Randall Wallace - Braveheart

The decapitated body of the governor was an exception. Wallace order it hacked apart and fed to the dungeon dogs.

He ordered the bodies of the Scots who had been hung from the walls to be cremated in a giant common pyre, and their ashes taken, to be spread upon Scotland.

And so York was empty, an entire city laid to ruin, and William Wallace walked among its burned-out, empty streets. Even the rats and dogs and cats had deserted the wreckage. There was nothing here but charred wood, dirty cobblestones, and moonlight. Never had William felt so alone.

He felt something unfamiliar. It was fear. Since Murron’s death, he had feared nothing. Death did not frighten him; if it meant he could join Murron on the other side of life, he would welcome the passage. His dreams of her, though full of sadness, were still a comfort, a reassurance that his hopes of reunion might find fulfillment.

But something had stirred in him when he was with the princess that day, and he worried that those stirrings might keep Murron from coming to him, if only in his dreams.

Wallace walked through the streets all night long. As the black sky was turning gray with dawn, he returned to his campfire, where he found Hamish slumped in the seating position and dozing. He snorted and started as Wallace sat down beside him. Hamish had been there all night, waiting up for him, worrying about him.

He said nothing about William’s absence. “Want some meat?” he asked, pointing to a joint of meat kept warm beside the fire.

William shook his head. “No word yet from Edinburgh?”

Hamish glanced over to the tent where his father lay snoring. He had hoped old Campbell would be the one to tell William. “One of the messengers got back last night, just after you went on your walk.” Hamish paused, took a breath. “They’re not sending any more men, William.”

“They know about York? About our victory here?”

“They know.”

“And still they won’t support us with reinforcements?”

“They say you have heaped glory onto the throne of Scotland — whoever ends up sitting there. They had decreed more honors and glories for you-”

“As if they could decree honor!” William said bitterly. Then he tried to hold back his anger. “But no reinforcements.”

“No reinforcements.”

William stared at the fire.

Old Campbell stirred awake, saw William at the fire, and rose stiffly. He looked to Hamish, who nodded in answer to his father’s unspoken question: yes, he had broken the news to William. Old Campbell sat down at the fire with them.

Finally William spoke. “The princess was right about one thing. We can terrorize northern England, but we can’t complete a conquest, not without reinforcements.”

“We can get food from the land! We can supply ourselves from England itself!” Campbell said. “All my life — do you hear me, William? — all my life I’ve wanted to fight them, the way they’re fought us, on their land! Now we’re here. I don’t want to go back. Not till we’ve finished it.”

Hamish said nothing. William knew Hamish’s opinion differed from his father’s but they would speak of that later. William looked at old Campbell, who so often seemed like his own father, and said, “No one wants to finish this fight more than I do. And the men with us are like you, they would fight to London itself. They feel nothing can beat us. And truly I think that nothing could if we had a full army and true support. But it’s not just battle that bleeds an army. It’s disease. It’s accident. To march from here to London we would lose more men to sprained ankles and dysentery than we lost in the taking of York. We would get to London. If I lead this army to London without reinforcements, then I lead it to slaughter.”

“So what do we do?” Stephen said. He was lying near the fire, beneath his blankets. He spoke without ever opening his eyes. He may not have slept at all.

“We withdraw,” William said. ” But don’t think this is over.”

PRINCESS ISABELLA, HE SPINE STRAIGHT, HER HEAD LIFTED high, moved into the great hall of the London palace where Longshanks was conducting his council of war. She curtsied deeply to the king, then to her husband, Prince Edward, still marked from his beating.

“My son’s loyal wife returns, unkilled by the barbarian!” Longshanks said. “So Wallace accepted our bribe?”

“No, he did not,” the princes said, still standing before the council table. The kind provided no chair for her, she was expected only to report and leave them to their business. The other advisors — even Hamilton, already there at the table with Longshanks —looked at her as if she was but a model, there to receive their approval of a gown.

Longshanks glanced at Hamilton and looked back to Princess Isabella. “The why does he stay? My scouts say he has not advanced.”

“He waits, For you. He says he will attack no more towns — if you are man enough to come fight him.” She said this with here eyes lowered to the floor, afraid that if she looked directly at the king, he would see her defiance.

But instead of exploding in fury at Wallace’s challenge, Longshanks’s voice sounded strangely pleased “He waits. And the longer he waits, the hungrier his army grows. His own nobles will not support him. He will return to Scotland. He must.”

“So you will not fight him?” the princess asked.

“You may return to your embroidery,” Longshanks said.

“Humbly, m’lord.”

She curtsied again and turned to leave. Longshanks called, “You brought back the money, of course?”

She looked at the king. Clearly he already knew the answer with Hamilton sitting so close to him. The old crony would not even raise his eyes. Isabella knew he must have rushed in to tell the king everything he knew the moment they had arrived.

“No,” she said. “I gave it to the children of this war — in token of your greatness as a king.”

“Little fool,” he said, half under his breath, yet not caring who else heard — even her.

She felt the words like a dagger but forced herself toward the door.

Longshanks had already begun addressing his council. Isabella, her ears burning with her own anger, was again surprised by the king’s tone. She had expected — to be honest, had desired — the king to be cut by Wallace’s courage. But Longshanks seemed so unconcerned. He was speaking loudly with a tone of boasting, proud of what he had done. And before she reached the door, Isabella put aside her own anger and listened to exactly what the king was saying”

“So the Welsh bowmen will not be detected, moving so far around his flank up the western coast. The main force from our armies in France can land here, on the east of Scotland.”

Isabella froze at the door. Troops from Wales and France, all being sent around to attack the Scottish army from the direction it lest expected?

Prince Edward spoke up. He had not uttered a word to his father since the horrible day when Longshanks had beaten him after throwing Peter from the window. But the old man seemed to be growing senile; his planning was so flawed that Edward could not resist the chance to point it out. “Welsh bowmen?” he sneered. “Your troops from France? Even if you dispatched them today, they’d take weeks to assemble!”

“I dispatched them before I sent your wife,” Longshanks said.

Isabella, forgotten at the door, felt the blood go cold in her chest. Longshanks had used her for this treachery! Her earnestness, her sincerity, her very innocence had made her the perfect tool for this deception. She had sworn to Wallace that the king desired peace, exactly as Longshanks had known she would do. Even though Wallace didn’t believe it — and had Longshanks anticipated that as well? — the whole effort was to draw the Scotsman’s attention away from the attacks coming at him from behind.