who have to pay.”
Grumbling, Don-Dun led Rhua past ramshackle market stalls that took up every available space bordering the courtyard. All manner of goods spilled out from under their crowded awnings. One had a pile of animal skins, each with earflaps and eyeholes. The thick cream-colored ones would be sheepskins. Alex thought they would make great Halloween costumes. “What are you?” a startled lady would ask, when opening the door to “Trick or treat.” On her doorstep, she'd find a sheepskin-covered boy peering at her through the sheep's eyeholes. “I'm a wolf – a big baaaaaaad wolf,” the boy would reply, with a heh, heh, heh.
Further d
own was a shop with large clay pots brimming with floury powder that made Alex think about baking bread, scones, or maybe even cake. Ah, to have a bite of chocolate cake! Alex suddenly felt hungry. He hadn't had anything to eat except for a few chunks of Don-Dun's dry crusty bread.
On the other side of the open courtyard was an imposing blockhouse, so large that most of the castle was hidden behind it. Alex could see only one way in and that was up a ramp, over a drawbridge, and through a large archway. He wondered why the drawbridge was up in the daytime. He hoped it was not because Hesselrigge had somehow got wind of William Wallace's intention to attack, which was planned for first light tomorrow. He worried that Hesselrigge had forced Katie, Annie, or Willie to tell what they knew of the rebels – their number, position, or plans. Horrible images of how Hesselrigge might do this kept crowding his mind.
Alex shut his eyes tight, trying to force the nightmarish images to stop. Surely his friends were merely locked up somewhere – cold and hungry perhaps, but otherwise okay. He doubted it. All he could do was hope and pray they were still alive and try to get to them as quickly as possible.
“How do we get into the castle?” he asked anxiously.
“Wheesht.” Don-Dun raised his finger to his lips. “We cannae have people hearing ye.” He gave Rhua's rope a gentle pull. “Come.”
They walked past a stall with skinless, bloody sheep hanging by their hind legs. Flies buzzed about, squiggling on the meat, crawling over lidless eyeballs. Alex lost his appetite.
Don-Dun stopped at a big wooden building at the far end of the wall, with double doors opening into a dark dank interior. Inside, the back ends of horses protruded from narrow stalls. All was quiet, except for restless thumpings against side boards and the occasional snort or neigh.
A tall boy stood vigorously brushing a horse. A younger lad was holding the horse's leg bent, picking at the underside of its hoof with a curved knife. Another was passing with an armload of straw or hay; Alex couldn't tell which until the boy deposited it at the back end of a horse.
The Battle for Duncragglin Page 16