‘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.
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.