The Battle for Duncragglin (11 page)

Once deep in the forest, they were quite secluded. Sir Ellerslie did not follow anything that even remotely appeared to be a trail, yet he led them without hesitation. The forest seemed to go on forever. They wound around gnarly, sticky pines, over moss-covered boulders, and through ravines with tiny creeks filled with slippery rocks.

Alex was relieved when they finally came upon a road.

He hoped they could catch a ride with someone, or, at the very least, make faster and easier progress. At the edge of the road, Sir Ellerslie stopped abruptly. He had them stand still while he listened. Satisfied no one was coming, he had them quickly cross the road and wait while he used a pine branch to carefully brush away any sign of their footprints. To Alex's dismay, they then headed into even denser forest.

For the most part, they hiked in silence. Sir Ellerslie had told Alex and Craig to avoid stepping on thin twigs that snap underfoot. At long last, Alex spotted a break in the trees. Craig wiped his brow with relief.

Sir Ellerslie knelt on the forest floor and motioned for Alex and Craig to come nearer. “I need to have a spy at Hesselrigge's castle before we head to our camp,” he said. “I'll need ye to follow close behind me and do what I do. Above all, be very, very quiet – your lives depend on it.”

As he crept from tree to tree, Craig exaggeratedly copied Sir Ellerslie's every movement. Sir Ellerslie didn't seem to mind, so long as Craig made no noise. The last few yards, they squirmed on their stomachs to the edge of the forest. Carefully, they parted the foliage.

Alex gasped. Perched high on shoreline cliffs was a fully intact medieval castle, complete with flags fluttering from its many turrets and armored soldiers standing guard on tall battlemented walls. Behind it sparkled a bright blue sea.

Alex gazed in awe, trying to imagine how, in an age prior to cannons, any army could take such a castle by force. Mere arrows and spears, or even catapults, could not possibly be a match for its massive walls.

The countryside about the castle bustled with people. Farmers hoed small, irregular gardening plots. Carts trundled down dirt paths – some pulled by hand, others by oxen. Thatched dwellings clustered about an intersection where a meandering coastal road met the road coming from the forest.

Surprisingly, despite the presence of so many in peasant and soldier costumes, there was no sign of tourists. Alex cupped his hand over Craig's ear. “Where are we?”

Craig raised his palms and shrugged. “I don't know…. The cliffs look familiar though.”

Now that he mentioned it, they did look a lot like the cliffs near the McRaes' farm. It appeared as if the castle had been built atop the very ruins of the former Duncragglin Castle. Even the harbor looked similar. Although he could not see over the edge of the cliffs, Alex would not have been surprised to find a beach looking just like the one where he had found the carved board.

The double doors of the central blockhouse suddenly swung outward, and armored horsemen burst out at full gallop. Two abreast, they thundered over the drawbridge and down an earthen ramp to the roadway below. Sweeping through the main gates, they charged down the road, ignoring the plight of those who struggled to pull their carts and oxen out of the way.

Craig edged further back into the woods. “Are they coming to get us?” he asked nervously.

Sir Ellerslie gave him a reassuring smile. “Nae, m'lad. We're too far for them to have seen us.”

“But, they could have seen us with binoculars,” Craig said, his fear growing as the horsemen drew nearer.

“With what?” Sir Ellerslie looked puzzled. He pulled Craig down. “Wait right here 'til they're past.”

Alex felt his heart pounding as the armed horsemen rounded the bend and came to within yards of where they lay. The horsemen scanned the forest, occasionally appearing to look straight at them. To Alex's great relief, they stuck to the road, rounded another bend, and disappeared into the forest.

“Knight James Barr is with them,” Sir Ellerslie muttered grimly. “Off, cap in hand, to plead to King Edward Plantagenet for reinforcements, I suspect.”

“Reinforcements?” Alex was confused. First they find themselves with an archer who saved them from robbers, but appears to be on the run from the authorities; now they find a castle where knights in armor are charging out to ask a king for more troops. This all appeared to be some kind of grand historical re-enactment.

“Aye, Hesselrigge's spies would have told him that an uprising is imminent. He'll want reinforcements to help him stamp it out. Better to take him now, before Barr makes it back with more men.”

“An uprising?” Alex no longer expected an answer that made sense.

“And a bloody great uprising it will be too. The people around here have had enough of this murderous pawn of the English. It's time to put things right.” Sir Ellerslie got up. “Come, let us tarry here no more; there's work to be done.”

Once again, Alex and Craig found themselves in dense forest, running to keep up with Sir Ellerslie as he slipped soundlessly through the woods ahead.

Craig had trouble keeping up. Alex, too, was getting tired. He was also hungry and thirsty. They had not eaten since before they left Annie, and that felt like a very long time ago.

Thinking about Annie all alone in the underground chambers gave Alex an ache of fear. He tried to reassure himself by remembering how resourceful and organized she was and how she could follow the string back the way they came – but it didn't work. All sorts of things could have gone wrong for her … terribly wrong.

They crested a hill and spotted a clear blue loch tucked snugly in the surrounding hills.

Craig stopped dead.

“What now?” Alex asked.

“That's … that's our loch, Loch Karins.” Craig's hand trembled as he pointed. “But there's no farm … and all these trees …”

Alex had to admit, the loch did look a lot like the one next to the McRaes' farm.
Lochs kind of look alike,
he thought.

Craig, however, could not be shaken. “It's the same,” he mumbled. “Every rock …”

“These trees can't have grown overnight.” Alex impatiently tugged on Craig's arm. “Quickly now, we need to catch up.”

Sir Ellerslie held up a hand for them to stop and be silent. He stood listening carefully and hooted softly three times. With a chill, Alex saw archers materialize on all sides, their taut longbows pointing straight at them. Alex slowly dropped the stick he was carrying.

Sir Ellerslie stared directly into the archers' arrows with no sign of alarm. “I hate haggis,” he announced.

“That'll be the password.” A bowman signaled for the others to lower their bows.

“Why, look, it's Sir Ellerslie!” exclaimed another. “It's about time ye made it back. We'd almost given ye up for dead.”

One bowman kept his bow up. He scowled from behind his stringy, dirty-blond hair. “Who be these charges?” he demanded. “Have ye taken hostages?”

Sir Ellerslie laughed. “Dinnae be daft, Rorie. These lads are from the McRae and Macpherson clans. I found them on the other side of the forest, looking for lost parents. Had I been a few seconds later, robbers would've left 'm for the crows.”

The first bowman walked slowly around the boys. He stroked his pointy beard, examining them with great interest. Grasping the collar of Alex's shirt between his fingers, he leaned in closely. “The McRaes and the Macphersons must be doing very well to garb their young ones so. Have ye taken a look at the stitching in their fabric? I've never seen anything like it – so small and so perfect.”

“Aye, Malcolm, it's strange,” Sir Ellerslie admitted. “Their speech is peculiar too.”

“These clans must be in with the English.” Rorie pulled his bow back to full extension. “We cannae take chances.”

Sir Ellerslie moved in front of the boys. “These lads are under my protection,” he stated flatly. “And you are to put your bow down.”

“But, they could be spies,” Rorie persisted.

“I know they are not.” Sir Ellerslie's eyes narrowed. “And that should be good enough for ye, Rorie.”

Malcolm stepped between them and brushed aside Rorie's bow. “Let us be more courteous to these lads,” he said lightly.

“I do believe that the McRae and Macpherson clans are on the right side of this conflict, but we can hardly expect them to come to our assistance if we mistreat some of their own.”

“Aye, and Groenie will be glad of the help that these lads can provide.” Considering the matter settled, Sir Ellerslie put a friendly hand on Malcolm's shoulder and turned his back to Rorie. “Good to see you, old friend. Come, let's get back to camp. I've a lot to tell Wallace.”

The bowmen accompanied them through the forest. They passed close by the small loch, and Alex found himself picturing where Mr. McRae's farmhouse would be.

“Just over that ridge is a hollow,” Craig said. “My guess is, that's where they've set up camp.”

Alex gave Craig a skeptical glance. He could barely see that there was a ridge up ahead through the trees, much less a hollow somewhere past it.

“You'll see. We get to it through the split rock.”

Alex was worried. It had been a difficult day (to say the least) and Craig seemed to be cracking under the strain. They appeared to be on a movie set for
Robin Hood.
Perhaps the actors were just practicing their roles. If so, Alex was not amused. He resolved to get away from these strange people at the earliest opportunity and to set out in the direction of the sea. Surely he would come upon a road. He remembered that the coastal road from the airport to the McRaes' farm had yellow emergency telephones every mile or so. He needed to reach one and call the police….

“There.” Craig had a look of triumph. “Do you believe me now?”

Alex stared in amazement. Up ahead, there was indeed a split rock – a very big split rock. It looked as if the hill itself had been cracked open. They followed a path between the towering jagged halves. Alex looked up and spotted more bowmen on either side.

“I hate haggis!” Malcolm bellowed. The guards lowered their bows.

The passageway opened into a small hidden dale, much as Craig had described. A central clearing contained many tents and bustled with more movie-set material. Target practice was taking place on one side, with archers firing at straw men. On the other, men clashed in mock fights with wooden staffs. Everyone was wearing long pullovers of some scratchy material bound up by a sword-belt. There were no jeans or T-shirts in sight.

A surprisingly tall, broad-shouldered man threw back the flap of one of the bigger tents and strode forward to greet them. He had a keen and commanding air.

“Sir Ellerslie! Welcome!” The big man extended a large hand. “What word have ye from the outlying areas?”

“The Foster and the McLeod clans to the west stand ready to join ye, Wallace,” Sir Ellerslie replied. “I've yet to reach the McRae and Macpherson clans to the north, but suggest we do so now and ask whether they be prepared to send their men-in-arms. We can also tell them that two of their young sons are safe with us, although we know not the fate of the parents they seek.”

Wallace turned to Alex and Craig. “I am sorry to hear that y'r parents are missing,” he said. “If Hesselrigge is behind this, we will either have 'm freed or have their vengeance, for Hesselrigge's days are numbered.”

“If I may, sir,” Alex began hesitantly. With this meeting, the events of the past day came sharply into focus, leading him to an impossible-but-inescapable conclusion. “But would you be Sir William Wallace?”

“I'm no Sir William, but Wallace I am, in person.” He gave Alex a friendly mock bow.

“Can you please tell me what year this is?” Alex asked.

“What an odd question. Why, it is the year of our Lord
1296
, of course. Why do ye ask?”

“Because, sir,” Alex replied slowly, thinking carefully of what he had read, “I want to know if your greatest victories are still to come, or if they are behind you.”

“And tell me, young lad,” Wallace said, “what are my great victories?”

Alex flushed. “I do not know them all, sir, but I know there are many.” He paused, not sure where to begin. “There's the defeat of the English at a narrow bridge – half of the English army crosses and your men charge over a hill and catch them by surprise.”

“What a tremendously good idea! I know just the bridge to try that, should the English be foolish enough to cross it.” Wallace laughed. “And when all is said and done, who rules Scotland?”

“The Scots, sir, but not before –” Alex stopped abruptly, his face turning red.

“Before what?” Wallace demanded.

Alex tried to speak, but his throat was too tight. Stuck in his mind was the awful image from his comic book of Wallace being executed and butchered by the English. He shook his head.

“That bad, is it?” Wallace said grimly. He straightened, reached over his shoulder, and drew a huge sword from the scabbard across his back, giving Alex a terrible fright.

“Ye heard the lad,” he roared, holding his great sword high. “Scotland will be ruled by Scots. For liberty!”

Metal flashed as everyone around them drew their swords and raised them high. “For liberty!” they cried out.