Braveheart

by Randall Wallace

  “There is some grumbling in the ranks,” Hamish said quietly. “They don’t like the retreat. They’re saying we came all this way for nothing.”

  “They’re saying? Or you’re saying?’

  “I’m with you, William. But now we’re cold and hungry again as we have been for most of a year. And when my soldiers ask what for, what do I say?”

  “You say we stood and dared the English to fight, and they would not.” William looked over at his friend and saw Hamish’s great freckled brow wrinkled in a frown above eyes that struggled to see the significance of all this and couldn’t. “Hamish, half of any fight is to prove your honor to yourself. The other half is to prove your honor to your enemy. Without both, there is no victory.”

  Too deep for Hamish. He shook his head and smiled. “Whatever you say, William.”

  But William wanted Hamish to understand; it was as if he needed for his friend to believe the same thing, to help him have the faith to keep going. “When our enemies understand that we deserve to be free, that’s when we’ll truly be free.”

  Hamish rubbed his nose the way a Scotsman does when he thinks the logic of an argument is just so much manure. “When our enemies are dead,” he said, “that’s when we’ll be truly free.”

  William laughed deeply from his belly. “Maybe you’re right, Hamish. Maybe I think too much. But I tell you this: our enemies are not the problem. Our friends back in Edinburgh, they are the problem. Men who fight each other openly may find the honor in each other and establish respect; men who pretend support but sell their soul — and try to sell yours — only make hatred.

  Hamish nodded. If he had any more thoughts, he kept them to himself.

  40

  ISABELLA HAD JUST FINISHED A LETTER TO HER FATHER. SHE had struggled to sound happy, writing of the flower gardens she had been designing for the spring planting and the herb patch she hoped to include. Toward the end of her letter she had mentioned her trip north on the king’s mission to the Scottish invaders, but she did not disclose to her father any knowledge of Longshanks’s true intent.

  She had dripped wax onto the final fold of her envelope and had just pressed into it the seal of her ring when there was a knock upon her door. She stopped, surprised and alerted. No one knocked at the door of her private apartments. Her servants came when she rang for them, or if they brought her a summons from the king, they called to her softly from outside the door without knocking. But who could this be?

  She opened the door to find her husband, Prince Edward. Seeking to conceal her surprise, she lowered her eyes and curtsied. “My Prince,” she said.

  “May I come in?”

  The question embarrassed both of them. “Yes, Do, please,” she said quickly. “Come and sit by the fie.”

  He entered quickly and found himself standing in the center of an unfamiliar room, he had not been alone with her since the night of their wedding, and now he found himself looking around at the new furnishings; a table from Bordeaux, damask wall hangings the color of a Parisian sky at twilight, a painting of a French field full of wildflowers. Turning round to face her, his eyes looked both lonely and sad. “I had not thought,” he said, “how much you must miss home.”

  It was the first kind thing he had ever said to her. She curtsied again, slowly this time, and replied, “My home is here with you.”

  She moved to the hearth and the two chairs where she and Nicolette had spent so many hours sharing their thoughts. “Please, do sit,” she said. “Shall I have food and drink brought?”

  She was about to ring for a servant when Edward said, “No, no, no, that isn’t necessary. I had just…. Dropped by, that’s all.”

  She knew, of course, that this could not be true. Her apartments were in a far wing of the palace, and even if they were not almost strangers to each other, it would be obvious that he had come here with some purpose. Isabella studied him, there in the center of the room, lit by the feeble gray light of the narrow window. He looked unusually sallow, his features lax and translucent, s if his face had been fashioned from the smooth drippings of a candle. His lip, split from one of his father’s kicks, had begun to heal but still looked tender. His cheek still bore a trace of bruise. But it was his eyes that looked most painful. They were rimmed in red, and they appeared so lonely and hopeless, like those of a seawife whose husband’s body has already washed up upon the shore and who stares at the horizon anyway.

  Edward was alone, totally alone. She saw that. He had never trusted anyone but Peter, perhaps had never loved anyone except him, and how he was gone. Isabella felt his isolation. It was, in its way, like her own. She wanted to reach out to him, to comfort him someway, to make peace between them. She wanted to say something. She wasn’t sure what, but something that would tell him she wished to trust him and have him trust her. She was just about to try when he said, “Where is Nicolette?”

  “Nicolette?” Isabella tried not to hesitate. “I sent her to my castle in the north.”

  “The one your father owns? By the Scottish border?”

  “He… gave it to me for my use — our use — after we were married. He told me it needed some work but was sound and had fine lands surrounding it, which could produce quite well if properly see after. I had not thought of it for some time, but on my journey to Yorkshire I saw how beautiful the countryside was and I thought the northern castle might be an excellent project to undertake once the Scottish threat is settled. I sent Nicolette to make a survey of the property for me to determine how extensive the work might be.”

  She realized she was explaining too much, and she wondered if she was only imagining that Edward looked suspicious as he said, “But you thing it is safe to send your lady-in-waiting with only a half-dozen French guards to protect her to a castle that is scarcely a day’s ride from Scotland? When all of Wallace’s army is still there?”

  Isabella’s mind was racing. So Edward knew where she had sent Nicolette, even knew exactly how many of her personal bodyguard she had sent along to protect her. “I felt safe in doing so, m’lord. It was clear to me that, however great a savage this bandit Wallace is, he would not allow any action against a woman entourage, especially one traveling beneath the banners of France, formally neutral in the conflict between Scotland and England. Even without such diplomatic protection, Wallace would have a standing order that women be left alone. He has too much pride to behave otherwise.”

  “You think he is an honorable man,” Edward said, his eyes questioning

  “I have just said that he is a savage. But even savages have their rules.” She added quickly, “I also believed the trip could serve the purposes of the king Nicolette and such small band will most likely travel north completely without the notice of anyone. But should it happen that Wallace ever learned of it. It would seem to him that the royal family in London has accepted his leadership of Scotland and that we anticipate a peaceful future with our neighbors to the north.”

  Edward nodded. He wanted to change the subject and looked around for some excuse. “That painting of the lavender fields is beautiful. Who did it for you?”

  “I did it, m’Lord.”

  “You? I had no idea.”

  “Shall I call for refreshment?”

  This time he did not protest, and the princess had her servants bring warm ale and bread. The prince joined her beside the fire but did not touch any of the food and made forced conversation about castle construction. He clearly had no interest in the subject. Soon he excused himself and left her alone.

  She had the servants clear away the dishes they had brought, and she sat down alone by the fire and stared into the flames. And there she saw it all clearly.

  Edward had not come to find a friend. In all his loneliness and pain, he was not seeking an ally, either political or emotional. He had come to learn if she could be trusted. He had come to spy.

  Longshanks had sent him.

  The princess was glad she had sent Nicolette.

  41


  THE RETURN TO SCOTLAND WAS A TRIP LONG AND HARD. ON the way south to fight the enemy, the Scottish warriors had been difficult to hold back; now they were difficult to move forward. Villages along the side routes were tempting targets for many of the Highland clans that made up the Scottish army. Used to making independent decisions and feeling their obligations to the army as a whole were over, now that it was withdrawing victorious, they began to dart off at will to rustle sheep and ransack villages. No one within Wallace’s inner circle, including Wallace himself, had any great desire to discourage this; the Scots had suffered so much in the past that it seemed to them only right that the English should feel the same pains. Rape was another matter; when Wallace learned of it happening, he halted the march of his army, had the offenders tried before an assembly of the clan chieftans, and hanged.

  The boredom and frustration of the retreat were shattered on a cold, dull day that began like every other day on the long march home. There was a commotion at the rear of the army, guarded by a clan of wild but unbreakable Highlanders led by Seorus, a friend of old Campbell. Seorus sent a runner forward to his friend. Wondering at the message he received, Campbell sent a mounted rider back for confirmation. In a few minutes the rider galloped back and conferred with Campbell, who the spurred his horse up to Wallace at the head of the column.

  Wallace, having noticed the running and riding back and forth, had grown edgy and ready to fight. “What is it?” he asked with excitement. “Is there a force to our rear?”

  “Aye,” old Campbell said, frowning, “but none to attack us. It’s more of those Frenchmen — but only a few. And they say there’s a woman with them.”

  Leaving Campbell at the head of the column, Wallace took Hamish and rode to the rear.

  There they found Seorus and his clansmen, who had taken the trailing position from the outset of the march home, protecting the army from any attack from the rear. Now the Highlanders had stopped and were turned to face the road along which they had just come. Barely a stone’s throw down that same road was a small clump of riders in French blue. Their horses were lathered and filthy as if they had ridden long, and hard, but they sat erect, doing nothing but waiting. Seeing Wallace ride up, Seorus trotted to him and said, “There’s a woman with ’em.”

  “You walked out to see them?” Wallace asked.

  “Oh, aye. The woman is dressed like they are, in a man’s cape. She tried to keep her face turned from me, but I ran around among ’em like a sniffin’ dog. Tried to talk to ’em. But I don’t talk their language, and they don’ talk mine. They just sat there on their horses and said, “Wallace.”

  With Hamish, Seorus, and three more of the High-landers, Wallace advanced halfway to the group of riders. Wallace and Hamish dismounted. The French guards opened their ranks, and from their midst, the smallest of their party rode forward, reached the Scots, and dismounted.

  Wallace saw that it was the handmaiden who had accompanied the princess. Nicolette was tired; her pretty face was pale with fatigue and caked with the dust and sweat of her journey, and yet her dark eyes flashed with the excitement of her adventure. “I have a message for William Wallace,” she said in French. “For him and him only.”

  “I trust these men with my life,” Wallace answered.

  “It is not your life along that is at stake here.”

  In Gaelic, Wallace said to his men, “She has something to tell me. And she won’t do it with the rest of you standing here.”

  Nicolette watched as Hamish and the Highlanders, keeping in sharp eye on the French escort, pulled back out of earshot. Then she glanced behind her to be sure that the guards, too, had kept their distance. Even with no one else close by, she did not speak above a whisper. “She says she’s sorry for the king’s cowardice.”

  “Who says?”

  “She.” Nicolette stared at Wallace. He knew exactly who she meant. “And she says something else. Nicolette paused and lowered her voice even more. “What I am telling you could get me hung. Do you understand?”

  It seemed to Wallace that this girl was enjoying the drama. He nodded.

  “She says the king will attack you from the rear with a combined army of English troops ferried over from France and Welsh bowmen brought up along the west coast.”

  Wallace listened, dead still. The girl had not exaggerated the seriousness of her secret; giving this information to an enemy of the king was treason.

  Nicolette had memorized this message she was delivering and she frowned, intent on reciting it exactly: ” The recent avowals of a desire for peace were but a pretext, meant to lure you off your guard. She who sent me did not know this at the time those avowals were made —”

  “So why does she tell me now?” Wallace interrupted.

  Nicolette’s eyes lingered on him for a long moment; her lips curled slightly, almost but not quite smiling.

  “Ah, monsieur,” she said, “why does she tell you now? That is for you to answer.” The flirty and brave little handmaiden went back to her recitation. “The attack against you will come soon. There is little time to waste. You must choose your own course — whether flight or compromise. But fighting is foolish.”

  “Then she knows already that I am a fool.”

  “Please! You interrupt, monsieur, and I must tell you this exactly. Where was I? Let’s see… Little time… choose your own course… Fighting foolish… Ah, yes! Here is the rest: Crossbows are coming from Holland. Overland from Dover. At least a thousand.” Nicolette smiled, curtsied, and moved to her horse, holding out her hand in Wallace’s direction. Taking the hint, he tossed her up onto the saddle. She nodded her thanks, then looked into Wallace’s eyes one last time, As if she had been instructed to take in every detail of him to discuss with her mistress later.

  “By the way,” she added, “should it become known that you and I have talked, I will say that I was intercepted on my way to Castle Bonchamps, to which I have been dispatched on an architectural survey for my mistress, the castle’s owner. I will say that I was interrogated, found to be peaceful, and released. I suggest you tell your men the same story — since it is true.”

  She reined her horse back to the French guards, who surrounded her quickly and galloped away without looking back.

  Wallace watched them go and thought of her who sent them.

  Then he turned and walked quickly back to join Hamish and the others. “I need Stephen,” Wallace said, “as quickly as you can find him.”

  42

  THE PRINCESS SAT AT THE WINDOW SEAT OR A PALACE room. Her fingers held half-finished embroidery; she was looking distractedly at the dark, cold winter day outside. Across the room, Longshanks was at his worktable, discussing logistics with his advisors. Edward sat sullenly at the table with them. His father had demanded that he attend but insisted that the princess be there also, telling his son it was clear he could never rule without his wife to help him. ("The woman has fire in her,” Longshanks had told his advisors. “She is the only hope that my line will continue when I am gone.")

  So now the prince sat, his eyes glazed and only half alive, as Longshanks stormed at his advisors. “Why am I the only one who sees how simple this is?! Our army needs food! They can’t fight without it, for the Scots will burn everything, even their own food, rather than let us have it. The Vikings have fish. They lack wool. We have wool. So trade them our wool for the fish, you fools!”

  None of the advisors responded. But young Edward perked up. He knew the reason the advisors were silent. They didn’t wish to be the bearers of unpleasant news. Edward, on the other hand, couldn’t wait. He placed his delicate hand before his mouth to hide the smirk there. “The Viking traders have just informed us that the Scots have promised to sell them wool,” Edward said, “at a lower price than ours.”

  “The Scots have no ships to deliver wool to the Vikings!” Longshanks said.

  “The Vikings provide the ships,” Edward said.

  “What do the Scots get from the Vikings in return for the
wool?” Longshanks demanded to know.

  “Lumber — for building ships,” Edward said. “Apparently, someone in Scotland intends to establish it as a trading nation. And…”—Edward drew this out, savoring the moment — “since the Scots have never pursued trade so aggressively before, it is only reasonable to suppose the originator of this effort is some new character among their leaders. Someone like… William Wallace, perhaps.”

  Prince Edward failed to conceal his satisfaction at seeing his father bested. Longshanks flushed with anger — whether more at Wallace or at his son, it was impossible to tell.

  By the window, the princess looked down at her sewing, so that no one could see her smile.

  43

  EASTERN SCOTLAND LAY BENEATH THE SAME GRAY, COLD sky as did London. Inside Edinburgh Castle, Wallace paced a room full of merchants, seamen, and landowners, all summoned to discuss Scotland’s daily trade. Wallace told them about the arrangements with the Vikings of Norway. He spoke to them about the need to establish independence of trade and told them of the pact he had just made with the merchants of France to trade whiskey for wine.

  One of the farmers laughed and said, “We don’t drink wine!”

  “No, but the Danes do,” Wallace said. “And they will swap for pottery and tar. Some we keep. Some we trade with Spain for their sour fruits. Then all our children will have solid teeth and straight bones.”

  No one knew quite what to say. No one had ever discussed such matters with these men before. They were excited by the ideas and frightened, too. Suddenly they had a hundred questions about how it would work, and they began to ask them all at once. Wallace smiled and lifted his hands to quiet them. “I don’t know all the answers,” he said. “We must work them out together. I only ask you to consider whether the result of new trade would be worth the effort.”