The Renegade(215)
“Aye,” the first man said, his eyes agog, “but somebody must hae done it. Ye must hae some idea o’ who it was, Sandy, surely?”
Armstrong swung towards the speaker, his face suffused with rage. “Some idea? I don’t need ideas, Johnston, I know damn well who did it. The God-cursed Englishry did it. But I havena got a name to put to anybody, an’ no’ a shred o’ evidence to show, and a’ the folk who could point a finger o’ accusation hae been murdered.”
“But … ” It was the man Johnston. “But how d’ye know that if they’re a’ deid?”
“Because I was telt!” he howled. “They wis seen!” Armstrong reined himself in abruptly and drew in a deep, shuddering gulp of air. He turned to gaze wide-eyed at Bruce, and when he resumed his voice was calmer, almost matter-of-fact. “The lad that brought us the word saw them, less than twa miles from where it happened. He was on his way to see my cousin Broderick, wi’ a load o’ hay. He saw them comin’ out o’ the forest into a glade by the river there. Nine or ten o’ them, he said. English sodgers, wearin’ leather hauberks and steel hats. He was above them, lookin’ down the hill, and he hid as soon as he saw them.”
“Why?” Bruce asked, cursing himself for his stupidity even as the word left his mouth.
“Why? Because he kent better than to let them see him. He drove his cart into the bushes out o’ sight and hid himsel’ and watched them go by, waitin’ till they was out o’ sight.”
“And he was sure they were English?”
Armstrong ignored the question, clearly deeming it unworthy of response, and Bruce added, “Ten of them, you said?”
Armstrong shrugged. “Nine, ten … He didna try to count them. It was enough to see them there, wi’ naebody in charge o’ them. The boy kept out o’ sight and waited till they was past and then went on his way. And then he smelt the smoke as he got near Broderick’s place. Every buildin’ in the place was on fire and everybody was deid. The women were a’ naked, their throats cut … And the men and bairns had a’ been cut to bits … He couldna do a thing, he said, an’ he doesna ken how long he stayed there, no’ knowin’ what to do or where to turn. And then he came lookin’ for us.”
“So what did you do?”
Armstrong looked at him with eyes that were utterly blank. “What could I do? Nothin’ that would change a thing. I sent some men along with our priest to clean the place up and bury the bodies. And then I came here to bring the news.”
“But ye have a witness,” old Sir John Heriot said, speaking for the first time since Armstrong had begun. “The boy. Who is he?”
“Adam Westwood, they call him. He’s sixteen. But he didna see anythin’ to witness, ither than a rabble of Englishry comin’ out o’ the forest frae the direction o’ Broderick’s place. He wasna close enough to see their faces or even what crests they was wearin’ and he wouldna ken a single one o’ them gin he was standin’ in among them. I can just imagine what the English would say about that, the bastards.”
The Earl of Carrick nodded. “There’s nothing I can say to ease your grief or your anger. They might be anywhere by now, safe among their own kind. They might even have been deserters, but we’ll never know.” He frowned. “You say the boy said they were a rabble. They were not in formation, marching?”
“No. A rabble was what the boy called them. No’ marchin’, just daunderin’ along wi’ naebody in charge, laughin’ and shoutin’ to one another like laddies wi’ no’ a care in the world.”
“Hmm … So what will you do now?”
Armstrong simply stared at him. “Had ye asked me that afore I cam here this mornin’ I wouldna hae been able to tell ye,” he said in a low voice. “But I ken now.” He turned away to address the gathering. “Justice for my folk,” he said. “I’m goin’ out to the Forest. To join the outlaws, join Wallace. If I canna depend on the law for help, then by Christ I’ll make my ain law. I’ll take my boys wi’ me, the twa eldest and a handfu’ o’ my men. Twelve o’ us a’ thegither, single men wi’ nae families to fret about. Them that stays behind will be enough to see that there’s nae repeat o’ what happened the day afore yesterday.” He glanced from face to face as though expecting opposition, but no one spoke. “My mind’s made up,” he said. “I’ve had enough o’ sittin’ on my arse an’ sayin’ nothin’, twiddlin’ my thumbs like some eejit. I’m goin’ lookin’ for English sodgers. I’m no’ askin’ for help frae any o’ ye, no’ askin’ ye to come wi’ me. This is my business and I’ll see to it. I’m just tellin’ ye so ye’ll ken when ye hear tell o’ it frae other folk.” He hitched his jerkin closer about him and looked at Sir John Heriot. “That’s all I have to say, and now I’m goin’ home. But I’ll be awa in three days frae now, and after that, God knows. We’ll see. Good day to ye all.” He nodded one more time to Sir John and then to Bruce, and then walked out, pulling the main door shut behind him.