The men looked round the room and scarcely gave a glance to the one they thought was the servant at the spinning wheel.

‘He may well be hiding here,’ said one of them. ‘Search the place.’

They went over the house. They looked in every room, and all the time William went on spinning.

When they came down they said to the housekeeper: ‘If he comes send to us at once. He’s a wanted man.’

‘I will, my lords, I will. Oh sir … my lords, what has he done then?’

‘Murder, Goody. That’s what he has done. And he’ll hang for this. But not before we make him suffer. The Governor’s son …’

‘Oh, no, my lord … oh no …’ The housekeeper had flung her apron over her face and was rocking to and fro.

‘Cut down in his youth. By God, blood will flow for this. Wait till the Governor recovers from his grief.’

‘’Twas murder … ’twas murder … the wicked young man,’ sobbed the housekeeper.

‘Aye, ’twas murder. Remember. If that murderer comes here … which it seems he will at some time. Keep him … come to us and let us know. You’ll be rewarded, good woman. And you will see justice done.’

‘How could he? I always knew he was wild. I knew he’d come to no good.’

The men went out. She went over to the spinning wheel.

‘Go on. Don’t stop. Go on for a while. Till I know it will be safe.’

William obeyed her, exulting in the manner in which they had deceived the English.

She sat beside him. ‘We must bide our time. Meanwhile prepare yourself to leave. Where will you go?’

‘I must go to my mother in Kilspindie. I must assure myself that she is safe.’

‘You will have to be careful. When you reach her you will not stay there. It would be as well if you took her away. Oh, my laddie, what have you done? Why did you have to kill the Englishman?’

‘My task in life is to kill Englishmen and to drive them out of our fair land.’

She shook her head. ‘I would that we could live in peace.’

‘You talk like my mother.’

‘Aye, laddie, ’tis women’s talk. We see no good in dying but there’s much good in living.’

‘To be humiliated … to be insulted …’

‘Hush. We should be thinking of getting ye away. You must wait till nightfall. Then you must slip out. We will go to the stables where your horse will be ready. Until that time you are my servant Tabbie …’

‘And my uncle!’

‘I will tell him what you have brought on yourself. He’d never betray you. For what has happened, should we be caught, I’ll take the blame.’

‘You are good to me. You risk your life for me, you know.’

‘Do ye think I would side with the English?’

‘Never. But to risk yourself …’

‘Tish!’ she snapped. He stood up from the wheel and kissed her.


* * *

Riding through the night to Kilspindie he was thinking of what lay ahead. He had at last entered the battle. He would be a wanted man. The murder of a governor’s son would be regarded as treachery to the King of England. John Baliol, King of Scotland, would be no help to him. He was Edward’s man. What Scotland needed was a king worth fighting for. But Edward had allowed them to put old Toom Tabard on the throne because he knew he was a weak man and that suited wily Edward, for who was the real ruler of Scotland? Edward. Edward was the enemy.

William’s coming was received with some dismay at Kilspindie, for when it was learned that he had killed Governor Selby’s son, his mother’s relations were horrified and feared that his recklessness would bring trouble to them all. He could not stay at Kilspindie, they said. That much was clear for the hue and cry would soon follow them there.

There was an immediate gathering of the family to discuss what could be done and William realised that in coming here he had placed his mother and all of them in danger.

‘You must go at once,’ said his relations, and they added: ‘It would be unwise to leave your mother behind.’

After some discussion it seemed that it might be safe to leave John at his school, but certainly Lady Wallace must go with her son. And immediately at that, because it could not be long before their searchers came to Kilspindie, for they would guess he would come to his family.

‘Let there be no delay,’ said their host, whose great concern seemed to be to get them out of his house and with all speed. It was agreed that they should disguise themselves as pilgrims on the way to the shrine of St Margaret; and having no desire to stay any longer than they need, where their presence inspired such fear, they set out immediately.

Their disguise was good and they were accepted in the hamlets and villages through which they passed for what they pretended to be and in due course they reached Dunipace.

William’s uncle was amazed to see them. He shook his head. He had known William’s hot blood and violent hatred of the English would bring trouble to him and his family. However, they must rest and be fed and discuss with him what their next action should be.

When they had eaten he took them to that study where William had worked and dreamed in the past, and there he bade them sit down.

‘I have ill news for you,’ he said gravely, ‘which I did not want to tell you until you had eaten and rested a little. I fear it will be a great shock to you.’

‘Pray do not keep us longer in suspense, Uncle,’ begged William, and he went to his mother and took her hand because he guessed that the grave news concerned his father.

‘Your father engaged the English at Elderslie,’ said his uncle. ‘It was a foolhardy thing to do. He and his retainers were outnumbered.’

‘They have taken him,’ cried Lady Wallace in horror.

‘Nay. He died in battle and with him … Malcolm.’

Lady Wallace stared straight ahead of her. William put an arm about her and drew her to him.

‘The devils!’ he cried. ‘So they have killed my father and my brother!’

‘Your father and Malcolm took some of them too, nephew. They inflicted losses on the English in losing their lives.’

‘Gone,’ whispered Lady Wallace. ‘My husband … and my son …’

‘By God,’ cried William. ‘They shall pay for this. I will not rest till I have slain twenty English in repayment for those two lives.’

‘Nothing can repay,’ said his uncle. ‘It is a pity your father engaged in such a battle. He was certain to lose.’

‘I am proud of him,’ cried William. ‘I shall avenge him and my brother.’

‘You must first concern yourself with saving your own life. You are a wanted man … and you are Sir William now. You must care for your mother and brother.’

William faltered as the implication of what this meant came to him. His father … his brother … dead in one day. And he the head of the family. He looked at his mother. She seemed frail in her misery.

‘Mother,’ he said, ‘I must get you to some place of safety. You have done nothing.’

His uncle said, ‘Do that as soon as you can. Take her to her brother, Ronald Crawford. He is a friend of the Governor of Ayr and I doubt not can persuade him that your mother is innocent of what they would call treason. But he cannot save you, William. Nothing can save you. You are a wanted man.’

‘I know it well,’ said William.

‘Then take your mother from here. Make sure of her safety and then … take heed for yourself.’

It was sound advice. They left Dunipace that night and in due course they arrived at Lady Wallace’s brother’s home in Crosbie. When he heard the story he said his sister must stay under his protection, but there was nothing he could do to save William. So William, feeling his mother was in good hands, rode on. But he did not go far, for he wanted to be close to his mother in case she should need his help, and he came to rest at Auchincruive on the banks of the Ayr, about two miles from the town of that name. Here lived some distant relations and he thought to himself how fortunate he was to have so many family connections who could be relied on to give him a helping hand when he needed it. The owner of the place was Sir Duncan Wallace and of course he could not deny shelter to a relative.

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.