The Battle for Duncragglin

by Andrew H. Vanderwal

  The stable master raised a finger to his lips. “We'll help them, don't ye worry. But we cannae do it now. The best thing we can do for these people, indeed for everyone who lives within and without the walls of this wretched place, is to help Wallace win – any way we can. Right now that means being still, so weesht before we're heard.”

  Annie pressed against the wall and put her arm around the bundled-up Katie.

  Within minutes, the echoes of clinking armor and distant voices penetrated their cell. The stable master held his free hand up behind him, cautioning everyone to be quiet. Slowly, his hands formed a tight grip on his sword. His fingers flexed and tightened, flexed and tightened. The approaching footsteps echoed louder and louder on the flagstone floor. A man flashed by, followed by five armored guards. None looked into their cell.

  The sound of the receding footsteps had not yet faded when the stable master sheathed his sword and waved them out. “Quickly now, we have no time to lose. As soon as they see what awaits them in the rack room, they'll be back. Don-Dun, you and I need to act like we're guarding this lot of captives. Duncan, you announce to the gatekeeper that we're taking them up to work in the kitchens. Tell him ye're to bring the young captive named Willie with us also.”

  They walked purposefully to the gate, Duncan in the lead, the pretend guards ushering along the pretend captives.

  Duncan stopped at the guardroom door and gave it a rap. “Gatekeeper! Come out.”

  There was silence within. Duncan pounded on the door once more. Furniture scraped over stone. The door creaked open the width of a head, and the gatekeeper's stubbly face poked out. “What do ye want?” he grunted.

  “We want for ye to have your assistant fetch us the foreign spy named Willie and for ye to open these gates. We're to bring this lot up to the kitchens.”

  The gatekeeper looked them over with suspicion. “That cannae be. Lord Hesselrigge was about to question this lot why are ye taking 'm away?”

  “We just spoke with him, and those are his orders, man,” Duncan said impatiently. “Give the orders that the captive Willie be brought to us and open the gate. And do it now.”

  The gatekeeper abruptly tried to shut the door, but Duncan had stuck his foot into the frame. The stable master brushed past Alex and hit the door with his shoulder. He staggered into the guardroom, with Don-Dun close behind.

  There was only one other guard in the room and he was asleep on a pallet. The sound of the stable master bursting into the room woke him up, but Don-Dun's sword was on his neck before he could rise.

  Annie clutched the gatekeeper's tunic and shook him. “Where's Willie?” she shouted. “What did you do with my brother?”

  The gatekeeper cackled, but said nothing.

  The stable master gently nudged Annie aside. He placed his hand on the gatekeeper's forehead and gave it a sharp shove. The back of the gatekeeper's head cracked against the wall with a nasty thud.

  “The next one will give ye a real headache.” The stable master kept his hand resting lightly on the gatekeeper's forehead. “Now, answer her!”

  “He's … been taken,” the gatekeeper choked.

  “Where?” The stable master tensed his arm. “Quickly, man.”

  “It's no my fault….” The gatekeeper's toothless mouth flapped. “I only take orders –”

  “What's no your fault? Tell me! Where is the boy?”

  “They took him to the gallows!” The gatekeeper shrieked, raising his hands to shield himself.

  Blood rushing in his ears, Alex listened as the gatekeeper babbled.

  “They wanted to hang one each day. It was to be a warning to all who may have thought to oppose Hesselrigge and daily entertainment for the rest. For some, there is much merriment with a hanging. They bring out bits of rotted food to throw while they jeer and taunt the captive.”

  The stable master's look made the gatekeeper fall silent.

  23

  THE GALLOWS

  “Is it dinnertime yet?” the stable master asked.

  “Dinnertime?”

  “Most hangings are done before dinner, when the sun's but a hand away from being down,” the stable master explained. “I know this – the stable is but a stone's throw from the gallows. Most folk are done with their work then, yet have time after the hanging to go home and have dinner before the dark sets in.”

  “Come! There's no time to waste.” It was Don-Dun. He had finished tying up the second guard. “The sun may still be up – we may be able to free this lad.”

  Shouts came from the distance. The guards were running back from the rack room. The stable master clenched a fistful of the gatekeeper's tunic and dragged him to the gate. The gatekeeper fumbled to find the right key. He rattled a key in the lock, cursing before trying another.

  “If the guards catch us, ye will be the first to die,” the stable master murmured calmly. He held his sword up to the gatekeeper's neck.

  The next key was the right one; the tumblers clicked and the gatekeeper pulled the screeching gate open.

  The stable master pulled the gatekeeper closer, the sword still at his neck. “Are there any more keys to this gate?”

  “The captain of the guards keeps a master set in the guardroom,” the gatekeeper replied, his eyes fixed on the sword.

  The stable master ignored the sounds of the fast-approaching guards. “There are none others down here?”

  “None – I swear it!”

  The guards were almost upon them. The stable master shoved the gatekeeper back and slammed the gate shut. He reached through the bars and turned the key.

  “Pro Libertate!” he shouted, jingling the keys high in the air for all the guards to see before he ran after the others.

  The guards crashed against the gate, stuck their swords through the bars, cursed, and waved their fists. They created a powerful racket, shaking the bars with all their might and calling out threats of slow death.

  The guards' shouts fading behind him, Alex rushed up the spiral stone steps with the others, keeping to the inside where the steps were narrow. Coming out, they ran headlong into three guards who were hurrying for the stairs, swords drawn.

  “What happened down there?” demanded one of the guards, a stocky Englishman with a nose so crooked it had to have been broken more than once. “Why's the gatekeeper been ringin' nonstop?”

  “Oh, it's nothing,” the stable master replied casually. “He didn't look so well when we left him. Maybe he ate some of the stuff he feeds to the captives.”

  “Serves him right.” The guard cracked a thick smile and sheathed his sword. “Need help with this lot?”

  “Them?” The stable master snorted. “Bah, they're only bairns. I've no so much as bothered to chain them. Ye'd best go see to the gatekeeper. He's probably got his head in a bucket.”

  The guard chuckled and motioned for the other guards to follow. They trundled off down the stairs in no particular hurry.

  The stable master blew a sigh of relief. “Thank God they were too slow-witted to notice the cloak. We can't take that chance again.” He took Hesselrigge's cloak from Katie and slashed it a few times to give it the appearance of rags. He folded it so the fur trim was hidden on the inside and carefully wrapped it back around her.

  A shaft of diffused light filtered through a high window. Alex felt a surge of hope. The sun had not yet set – Willie may still be alive!

  They could not run for fear of attracting suspicion, so they set off at a brisk walk. Alex did his best to look like a dejected captive. This effort was not required by Annie and Duncan, who supported Katie between them. Twice they had to stop for her to throw up, continuing their hurried march while she was piteously wracked with dry heaves.

  When they entered the courtyard, Alex was surprised to see only about a half-dozen soldiers manning the arrow slits on the many tiers above him. Were the others patrolling the ramparts? Regardless, no doubt Hesselrigge was right – the castle was so heavily fortified that it took no more than a handf
ul of men to repel an attack.

  Moreover, what kind of attack could there be? Sir James was out there with two companies of men laying a trap for Wallace and his men, and King Edward's armed men were coming along ready to help. Even if some of Wallace's men survived all this fighting, they'd not likely be in any shape to attack a castle!

  The stable master cupped his hands to his mouth. “Guards, lower the bridge! We're coming through with captives to work the stables.”

  A guard peered over the rail. “Who calls? Do ye not know we're on alert? The bridge is not to be lowered.”

  “I've orders from Sire Rorie to prepare the stables for the arrival of King Edward's men. I cannae do that if ye don't lower the bridge. Look out over the fields. Do ye see any invaders? Lower the bridge, man, or do I have to send for Rorie to have him tell ye himself?”

  The guard hesitated. He disappeared into the guardroom above the gates. Moments later, there was a creaking from the heavy portcullis being raised.

  “Don't expect us to lower it again, when ye want back in,” the guard called down. “Once ye're out, out ye stay until we have another reason to lower it.”

  Alex forced himself to slump and look dejected.

  The portcullis stopped rising when the spiked ends were barely waist-high. A different sound emerged: the clanging of chains and a creaking of timbers. The heavy drawbridge beyond the portcullis was coming down.

  The stable master shouted for the guards to raise the bars further. As if in spite, the guards started lowering them. Cursing, the stable master bent down and rolled under the bars as quickly as his clunky armor would permit. Alex and the others scrambled after him on all fours.

  The back strap of Don-Dun's breastplate caught on a spike. He twisted to free himself and bellowed for the guards to stop lowering the portcullis. The spikes pushed him flat and still they kept coming. Duncan whipped out his dagger and cut the breastplate strap. He pulled Don-Dun's arms and slid him out from under the spikes seconds before they clanged heavily into their ground receptacles.

  “Curses on your graves,” Don-Dun roared up to the guards. Their laughter filtered down.

  The stable master did not wait for the bridge to completely lower before leading the others up the sloping first half. They reached the hinged peak, and the creaking of timbers and clanking of chains abruptly stopped. A gap remained between the end of the bridge and the elevated stone roadway. Scowling, the stable master shifted his weight on the center fold of the bridge to push it down. It did not budge.

  “Lower the bridge the rest of the way,” the stable master roared. He shook his fist with helpless rage. “Imbeciles!”

  They shuffled down to the far end of the bridge, careful not to slip. The gap did not look too big: about six feet. But there was no way to take a run at it, and the consequences of not making it across were frightening. Below, instead of a moat, were sharp metal spikes ready to impale anyone who fell.

  “We'll toss 'm across, one at a time.” The stable master nudged Duncan. “You first.”

  “Why me?” Duncan took two quick steps back. “Try it out with the professor.”

  “You're lighter,” the stable master replied as he and Don-Dun gripped Duncan firmly by the back of his belt and tunic. “Ready, now? One, two, three, go!”

  Duncan leapt, propelled by the mighty heave. He hit the edge of the roadway with a painful thud, his long spindly legs dangling down the wall. Amid shouts of encouragement, he scrambled to keep from slipping and successfully swung first one, then the other leg up over the edge.

  “Ye're next, Fool.” The stable master took hold of the fool's cloak. “Duncan, get ready to catch him.”

  “If you do not mind, sir,” the professor spluttered, “I prefer to be called Professor Macintyre. I only put on the persona of a fool to find myself in the employ of Hesselrigge.”

  The stable master and Don-Dun flung him out over the gap. He hit the wall lower than Duncan. Only his arms and head were above the edge. He slipped, clawing for purchase.

  Duncan got him. Straining, he pulled the professor's arm, his feet slipping on the smooth cobblestones. The professor scrambled to clear the edge and fell on top of him.

  Alex's and Annie's cheers were cut short as the stable master motioned for Katie. They watched breathlessly as she stepped forward and shrugged off Hesselrigge's cloak. The stable master nodded to Don-Dun. She had little opportunity to jump, but didn't need to. The heave was so powerful, she flew right into Duncan's and the professor's waiting arms.

  The stable master wrapped Hesselrigge's cloak around his sword to give it weight and flung it across. Annie was next and finally Alex. Heart in his mouth, he leapt, feeling a huge thrust propel him. Wind rushed through his hair. He pumped his legs as if running. Duncan and the professor caught him, but his knees banged painfully onto the road.

  The stable master stripped off his armored breastplate and leggings and flung them across. He leapt, flailing, hitting the wall far down so only his fingers gripped the edge. Duncan lunged to catch hold of his wrists. He pulled, with the professor's help, until the stable master lay safely panting on the road.

  That left Don-Dun, still in full armor, the only one standing on the bridge. “I'm not going to try that,” he said slowly. “Ye lot go on ahead.”

  There was no point arguing: no one wanted to see him leap to his death.

  “Stay out of trouble,” the stable master called back. “And don't ye try to take on these soldiers all by yourself – there's too many.”

  Don-Dun waved them away. “Go now – the hanging cannae be far off!”

  They left him standing alone and forlorn, trapped on the other side. It was hard for Alex to turn away; he was sure Don-Dun was doomed. His last glimpse was of Don-Dun trudging back over the center fold of the bridge towards the blockhouse. Blinking back tears, Alex vowed to find a way back to get him … as soon as they saw to Willie … if, indeed, there was anything to see but Willie's body swinging from a rope.

  A large crowd milled about the courtyard, below. Alex shaded his eyes from the setting sun. A man stood on the gallows platform reading from a document held high before him. He lowered the document and beckoned.

  “No!” Annie cried. She covered her face. Even from this distance, it was clear that the pathetic figure being dragged up the steps was Willie. A solitary man in a black robe followed behind, reading from a thick book. The man's lips were moving, but Alex could not hear him.

  The stable master cursed. At full speed, he ran down the ramp to plunge into the back of the crowd. It was futile. There was no way for him to get through in time. The guards had already lifted Willie onto a stool, and the priest was making the sign of the cross.

  What was needed now was a diversion. A fire, perhaps? But Alex had no matches. What else is there to do? Think, think, there is no time. … Alex watched in horror as the noose was slipped over Willie's head and drawn tight about his neck.

  “HALT!” boomed a voice. It was Hesselrigge, his arm high, his fool standing at his side. How is this possible? Then Alex realized it wasn't Hesselrigge at all. It was Duncan, wrapped in the tattered remnants of Hesselrigge's fur-trimmed blue cloak.

  “HALT!” Duncan boomed again. This time, he captured the attention of the men on the platform. The crowd turned to where he stood high above them.

  “STAY THE EXECUTION!” Duncan shouted in a commanding voice, his arm high.

  Duncan's words caused considerable confusion. The document reader was gesturing toward Duncan and arguing with the executioner, who stood motionless, arms folded. Willie was left wobbling on the stool with the noose around his neck. At any moment, he could fall and hang.

  “BRING THE BOY TO ME!” Duncan folded his arms, appearing like a man who expected his commands to be carried out.

  The impression did not last long. Someone in the crowd shouted: “That's not Hesselrigge!” The word “impostor” leapt from mouth to mouth.

  Hesitantly, soldiers started climbing the ramp
toward Duncan. They knew that if this was the true Hesselrigge, one wrong move would be the end of them.

  “Go! Bring the lad to me!” Duncan commanded the advancing soldiers.

  A soldier drew his sword. “That's not Hesselrigge!” he shouted. “I'm sure of it – seize him!”

  Duncan bellowed threats to no effect. The soldiers came charging, swords waving and armor clanking. Duncan and the professor leapt back, looking for a means of escape.

  Confident they had cornered their prey, the guards slowed their advance. They fanned out across the road to keep Duncan and the professor from slipping past.

  Duncan bolted to one side, the professor sprinting right behind. Before a guard could cut them off, they leapt, screaming, over the stone barrier at the side of the road. They crashed through the roof of a market stall. The soldiers peered over the edge, watching with chagrin as Duncan and the professor emerged staggering and stumbling from amid the mounds of collapsed awnings and bundles of merchandise.

  Duncan tore off Hesselrigge's cloak and flung it to the ground. He shook his fist up at the soldiers. “Come and get me, ye cowardly scum!” he shouted.

  The soldiers needed no further encouragement. They bolted down the ramp after him. One stayed behind, keeping watch over Duncan and the professor's progress through the crowd with a malevolent smile. He waved to his fellow soldiers and pointed to where Duncan and the professor jostled through the crowd without once looking back, oblivious to the soldiers closing in.

  Alex caught Annie's eye. She gave him a nod and inched in next to the soldier, pretending to be interested in the goings-on below. Alex crept to the soldier's other side, trying to keep the loose stones on the roadway from crunching under his feet.

  The soldier signaled for the soldiers to go left. Exasperated, he stepped right up onto the stone barrier and bellowed: “More to the left, ye idiots, that way!”

  It was now or never. Alex and Annie lunged and gave the guard a hard shove.