Виктория Холт - The Hammer of the Scots

‘My lord, you fill me with the desire to serve you well.’

‘Forget not, Menteith, that that is your duty.’

‘I shall not forget my duty, sire.’

‘Nor the rewards of duty. If you bring me Wallace I shall be grateful to you. But I want him … and I want him soon. While he lives in hiding we can never be sure when and where he will rise with fools to follow him.’

Menteith bowed and retired, his head full of plans.

The idea came to him suddenly when he thought of what the King had said. Through a woman, yes. There must be a woman in Wallace’s life. It was almost certain that he would come into Dumbarton or some such place at dead of night to visit some woman.

Then he remembered Jack Short, one of his servants, so called because of his small stature – a wiry man with darting ferret eyes. Menteith had employed him now and then for some unsavoury task. The man had few scruples and he and his brother – now dead – would do anything if the reward was good enough. Jack Short was a man who knew what was going on. He made it his business to. He could be plausible; he had an oily tongue and oddly enough numerous people could not see through his falseness.

There was one person for whom Jack Short had really cared. That was his brother – another so like himself that the two were often mistaken for each other. The brother had been killed in an affray and his killer had been William Wallace. Jack Short hated William Wallace.

Therefore he was an excellent choice.

Menteith summoned him and explained what he wanted. ‘Jack,’ he said, ‘if I can deliver Wallace to Edward I shall be rewarded and so will those who help me. I believe you could be of service to me in this matter and that would bring great good to you – apart from giving you the satisfaction of revenge.’

‘He killed my brother,’ said Jack Short, his eyes glowing in his usually cold face. ‘He was close to me when he died. Wallace lifted his sword and cut off my brother’s head. I was too late to get him but by God if …’

‘This is your opportunity. Let us decide how we shall set about this. Vengeance, and reward for it. A good combination, eh Jack?’

William Wallace was in fact living in a disused hut in the mountains close to Glasgow. With him were a few of his friends, Karlé and Stephen, those two faithful stalwarts, among them. Wallace always said that he would rather have twenty men he could trust than a thousand whom he couldn’t.

He was saddened by the way things had gone. Edward had changed everything. He might have known that Edward was a formidable enemy. He could have conquered the others: he had succeeded until Edward had arrived, with his armies and his military skills. Edward was a legend. So was Wallace. They were two strong men coming face to face, but Edward was the King of a great country and he had the arms, the men – everything that Wallace had so sadly lacked.

But he would not despair.

One day, he promised himself, he would conquer Edward.

In the meantime there was nothing to do but wait and plan with his good friends. They would talk together of gathering an army again, of marching against Edward. They would learn the lessons of defeat for there were more to be discovered in them than in victory.

Sometimes he was impatient. Then Karlé would soothe him. Karlé, Stephen! What good friends they were and always had been!

But he was in hiding. He hated having to skulk into Glasgow at night; he wanted to disguise himself and go by day. But it was dangerous. He went at night to the house of a woman. She was pretty enough and generous, and although she did not know him as Wallace sometimes he thought she suspected him of being that great warrior.

One night, as he lay with his friends round the fire they had lighted in the hut, they talked of what one of them had heard that day in Glasgow – that Edward was at St Andrews and many of the Scottish lords were swearing fealty to him. That made Wallace furious. That Scotsmen should so far forget their country as to bow to Edward!

And as they sat there one of the guards came in with a small draggled figure wrapped in a ragged cloak.

‘I found him prowling nearby,’ said the guard. ‘So I brought him to you for he said he knew you and wanted to offer himself.’

‘You know me, man?’ said Wallace. ‘Come near the fire and let me look at you. By what name are you known?’

‘As Jack Short,’ said the man. ‘I knew you once, Sir William.’

Wallace said, ‘I remember. I never saw men so short as you … and was there not a brother?’

‘Ay, a brother. You killed him, sir.’

‘I killed him? Then he was an enemy of Scotland.’

‘Not so, Sir William. He was a fool of a man, my brother. He wanted to fight for Scotland though. He was there at one of the forays and lost his way in the battle. You believed him to be on their side. ’Twas not so, I swear.’

‘Why do you come here?’

‘I have searched for you, far and wide. I wanted to tell you that my brother was no traitor. I want to make you understand that, sir.’

‘I killed your brother. Then if he was no traitor you must hate me for that.’

‘No, sir. He was soft in the head, my brother. You would never have killed him … if you had known. He wanted to serve Scotland and he did … but his brain was addled and he did not know which way to turn. He wouldn’t be sure who was the enemy. So I come to tell you he was no traitor and to serve you with my life.’

William said, ‘Do you fancy yourself as a fighter then?’

‘Nay. I am short as my brother but my brain is not addled as his, poor boy, was. I cannot fight … though I might be of some use on a battlefield. But I can fish and cook over a fire and help a gentleman to dress.’

‘We all look after ourselves here, Jack Short.’

‘But ’twill be easier for you to give your mind to greater matters, sir, if I do things for you. I was fishing this afternoon and I have good fish with me. Let me cook it for you and you shall taste my skills.’

William was amused. ‘Why not? We should like a tasty meal, eh Karlé?’

Karlé was thoughtful. He was too apprehensive about everything, thought William. He looked for danger in every pool and tree.

‘Come! The fish, Jack Short, and you shall stay with me and be my servant. How like you that?’

Jack Short knelt and kissed William’s hand.

He was good. There was no question of that. Life was easier with him. He had a talent for catching and cooking fish. He would go into the town and come with provisions they needed.

‘It saves our taking risks,’ even Karlé admitted.

One day Jack Short said to William, ‘My lord, you should never go into Glasgow. Your leman should come to you.’

He knew of course why William made his nocturnal visits. Jack Short could be trusted to know everything.

‘What,’ cried William, ‘would you have us all betrayed?’

‘God forbid that that should ever come to pass. I would but make it easier for my lord.’

‘You do make life easier for me, Jack,’ said William. ‘I am sorry for what I did to your brother.’

‘’Twas his fault. No … not his fault … his folly. Forget it, my lord. For I have found joy in serving you.’

Jack would lie at his master’s feet and talk about what news he picked up in Glasgow. He told of the women he saw there. ‘There is one,’ he said, ‘fair of hair and rosy of cheek with sparkling blue eyes and a ready tongue. I noted her specially.’

He watched his master. He knew by Sir William’s smile that she was the one. He had discovered where she lived. If he could but follow Wallace there one night that would be good but he had to take care, for Karlé was a most suspicious man.