The Hammer of the Scots (52 page)

Yes, it was true. That very one who should have given him most pleasure was the one who caused him the most anxiety. His son Edward.

He often said to himself: ‘Pray God I do not die just yet. God help England if my son were the King.’

He had a duty to live, to conquer Scotland, to make England great and to keep young Edward from the throne until he was more mature, more fitted to rule.

Edward was no longer a boy; he was getting on for twenty years of age. A man indeed. Yet how frivolous he was. Rarely had so much talent been wasted, for Edward was by no means unintelligent. He was tall and handsome and had ability. Alas, he was lazy and frivolous and liked to indulge in rough practical jokes which sometimes caused distress to those about him. There had been complaints and these disturbed the King because they were well-founded.

He often thought of the baby he had presented to the Welsh. What a bonny child he had been and how he and Eleanor had gloried in him! But something had gone wrong somewhere. Had Eleanor accompanied her husband on his travels when she should have been giving more attention to their children? Had he failed in some way?

He was sorry now that he had given him Piers Gaveston as a playfellow. He had only wanted to honour Gaveston’s boy. Gaveston had been a good and loyal knight of Gascony who had served his King well and so, when he had died leaving a young son, Edward had taken him into the royal nurseries and he had been brought up there.

Edward and young Gaveston had become fast friends. They were inseparable and Edward seemed to care for him more than he did anyone else.

It was not a relationship the King liked to see. He must do something about it.

Young Edward must accompany him when he went to Scotland.

The time had come to make war on Scotland. The King was feeling his age. He was advancing into his sixties and would not admit that he more quickly became exhausted as he never had in the old days.

He was obsessed by his dream of uniting England, Scotland and Wales, and the desire had become fraught with a feverish determination because time was running out.

There was little opposition in the south and he marched through Edinburgh and Perth and as far north as Aberdeen. In Moray the lairds submitted to him and the only town which did not fall easily into his hands was Stirling. As usual the nightmare of the campaign was the fear of running out of supplies – one which must always affect a commander when his army was far from home.

He was going to make a treaty with Scotland and for this purpose he summoned all the lords to St Andrews but there was one with whom he would not make terms. That man was William Wallace.

Edward had thought a great deal about Wallace. He knew that he was in hiding somewhere. He believed he understood the man well for he was not unlike himself. Wallace was tenacious, a patriot of the first order. Wallace would never make terms and while he lived he was a danger.

He wanted Wallace delivered to him. He wanted to see Wallace in chains. He would never rest until he had Wallace’s head on a pike over London Bridge as he had Llewellyn’s and Davydd’s. That was the way to subdue a people. Kill their leaders and humiliate them. And what could be more detrimental to a hero than to have his head severed from his body and placed where all could jeer at it?

He had made it very clear that there would be no truce with Wallace. With that man it must be unconditional surrender. He had hinted that he would make it well worthwhile for one of Wallace’s associates to deliver their leader into his hands.

Wallace had become a spectre which haunted Edward’s dreams. Wallace was in hiding somewhere and the mountains of Scotland provided a secure refuge. It was not easy to hunt a man down there. At any moment Wallace would rise and there was evidently a fire in the man, an aura of heroism and leadership which inspired men. Edward wanted inspired men on his side not on the enemy’s.

He knew what it meant to men to follow a leader. He himself was an example of that. Would he have won his battle if he had not got onto his horse, ignoring his broken ribs, and ridden at the head of his men? He was sure the battle would have been lost if he had given way to the advice of his attendants and called his doctors. Soldiers were superstitious; they looked for omens. Listening to the legends of his ancestor, William the Conquerer, he knew what store that great man had set on superstition. He had never let it work against him, and even when it appeared to he would find some way of assuring those about him that it was in truth a good omen they were witnessing and he would twist the argument to make it so. Victory must be in men’s minds if they were going to conquer.

He could subdue Scotland and soon; but not while William Wallace lived.

There were many Scots who were not entirely loyal to the Scottish cause. Some had worked with him if they had thought it would be to their advantage. The Scots would know the hideouts in the mountains better than he did. Some might even know the whereabouts of Wallace.

He sought in his mind for the man he felt best fitted to the task and after a great deal of thought the name of Sir John Menteith came into his mind.

Menteith was an ambitious man who had been a prisoner in England briefly. Edward had released him on condition that he follow him to France and serve with him against the French. When Menteith had returned to Scotland he had joined Wallace and harried the English. He was a man who found little difficulty in changing sides and he liked to be on that of the winners. Edward despised such men but it would have been foolish not to admit that they had their uses.

It had come to Edward’s ears that Wallace was in the Dumbarton area and it was almost certain that he had a mistress there. Women had played a certain part in Wallace’s career. He had nearly been captured once at the house of a prostitute; and then the affair at Lanark had come about because the Sheriff Heselrig had killed another of his women.

Perhaps it would be better to seek him through a woman.

When he was in St Andrews he summoned Menteith and taking him into a private chamber sounded him on the matter of Wallace.

‘My Lord Menteith,’ he said, ‘I have thought much of that traitor William Wallace and it is my desire to bring him to justice. You know that he is one with whom I will make no terms. I want him … dead or alive.’

‘My lord King,’ replied Menteith, ‘Wallace is as slippery as an eel. It would not be easy to apprehend him.’

‘Nay. If it were we should have done so long ere this. But the man is a fugitive, hiding in the mountains, awaiting the moment when he may strike me in the back. It was hinted to me that he is in hiding somewhere in the Dumbarton area. I believe he does not like to stay too long away from the towns for he is rather fond of women. Would you say that, Menteith?’

‘I believe, my lord, that there have been some romantic adventures in his life.’

‘Then depend upon it, he will not want to cut himself away from the society of that sex. I believe there was an occasion when he was almost caught visiting a leman.’

‘That was so, my lord.’

‘I am ready to bestow the post of Sheriff of Dumbarton on one whom I would consider worthy to hold it … It is a fine town, Dumbarton, a fine castle.’

How Menteith’s eyes sparkled! He is my man, thought the King.

‘Of course, if the rebel was in an area it would be the duty of one soon to be its sheriff to deliver him to me.’

Menteith nodded. ‘But a hard task, lord King.’

‘Hard tasks are meant for those worthy to hold high office. Once they have proved themselves honours come their way.’

‘My lord, you fill me with the desire to serve you well.’

‘Forget not, Menteith, that that is your duty.’

‘I shall not forget my duty, sire.’

‘Nor the rewards of duty. If you bring me Wallace I shall be grateful to you. But I want him … and I want him soon. While he lives in hiding we can never be sure when and where he will rise with fools to follow him.’

Menteith bowed and retired, his head full of plans.

The idea came to him suddenly when he thought of what the King had said. Through a woman, yes. There must be a woman in Wallace’s life. It was almost certain that he would come into Dumbarton or some such place at dead of night to visit some woman.

Then he remembered Jack Short, one of his servants, so called because of his small stature – a wiry man with darting ferret eyes. Menteith had employed him now and then for some unsavoury task. The man had few scruples and he and his brother – now dead – would do anything if the reward was good enough. Jack Short was a man who knew what was going on. He made it his business to. He could be plausible; he had an oily tongue and oddly enough numerous people could not see through his falseness.

There was one person for whom Jack Short had really cared. That was his brother – another so like himself that the two were often mistaken for each other. The brother had been killed in an affray and his killer had been William Wallace. Jack Short hated William Wallace.

Therefore he was an excellent choice.

Menteith summoned him and explained what he wanted. ‘Jack,’ he said, ‘if I can deliver Wallace to Edward I shall be rewarded and so will those who help me. I believe you could be of service to me in this matter and that would bring great good to you – apart from giving you the satisfaction of revenge.’

‘He killed my brother,’ said Jack Short, his eyes glowing in his usually cold face. ‘He was close to me when he died. Wallace lifted his sword and cut off my brother’s head. I was too late to get him but by God if …’

‘This is your opportunity. Let us decide how we shall set about this. Vengeance, and reward for it. A good combination, eh Jack?’

William Wallace was in fact living in a disused hut in the mountains close to Glasgow. With him were a few of his friends, Karlé and Stephen, those two faithful stalwarts, among them. Wallace always said that he would rather have twenty men he could trust than a thousand whom he couldn’t.

He was saddened by the way things had gone. Edward had changed everything. He might have known that Edward was a formidable enemy. He could have conquered the others: he had succeeded until Edward had arrived, with his armies and his military skills. Edward was a legend. So was Wallace. They were two strong men coming face to face, but Edward was the King of a great country and he had the arms, the men – everything that Wallace had so sadly lacked.