The Battle for Duncragglin (28 page)

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.

“I
s 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 handful 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.