The Path to the Throne

by H A CULLEY

  William Wallace continued to harass Edward’s supply chain and was joined by Sir Simon Fraser, the Earl of Buchan having apparently decided that he had already done enough for the year. When Sir John Segrave and Robert Clifford led a large force out on another sortie into Lothian, Wallace and Fraser decided to confront them. This time it was a disastrous decision. The English had learned a valuable lesson and, as the Scots charged down both sides of the valley through which Segraves’ men were travelling, they were hit by a volley of arrows and quarrels which brought down about a tenth of their number. As the Scots milled about in confusion the archers fired volley after volley into them. When the knights and serjeants charged up the sides of the valley into them it was all over; the Scots were routed. Both Wallace and Fraser managed to escape but Malcolm Cowan had been killed. The loss of his oldest friend upset William a great deal. Now all the members of the Cowan family with whom he had grown up with were dead. He sunk into depression and disappeared.

  Simon Fraser returned to the north leaving what remained of Wallace’s band leaderless. Gradually men drifted away from their hideout in Ettrick Forest and Scots resistance died out. Early in 1304 the majority of the Scottish nobles surrendered to Edward at Strathord near Perth. He pardoned most of the nobles but not James Stewart, John de Souls or Ingram d’Umfraville. It was made clear to them that they would only be forgiven once William Wallace was captured.

  The one stronghold that still held out against Edward was Stirling Castle under the command of Sir William Oliphant. Edward declared that he and the garrison, together with William Wallace and Simon Fraser were outlaws and offered rewards for whoever captured or killed them.

  William was with his mistress in a village near Glasgow when he heard about the price on his head. He seemed to have lost all interest in the cause of Scottish independence and spent his time whoring and drinking. The death of Malcolm Cowan had hit him really hard.

  As the siege of Stirling dragged on more and more men came to William urging him to do something to help relieve the castle. Eventually he dragged himself out of his stupor and sent out messages to reform his band of followers. When he had two hundred gathered he set out for Stirling. The two biggest threats to the castle, sitting on top of a high crag, were the pounding it was receiving from six trebuchets and starvation. The castle was well provisioned as Oliphant had taken the precaution of filling the caves in the rock below the castle with grain and dried meat but the constant bombardment was reducing the fortifications to rubble. William decided that these trebuchets should be the target of his intervention.

  Now that he had shaken off his black mood, at least of most of the time, he began to feel alive again. He was determined that the destruction of the trebuchets would be successful and was meticulous in his planning. He first ambushed a foraging party to provide him with surcoats and gambesons sewn with the red cross of St. George so that he and his men looked like Englishmen. The one problem then was that none of his men spoke like the English. William himself spoke French and Latin, but with a Scottish accent. His next act was therefore to send some men to raid Northumberland and come back with a few youths who, with a dagger at their backs, could respond to the sentries in English.

  Eventually he was ready and they made their way in the darkness of a cloudy night to where the trebuchets stood. Their only illumination was the campfires of the besieging army but they had studied the topography of the ground and the layout of the camp for several days. The adrenalin was coursing through William’s veins as they made their way with only the odd challenge towards the big catapults. His one regret was that Malcolm wasn’t there by his side.

  At first everything went according to plan. The sentries’ throat were slit quietly and then Wallace’s men killed the trebuchet’s crews as they slept in leather tents near their machines. They had just finished smearing animal fat over the ropes and supports of four of the trebuchets when a patrol arrived. Before the Sots could tackle them they found the dead sentries and gave the alarm. William cursed. He hadn’t expected them to change the sentries over using men-at-arms from elsewhere in the camp. He and several other men seized burning brands from the camp fires and set the four machines on fire whilst his other men dealt with the new arrivals.

  Other men were now arming themselves and running towards the Scots raiders. With a quick glance to make sure the four catapults were burning well, William gave the order to withdraw. One or two of his men were killed by the first soldiers to reach them but most managed to melt away into the darkness. When they met up later at the pre-arranged rendezvous fifteen were missing, but some of those were probably just lost. The raid has been a modest success but there were still two trebuchets left with which to bombard the castle.

  Longshanks was furious and his chief engineer was subjected to verbal and physical abuse for not protecting his machines properly. For a man in his mid-sixties Edward was still a powerful man. However, Wallace’s action only delayed the inevitable and two months later Stirling Castle surrendered. Edward was now effectively in control of Scotland once more.

  ~#~

  Shortly after his eighteenth birthday James Douglas decided that, as Edward Longshanks had allowed many of the rebel Scottish lords to buy back their estates from the Englishmen to whom they had been given as part of Edward’s policy of rapprochement, he would return and plead for the return of Douglasdale. He was the heir to the Lord of Douglas as his father had died in the Tower six years previously; some said starved to death on Edward’s orders. The only problem was that he didn’t have any money.

  William Lamberton paid for his passage from France to Berwick and for the hire of a horse to get him from there to St. Andrews. James hoped that the bishop might be able to help him to regain his lands. Lamberton did what he could, writing several times to the king to plead James’ case, but to no avail. Douglasdale remained in the hands of Sir Richard Clifford and James remained with Lamberton, reverting to his original role as his squire.

  One of his first tasks was to act as the go-between riding between St. Andrews on the East coast to Turnberry on the West. Robert Bruce was slowly building his secret alliance and he now sought to include William Lamberton in his camp.

  Bruce’s father had finally died in April 1304 whilst travelling from Writtle in Essex to visit his son. He had reached Cumbria before falling ill and dying at Holm Cultram Abbey, where he was buried as soon as Robert and his brothers had arrived for the funeral. His son was now free to make his bid for the throne of Scotland but he needed to lay his plans carefully.

  Robert studied the young man before him. He had only seen him a few times before, memorably as the cheeky young page who had tried to get his first wife drunk on her wedding night, and then at Bishop Lamberton’s side at the parliament when William Wallace had been elected as Guardian. Unsurprisingly James had changed a great deal in the intervening years. His hair was jet black, giving him his nickname of the Black Douglas, and he was somewhat stocky; a surprise as he had been rather lanky at twelve. There was still a hint of mischief behind his eyes but now, instead of hinting at harmless fun, it spoke of a ruthlessness and determination unusual in one so young and inexperienced in battle.

  There was an instant rapport between the two, a liking that quickly turned to friendship despite the disparity in their ages. With James’ help, Lamberton agreed to support Robert’s claim to the crown when the time came. On his visits to Turnberry he took the opportunity to travel down Douglasdale, recruiting men for when the time came to revolt against English rule. This was risky as he could have been betrayed to Clifford’s men in Castle Douglas but none of his clan betrayed their young chieftain.

  ~#~

  William Wallace realised that his pinprick attacks were having little or no effect on the overall situation, though his name still kept alive the flickering flame of Scottish independence in some. Most though, like William himself, were becoming despondent again. Once more Wallace took refuge in the arms of his favourite whore and the
contents of a bottle.

  The Earl of Richmond, who had just been appointed as Edward’s Lieutenant in Scotland, began the process of dismantling the Scottish state and incorporating its administration and its laws within the English system. Unlike his brothers, Robert wasn’t particularly bothered by this.

  ‘What is done can be undone and what is undone can be redone,’ he told them with a smile.

  Of more immediate concern was the fact that he had got wind of the fact that John Comyn of Badenoch, the Red Comyn, was considering making a bid for the throne and then leading a revolt against English rule as the new King of Scots.

  Chapter Eleven – The Making of a Legend – August 1305

  William Wallace eventually shook himself out of the period of lethargy which had followed the raid on the trebuchets outside Stirling Castle. With the fall of Stirling there was practically no opposition to Edward’s rule north of the border now. Even Sir Simon Fraser had submitted early in 1305. He had been sent into exile for a period and had to pay a hefty fine to retain his lands, but at least he had escaped with his life. There was still a sizeable reward for William Wallace and he was under no delusion that he would escape as lightly as Fraser if he surrendered. In any case, he had no lands left; he had lost them years ago when he first turned rebel and his overlord, Lord James Stewart, had given them to another of his vassals.

  But all was not as serene as it appeared. William had received overtures from both the Red Comyn and Robert Bruce asking him whether he would be prepared to support them if they seized the throne and tried to evict the English. He had always supported John Balliol as King of Scots, not because he admired the man – he didn’t, far from it – but because he was the only figurehead who Scots could unite behind. Robert Bruce was the man who had knighted him and he felt that he would probably make the best king, but he had supported Edward of England too often for Wallace to trust him. On the other hand it was common knowledge that Comyn had promised Edward that he would capture Wallace and hand him over to the king for justice. He therefore trusted him even less.

  His solution was not to reply to either approach. He was, however, encouraged by the thought that these two mighty nobles were considering renewing the struggle for independence. That was something he definitely could support, whoever took up the challenge. He therefore sent out messages secretly to those who had consistently supported him asking them to re-assemble at one of his hideouts in the Campsie Fells north of Glasgow. From there he intended to strike at Dumbarton Castle in early July 1305. He might well have succeeded if he hadn’t decided to pay a visit to his mistress at Robroyston near Glasgow just before the planned attack.

  ~#~

  Sir John Menteith was the second son of the Earl of Menteith, a member of the Stewart family and an adherent of Robert Bruce’s. Edward had made Sir John Constable of Dumbarton Castle as part of the arrangements made by the king for the future governance of Scotland. John Menteith was someone who liked to keep his ear to the ground and that’s why he employed an agent named Jack Short.

  Jack was an orphan who had survived by using his wits. The secret of his success was his complete and absolute lack of a conscience. If you wanted a four year old girl murdered because she stood between you and an inheritance, then Jack was happy to do it for the right price. Compared to what he had done in the past working for Sir John Menteith was easy. All he had to do was drink in the taverns of Dumbarton and stay sober enough to remember any interesting titbits he picked up.

  His appearance was nondescript and he was careful never to catch anyone’s eye. He didn’t wear rags but he chose tunics and hose of brown or grey so he didn’t stand out in any way. Often he heard nothing of any interest except for the odd grumble about taxes or an unfair decision because the judge had been bribed. However, in early July 1305 he heard something he knew his master would pay him a fat purse for.

  ‘You’re sure you heard correctly? Wallace has a mistress in a house in Robroyston?’

  ‘Yes, they were whispering but I heard them clearly enough. They were complaining that he, Wallace, got to bed his woman whilst they had to watch the routine within the castle. I got the distinct impression that Wallace intends to try and take it. They had obviously got fed up watching the sentries on the wall and come into the tavern to slake their thirst for a bit.’

  ‘You’ve done well, Jack. If we manage to apprehend Wallace tonight I’ll have a purse here for you tomorrow at the same time. Just make sure that no-one sees you leaving the castle. Use the postern.’

  Jack Short, so called because he was scarcely five foot tall, gave the man a scornful look. There was nothing Sir John could teach him about being unobtrusive. As soon as he had left Menteith sent for his captain and told him to get eight sergeants ready and mounted and to tell his squire to get a palfrey saddled for him. He didn’t bother to don his armour. If there was any fighting to be done he’d leave that to his men, who were wearing chainmail and helmets.

  It was ten miles from Dumbarton to Robroyston and it took them two hours to cover that distance at a slow pace. Menteith didn’t want to create any excitement by cantering through the countryside; Wallace might well have someone watching out to give him warning.

  In fact William Wallace was on his own, apart from Catriona, the whore who he had taken as a mistress and set up in a small cottage in Robroyston where he could visit her discreetly. Quite apart from the sexual relief he got from these visits, he found peace and tranquillity there, with no demands placed on him. It also kept him from slipping into yet another bout of depression. He was even more prone to this after Fraser surrendered. Now it seemed he was the only one carrying on the fight for independence.

  He knew that both Comyn and Bruce were contemplating raising the standard of revolt again, but he trusted neither of them, or any other noble for that matter. They had betrayed him and Scotland too many times in the past.

  He was sound asleep beside Catriona at two thirty in the morning when Menteith and his men arrived in the village. He knew that she was in love with him and wanted nothing more than to look after him, but he couldn’t stand the thought of losing someone else he loved again; not after Mary, Findlay and her brothers. So he kept his feelings in check and refused to show any affection for Catriona. Their relationship was kept strictly to sex. It wasn’t what she wanted but, if that was all that was on offer, she would have to settle for it.

  The first that William had known about Menteith’s arrival was when three burly serjeants grabbed him. He shook them off, knocking one out, and tried desperately to reach his sword. He was dimly aware of Catriona trying to fight them as well until he saw out of the corner of his eye one of the armoured men grab her and slit her throat. He was glad at that moment that he hadn’t allowed the two of them to become close. Two of his attackers had now managed to grab him by the arms and shoulders but his legs were free so he kicked one of the men between his legs and felt a satisfying squelch as the man howled and fell to the floor, vomiting and yelling like a banshee. He kicked at the kneecap of another and, even with his bare feet, managed to dislodge the patella. The serjeant collapsed on one knee groaning in pain.

  There was only room for a few of them in the small room without getting in each other’s way but one of the serjeants had brought a club and eventually he found enough space to swing it and bring it down on William’s head. The big Scotsman collapsed on the floor unconscious; however, this didn’t stop the attack. By the time they had stopped kicking and hitting him he had several broken ribs, a closed and blackened eye and three broken fingers.

  When William awoke in considerable pain he realised that he was in a dungeon somewhere. It was no more than a hole in the ground lined by damp stone covered in moss. The only access was through a grating ten feet above his head. Presumably he had been lowered into his prison by rope whilst he was still unconscious.

  He gingerly examined himself. He was still naked, as he had been when they had hauled him out of bed, so he had no material w
ith which to bind up his ribs or splints with which to set his broken fingers. He consoled himself with the thought that he would soon be executed so it really made very little difference.

  At some time during the following day a rope was lowered and he was told to tie it around his waist. He didn’t think that was a brilliant idea, given the state of his ribs so he tied a loop in the end, not without difficulty because of his broken fingers, and stood in the loop to be hauled out of the dungeon. He was dumped on the floor of the room above his prison and, with difficulty, rose to his feet. Menteith was standing there looking a little apprehensive. Next to him stood a man William didn’t recognise.

  ‘Well, Sir William, I’m glad that Sir John has you in custody at last but less than pleased by your condition. This is no way to treat a fellow knight, however much a thorn in the king’s side he might have been.’ He turned to Menteith. ‘Have his injuries treated, get someone to wash the filth off him, carefully mind, and find him some appropriate clothing and shoes.’

  ‘Yes, of course, my lord.’ Menteith nodded his head in what might have passed as a bow if one was feeling generous. When whoever it was had gone, John Menteith spoke again.

  ‘You heard what the Earl of Richmond said, get the pages to wash him and dress him and send for the barber-surgeon to bind up his broken bones.’

  ‘Aha,’ William thought, ‘so this is Longshanks’ Lieutenant for Scotland, is it? I am honoured.’

  An hour later, feeling much more presentable, if still in some pain, Sir William Wallace was ushered into the earl’s presence again. However, he did have a manacle around each leg joined by a short chain so that he couldn’t run anywhere. He clanked into the room, flanked by a man-at-arms on each side, and bowed low to Richmond.