Randall Wallace - Braveheart

Robert laughed. “Of course it was William Wallace! Who else could it have been?”

“—and that this was not an act of wild irrationality but a carefully planned and executed act or reprisal.”

“Yes, yes, yes….,” Bruce said as if the whole conversation had become tedious to him.

“Then…,” Craig persisted, “if he came for Mornay that way —”

“You understand me at last,” Bruce said in a tired, dry voice. “He’s coming to fro everybody. You. Me. All of us. He’ll kill us all. Exactly as he should.”

Bruce handed Mornay’s nightshirt back to Craig and added, “Go show the other. Tell them to run or pray. Though I doubt either will do them any good.”

Nicolette was in bed when she heard the news — but she was not alone. It was well over an hour before she could excuse herself from the gentleman who shared with her the tidings and could carry them to the princess.

She burst into Isabella’s apartments and could scarcely wait to start spouting all she had been told until she had shut the door safely behind her. But then turning around, she saw the princess upon her knees beside the bed in an attitude of prayer, her hands stretched out before her, her face upon the covers.

“Isabella?” Nicolette asked, moving forward.

The princess lifted her head. Tears were flowing from her eyes, and her mouth was smiling.

She had heard already.

LONGSHANKS AND EDWARD WERE IN THE ROYAL GARDENS, resplendent with the spring. Longshanks pulled a new flower and crushed it in his yellowed hand. “His legend grows! It will be worse than before!”

“You let Wallace escape your whole army. You cannot blame me for this, “Edward shot back.

Longshanks glowered at his son, then saw the princess crossing the grass toward them in quick, determined steps. These days everything about the woman struck Longshanks as decisive. He approved of her in a way he had never approved of his son.

“Good day to you, m’lords,” the princess greeted them.

“You mock us with a smile?” Edward said.

“I am cheerful with a plan to soothe your miseries. All of England shudders with the news of renewed rebellion,” she said.

“Wallace’s followers,” Edward said wanting to dismiss her. He had come to despise the way his father listed carefully to everything she said and only poured derision on whatever sprang for his mouth.

Isabella’s response was prompt, almost curt. “Wallace himself. If you wise to pretend a ghost rallies new volunteers in very Scottish town, I leave you to your haunting. However, if you wish to take him, I know a way.

Edward snickered, but this wife was steel.

“I have faced him. Have you?” she demanded.

Prince Edward’s eyes flared, but Longshanks lifted a hand before him. “Let her speak,” the king commanded.

“He will fight you forever. But what does he fight for? Freedom first and peace. So grant them,” the princess explained.

“The little cow is insane—“ Edward argued to his father.

But Isabella went on as if he as not there. “Grant as you do everything else, with treachery. Offer him a truce to discuss terms, and send me to my castle at Locharmbie as your emissary. He trusts me. Pick thirty of you finest assassins for me to take along.” She looked from king to prince back to king. “And I will set the meeting and the ambush.”

Longshanks studied her. Her eyes were steely; she would not look away. “You see, my delicate son?” Longshanks said, “I have picked you a queen.”

THE PRINCESS’S FORTRESS IN THE ENGLISH NORTHERN BORDERlands was a small, picturesque castle clinging to the coastal rocks of eastern Britain. Its walls were rough and considered ancient, even in the year 1305, great siege towers that kings like Longshanks had brought into fashion. Its moat was shallow and fringed with moss; ducks and the petals of wildflowers floated in its once-forbidding waters. But Isabella could stand atop its bannered keep and look across the sea channel toward France.

Yet she was not thinking of France as her entourage moved through the gates and they closed behind her. She stepped out of the carriage and moved into the castle’s great hall, where there stood thirty killers. Isabella stopped and stood before them, studying their faces. Many had been in the army, where they had acquired personal reputations for exacting the king’s vengeance with particular enthusiasm; others were private assassins and had never belonged to any organization apart from the bloodthirsty brotherhood they shared with those around them. The princess, allowed by Longshanks to have complete discretion in all the details of the plot against Wallace, had given the king’s advisors specific criteria for how these men should be chose, and she looked around her, she saw that her directives had been faithfully followed.

The corps was led by Longshanks’s chief assassin, a cutthroat with a mangled eye. He tilted his head toward her in what was meant to pass a bow of respect and said, “ We came in small groups, so the rebels would not suspect.”

“And you have reached Wallace’s men?” the princess asked.

“We tell the villagers, and the traitors pass it on. All that’s left is for you to say where the ambush will take plane.”

“Where…..” the princess mused. “Where. Yes, I have been thinking about that.

WALLACE SAT IN THE GROVE OF TREES WHERE MURRON WAS BURIED. The sun, dappling through the budded trees, was warm upon his shoulders. He had not eaten for longer than he could remember and was aware that he must, but it was only a thought in a corner of his brain, not a need like this was, to be here and drink in the silence of Murron’s memory.

He needed to dream of her. She had not been in his dreams for many nights. He missed her there.

He heard a rustle behind him and spun around, drawing the broadsword instinctively, before he saw—

Hamish and Stephen!

Hamish started forward, then lurched to a stop, unsure if he had done the right thing in coming here to Williams’s holy , secret place and bringing Stephen along as well. But his fears flew away as Wallace moved up and threw his arms around both of his friends.

They spent that night in the old secret cave, where their fathers had come to plan their own raids, with no more support than they had now. They felt at home within the dark stone walls; rain was falling outside, but it was dry inside the cave, with a campfire that smoldered at its entrance, so that the smoke stayed out and the heat drifted in. they shared a fine meal — lamb that Hamish had brought and a cask of ale provided by Stephen and his close associate, the Almighty. William told them about France and his visit with the pope. His friends listened in silence. He left out details of the princess but told them of his efforts—and disappointments—to enlist outside help for Scotland. He concluded, “So that is all. There is no one outside to help us.”

Still Hamish and Stephen said nothing. They stared at the fire and poked their boots with sticks; they listened to the rain fall; they sat with William and would haven content to stay that way forever.

At last William said, “Thanks for the food and the drink. And for bringing”em yourselves.”

“We’re not leaving,” Hamish said.

“No. somebody has to stay alive,” Wallace said.

“We’ve already talked about it,” Hamish said, glancing at Stephen, who nodded and grinned.

“We don’t want to stay alive if we can’t fight beside ya” the Irishman said. “and there’s many more like us! Though we hardly need ‘em with you, Hamish, me, and the Almighty, we’ve got everybody outnumbered” From a hidden pocket of his cloak he pulled a jug of whiskey. He took a swig and handed it to Hamish, who took a chug and passed the whiskey along to Wallace, who declined, but smiled for the first time in many weeks.