When the gate was opened in the morning Cluny waited until a few persons had passed in and out and then approached it. “Hallo! lass,” the sergeant of the guard, who was standing there, said. “You are a pretty figure with your torn clothes! Why, what has happened to you?”
“If you please, sir,” Cluny said timidly, “I was selling my eggs to the governor’s cook, and he kept me waiting, and I did not know that it was so late, and when I got to the gates they were shut, and I had nowhere to go; and then, please sir, as I was wandering about a rough soldier seized me and wanted to kiss me, and of course I would not let him, and in the struggle he tore my clothes dreadfully; and some burghers, who heard me scream, came up and the man left me, and one of the burghers let me sleep in his kitchen, and I don’t know what mother will say to my clothes;” and Cluny lifted the hem of his petticoat to his eyes.
“It is a shame, lass,” the sergeant said good temperedly; “an I had been there I would have broke the fellow’s sconce for him; but another time, lass, you should not overstay the hour; it is not good for young girls to be roaming at night in a town full of soldiers. There, I hope your mother won’t beat you, for, after all, it was the fault of the governor’s cook rather than yours.”
Cluny pursued his way with a quiet and depressed mien until he was fairly out of sight of the gates. Then he lifted his petticoats to a height which would have shocked his sister Janet, to give free play to his limbs, and at the top of his speed dashed down the road toward Lanark. He found his two companions waiting at the appointed spot, but he did not pause a moment.
“Are you mad, Cluny?” they shouted.
And indeed the wild figure, with its tucked up garments, tearing at full speed along the road, would have been deemed that of a mad girl by any who had met it.
“Come on!” he shouted. “Come on, it is for life or death!” and without further word he kept on at full speed. It was some time before his companions overtook him, for they were at first too convulsed by laughter at Cluny’s extraordinary appearance to be able to run. But presently, sobered by the conviction that something of extreme importance must have happened, they too started at their best speed, and presently came up with Cluny, upon whose pace the mile he had already run told heavily.
“For the sake of goodness, Cluny, go slower,” one of them panted out as they came to him. “We have nine miles yet to run, and if we go on like this we shall break down in another half mile, and have to walk the rest.”
Cluny himself, with all his anxiety to get on, was beginning to feel the same, and he slackened his pace to a slinging trot, which in little over an hour brought them to the wood.
Chapter VI. The Barns of Ayr
Archie was anxiously awaiting the arrival of his messenger, for the three lads were met two miles out by another who had been placed on watch, and had come on ahead at full speed with the news of their approach. The report brought in by Jock Farrell of the words that he had overheard in the barn prepared for the meeting, had been reported by Archie to Wallace. Sir John Grahame and the other gentlemen with him all agreed that they were strange, and his friends had strongly urged their leader not to proceed to the meeting. Wallace, however, persisted in his resolution to do so, unless he received stronger proofs than those afforded by the few words dropped by the governor and his officer, which might really have no evil meaning whatever. He could not throw doubt upon the fair intentions of King Edward’s representative, for it might well be said that it was the grossest insult to the English to judge them as guilty of the intention of a foul act of treachery upon such slight foundation as this. “It would be a shame indeed,” he said, “were I, the Warden of Scotland, to shrink from appearing at a council upon such excuse as this.” The utmost that Archie could obtain from him was that he would delay his departure in the morning until the latest moment, in order to see if any further news came from Ayr.
The meeting was to be held at ten o’clock, and until a little before nine he would not set out. He was in the act of mounting his horse when Cluny Campbell arrived.
“What are your news, Cluny?” Archie exclaimed, as the lads, panting and exhausted, ran up.
“There is treachery intended. I overheard the governor say so.”
“Come along with me,” Archie exclaimed; “you are just in time, and shall yourself tell the news. Draw your bridle, Sir William,” he exclaimed as he ran up to the spot where Sir William Wallace, Grahame, and several other gentlemen were in the act of mounting. “Treachery is intended – my messenger has overheard it. I know not his tale, but question him yourself.”
Important as was the occasion, the Scottish chiefs could not resist a smile at the wild appearance of Archie’s messenger.
“Is it a boy or a girl?” Wallace asked Archie, “for it might be either.”
“He is one of my band, sir. I sent him dressed in this disguise as it would be the least suspected. Now, Cluny, tell your own story.”
Cluny told his story briefly, but giving word for word the sentences that he had heard spoken in anger by the governor and his officer.
“I fear there can be no doubt,” Wallace said gravely when the lad had finished – “that foul play of some kind is intended, and that it would be madness to trust ourselves in the hands of this treacherous governor. Would that we had had the news twenty-four hours earlier; but even now some may be saved. Sir John, will you gallop, with all your mounted men, at full speed towards Ayr. Send men on all the roads leading to the council, and warn any who may not yet have arrived against entering.”
Sir John Grahame instantly gave orders to all those who had horses, to mount and follow him at the top of their speed; and he himself, with the other gentlemen whose horses were prepared, started at once at full gallop.
“Sir Archie, do you cause the `assembly’ to be sounded, and send off your runners in all directions to bid every man who can be collected to gather here this afternoon at three o clock. If foul play has been done we can avenge, although we are too late to save, and, by Heavens, a full and bloody revenge will I take.”
It was not until two in the afternoon that Sir John Grahame returned.
“The worst has happened; I can read it in your face,” Wallace exclaimed.
“It is but too true,” Sir John replied. “For a time we could obtain no information. One of my men rode forward until close to the Barns, and reported that all seemed quiet there. A guard of soldiers were standing round the gates, and he saw one of those invited, who had arrived a minute before him, dismount and enter quietly. Fortunately I was in time to stop many gentlemen who were proceeding to the council, but more had entered before I reached there. From time to time I sent forward men on foot who talked with those who were standing without to watch the arrivals. Presently a terrible rumour began to spread among them – whether the truth was known from some coarse jest by one of the soldiers, or how it came out, I know not. But as time went on, and the hour was long past when any fresh arrivals could be expected, there was no longer motive for secrecy, and the truth was openly told. Each man as he entered was stopped just inside the door. A noose was dropped over his neck, and he was hauled up to a hook over the door. All who entered are dead.”
A cry of indignation and rage broke from Wallace and those standing round him, and the Scottish leader again repeated his oath to take a bloody vengeance for the deed.
“And who are among the murdered?” he asked, after a pause.
“Alas! Sir