Виктория Холт - The Hammer of the Scots

Alas, this tender period was brought to an abrupt end. The news from Scotland was alarming. Always he had been aware of the trouble that could come from that quarter. Baliol had been deposed. Rarely had a man less capable of being there sat on a throne. Edward was the overlord and he was determined to remain so. He was going to govern Scotland because he saw that until he did there would be trouble there; and if he were going to keep his place in France he could not have an enemy waiting to stab him in the back.

If Baliol had been a strong man, yet one ready to work under his rule, all would have been well. But Baliol was weak; he had no talent for governing and, worse still, no will for it.

There was one man who had come into prominence who gave the King great cause for concern. That was William Wallace. This man had some magnetic power. He was the kind of man of whom a king must be wary. He had a talent, this William Wallace, for drawing men to his standard. He knew how to inspire them.

Edward had set English lords over various provinces in Scotland to keep order for him and to remind the Scots, should they need reminding, that they owed allegiance to him.

It was natural that there should be constant trouble between the Scots and their English overlords. Forays had frequently broken out and several English had been murdered. But this was inevitable.

What was to be deplored was that the Scots had found a leader in this man Wallace.

It was not a question of a minor uprising. Wallace had collected an army.

Moreover he had put the English to flight at Stirling Bridge and had dared cross the Border and had harried the people of Cumberland and Westmorland. It was intolerable that this could go on. He had taken advantage of Edward’s absence in France.

Well, now Edward was home. He had made a truce with France. He had married the French King’s sister and he could live in peace – temporary perhaps – with his enemies across the Channel. But he must turn his attention to Scotland, where they had wriggled free from the yoke he had set upon them. He was going to march north. He was going to hammer those Scots into obedience. He had vowed to add Scotland to his crown as he had Wales and nothing – not even his new marriage – was going to prevent his going into action without delay.

He explained to his bride of a week that he must leave her.

‘So it is with kings, little one. My first wife Eleanor accompanied me on my journeys. It was her wish to do so. Wherever I went she was not far behind. I would not take her into the heat of battle – though she would have accompanied me – God rest her soul! No, she was close to me. She even bore my daughter in Acre. I trust you will want to be close to me at all times.’

‘Oh, I shall,’ said Marguerite fervently.

‘I know it,’ he cried. ‘Now I must go. You will follow me in due course, but with less haste than I must go. I want you now to go to London and stay there awhile in your lodging at the Tower. There the people will see you. They will wish it. We must always consider the will of the people … and the people of London in particular. When the time is right I will send for you. Will you come?’

‘With all my heart, my lord.’

He kissed her tenderly. ‘You are a sweet wife,’ he said, ‘and I am glad you are mine. I could wish I were forty years younger and even then I should be older than you, sweet child. I tell you what I dearly hope. Perhaps it is too much to wish for. I hope that you may already be with child.’

‘I hope it too,’ answered Marguerite.

‘If it should be so send a messenger to me with the news. It would mean a great deal to me.’

‘And to me, my lord. I will send a messenger without delay.’

‘God grant our wish may become reality. How I curse this man Wallace who takes me from you.’

‘Is it just one man, my lord?’

‘Aye, one man. For without him the Scots would not have arisen in rebellion. Not such rebellion. Small forays we can deal with. It is when a great leader arises, one who catches the imagination of the people, that we must take heed. So, William Wallace, my enemy, I come to take you, and when you are in my hands I promise you you will wish that you had never been born.’

‘My lord, perhaps he thinks he does right for his country.’

She blushed a little. She had not meant to voice an opinion. But the King seemed not to have heard.

His face darkened; she saw his clenched fist, and she was for the first time afraid of him. William Wallace had brought out a side to her husband’s nature which she had not seen before.

But almost immediately he was soft again. ‘Farewell, dear wife. I shall soon be back and I’ll tell you this: I’ll have the head of William Wallace on a spike to adorn my tower … just as I did the rebels of Wales.’

The next day the King rode off at the head of his army, and it seemed to the young Queen that the name of William Wallace was on everyone’s tongue.

William Wallace had always hated the English. When he had sat in the study over his books in the home of his uncle he had dreamed of glorious battles, of driving the English overlords out of his country, of forcing Edward to make an ignominious retreat behind the border and stay there.

So much did he dream of this that it had become an obession with him, and his hatred was the biggest force in his life. He only had to hear the word ‘English’ for the blood to rise to his temples and a fury would seize him. When he saw an Englishman he had to restrain the desire to attack him on the spot; and he did see Englishmen fairly frequently because the King of England had set them to guard the garrison towns; and when he rode into Stirling he would encounter them in the taverns or strolling through the streets, lords and masters of the place – and letting anyone who offended them know it. It was not uncommon to see a dead Scotsman hanging from a gallows. What was his crime? he would ask. There would be a shrug of the shoulders, a lift of the eyebrows, a tightening of the lips expressing hatred which dared not be spoken. ‘Oh, he was a bold laddie. He offended the English.’

William was filled with love for his country and hatred for the oppressors. As he wandered through the streets of Stirling he would say to himself, ‘It shall not always be so. One day …’ He was waiting for that day. It would be a day of fulfilment for William Wallace.

He would ride back to Dunipace, the dream of military glory with him. He would sit over his uncle’s table when they had eaten and talk with him. He had been with his uncle since his early boyhood because his father had thought that his brother, the priest of Dunipace, would be a good mentor for his son. William had shown from an early age that he was inclined to be rebellious; he had led his brothers – Malcolm his senior and John his junior – into trouble now and then. If he thought he had suffered from an injustice he would always have to avenge it and his father, Sir Malcolm Wallace, had decided that his brother, who was in the Church, and a quiet life at Dunipace might have a sobering effect on his son. The priest was also a scholar and could be entrusted with the boy’s education.

So William had left his parents and his two brothers and gone to his uncle. He had been attentive to his lessons and done well, but his wild nature had never been tamed and the boy who had gone to Dunipace was very much like the young man of eighteen who in his uncle’s study had heard of the plan to marry Edward’s son to the Maid of Norway and how when the little girl died Edward had made himself a kind of overlord and allowed weak John Baliol to be crowned King of Scotland.

He raved against the state into which his country had fallen. He cursed Edward.

His uncle, a peace-loving man, had warned him. ‘What is to be will be,’ he said. ‘It is no use railing against fate.’

‘What is to be will be, yes,’ retorted William. ‘But there is no reason why those of us who love our country should not help to make it proud again. We are the ones who will make it what it was intended to be.’

‘Leave well alone,’ advised his uncle. ‘You could go into the Church …’

‘Into the Church! Uncle, you know me.’

‘I know you well,’ replied his uncle sadly. ‘And I know this, that if you persist in speaking so freely to all you meet, if you show so clearly your hatred for the English, you will be in trouble.’

‘I’d welcome it,’ cried William. ‘And you will see what trouble I shall make for them.’

‘Edward is a mighty king. All know that. He is very different from his father. If he were not so concerned in his differences with France it would go ill with us.’

‘I will never sit happily under the tyrant’s heel.’

‘If you do not provoke them …’

‘Not provoke them! They occupy our towns! They swagger through our streets pushing us aside when they pass, taking our women, acting like conquerors. And you say, “Don’t provoke them!” They will learn they have not conquered Scotland … and never will.’

‘Wild talk,’ said his uncle soberly, ‘and it will take you to trouble.’

But William had never been one to turn away from trouble.

‘No,’ said his uncle, ‘we live in comparative peace. ’Tis true the English King stands over us. He wants to govern this land. He wants to take us as he has our fellow Celts in Wales. I see his reasoning. He wants to make this island one country.’

‘To be governed by him.’

‘He governs the English well.’

‘By God, Uncle, I believe you are on his side.’

‘Do not take the name of the Lord in vain in my house, I pray you, nephew. I am on the side of peace and I see a time when, if our countries were as one with one king, much bloodshed could be saved.’