by Amy Jarecki
“Ye might want a word with these two characters.”
William raised his eyebrows in question.
Blair just shook his head. “James the Steward and the Earl of Lennox. The bloody backstabbers are bringing word from the English camp.”
That made his gut clamp into a lead ball. “Miserable traitors.” Grasping his sword belt, William stood. “After the noble’s bungle in Irvine, it must have taken an enormous set of cods to ride into my camp.”
Andrew followed suit, testing his sword by sliding it out then back into his scabbard. “They most likely want to offer terms.”
“Not to me.” Taking a torch, William started down the path.” If I wasna busy laying siege to Dundee, I would have sacked the Steward’s keep in Renfrew along with Wishart’s.”
Andrew kept pace beside him. “Why one over the other?”
“With Wishart it was personal. The bishop was responsible for my training with the Templar priest. I thought he had more confidence in me.”
“And then he undermined ye by leading a raid on Irvine?”
“Aye.” William ground his teeth. “I still canna believe it.”
“Ye need a knighthood. That’d garner ye a bit more respect with the nobles.”
“Mayhap if we restore Balliol to the throne, the king will see fit to grant one.” William stopped. Below, Stewart and Lennox were mounted, flanked by a score of men, their torches burning bright. Unless they’d somehow managed to post archers in the trees, they had indeed come to talk.
After handing the torch to Andrew, he cupped his hands around his mouth. “Meet us halfway. Alone. Any men-at-arms follow, ye’ll both be dead men.”
Mumbles rose from below, but the two leaders dismounted and started up the hill.
William snuffed the torch in the dirt. “’Tis a clear night. I can see all I need by the glow from the moon.”
When James Stewart’s face came into view, illuminated blue by the moon and shadowed by the foliage overhead, William smoothed his fingers around the pommel of his sword. How satisfying it would be to lop off his smug head.
“William.” The cur had the audacity to smile. “’Tis good to see ye’ve found Sir Andrew Murray.”
Wallace clenched his fists. “Ye’d best explain what ye’re doing keeping company with the Earl of Surrey.”
“Pardon?” Lord Stewart admonished. “’Tis not like ye to speak so discourteously to your betters.”
“Presently I have the longer sword, and in my forest, that makes me your better.” William crossed his arms against his urge to wring the noble’s neck.
“Och, ye must ken, the nobles received a call to arms. I had to march, else be accused of treason and my lands forfeit.”
“Thus ye acknowledged the slip of worthless parchment forced upon ye by a foreign king.”
“William.” Lord Stewart spread his palms deploringly. “These are troubled times. Every landowning baron must have a care, else he’ll not only lose his holdings, his family will be imprisoned or worse.”
A tic twitched over Wallace’s eye. “Or flayed by Cressingham.”
Andrew stepped forward. “In all seriousness, m’lord. Some of your cavalry is still in our ranks. Surely the pair of ye do not intent to ride against Scottish subjects.”
“But that is why we’re here,” Lord Lennox found his words. “We can grant ye both lands west of Loch Lomond. Lay down your arms and leave this night. They have over six thousand foot and three hundred fifty horse. Ye cannot win.”
William smirked. “We’ve the same. And we have ground advantage. It sickens me that ye think we are so weak.”
“English annihilated us at Irvine,” said Lennox.
Andrew chuckled. “And we were ill prepared at Dunbar, but ye’ve forgotten. Everything from Scone and to the north is now ours.” His hands moved to his hips. “And in a fortnight Wallace has turned six thousand foot into a wall of muscle. Ye mustn’t discount the odds. My wager is on Scotland.”
“God save it be true,” said Lord Stewart.
William crossed his arms. “Then what will ye do to help us? If ye must answer the call of the English, surely ye willna pit your men against Scotland.”
Lennox and Stewart exchanged glances, but it was the High Steward who spoke, “Once the battle is underway, we’ll give the order for our men to stand down. No Scottish blood will be spilled by our hand. On that we can give our word.”
A taste as bitter as bile filled William’s mouth. “I’ll hold ye to it on one condition.” He could end both their lives right here and now. And he’d do so if they didn’t agree to his terms.
Lord Stewart shifted his feet. “Aye?”
“Ye never double cross me again. And when this is over, I’ll have fealty from both your armies.”
“Agreed.” The High Steward held out his palm.
William looked to Andrew who nodded, then he gripped the nobleman’s hand with crushing force to show exactly how serious he was. If either man ever backstabbed him—noble or not—William would show no mercy.
“We’ve one last matter to discuss,” said Lord Stewart.
William had already given away more than he cared to. That blasted tic above his eye twitched again. “Aye?”
“I’ve had word ye abducted Wishart’s nephews.” Stewart huffed. “Is this true?”
“The lads are safe and working as squires for two of my commanders.”
“And when Wishart is released from Roxburgh?”
“If he’s released.” Wallace sliced his hand through the air. “He’ll need to own to his transgressions, just like any man.”
Lord Stewart took a step back. “I’ll send him word the lads are well. It should still his troubled mind.”
“Verra well.” William bowed. “I shall see ye gentlemen anon.”
***
Early evening, Eva sat on the furs in the tent she shared with William and recorded an entry on her scroll of parchment:
11th September, 1297
Interesting that this date is significant throughout history, I personally will never forget the tragedy of the events on 11th September, 2001. I was only thirteen and my family hadn’t yet moved to America. Still, the broadcast of the twin towers billowing smoke in New York forever burned an image on my mind.
This September 11th marks the date of the Battle of Stirling Bridge. William awoke before the sunrise and I haven’t seen him since. Though I can hear footsteps beyond the flap of my tent, the men are silent. The forest is silent, as if the birds are aware of the terrible events that will unfold this day.
Honestly, I cannot believe I am still here…It’s been four months. Six to go, God willing.
Her hand paused. Then she blinked and shook away the sudden sadness.
To me it is unconscionable that Lord Stewart and Lord Lennox are riding with the English and to complicate the insult, many of their men have sided with Wallace. This war of independence has put landowner against crofter and neighbor against neighbor. The lines of loyalty are not defined—jeez, they’re not even grey. How William got this far with so many odds against him amazes me.
But the men love him. His words of encouragement always manage to touch that place in the heart where courage resides in every warrior in this camp.
I have never felt so alive or proud to belong to any cause.
This will be a terrible day indeed. I want to hide, yet I cannot bring myself to miss a thing.
Eva would have liked to have written more, but she put her quill aside and headed for the ridge.
In full battle armor, William stood beside Andrew. Lord, he looked magnificent—a living statue—a god. His broad shoulders tapered to a sturdy waist, with his white surcoat belted low. His great sword hung in repose at his hip, gauntlets protected his fingers, and an iron helm covered his dark tresses with curls peeking beneath. Before her stood a warrior. A man with such courage, he would never turn his back on his country, never flee from a fight. A man who knew of honor and respect and loya
lty. A man who would die for right. Before her stood a man who could love with such ferocious passion, any woman who lay in his arms could never be satiated by another. She knew that to her very bones.
Together the two warriors gazed down upon the verdant Carse of Stirling, flatlands through which flowed the River Forth. Beyond and up the far hill loomed the grey stone walls Stirling Castle. From the distance, the grand fortress looked small, as if part of a landscape portrait of the horizon. Still early morning, the sun in the east was partially blocked by a hazy layer of clouds.
Eva kept her distance. In no way could she interfere with the events that were about to unravel. Without uttering a word, the lads surrounded her. Adam wrapped his fingers around her waist and leaned close. She hugged his shoulders and kissed the top of the boy’s head. Though she wanted to send them away to tend the flock of sheep amassed to feed the garrison, she could not. In the Middle Ages, children were not hidden from the realities of war, and this would be a significant day for Paden, Robbie and Adam. One they would remember for the rest of their lives.
Chapter Thirty-Two
William watched the English start across the bridge, so narrow, only two horsemen could cross at a time, making their progress slow—but their retreat impossible. At dawn, he gave the command to the commanders of the Scottish schiltrons to stand ready for his order to form up in battle array below the Abbey Craig. One hundred men wide and six deep, when he gave the order they’d trap the English army on the lip of land jutting into the curve of the River Forth. ’Twas the most brilliant plan he’d ever dreamed.
In all of William’s raids, he’d never had such a ground advantage. Once the English crossed the narrow bridge, they would have nowhere to run. Aye, they had more cavalry and crossbowmen in their ranks, but William prayed this time the Scottish plan was sound. He’d been patient and Lord knew they needed a win. With Sir Andrew Murray joining his army, a victory would most definitely swing many borderland nobles to side solely with Scotland.
William’s heartbeat rushed in his ears as he watched.
“When shall we order the cavalry to mount?” Andrew asked.
“As soon as the crossing reaches a third, we’ll ride down the crag at breakneck speed and lead the foot into battle. Racing horses with their commanders leading the charge will bolster our men with the courage they need.”
“Look at that!” Robbie hollered, pointing. “The milk-livered hogs have turned tail.”
William snapped his gaze to the bridge. Indeed, the English were heading back. He squinted for a better look. A rotund man mounted on a horse was flinging his arms and gesturing up the far hill toward the castle.
“Is that Cressingham?” Wallace leaned toward Andrew.
“Och aye.” Murray pointed. “The verra swine who ordered the butchering of Scottish men, women and children in Dunbar. I dunna need to ride closer to recognize that murdering codfish.”
William scratched his head. “What the blazes are they doing?”
***
John de Warenne, the Earl of Surrey opened his eyes when the latch to his chamber door clicked. Throat burning and raw, he felt like shite.
“My lord?” Lawrence, his valet called from the doorway.
Warenne rolled over. “Yes?”
“Tis well past Terce. The men have assembled.”
The earl’s heart thrummed with a jolt and he sat bolt upright. “Why did you allow me to sleep so late?”
“Apologies. ’Tis not like you to oversleep, my lord.”
Warenne pushed aside the bedclothes and swung his legs over the edge of the mattress. “I’ve a miserable ache in the head and my throat. This Scottish air is disagreeable, indeed.”
“Shall I send for a tonic?”
“Heaven’s no. I must dress immediately.” Warenne stood and stretched. “The men are assembled at the bridge, you say?”
“Yes, my lord. Sir Lundie started the infantry over the bridge, but Sir Cressingham insisted they return until you joined them.” As always, Lawrence had Lord Warenne’s armor neatly laid out on the table.
“Did he now?” Warenne stood with his arms wide while his groom dressed him.
“Yes.”
“It seems the king’s treasurer is quite a military tactician. Edward was very impressed with his victory in Irvine.”
“Truly?” Lawrence carefully lifted the hauberk while the earl slipped into it. “I thought Lords Clifford and Percy quashed the rebellion there.”
“Ah yes. A slip of the mind, I’m afraid, though Cressingham was the man who reported the incident. I was there when His Grace received the missive—’twas when I was dispatched to carry out this unsavory task.”
“Would you like to break your fast, or should I have the groom ready your horse, my lord?”
“Since the men are assembled, I’ll venture to my mount. Dispelling this rebellion shan’t take long.” Lord Warenne slipped his feet into his boots and watched the groom tie them.
“’Tis a shame this Wallace jester refused to surrender.”
“Agreed.” Warenne smirked. “We shall imprison him in chains and take him to London. I’m sure the king will enjoy using the beggar as an example to all of Scotland.”
“’Twill be good to see, my lord.” Lawrence held up a surcoat with the Surrey coat of arms. “I for one would like to have peace on our island. The war with France is enough.”
After donning the garment, the earl smoothed his hands down the emblem on his chest. “Let us dispel this battle and then tonight we shall feast.”
Once dressed and armed, Warenne made his way to Stirling Castle’s courtyard and mounted his warhorse. Flanked by his personal guard, they rode down the hill to Stirling Bridge and the English army. Sir Cressingham met them at the rear of the company. “My lord, all is ready for the battle to commence. Do we have your approval for the bridge crossing?”
Warenne sat high in his saddle and ran his fingers down the point of his beard. “Before we begin, let us recognize the merits of our men. First I call forward the five garrison leaders who have acted for England on this foray. For they shall be knighted this day.”
“Well said, my lord.” Cressingham turned to the ranks. “Drake, Bastion, Snelling, Weaver, and Morton come forward and remove your helms.”
Warenne dismounted and drew his sword. Holding it above his head, he stood perfectly still as the five men assembled and kneeled. “Our illustrious and revered King Edward, ruler of England, recognizes you for your service to our sovereign nation. I hereby bestow upon you the esteemed rank of knights of England’s Royal Infantry. Long live the king.”
“Long live the king!” The unison shout from three thousand men was quite uplifting. John dubbed each man on the shoulders, certain this act would inspire the troops. Then he led them parading across the ranks to bring inspiration to the soldiers. “Fight well, men, and we will drink Scottish whisky this night,” he repeated again and again.
“Shall we now begin the march, my lord?” Cressingham asked after they rounded the last line of infantry.
“So be it.” Warenne raised his arm and his voice. “Fight with might and be victorious. For England!”
“For England!” responded the resounding roar.
With the beat of foot soldiers on the wooden bridge, the crossing began.
“The bridge is quite narrow,” Warenne observed.
Cressingham shook his finger at the procession. “But two horses can cross side by side and I cannot yet smell the Scots.”
“Then ensure the infantry crosses first.” Warenne chuckled at the treasurer’s jest. “Scots don’t know how to fight on horseback.”
Nearly a quarter of the army had traversed the bridge when Stewart and Lennox returned from their sortie. Warenne breathed a sigh of relief. Mayhap there will be no bloodshed this day. “Cressingham, look there. And you thought the Scottish nobles had deserted us.”
“Shall I recall the garrison?”
“Yes, do,” Warenne agreed. “I’m
certain their news will be favorable. They are not accompanied by the forty horsemen. ’Tis a sign the surrender has been favorably negotiated.”
The treasurer scoffed. “Mayhap that is why the lowlife swine haven’t shown their faces. Poor men cannot resist an opportunity to increase their personal wealth.”
The battalion commander shouted the order to return, and by the time the Scottish Lords reached the bridge, most of the English soldiers had marched back across.
Warenne waited on his mount until the nobles rode all the way up to him. In no way would he present like an excited youth and meet them halfway. Besides, they were Scots—hardly of noble blood. “Tell me this William Wallace character has finally agreed to surrender. Did you offer him my terms?”
Lord Stewart frowned. “We did, my lord, though Wallace is as stubborn as a goat on a lead line.”
The Earl of Surrey let out an exasperated cough. “What un-propertied man would refuse the promise of lands?”
Lord Lennox shifted in his saddle. “Wallace believes acceptance of a grant of lands would be a betrayal of his allegiance to Scotland.”
“But he is a traitor—an outlaw with no scruples,” Warenne puzzled.
“Mayhap from your point of view, my lord.” The High Steward bowed his head, but his words bordered on the unpatriotic.
Warenne looked again from whence the nobles came. “If you could not negotiate terms, where are the forty horsemen you promised?”
Lord Stewart spread his palms. “Alas, we could not persuade the men from Lennoxtown to join us.”
“Is this true, Lennox? I thought you were a powerful earl? Did you not take the horses and weapons from them?”
“No, my lord.” Lennox bowed his beef-witted head. “We couldna because the men have already joined the rebellion.”
“This is treasonous.” Warenne could not believe his ears. “You met with Wallace, yet your men remained standing beside him?”
“Our men were out of sight.” Lord Stewart’s gaze shifted to Lennox. “It was dark and we were not invited into the outlaw’s camp.”
