by Jean Plaidy
It was natural that there should be constant trouble between the Scots and their English overlords. Forays had frequently broken out and several English had been murdered. But this was inevitable.
What was to be deplored was that the Scots had found a leader in this man Wallace.
It was not a question of a minor uprising. Wallace had collected an army.
Moreover he had put the English to flight at Stirling Bridge and had dared cross the Border and had harried the people of Cumberland and Westmorland. It was intolerable that this could go on. He had taken advantage of Edward’s absence in France.
Well, now Edward was home. He had made a truce with France. He had married the French King’s sister and he could live in peace – temporary perhaps – with his enemies across the Channel. But he must turn his attention to Scotland, where they had wriggled free from the yoke he had set upon them. He was going to march north. He was going to hammer those Scots into obedience. He had vowed to add Scotland to his crown as he had Wales and nothing – not even his new marriage – was going to prevent his going into action without delay.
He explained to his bride of a week that he must leave her.
‘So it is with kings, little one. My first wife Eleanor accompanied me on my journeys. It was her wish to do so. Wherever I went she was not far behind. I would not take her into the heat of battle – though she would have accompanied me – God rest her soul! No, she was close to me. She even bore my daughter in Acre. I trust you will want to be close to me at all times.’
‘Oh, I shall,’ said Marguerite fervently.
‘I know it,’ he cried. ‘Now I must go. You will follow me in due course, but with less haste than I must go. I want you now to go to London and stay there awhile in your lodging at the Tower. There the people will see you. They will wish it. We must always consider the will of the people … and the people of London in particular. When the time is right I will send for you. Will you come?’
‘With all my heart, my lord.’
He kissed her tenderly. ‘You are a sweet wife,’ he said, ‘and I am glad you are mine. I could wish I were forty years younger and even then I should be older than you, sweet child. I tell you what I dearly hope. Perhaps it is too much to wish for. I hope that you may already be with child.’
‘I hope it too,’ answered Marguerite.
‘If it should be so send a messenger to me with the news. It would mean a great deal to me.’
‘And to me, my lord. I will send a messenger without delay.’
‘God grant our wish may become reality. How I curse this man Wallace who takes me from you.’
‘Is it just one man, my lord?’
‘Aye, one man. For without him the Scots would not have arisen in rebellion. Not such rebellion. Small forays we can deal with. It is when a great leader arises, one who catches the imagination of the people, that we must take heed. So, William Wallace, my enemy, I come to take you, and when you are in my hands I promise you you will wish that you had never been born.’
‘My lord, perhaps he thinks he does right for his country.’
She blushed a little. She had not meant to voice an opinion. But the King seemed not to have heard.
His face darkened; she saw his clenched fist, and she was for the first time afraid of him. William Wallace had brought out a side to her husband’s nature which she had not seen before.
But almost immediately he was soft again. ‘Farewell, dear wife. I shall soon be back and I’ll tell you this: I’ll have the head of William Wallace on a spike to adorn my tower … just as I did the rebels of Wales.’
The next day the King rode off at the head of his army, and it seemed to the young Queen that the name of William Wallace was on everyone’s tongue.
Chapter XII
THE ADVENTURES OF WILLIAM WALLACE
William Wallace had always hated the English. When he had sat in the study over his books in the home of his uncle he had dreamed of glorious battles, of driving the English overlords out of his country, of forcing Edward to make an ignominious retreat behind the border and stay there.
So much did he dream of this that it had become an obession with him, and his hatred was the biggest force in his life. He only had to hear the word ‘English’ for the blood to rise to his temples and a fury would seize him. When he saw an Englishman he had to restrain the desire to attack him on the spot; and he did see Englishmen fairly frequently because the King of England had set them to guard the garrison towns; and when he rode into Stirling he would encounter them in the taverns or strolling through the streets, lords and masters of the place – and letting anyone who offended them know it. It was not uncommon to see a dead Scotsman hanging from a gallows. What was his crime? he would ask. There would be a shrug of the shoulders, a lift of the eyebrows, a tightening of the lips expressing hatred which dared not be spoken. ‘Oh, he was a bold laddie. He offended the English.’
William was filled with love for his country and hatred for the oppressors. As he wandered through the streets of Stirling he would say to himself, ‘It shall not always be so. One day …’ He was waiting for that day. It would be a day of fulfilment for William Wallace.
He would ride back to Dunipace, the dream of military glory with him. He would sit over his uncle’s table when they had eaten and talk with him. He had been with his uncle since his early boyhood because his father had thought that his brother, the priest of Dunipace, would be a good mentor for his son. William had shown from an early age that he was inclined to be rebellious; he had led his brothers – Malcolm his senior and John his junior – into trouble now and then. If he thought he had suffered from an injustice he would always have to avenge it and his father, Sir Malcolm Wallace, had decided that his brother, who was in the Church, and a quiet life at Dunipace might have a sobering effect on his son. The priest was also a scholar and could be entrusted with the boy’s education.
So William had left his parents and his two brothers and gone to his uncle. He had been attentive to his lessons and done well, but his wild nature had never been tamed and the boy who had gone to Dunipace was very much like the young man of eighteen who in his uncle’s study had heard of the plan to marry Edward’s son to the Maid of Norway and how when the little girl died Edward had made himself a kind of overlord and allowed weak John Baliol to be crowned King of Scotland.
He raved against the state into which his country had fallen. He cursed Edward.
His uncle, a peace-loving man, had warned him. ‘What is to be will be,’ he said. ‘It is no use railing against fate.’
‘What is to be will be, yes,’ retorted William. ‘But there is no reason why those of us who love our country should not help to make it proud again. We are the ones who will make it what it was intended to be.’
‘Leave well alone,’ advised his uncle. ‘You could go into the Church …’
‘Into the Church! Uncle, you know me.’
‘I know you well,’ replied his uncle sadly. ‘And I know this, that if you persist in speaking so freely to all you meet, if you show so clearly your hatred for the English, you will be in trouble.’
‘I’d welcome it,’ cried William. ‘And you will see what trouble I shall make for them.’
‘Edward is a mighty king. All know that. He is very different from his father. If he were not so concerned in his differences with France it would go ill with us.’
‘I will never sit happily under the tyrant’s heel.’
‘If you do not provoke them …’
‘Not provoke them! They occupy our towns! They swagger through our streets pushing us aside when they pass, taking our women, acting like conquerors. And you say, “Don’t provoke them!” They will learn they have not conquered Scotland … and never will.’
‘Wild talk,’ said his uncle soberly, ‘and it will take you to trouble.’
But William had never been one to turn away from trouble.
‘No,’ said his uncle, ‘we live in comparative peace.
’Tis true the English King stands over us. He wants to govern this land. He wants to take us as he has our fellow Celts in Wales. I see his reasoning. He wants to make this island one country.’
‘To be governed by him.’
‘He governs the English well.’
‘By God, Uncle, I believe you are on his side.’
‘Do not take the name of the Lord in vain in my house, I pray you, nephew. I am on the side of peace and I see a time when, if our countries were as one with one king, much bloodshed could be saved.’
‘Indeed it is so, if we would be subdued by this tyrant.’
‘If we did not revolt, if we were placid under his rule, we should enjoy the good rule which prevails in England. It is because he fears revolt that he is harsh.’
‘And good reason he has to fear it. He will discover that we too can be harsh.’
His uncle shook his head. He would never change William. He was as wild as he was when he had first come to Dunipace.
It was soon after that conversation that William’s father, Sir Malcolm Wallace, came in haste to Dunipace, and his eldest son – named Malcolm after him – came with him.
The priest welcomed his brother and nephew with pleasure, but he quickly learned that they brought no good news.
William came hurrying down to greet his father and elder brother, and his father, after embracing him and assuring himself of his good health and that of his brother the priest, said he was in great haste and must talk in secret.
In the study Malcolm Wallace told why he had come.
‘We can no longer tolerate the rule of the English in Elderslie,’ he explained. ‘I have made that very clear, and I have placed myself and our family in danger through so doing.’
‘Father, I am proud,’ cried William.
His father held up his hand. ‘It may have been folly. But they are after me. I have sent your mother with your brother John to Kilspindie in the Carse of Gowrie and I want you, William, to follow them there with all speed.’
‘And you, sir?’ asked William. ‘Where will you go?’
‘I and your brother Malcolm are going on to the Lennox. There is a plan to form a body of troops to move against the English.’
‘Father, I shall come with you.’
‘No, my son. I have a more important mission for you. I want you to go to Kilspindie and protect your mother and young brother.’
William hesitated. He longed to go into battle against the English but the task of protecting his family was, he could see, of the utmost importance.
‘When shall I set out?’
‘At the earliest possible moment. There will soon be a price on my head, depend upon it, and members of my family will not be safe.’
‘I will go at once, sir,’ cried William.
The priest shook his head and said that he would tell the servants to serve a meal, and while it was being prepared William could get ready to leave. The priest was sad. He felt in his heart that no good could come of this rebellion, and he would have been happier if they could have worked the matter out in a conference between the Scots and the English.
William arrived in Kilspindie to find his mother and young brother John eagerly awaiting him.
His mother was anxious. ‘I did not want your father to go off with Malcolm in this way.’
‘Oh, Mother,’ cried William, ‘you are like my uncle. You are ready to pay any price for peace.’
‘Peace is the most desirable thing on earth to a woman with a husband and sons.’
‘Nay, Mother,’ replied William. ‘Honour is more. I tell you this. One day we are going to drive the English out of Scotland, and I …’
He paused. He did not want to talk of his dream. It was too precious and he felt that if he talked of it it might be unlucky. He did not want to say that he saw himself at the head of an army, leading the Scots to victory, crushing the might of Edward. But that was the dream and it grew more vivid as he grew older.
Kilspindie! How dull it was. There was no danger there. John had lessons from a tutor but William was too advanced for that. His mother worried about his interrupted education. She was safe enough in Kilspindie, she said. She wanted him to go to Dundee to a brother of hers who would house him and he could attend the school which was attached to the monastery there.
When he assured her that he was old enough to have done with schooling she shook her head. She was anxious that he should complete his training and she persisted in her efforts to persuade him. He had been sent to her to protect her, he reminded her. There was no need, she had said. In fact she was safer without a son who had a habit of speaking his thoughts about the English aloud. If she lived quietly she would need no protection.
It was a fact that the quiet life of Kilspindie had no great appeal for him. If he could have joined his father he would have done so, but he had not heard where he was, so he finally agreed to leave Kilspindie and go to Dundee to his maternal uncle.
This proved to be a fatal decision. His uncle received him with warmth, and he was soon installed in the school where he worked hard hoping to complete his education as soon as was possible so that he might devote himself to his destiny. He longed to join his father but he knew he should not go out and look for him, but stay where he could easily go to the aid of his mother if she should need him.
He was soon very popular in his uncle’s house, particularly with the housekeeper who irritated him mildly at times with her constant attentions, for she would insist that he did not go out into the cold winds without his warm jacket and that he eat every scrap of his porridge. He teased her and she enjoyed his teasing and she was clearly delighted to have a young man in the house.
The castle of Dundee was in the hands of Governor Selby, one of the worst of Edward’s deputies, and this man was very unpopular in the town. His punishments for insubordination were exceptionally harsh and being an arrogant man he insisted on the utmost respect from the Scottish inhabitants. When William strolled through the streets of the town he burned with fury. He would sit in the taverns and listen to the tales of injustice and he was ripe for trouble.
It so happened that one day he attired himself in his best cloak and tunic of green, the fashionable colour, and setting his dagger and sword in his belt went out to meet his friends in one of the taverns.
In the narrow street he saw a young man coming towards him accompanied by two friends, and it was clear at once that the young man was someone of importance by the sycophantic manner of his attendants. William did not need to be told who he was. He had seen him before, riding with his father, Governor Selby.
The young man expected William to doff his hat and bow low. Instead of which William barred his way and showed clearly that he had no intention even of stepping aside to allow him to pass.
Young Selby looked William up and down with an insolence which set William’s Scottish heart beating with rage and excitement. At last he was face to face with one of the enemy.
‘And who is this?’ asked Selby, turning to one of his friends. ‘He is uncouth enough to be a Scot.’
‘And you are arrogant enough to be English,’ retorted William hotly.
‘You heard him,’ cried young Selby. ‘He insulted our King.’
‘What, that tyrant!’ cried William, his blood up, so that he was in his most reckless mood.
‘By God’s body,’ cried young Selby. ‘You heard him. He speaks thus of great Edward!’
‘I would I could do more than speak against him.’
‘Methinks we must teach the Scot a lesson,’ drawled Selby. ‘When he is hanging by his neck from the gallows he will not be so bold nor look so pretty in his good green clothes.’
Selby had his hand on his dagger, but William was before him. He seized Selby by the neck, shook him and then plucking his dagger from its sheath he thrust it into the young man’s breast, withdrew it, and threw the young man to the ground. It was clear from one look at the Governor’s son stretched out on the cobbles that h
e was dead.
William had killed his first Englishman and it had all happened in a few seconds. For a moment Selby’s attendants were stunned, but not for long. William, however, was quicker to act than they were. The son of the Governor killed by his hand! This would be certain death for him – probably torture. If he were caught now he would never live to save Scotland. He turned and mustering all his strength fled from the scene.
He had run back to his uncle’s house before he realised the folly of this. He was known. He had been seen. It was the first place they would come to look for him.
He must go. But where?
His uncle’s housekeeper seated at her spinning wheel stared at him in horror for his green tunic was spattered with blood.
‘I cannot stay,’ panted William. ‘They will be after me. This is the first place they will come to. I have to get away … quickly.’
‘You have killed someone!’
‘The Governor’s son.’
‘May God preserve us. You were seen?’
He nodded. ‘Farewell, Goody. I dare not stay.’
‘Wait! I have a plan.’
‘They are already on their way here,’ he said.
‘You would meet them if you tried to leave. One moment. Here.’ She had stripped off her dress. ‘Put that on …’
He protested but she cried angrily, ‘Do as I say. It is your only chance.’
He saw the reason of that and obeyed. The dress was far too small.
‘Wait,’ she said and ran from the room. A few minutes later, having put on a gown, she returned with a shawl and a cap similar to the one she always wore.
‘Put these on,’ she commanded. ‘The shawl will hide the ill fit of the dress and the cap will make a woman of you. Then sit at the wheel and spin.’
He saw the wisdom of her reasoning and obeyed. He was just in time for as he turned to the wheel Selby’s men burst into the house.
‘Where is he?’ demanded the leader of the men. ‘Where is young Wallace?’
‘Young William …’ said the housekeeper. ‘How should I know? In the town most likely. That’s where the lazy young lad spends most of his time. ’Tis lassies and taverns for him and ’tis there you’ll find him.’
