He lifted his dagger.
The lifeless bodies of the Sheriff and his son lay side by side on the stairs.
* * *
There were shouts in the town.
‘Heselrig is dead! The tyrant has been slain. Wallace is here.’
The people came running into the streets. Some had weapons which they had previously managed to conceal. Now was the time. The Sheriff could harm them no more and Wallace was here.
There was slaughter in the streets of Lanark that night and the English, who had been taken by surprise, were defeated. By the morning William Wallace had won his first town for Scotland. Those English who were not killed had fled. Wallace had come for revenge and he had won victory as well.
It was unhoped-for success.
They must make the most of it. He garrisoned the town for fear the English should return. The citizens were with him. They would fight with Wallace against the oppressor. Heselrig the tyrant was dead and could no longer harm them.
They rallied round William Wallace, calling him their saviour, their deliverer.
* * *
It was a beginning. Wallace had killed Heselrig and taken Lanark. Throughout the country there was a call to arms. At last there was a hope of driving out the English. Even Wallace, in his wildest dreams, had not imagined such success.
This was just what he needed to take his mind off his misery; he could throw himself into the fight; it was magnificent. All over the country people talked of Wallace. He had become a legendary figure and it was said that the English shuddered at the mention of his name.
He was acclaimed as commander of the Scottish armies. He declared he was acting on behalf of the King, John Baliol whom he called the prisoner of the English, and more and more flocked to his banner.
William Douglas joined him and they took Scone together. They overran the Lennox. Volunteers were joining the victorious army by the thousand.
Within the space of months the whole of Scotland was free and the Scots had even made forays over the Border into Westmorland and Cumberland.
This was the state of affairs when Edward returned from France, free of his commitments there, and married to the sister of the King of France.
He decided at once that he must subdue Scotland for ever.
Chapter XIII
BETRAYAL
Queen Marguerite was travelling north from Canterbury where she had paused to make offerings at the shrine of St Thomas. She was pregnant and delighted with her state. It was an achievement to have conceived so early and she prayed to St Thomas to give her a healthy boy and at the same time preserve her own life.
Edward was marching north. He had told her that he would like her to be near him as his first wife had always been; and she, who felt that she must try to be as much like that first and well-beloved wife, was eager not to fail in her duty.
If she could give him a son how delighted she would be. Even the sainted Eleanor had only left him one son among all those daughters, although she had had several who had lived for a while and then died.
Poor Edward, she knew that he suffered great anxieties. His son Edward was proving to be too wild for his father’s comfort and that of the nation. There had been complaints about the life he led with his chosen companions and the King had confided in her that he dreaded to think of what might happen when he died and his son came to the throne.
He had said that he would like to spend more time with the younger Edward. But there was always pressing business to engage his attention. He had had the trouble in France and now as soon as he was home it was to hear that this upstart William Wallace was making trouble in Scotland.
The matter was very serious and depressed him greatly. She thought how overjoyed he would be if she could send him news that they had a son.
She was greatly impressed by the grandeur of Canterbury and she listened intently to the Abbot who told her how St Thomas had been done to death by the King’s knights and the spot where it had happened had become a holy one. He told her how miracles had been performed there on the stones where the blood of the martyr had fallen and she had knelt and begged the saint to look down on her and give her a son.
From Canterbury she and her retinue travelled north and crossed the Humber into Yorkshire. She was making for Cawood Castle, a country seat belonging to the Archbishop of York, but because there had been some delays on the journey she realised that it would be unwise to go further, and they came to rest at a little village on the banks of the Wherfe called Brotherton.
It proved that she had been right to call a halt for she had not been there more than a few days when she began to feel her pains.
She took to her bed for it was clear that the child was about to be born.
There was great rejoicing when it arrived for it was the hoped-for boy.
‘I shall call him Thomas,’ said the Queen, ‘for I know that it is to St Thomas that I owe this great joy.’
So the child was Thomas and a message was sent to the King to tell him that the Queen was safely delivered of a boy.
Edward received the news with joy. He was at York and ready to march on Scotland. Seven thousand horse and eighty thousand foot under his skilful generalship would soon put Wallace to flight.
It was a good omen, he said, that the child was a boy and healthy. It was Heaven’s answer to his doubts whether he should have married again. Eleanor in Heaven was looking down on him with that bland understanding which she had shown him throughout their lives.
As soon as the Queen was well enough to travel he wanted her to take the child to Cawood Castle and there he would be able to see them before he set out for Scotland.
Marguerite quickly recovered from her confinement and was eager to set out, and in a few weeks was on her way to Cawood, that castle which was situated on the south bank of the Ouse which the archbishops of York had used as a residence as far back as the tenth century. Like most castles it had little comfort to offer but as this was high summer they suffered more from the smell of the privies than the cold.
Edward’s visit was a hasty one for he had much on his mind. It was depressing to contemplate that after all his efforts Wallace should have managed to rally Scotland and challenge his supremacy.
He was delighted with the boy though and told Marguerite that nothing could have pleased him better and given him more heart for what lay ahead than the sight of her with their baby.
‘My lord,’ she asked timidly, ‘I have said he shall be Thomas, but if it is your wish …’
‘It is yours,’ he said fondly, ‘and therefore Thomas shall be his name. As for myself, I think at such a time it is well to honour the saint of Canterbury. I may need his help.’
She was anxious at once. ‘But you are going to subdue the Scots with all speed.’
‘Subdue them, yes, but with speed who can say? This fellow Wallace has caught the imagination of the people. They have made a hero of him. It is never easy to conquer a national hero as one who is despised. Baliol was easy. A weak man. This Wallace is different. But never fear, by the time our next son is born I shall have subdued the Scots and taught them what it means to flout me.’
Then he kissed her fondly and talked to her of his plans as he used to talk to Eleanor; and she listened attentively, so meekly and with such adoration that it might have been his first wife sitting there.
* * *
He joined his armies and marched across the Border. There was no resistance. But the Scots had laid waste to the countryside so there were no provisions. Good general that he was he had foreseen this and had ordered ships to sail up the Forth with what his army should need.
These were late in coming and he was fraught with anxiety. So many armies had been beaten through lack of supplies.
He took Edinburgh and waited there, and it was the end of July before the ships began to arrive.
There came also some of his spies who had roamed the country in the guise of beggars and pedlars. They had news for him. The Sco
ts under Wallace were at Falkirk.
‘We shall attack without delay,’ said Edward, and he led his army to Linlithgow Heath, there to await the moment to go into action.
It was evening when he rode round his camp making sure that all was well and to give heart to his men. It had always been so. He knew they looked to him. When they saw his tall figure on its horse some new strength came to them. They had the belief that in battle he was invincible. He knew that that belief must be upheld and with an enemy like Wallace who would have a similar effect on his men, it was more than ever important to maintain it.
These men would follow him wherever he went and if he told them that victory was possible, no matter what odds they faced, they would believe him.
He did not, however, believe he faced fearful odds now, for even though Wallace had built up an aura about himself, that could not stand against a corresponding aura of a king who had proved himself a great warrior for many years and led a well-disciplined army. The Scots must lack the training of Edward’s men. They had beaten the troops of the garrison towns but that was not the English army. Wallace was a brave man. He respected Wallace. He understood Wallace. But if he captured him he would show no mercy. It was not good statesmanship to show mercy to the man who was responsible for driving him out of Scotland.
His son should be with him now. He was disappointed in Edward. He was showing himself to be unworthy of the crown. He had thought of this ever since he had held his young son Thomas in his arms. But a baby. It was years before he would grow to manhood. And in the meantime there was Edward. Edward had no desire to learn to be a king; he preferred to frivol away his time with companions like himself.
It had been a mistake to send Gaveston’s boy to him. He was getting quite a hold on him, Edward was following him slavishly as though their roles were reversed. He heard bad reports from their guardians.
Edward, soon to be seventeen, was no longer a young boy. He was old enough to show some manhood. Oh yes, he was very worried about Edward. He could not talk to Marguerite about him. It would seem disloyal to Eleanor in some way, but perhaps Marguerite heard tales of her stepson’s behaviour. If she did she was too tactful to say so.
He must stop brooding on family affairs. There was a battle to think of.
* * *
Daybreak. The trumpets were sounding. The men were rising and there was that excitement throughout the camp which must precede a battle. The King’s horse was frisky that morning. He was startled by the blare of the trumpets and seemed to resent the bustle and activity about him.
The King’s groom was waiting when Edward came out.
There was a grim satisfaction about him. Today was the day when he would begin to bring an end to the legend of William Wallace.
He was about to leap into the saddle when the horse turned abruptly. Edward was thrown to the ground and the horse attempting to move off kicked the King in the ribs.
The pain shot through him and fear with it, for he had heard the crack of bone.
Oh God in Heaven, he thought, on such a day!
It would be considered an omen. They would go into battle telling themselves that God had turned against them. The stories they had heard of the invincible Wallace were true. They would go into battle … without the King … and Wallace would be triumphant.
Never, Edward told himself. He stood up a little shakily. He put his hand to his side. The pain made him wince. He guessed that his ribs were broken.
His groom said, ‘My lord, you are hurt.’
‘Nay,’ growled the King. ‘Say not so. ’Twas nothing. Bring back the horse. It was the trumpets that startled him.’
The horse was brought. He patted its head. ‘Nothing to fear, my boy,’ he murmured. ‘Nothing to fear.’ And he was thinking, Oh God, how could You do this to me? First You favour this man Wallace and now You break my ribs just as I must lead my men into battle. But You’ll not beat me. It’ll need more than broken ribs to do that.
‘Help me up,’ he said. The groom did so.
He sat there for a second and then rode forward.
‘Ready!’ he cried. ‘What are you waiting for?’
* * *
The Scottish cavalry turned and fled; the archers followed them, but the infantry stood firm. Edward was invincible; seated firmly in the saddle he gave no sign that his broken ribs were causing him to be in agony as he shouted his orders and his men could always see him in the forefront of the battle.
None could stand against him. The Scots were fierce in their patriotism; they believed Wallace could lead them to victory. But this was mighty Edward whose name had filled them with dread even as Wallace’s had with pride.
He was there in person – the great King before whom Baliol had bowed, and young Bruce had not raised his hand. Only Wallace had stood against him. But even Wallace was no match for Edward Plantagenet.
It was bitter defeat for the Scots. Twenty thousand of them perished while few English lives were lost in exchange.
They had felt Edward’s might and they remembered it from the past. He had conquered Wales and vowed to do the same to Scotland. Even Wallace was no match for him.
The bedraggled Scots fled back to their mountain stronghold and Edward rode on to Stirling.
The Scots had taken the precaution of laying the land waste, but the English decided to rest there for a while. It was necessary for the King to recover from his injury.
He first saw to the defences of the castle and gave orders for his men to spy out what was happening in the land, attack where necessary and bring back what booty could be found.
Meanwhile he must retire to his bed, his physician in attendance. The neglected broken ribs must heal as quickly as was possible.
* * *
Fifteen days passed before he could sit a horse and the incident had aged him considerably, but his splendid vitality which was mental rather than physical was again with him. It was as though he defied fate to harm him while he had work to do.
He had subdued the land below the Forth; and he had no doubt that Wallace was re-forming his armies in the north; but Edward knew that if he advanced the problem of supplies would be acute, and he had no intention of making that error which a lesser general might have been tempted to do.
He marched through Clydesdale to Ayr, his intention being to go into Galloway, but again the spectre of the lack of equipment and food rose before him. He could not be sure that he could be successful. Moreover some of the lords were getting restive, the Earls of Hereford and Norfolk among them. Their men and horses were becoming exhausted; they needed a rest after such a campaign, they said; but the King suspected they were disappointed because they had received no Scottish land or castles as payment for their fidelity to their King. Edward would remember that; but at the same time disgruntled earls could be as much a hazard as lack of supplies. He must satisfy himself that he had crushed Wallace’s rebellion, and that it must be some time before the Scots could get together an army for their losses had been great.
He garrisoned the towns below the Forth and sent a deputation to certain Scottish lords ordering them to meet him. Wallace was not among them. They parleyed together and Edward promised them a temporary truce until Whitsuntide. This they eagerly accepted, needing the time to reorganise. Edward needed time too.
He returned to London.
* * *
The Queen was pregnant again. This was promising. Like her predecessor she was fruitful.
Joanna, the Countess of Gloucester, and her husband, Ralph de Monthermer, were at Court and the King’s daughter and his young wife had something in common, for Joanna also was expecting a child.
There could not have been two women less alike than the gentle young Queen and flamboyant Joanna.
But the King had thought it would be good for them to be together at such a time, and of course even Joanna could not disobey a summons from the King. Besides, Ralph wanted to be at Court. He was delighted because he had found favour with the Kin
g who had quite forgiven the pair their secret marriage and had bestowed the great favour on Ralph of allowing him to hunt in the royal forests and take away as much game as he chose. This was the greatest of favours for Edward was as devoted to the hunt as so many of his ancestors had been.
Ralph was very pleased with life. Great honours had come his way as husband of the Princess; the King liked him; and Joanna was as obsessed by him at this time as she had been when she had married him.
He was of course one of the handsomest men at Court, and Joanna had never for one moment regretted her hasty marriage. She disliked bearing children and was a little disgruntled at this time because she was expecting one in October and she said it was too soon after Mary.
It was irritating to have one’s activities restricted and be expected to sit and talk of babies with the young Queen whom Joanna secretly thought very dull.
As for Marguerite she could talk of little else but the coming baby and the one she already had.
She hoped it would be a boy. She believed the King wanted boys so much, but of course he was so kind he would never show his disappointment if it were a girl.
‘Of course he will not be disappointed if it is a girl,’ said Joanna. ‘My father loves his girls … better than he does his sons. He adored my sister Eleanor and he has been very lenient to me. On the other hand he is continually displeased with Edward.’
‘Edward I know gives him great cause for sorrow. Joanna, what do you think of Piers Gaveston?’
Joanna smiled secretly. ‘Very clever,’ she said.
Her sister Elizabeth was also at Court. She had lost her husband almost two years ago and had, after a suitable interval, come home to England. There had been rumours that the Earl of Holland had been poisoned; he had had so many enemies and as he had died of a dysentery – as so many people did – this could have been a possibility.
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