Robert Bruce.
Brendan returned home from the skirmishing weary, and yet, still not defeated—and beginning to find a new respect for their powerful neighbor to the southwest. He'd heard that Bruce had been speaking with Scottish churchmen. Balliol was now obviously never going to return as king. The men in contest for the throne remained John Comyn—and Robert Bruce. In February, John Comyn the Red, the Fierce, had signed a truce with Edward.
And Robert the Bruce was beginning to show a far greater understanding of and admiration for Wallace. Brendan thought that Bruce was beginning to believe that with his position and power and Wallace's sway over men, they could truly create a resistance.
Eleanor had learned to listen, to accept the defeats, to live with the hopes.
When Edward departed Scotland late that summer, he ordered that the abbey at Dunfermline be burned, despite the fact that he had stayed there, that it was a magnificent creation, and many kings and queens of Scotland were buried there— including his own sister, Margaret, her husband, Alexander, and their children. At Stirling castle, he employed a siege engine he called the "War-Wolf," despite the fact that the garrison offered to surrender, he wanted to see how his "War-Wolf" worked, and the hurling of missiles at the castle entertained the ladies.
He left Scotland, pleased that all was in place.
That winter, Eleanor gave birth to a son. He was named Arryn William, for the kinsman with whom Brendan had grown up, and for the man he respected above all others.
Margot and Eric too were blessed. Their little girl was as golden as the sun, born with a crop of white-blond hair and eyes as blue as the sky.
Though Wallace moved quickly and frequently in this period, when the king's hand seemed down on them like a leaden hammer, Wallace frequently sent messages to Brendan.
Brendan and many of the men would join him, engage in battle or skirmish, and melt back home. Eleanor took the children and the other women with her to the north at times, and often to a far western isle, where Brendan still had kin. The ancient family fortress was on a rocky isle protected by the sea, safe from almost any attack. Eleanor learned to live with the events surrounding. She had learned from Margot. She never thought of if he returned. She always thought in terms of when. And he always came back for her. Whether in victory or defeat, his eyes would seek hers out, and he would hold her, as he had when he returned that first time after Clarin, hold her tight, and then, later, they would talk.
She thought that there were times when she might have talked him out of riding, using the children, a profession of her own fear, or some other ruse to keep him home. She knew that she could not do so. If he didn't remain defiant, a free Scotsman, fierce and loyal, he would not be the man she knew, and loved so fully.
It was not battle, but treachery, that finally brought the great Wallace down. Sir John de Menteith, a Scotsman who had capitulated to the king, was approached by William's man, Sir Aymer de Valence, who promised Menteith the king's highest favor—if he helped to capture Wallace. Menteith had had kin killed at Falkirk. Menteith brought in his nephew, a boy named Jack Short, and Short joined Wallace, keeping track of his movements and his plans.
Robert Bruce had been at King Edward's court, but he was supposedly traveling north to meet Wallace. Whether Bruce knew this or not, no one was certain. But on a night while waiting for Bruce at an appointed field, John Short disarmed a weary, sleeping Wallace, and his very good friend and loyal follower, a man named Kerby. He then signaled Menteith to bring his men in. Kerby was killed. Wallace, disarmed, still fought. Menteith told him they were surrounded by English soldiers and that he was only to be taken to Dumbarton castle for safekeeping.
There were no English soldiers. Wallace discovered that, after surrendering to a fellow countryman. He had been betrayed.
Menteith did not take him to Dumbarton Castle. He avoided any part of the country where he might find patriots loyal to Wallace.
Menteith turned Wallace over to John de Seagrave, the warden south of the River Forth. From there, Seagrave would bring him on to London.
When Gregory, always the messenger, came riding hard through the castle gates, shouting the news, Brendan was infuriated. He raved and stormed, talking about the king's hatred for William, and the traitors who would do such a thing. He swore against Robert Bruce, and every other man—as he prepared to take off in pursuit of the party bearing William south to London.
Terrified of what he might do, Eleanor consulted with Margot.
When he prepared to ride, she sent Bridie to beg him to come to her before riding.
He arrived at the room, anxious, distraught. "Eleanor, my God, they will kill him! We have to move quickly—"
"They are already into England. What will you do to stop them?" she demanded.
"Something. Anything. We will think of something."
She brought him wine from the tray on the stool before the fire. "Brendan, I am really frightened this time. Give me just a few minutes of your time before you ride."
She led him to the fire, drew him down to the fur before it. He drank the wine quickly, and she watched him, then slipped into his arms, and kissed him. "Hold me, for I'm very afraid this time, Brendan. Make love to me before you leave, my love, let me remember ..."
The flames rose high before them. She would always think of him as a golden, searing flame within a fire. Dark haired, bronzed, golden, scarred, it seemed, a little more here and there every year, yet ever more splendid, passionate, and tender. Such was life, to be lived so passionately ...
He seemed to understand her fear. He loved her with a slow building tenderness and passion that left her breathless . .. almost forgetting her own purpose.
She rose above him at the end, smiling ruefully.
"I only do what I do because I love you so much."
"Eleanor—" he began, his brow furrowing.
She leaped away. He tried to rise and follow her. He could not. He fell back to the fur, unconscious. She carefully dressed, and arranged for a few days' supply of food and drink to be left in the room. Then she fled.
When he tried to leave the next day, he found his way barred. He shouted with such vigor that the walls of the castle nearly shook.
They all walked about, ignoring him.
Yet, two days later, when she at last told Eric that yes, perhaps they should unbolt the doors, she still didn't quite have the nerve to face him. She was in the courtyard with Margot and the children when Genevieve pointed to the entry. "Da," she said happily, "Da!"
"I'm not so certain that your da wants to see me right now," she murmured to her toddler. "Margot, if you'll watch the children ..."
She turned, and, walking quickly, hurried toward the stables. She heard his footsteps, heavy at her heels. She slipped into the stable, only to find him after her still, and when she tried to run, she was brought down to the hay, and what she had done was serious, she cried out with alarm, only to find herself pinned, and his face over hers, and his hands on her cheeks. His eyes, steady, grave, and pained on hers.
"Brendan, forgive me, I had to... Brendan, you would have died for him. Against impossible odds. Wallace wouldn't have wanted that—"
"I know."
"Please, Brendan, don't be so terribly angry—"
"I am angry."
"I only did it—"
"For vengeance, eh?" he queried, referring to the time he had imprisoned her lest she attempt to go to Clarin.
She shook her head. "Because it was a good plan. It worked on me. I prayed it would work on you."
"He will be killed," Brendan said.
"I know. I'm so sorry. But you can't stop it. Brendan, are you very angry?"
"Furious." Then he smiled ruefully. "But it doesn't matter." He touched her cheek. "Sleep with me in the hay?" he whispered.
"Anywhere," she replied.
They stayed together, alone in the stables, until darkness had long fallen.
The following month, they heard what had
happened.
William Wallace, the great hero, had received a sham of a trial in London. He had admitted to charges of attacking England and Englishmen.
He refused to be branded a traitor. He could not be a traitor to Edward I—he had never sworn fealty to him. Never.
And yet, he was condemned to a traitor's death.
Hauled through the streets on a cart, the great man was accosted by the people of London, the target for rotten fruit, spittle, whatever could be found. He was taken to Smithfield. He requested that the priest hold open his Psalter for him, and hold it before him, until they were done with him.
He was hanged in a noose, cut down half dead. His genitals were cut off, his bowels were cut out. At last, his head was hacked from his body, and his body then cut into four sections to be sent to the four corners of the kingdom. His head was sent to London Bridge.
Brendan listened when Griffin, Brace's man, came to them with the dire tidings, bringing Robert Brace's sworn oath that he had been no way involved in the treachery practiced on Wallace.
Brendan heard him out, but excused himself.
He went riding.
That day, Eleanor rode after him.
She found him sitting high on the next hill, staring out at the landscape.
"It's dead," he said softly. "Valor, courage ... the heart of Scotland ... all is dead."
"William died, and he always knew he might die," she said softy. "He was willing to die, for the dream."
"But the dream has died with him," Brendan said.
She touched his cheek, forcing him to look at her. "Brendan,
I know what he meant to you. Once, I had thought him surely a monster, and I learned myself that he was a man, a great man, of true courage and real integrity. But his death will awaken the dream, as I swear we've never seen it before." She plucked a sprig of grass and wild flowers from the ground. "This is Scotland. The hills are Scotland, the wild waves on the rocky shore, the color, the beauty, the people, aye, even the unruly barons and clansmen. Scotland remains, the dream remains."
He didn't seem to hear her, or really see her. She stood, and left him, taking her horse, walking down to the stream, leaving him be.
She thought that he had cried at the death; Brendan never cried. But his cheeks had been damp, and she feared the depths of his sorrow.
She stood by the stream, watching the water ripple. It seemed to shimmer in the most beautiful way as the sunlight filtered through clouds.
She looked across the rolling hills, to the mountains far beyond.
Aye, this was Scotland.
A moment later, she heard the sound of his horse's hoofbeats. He stared down at her a moment, then offered her a small, pained smile.
"My lady, I am riding to visit our neighbor, Robert Bruce. I believe that you're .. . right. William will become a martyr. His death, as his life, will change men. He told me once that if he died ... to look to the Bruce. Aye, and so, I will do so. And see if this is true, if he were honest and true to William, if ever ..."
"If ever he could be a king."
"Perhaps ..."
"Aye?"
"Perhaps we could visit our neighbor?" His smile slowly deepened. She mounted her horse. He reached out a hand; she took it. He pulled her to his side and they turned to ride. The dream remained.
Seize The Dawn Page 38
