The Battle for Duncragglin (22 page)

“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 enough 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.

A
lex 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.

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 lowered 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!”