William was plunged into deepest melancholy. ‘Oh, my God,’ he cried, ‘if I had not vowed to drive the English from my country … how happy I should be to marry you. But I have vowed solemnly that I shall not rest until I have saved my country.’
‘I understand well,’ she said sadly. ‘Marriage is not for you, William Wallace, and as no other course will do for me, let us say goodbye. Let us make it short. There is no point in lingering.’
‘I shall never leave you to the Sheriff’s son.’
She laughed bitterly. ‘It is strange that he whom I hate should be so eager to marry me and he whom I love reject me for a cause. Goodbye, William.’
‘Nay,’ he cried. ‘It is not goodbye. I shall watch over you. If you are in need you have only to send for me. I am going to avenge your brother. I am going to capture Lanark and drive Sheriff Heselrig out of it. I will be back.’
She shook her head in melancholy and he left her and galloped back to the woods.
* * *
He was wretched. He was melancholy. He had lost his interest in life.
Stephen and Karlé were worried about him. They begged him to tell them what was on his mind.
Accustomed as he was to letting them share his confidences he told them the whole story, how he had heard of Marion and had gone to the kirk to see her, had spoken to her and fallen in love with her.
‘’Tis dangerous to adventure with women,’ Stephen reminded him. ‘Remember Ellen.’
‘Ah, I remember Ellen. Ellen was a wonderful woman. I could never regret my friendship with her.’
‘And now there is Marion Bradfute. You trifle with danger, William.’
‘I act as I must. Having heard of a beautiful woman in distress what could I have done? Her brother slain at the instigation of this villain Heselrig. I tell you this: I shall not rest until I have his blood.’
‘You have said that it is unwise to concern yourself with these small adventures. You have said you will stay in hiding until we can gather a force to work with us. That is coming to pass … gradually. William Douglas has sent word that he is on his way to join us and has a considerable force. Sir John Menteith has sent word that he will come to us. We have to be patient, William, and ere long we shall have a strong enough force to go against the English.’
‘This is no small adventure. I love Marion Bradfute.’
‘It is but a short time ago that you loved Ellen and most indiscreetly visited her and came within an inch of losing your life.’
‘Marion is no Ellen. She refuses to be my mistress. She wants marriage … or nothing.’
‘How could you marry?’
‘That is what I told her. I should be constantly leaving her.’
‘Perhaps,’ said Stephen, ‘she could be made to understand that.’
The other two looked at him in amazement.
‘Yes,’ he went on, ‘suppose William married this woman. It would solve her problem and his. The Sheriff’s son then could not have her, and how could he complain because she already had a husband. She knows who William is. She will understand that he has a mission to perform. I am coming to the opinion that it might be good for William to have a wife. She would be a woman he could trust, as he could not trust some leman he might otherwise take up with.’
William was wild with joy. Of course it was possible. She would understand that being who he was he could not settle down to a normal married life. It would not be for long. When Scotland was free then they could make plans together, raise a family and return to the quiet life.
They discussed it together and the more they did the more plausible it seemed.
The very next day William rode over to the Bradfute mansion and asked Marion to marry him.
* * *
By the end of that week they were married. A priest had been brought into the house and there in the solarium where they had talked together so recently, the ceremony was performed with only a few faithful servants as witnesses.
For several days he stayed in the mansion. He was a proud and happy husband. He had for a bride the most beautiful girl he had ever seen and she adored him. He was the great Wallace, already a hero. She told him that she wanted to join with him in the struggle, she wanted to do everything she could to help. She knew that there would be times when he would have to leave her. She would bear his absence with fortitude; she would do everything she could to help. She was growing as enthusiastic for the cause as he was. And she was proud of him. She was sure he was going to be the general whose name would go down in history as the man who had brought freedom to his country.
He was loath to leave her but he knew he must return to the woods and while he stayed in her house it was important that his presence should be kept as secret as possible. Who knew what would happen if Heselrig discovered that not only was William Wallace in their midst, but he had married the heiress he wanted for his son?
So he went back to the woods. He was delighted to find John Menteith was there with a few men. Menteith was eager to hear all that was happening and said that he had sounded out friends of his and there would soon be an army large enough to make an attack possible.
* * *
Sheriff Heselrig came knocking at the gate and it was more than the gatekeeper’s life was worth to refuse him entrance.
He went into the house calling to the servants to bring their mistress.
Marion came to him, her heart beating fast with fear and anger at the sight of this man. His smile was pleasant enough. He had so far stopped short of threats and attempted to win her by cajolery.
He was unsure of the people of the place. They were sly, they paid lip service to him but he fancied it would need very little to put them into revolt. If he forced Marion to marry his son that might be the very spark to set the blaze alight. He needed men and arms. That outlaw Wallace had played havoc with the convoys. He was not quite ready to force the girl. But he thought, By God I am getting near it.
He bowed to her and she returned his greeting coldly.
‘You look in good health, Mistress Bradfute,’ he said.
‘Thank you, sir, I find myself so.’
‘Such beauty and to live alone!’
‘I live as I prefer to,’ she answered.
‘You need a husband, Mistress. Many have remarked on it.’
‘Thank you, sir, but I know best my own needs.’
‘Oh come, Mistress, do not be coy. You know my son is mad for love of you.’
She was silent.
‘You will take him,’ he said.
Still she did not speak.
He wanted to slap her face, to call his men, to drag her to the priest. He had gone to so much trouble to bring about the marriage he desired. All would be well if she, the silly girl, would but say yes.
‘I shall send my son to call on you tomorrow,’ he said.
‘I am not receiving tomorrow. I have other plans.’
‘The next day then.’
‘The same applies … and to every day when your son decides to call.’
‘You are uncivil, Mistress.’
‘I speak as I feel.’
‘You will change your mind. I have been over-lenient with you.’
‘I will choose my own husband.’
There was something triumphant about her as she said those words and the Sheriff paused. There had been gossip … servants always tattled. He had not believed it … not of the virtuous Marion. It had been whispered that a man had been coming to the house. Someone had seen him. It must be one of the serving wenches taking a lover. God knows that was common enough.
And yet … there was a look about her which set the warning jangling in his mind.
Tomorrow. It should be tomorrow.
He bowed and took his leave. Now she was afraid. She had seen the purpose in his eyes. He was tired of waiting. He was going to do something desperate if she did not take action.
She did so without delay and sent one of her servants riding to the secret hid
ing place of her husband.
* * *
It was dusk when William rode into the town. This time he did not come in disguise.
There could be no doubt who he was, as he rode at the head of his troops. William Wallace, the hero of Scotland.
People ran into the streets. ‘Wallace is here,’ they cried. ‘He has come at last.’
The sentinels saw him. They gave the alarm.
‘Good people,’ cried William. ‘I come to release you from chains. No more slavery. Rally to my banner and we will drive the English out of Lanarkshire.’
But the people were afraid. They knew what had happened to Scottish rebels before. It was death of a terrifying kind. It had been done to Davydd of Wales and it was now the recognised reward of treason. And to fight for Scotland was treason in the eyes of the English.
So they waited and watched and showed no allegiance to either side and if their hearts were with the Scots they made no attempt to join them.
Soon the streets were swarming with English soldiers – trained men, as Wallace’s were not, and even faith and their belief in a righteous cause could not stand against such discipline and superior weapons.
It did not take the English long to beat back the Scots. Wallace refused to retreat and he was left with a small body of them and they were close to Marion’s house. The others had fled back to the woods. Marion had opened her gates and stood watching, and when she saw the English bearing down on her husband and the few men who remained with him, she shouted to him, ‘Quick … Come in and I’ll lock the gates.’
It could save their lives, Wallace saw that. He shouted to his men, ‘Do as she says.’ They were only too glad to obey. He followed and Marion hastily bolted the door.
They could break it down, but that would take time and by then the Scots would have had the opportunity to escape.
William embraced her. ‘You have saved us, my love,’ he cried, but she pushed him aside.
‘There is only a little time. You must be gone. Come. I will show you a way through the garden where you can escape to the woods.’
She was right of course. It could not be long before the English had broken down the gate and were swarming in.
They followed her across the grass. She opened a door in the wall and they were gone.
Now the English were battering at the gate. She went into the house and up to the solarium. They could come now. William and his men were safely on their way to the woods.
She picked up a piece of needlework and tried to stitch but her hands were shaking. She was alert, listening for the sound of the English coming into the house.
She did not have to wait long. She heard the great shout as the gate stove in and this was followed by the clatter of feet in the courtyard.
Now they were in the house. She could hear their voices. It would be any moment now.
Someone was mounting the stairs. She guessed who it would be and she was right. Heselrig himself.
‘Where is he?’ he demanded. ‘Where is the traitor Wallace?’
She leaped to her feet and stood facing him. ‘Far out of your reach,’ she cried.
‘You have him here.’
‘Search. You’ll never find him.’
‘By God, you let him through your gate and barred it against us. That’s treason.’
‘I do not see it as such, sir.’
‘But I do. I would run you through this moment if it were not that my son is to make you his bride.’
‘That he will never do.’
‘You fool. Do not anger me now. I could harm you. Be sensible. Marry my son and we will forget your conduct tonight.’
‘I shall never forget it as long as I live. I am proud of it.’
‘You are mad.’
‘Nay, I am not. Happy I am that this night I saved my husband’s life.’
‘Your husband! You are saying …’
She did not care now. She was proud of Wallace, proud of herself. She wanted the whole world to know.
‘You are speaking to Lady Wallace, Sheriff. Show due respect, I pray you.’
He stared at her disbelievingly.
‘You think I would take your son when there is Wallace? I have been his wife two weeks since. You have lost your fortune, Heselrig.’
The stunning truth hit him like a sword thrust. He knew she was not lying. There had been gossip. A man had been visiting her. Wallace! The wanted man! And he had let him slip through his fingers. He had let her slip through his fingers.
It should not happen again.
He lunged towards her, his sword ready to thrust …
She looked at him in some surprise as the blade pierced her bodice. Then she was falling and her last thoughts were: ‘I died for William Wallace.’
* * *
William was roused from his sleep. Karlé was telling him that there was a woman to see him. Karlé was looking distraught. It was trouble, he knew.
The woman stood before him, her eyes wide with horror, her mouth twisted with grief. He recognised her as Marion’s personal maid.
When she saw him she covered her face with her hands and wept silently.
‘What is it?’ cried William. ‘Pray tell me. Your mistress …’
The woman lowered her hands and stared blankly at him. ‘Dead, my lord.’
‘Dead!’ He would not believe it. He could not. It was too much to bear.
‘The men came in … after you had gone. Heselrig was at their head. He went to her room. She told him she was your wife … and he ran her through with his sword.’
He could not speak. He could not move. He was too stunned by the grief which overwhelmed him. Reproach was uppermost. He should never have involved her in his affairs. He should have stayed to protect her.
That would have meant capture, said his common sense, and what good could you do to her if you were their prisoner?
But dead! Never to see her again. His wife of two weeks.
Karlé was at his side. ‘’Tis grievous news,’ he said.
‘It can’t be true. It must be wrong.’
There was silence, broken only by the twittering of the birds and the sudden gurgle of a stream as it trickled over the boulders.
‘It is true,’ said Karlé. ‘We must accept it. Come with me. Talk to me. Let us see what can be done.’
He watched the woman as she turned and went sorrowfully away.
‘Marion is dead,’ said William blankly. ‘I shall never see her again.’
‘You will recover from your grief,’ said Karlé soothingly. ‘Remember there is the cause.’
William turned on him angrily. ‘Do you think I shall ever forget her? My wife … Marion … She was so beautiful … she was all I ever wanted …’
‘Remember what you want most is the freedom of Scotland.’
‘I want only her … safe and well in my arms.’
‘That is for today,’ replied Karlé. ‘But there is tomorrow. William, it was disastrous from the first. Something like this had to happen. You have chosen the dangerous life and you must live it.’
He was silent for a few seconds. Then he turned to Karlé. ‘There is something left,’ he said. ‘Revenge. Yes, that is what I shall live for now. My sword shall not rest happy in its scabbard until I have had his blood. Vengeance,’ he cried in a voice of thunder. ‘Vengeance!’
* * *
He would not listen. They were a goodly company. They had failed before because they were so few. More had joined them. They were ready now to go into the town.
‘Heselrig for me. No man must slay him. His blood is for me.’ He was living for the moment when he should run his sword through that body, when Heselrig should die.
He planned carefully. They must succeed. He would never have a moment’s peace until he had avenged Marion’s death. But both Stephen and Karlé had warned him, he must plan with care. This time they must succeed.
They would creep into the town by night. They would go to Heselrig’s house. He would
be in bed like as not – so much the better.
Wallace would divide his forces. But he with his own picked men should take Heselrig.
It was dark as they came into the town. There was no sign of activity. Only a few guards to give the warning but they were speedily despatched before they could utter a sound.
Into the streets they went. All was quiet. Everything had gone according to plan.
He was standing at Heselrig’s door. He knocked on it imperiously. ‘Open … open on the King’s business.’ He laughed exultantly. It was indeed King Edward’s business for he was going to find himself a sheriff the less after this night.
The bolts were drawn. The startled face of one of the guards looked at him only briefly before he was felled to the ground.
Wallace started up the stairs shouting: ‘Sheriff. Come forth. It is an urgent matter.’
Heselrig appeared at the top of the stairs, a robe hastily thrown about him.
‘Who comes?’ he asked in consternation.
Wallace was before him. ‘Death comes,’ he answered, and lifting his dagger plunged it into the Sheriff’s heart.
For a moment Heselrig looked startled. Then he shouted, ‘Help me. Assassins …’ as he fell to the floor, the blood gushing from his mouth.
William bent over him and stabbed him several times.
‘For Marion,’ he cried. ‘For my lost love.’
There was a sound above him. He heard a voice.
‘Father, what’s wrong? Where are you?’
William stood up, laughing inwardly. The son! The one who had aspired to become Marion’s husband!
Let us have a look at this brave young fellow, he thought.
The young man appeared on the stairs. He looked at the body of his father and screamed.
William caught him by the arm and he saw the terror leap into the young man’s eyes.
‘What …?’ he stammered. ‘Who …?’
‘Wallace,’ answered William, ‘husband to Marion Bradfute. She was murdered by your father. He has paid the price and so shall you.’
The Hammer of the Scots Page 32
