Randall Wallace - Braveheart

Wallace stood with his feet planted as wide as his shoulders, and for a man with shoulders so broad, the posture could have looked bullying. But his face contained none of the surly arrogance of a brute. He was handsome, strikingly so; manly, calm, and self-contained — young Bruce could see why tough men like the Highlanders would follow this man into battle. It was a face women like, with softness in the pale green eyes and light playing in the blondish hair. His chin was up, his mouth set, his eyes still. And young Robert the Bruce knew, without needing to be told by his father or old Craig or anyone else, that before him stood a man who never had nor ever would subjugate himself to any other man.

Old Craig rose to his feet. “Sir William,” he said. “In the name of God, we declare and appoint these Guardian, High Protector of Scotland!”

The nobles rose; court attendants hurried to Wallace and draped a golden chain of office around his neck. The nobles applauded.

Almost before the applause died, a member of the Balliol clan, who had kept n open seat beside him, spoke up. “Sir William! Inasmuch as you and your captains hail from a region long known to support the Balliol clan, may we invite you to join us?”

The Balliols — and everyone else in the room — looks at Wallace, and old Craig secretly swore at himself for allowing the Balliols to have used such a simple mechanism as seating arrangements to align Wallace with them.

But Wallace’s gaze had locked onto Robert the Bruce! It was as if two young lions had instantly recognized the leadership power of each other. And Craig realized for the first time that Wallace had never before laid eyes on the Bruce. Recognizing the colors and design of the Bruce’s tunic, Wallace studies the young warrior who had not joined him at Stirling. “You are Robert the Bruce,” Wallace Said.

“I am ” Robert replied.

“My father fought in support of yours,” Wallace said, “whenever your father fought for Scotland.”

“My father always fought for Scotland,” Young Bruce said, “He was just sometimes forced to fight against Scots who did not fight for Scotland.”

“I fight for Scotland,” Wallace said.

“I know,” Bruce said.

The Balliols shriveled. The nobles on the Bruce side could barely keep from grinning.

Suddenly the Balliols changed their tactics. “This new success,” their leader began, “is the result of all of Scotland’s efforts, and now is the time to unite all the Scotland and declare a king!”

Then Mornay, who was sitting to the right to young Bruce, smiled coolly and said, “Then you are prepared to recognize our legitimate succession!”

Balliol reacted instantly, “You’re the ones who won’t support the true claim! I demand consideration of these documents!” With that he reached for the parchments that bore the Balliols’ written case for ascendancy, the same scholarly arguments they had presented at every meeting of the council. The documents had never borne any true weight before; but clearly the Balliols were bringing them up again now in an attempt to sway Wallace with their legal legitimacy.

But if they thought William Wallace would be impressed by genealogical tables, they had badly miscalculated. He wasn’t even looking at them; he was staring again at the Bruce, who suddenly felt ashamed of the bickering.

“Those were lies when they were written!” Mornay said with contempt. “Our documents prove absolutely that—”

Suddenly Wallace turned his back and walked toward the door.

All the arguments died into an abrupt silence. Then Craig called, “Sir William! Where are you going?”

Wallace turned, and his eyes swept over everyone at the table. “We have beaten the English! But they’ll came back, because you won’t stand together.” Wallace moved back to the table and frowned at the men there as one might at a group who refused to agree that grass was green or the sky blue. Wallace’s voice rose.

“There is one clan in this country; Scotsmen. One class: free, One price: courage.” Wallace turned again, and again he strode toward the door.

“But… what will you do?” Craig wanted to know.

Wallace stopped. “I will invade England. And defeat the English on their own ground.”

The nobles had stopped breathing.

“Invade?!” Craig sputtered. “That is impossible, it —”

Wallace slung out his broadsword and moved down the length of the table, bashing the succession documents into the laps of the nobles! “ Listen to me!” he shouted. ” Longshanks understands this! This!” Wallace thrust his massive broadsword high in the air.

Some of the nobles, when they had heard Mornay’s tale of Wallace arriving on the battlefield and rallying the entire army when it had already begun to desert, had doubted the story. But seeing the fire in Wallace’s face, the passion in his voice, the power of his presence as he gripped the handle of the double -edged claymore and shook the steel at their faces, made them know every word had been true.

“There is a difference between us,” Wallace said with quiet fervor. “You think the people of this country exist to provide the people with freedom. And I go to make sure they have it.”

Wallace banged through the door. His friends suppressed smiles and marched out behind him

Wallace and his men were striding down the stone corridor of the castle, away from the council chamber, as Robert the Bruce ran out after them.

“Wait! Sir William! Please!” Bruce caught up with Wallace. He struggled for a moment, then took Wallace’s arm and urged him to step into an alcove so that his words could be overheard by no one, even Wallace’s lieutenants. “I… I admire what you said. But you can’t talk to them that way. They are fat cowards, most of them, but we need them.”

Wallace turned away, but Robert caught his arm again.

“You despise us, “Robert said, “I can’t blame you; I’ve heard what you’ve been through. But remember, my brave friend. These men have lands castles. Much to risk.”

“And the common man who bleeds on the battlefield, does he risk less” Wallace asked.

“No, But nobles… can help…”

But even as Robert the Bruce was struggling. Wallace was pouncing. “Nobles? What does that mean — to be noble?”

Robert found himself without a ready answer.

Wallace leaned closer and shook his fist between them, like a big brother telling a younger one to be brave. “Your title gives you claim to the throne of our country!” Wallace said. “But men don’t follow titles, they follow courage! Your arm speaks louder than your tongue. Our people know you. Noble and common, they respect you. If you would lead them toward freedom, they would follow you. And so would I.”

William Wallace walked away, leaving Robert the Bruce alone in the alcove of Edinburgh Castle.

YORKSHIRE SPREADS ACROSS ENGLAND LIKE A CROWN OF nature upon the nation’s head. Lying almost at the center of the island of Britain and in the upper region of England, its rolling hills of heather, grass, and flowers and its skies of fluffy clouds prompt a dreaminess in people and have inspired a whole tradition of stories of enchantment.

At the heart of this heartland stands York. In the late thirteenth century, it was a fortress city, completely surrounded by a towering wall. The rich commerce of the lush region moved in and out of York’s commanding gates in confident vitality, all under the watchful eye of the royal governor, who commanded a standing army of defenders that guarantee the collection of the king’s taxes and kept the king’s peace. For as long as men believed in fortress cities, York was the stronghold not only of Yorkshire but of all of northern England.