The Hammer of the Scots (44 page)

But Wallace was in danger and he must take the utmost care. It might be wise to let it be known that he was merely a weary traveller who had asked for lodging for a few nights before he passed on his way. No one here had seen William so he could disguise himself under another identity, and if he would do this Sir Duncan could offer him shelter.

There was nothing for William to do but accept these terms. He wanted a few days while he could think out his next plan of action. Baliol was very unpopular and Wallace would like to see him replaced. Robert Bruce had at least as good a claim and was Baliol’s deadly rival. Bruce was an old man, but he had a son and Robert Bruce the second had married well, for in doing so he had acquired the lands and titles of the Earl of Carrick. He even had a son – another Robert – who was said to be a fine soldier and a man of ambition. Unfortunately the Bruces had made agreements with England; they had sworn allegiance at Carlisle on the host and sword of Thomas à Becket. If the Bruces had not been so ready to comply with Edward’s demands, if they had taken up arms against Edward, William would have been ready to place himself in their service.

But it was not so. There was no regular army in Scotland. The only protesters were those who, like William Wallace, acted on their own. It was no good. He should assemble an army. If only he could! Instead of which he must skulk under an assumed name, awaiting the opportunity which it seemed would never come.

Overcome with grief at the loss of his father and brother, frustrated by the fact that he was a fugitive, he fumed and raged and suffered in silence while he wondered what he could do next and where he would go.

So frustrated was he by hiding in Sir Duncan’s house that he found the urge to wander out irresistible and making sure that he did not call attention to himself by his dress he often made expeditions into the town. When he saw the English soldiers there he had great difficulty in restraining himself, but the thought that if he betrayed himself and was caught that would avail Scotland little, made him very careful.

The Governor of Ayr was Lord Percy and he was anxious to remind the Scots that he was the master. His English soldiers were in evidence throughout the town and they took a great delight in showing the Scots how superior they were. They enjoyed challenging them to displays of strength in which it was advisable to let them win.

Strolling into the streets one day William came upon a little group watching a giant of a man, stripped to his waist, displaying brawny arms and big muscles.

He was calling attention to his fine physique. He was an Englishman, he cried. There were many such as he in England. Was there one Scot who could compare with him? If so let him come forward. ‘Let two of you stand forth and I will show you how I can lift two at a time off the ground. Come forward. Come forward. What, are you afraid?’

He seized two gaping youths and lifting them from the ground threw them so that they fell against the rough wall. The crowd simpered, and the two young men picked themselves up bruised and bleeding and slunk off as quickly as possible.

‘Brave Scots!’ cried the giant. ‘You stand and gape. Will none others challenge me? Then see,
I
will challenge you. Here is a great pole. Give me a groat and for that you shall have the privilege of striking me one blow on my bare back. You will see that it will be for me as though a fly has settled there. Come, you …’

He selected a young man from the crowd who shamefacedly produced his groat. The giant took it, examined it, nodded and put the pole into the Scotsman’s trembling hands. The crowd gaped while the Scotsman struck the blow. The giant turned his head. ‘Did you hit me? Why bless you, my little Scottish laddie, I was not sure. I thought a light wind touched me, nothing more.’

The crowd laughed and the discomfited Scot slunk off, the poorer by the loss of his groat and his dignity.

William, watching, felt his palms tingling. He assessed the giant. A strong man, yes, but he himself was as strong. The giant was tall but William was equally so and less fleshy, which meant more agile. By God it would be worth a groat to give him a blow he would remember for months to come.

He stepped forward.

‘Ah,’ cried the giant. ‘Here’s another brave Scotsman.’

‘Here is the groat. Give me the pole,’ replied William.

‘Surely, surely, my pretty gentleman. Here is the pole. Come, I am ready.’

William lifted the pole; every bit of strength was in his arms as he brought it down across the giant’s back. There was a crack; the giant staggered; he fell forward. His back was broken.

There was a shout of dismay. The watching soldiers crowded round their champion. They surrounded William too.

‘By God, he is dead,’ said someone. They rounded on William. ‘You killed him.’

‘In just combat,’ William replied.

‘You … Scot!’

‘You … Englishman.’

It was the sign. They would have seized William but he was too quick for them. He felled two with the pole he was carrying and then throwing it aside he snatched the dagger from his belt. In a short time five of them were lying on the cobbles … dead.

He knew he must get away. He must find his horse, ride like fury and get as far as he could from those enraged men.

But he could not. The crowd was too dense. They surrounded him. They all wanted a glimpse of the man who had killed the giant.

He turned to fight, but there were too many Englishmen against him. He kicked out and one man fell back reeling in pain, but there was another in his place.

He was seized and carried off.

‘To the jail,’ they chanted. ‘Throw him into the jail.’

It was fortunate for him that they did not know who he was or they would have devised a cruel end for him. As it was he was just a Scot who had been challenged and had killed the challenger and then had slain others in the foray. Such bloody fights which ended in death were common enough. But he had killed Englishmen and he was a Scot, and for that he should be thrown into jail until they decided what to do with him.

The old jail in Ayr was a noisome spot. His cell was so small that he could not, being tall, stand up in it. There was no light in it and he who had been accustomed to the fresh air found the lack of it intolerable. He could scarcely move; the smell of the place sickened him; the rats came out and watched him. He could see their yellow eyes in the gloom. He knew they were waiting until he was too feeble to fight them, then they would attack him.

He was in despair. His bright dream had vanished; it had been swept away because of a brawl in the streets of a town. What a fool he was. He should never have challenged the giant; he should never have lost his temper and killed those Englishmen. He should have learned his lesson over Selby’s son.

He could never curb his fury. He felt too deeply the humiliation of his countrymen. It was because of this ardour in him that he had sworn to dedicate his life to his country’s cause; and because of it he was here … in this fearsome prison. And how could he ever escape from it? Once a day his food was pushed through a grating. It was always decaying herring, salt from the barrel … inedible except to a starving man; and with it came a little water … just enough to keep him alive. If it were not for that he would have believed they had forgotten him.

At first he had tried to devise a means of escape. He had pummelled the stone walls with his fists until they had become lacerated; he had tried to prise open the iron bars of the door but even his strength could make no impression. Then on his diet of evil-smelling herring and water his strength began to be sapped away, and despair came to him.

This is the end, he thought. This is all then.

Once as he lay there the door opened and a lantern shone onto his face. He heard two voices. ‘Can’t last much longer,’ said one.

‘Give him another day,’ said the other.

The light went out. He lay there. He tried to interpret their meaning but he was too tired. Later he roused himself. He was dying then. That was what they meant. They would take him out of this hell … when he was dead and he wanted nothing so much but to leave this place.

He was light-headed, unsure of where he was and yet a thought kept hammering in his brain. He would only be taken out of this place if he were dead so he must die … and if he were not dead, he must pretend to be. It was imperative that he get out.

The light was there. He lay still, his eyes half closed.

The voice said, ‘He’s gone this time.’

Someone prodded him with a foot. He did not move. Half conscious, one thought kept recurring: I shall only leave here when I am dead … I must be dead …

‘I’ll take him by the legs … You take the shoulders …’

Vaguely he was conscious. He was leaving the cell; he was leaving misery, hell on earth; he had cheated the rats; he would never again taste barrelled herrings.

‘Over the wall … into the midden …’ said the voice.

Blessed fresh air. It intoxicated him; he was swooning with the joy of it. He was flying through the wonderful heady sweet clean air … then he fell into unconsciousness.

He awoke. It was dusk and he was in a small room lying on a truckle bed. Everything was sweet smelling. That was what struck him first.

He thought, I died then and came to Heaven.

Then he closed his eyes.

He heard voices.

‘He’ll recover.’

‘He’s strong as an ox.’

‘I never thought he could … after the state he was in.’

They were talking of him. He opened his eyes to daylight. A young woman was standing near a window and the light shone on her face. He was sure then that he had come to Heaven because she had the look of an angel. Her long fair hair hung in two thick plaits, one of which fell over her right shoulder; her overdress with wide sleeves to the elbow was of blue and beneath it was a petticoat of buttercup yellow that almost matched her hair; her eyes were blue, her cheeks rosy.

‘He is looking at us,’ said the young woman. ‘He is awake.’

He heard himself ask: ‘Who … are you?’

She moved towards the bedside. ‘Mother,’ she called. ‘Mother, come here.’

There were two of them. A woman and her daughter.

‘Where am I …?’

‘Safe and well,’ said the young woman.

She came to the bed and smiled at him.

‘You are beautiful,’ he said.

The elder woman put a cup of warm broth to his lips and he drank it eagerly.

‘You see, daughter,’ she said, ‘he takes it now.’

He looked from one to the other of them.

‘You look … happy,’ he said faintly.

‘We thought you would die,’ answered the girl.

They would not let him talk much then but gradually he learned from them.

He owed his life again to his uncle’s housekeeper, who had made him sit at her spinning wheel and spin when they came to look for him. She had sent her nephew to find out what had befallen him and when she had heard the description of the young man who had killed the giant in the streets of Ayr she had known it was he. He had been thrown into the prison and she had sent to her sister who lived in Ayr and begged her to find out all she could. Ellen, her daughter, was a beautiful girl who was friendly with many of the men in the town – English and Scottish. She was intrigued by the story of the young man in jail and when she was told in secret that he was William Wallace, who was becoming something of a legend, she was very excited and determined to do all she could to help him.

When she went into the town she lingered by the jail gates. The guards were only too happy to talk to her. Ellen was known as a very desirable young woman who, while she would not bestow her favours on all and sundry, could be very generous to those she liked. She was very much sought after, and she and her mother lived well in their cottage because of the good things which her admirers brought to her. Thus, when she lingered at the jail gates, the guards were only too happy to talk to her, and from them she learned about the giant slayer and how he lay now in his cell from where, they joked, he could kill no more Englishmen. She knew that he was near death. She knew that when he was dead they would throw him into the midden, and when they did so for the sake of her aunt she would retrieve his body and if it were possible give it a decent burial.