"Rise, lords!" exclaimed Wallace. "Kneel not to me--I am but your fellow
soldier. Bruce lives; God has yet preserved to you a lawful monarch."
Eagerly they sought to persuade him, but in vain. He consented to hold
the kingdom for the rightful sovereign, under the name of regent, but
the crown he would not accept. He found a nation waiting on his nod--the
hearts of half a million people offered to his hand.
On the night before the English prisoners were to start on their journey
southwards to be exchanged with Scottish nobles--an exchange after
which, by England's will, the war was to continue--Lady Mar, whose
husband was now governor of Stirling Castle, gave a banquet in honour of
the departing knights. The entertainment was conducted with that
chivalric courtesy which a noble conqueror always pays to the
vanquished.
But the spirit of Wallace was sad amid the gaiety; seeking quiet, he
wandered along a darkened passage that led to the chapel, unobserved
save by his watchful enemy De Valence--whose hatred had been intensified
by the knowledge that Helen, whose hand he had again demanded in vain,
loved the regent. He had guessed her secret, and she had guessed
his--the design he had of murdering the foe who had twice spared his
life.
As Wallace entered the chapel and advanced towards the altar, he saw a
woman kneeling in prayer. "Defend him, Heavenly Father!" she cried.
"Guard his unshielded breast from treachery!" It was Helen's voice.
Wallace stepped from the shadow; Helen was transfixed and silent.
"Continue to offer up these prayers for me," he said gently, "and I
shall yet think, holy maid, that I have a Marion to pray for me on
earth, as well as in heaven."
"They are for your life," she said in agitation, "for it is menaced."
"I will inquire by whom," answered he, "when I have first paid my duty
at this altar. Pray with me, Lady Helen, for the liberty of Scotland."
As they were praying together, Helen rose with a shriek and flung her
arms around Wallace. He felt an assassin's steel in his back, and she
fell senseless on his breast. Her arm was bleeding; she had partly
warded off the blow aimed at him, and had saved his life. He took her up
in his arms, and bore her from the chapel to the hall.
"Who has done this?" cried Mar, in anguish.
"I know not," replied Wallace, "but I believe some villain who aimed at
my life." With a gasp he sank back unconscious on the bench.
Helen was the first to recover, and while they were staunching the blood
that flowed from Wallace's wound, Lady Mar turned to her step-daughter.
"Will you satisfy this anxious company," said she sneeringly, "how it
happened that you should be alone with the regent? May I ask our noble
friends to withdraw, and leave this delicate investigation to my own
family?"
Wallace, recovering his senses, rose hastily.
"Do not leave this place, my lords, till I explain how I came to disturb
the devotions of Lady Helen;" Straightforwardly and with dignity, he
told the story of what had happened, and the jealous Lady Mar was
silenced.
"But who was the assassin?" they asked.
"I shall name him to Sir William Wallace alone," said Helen.
But the dagger, found in the chapel, revealed the truth. The chiefs
clamoured for De Valence's death, Wallace again granted him life. Next
morning, as the cavalcade of southern knights was starting, Wallace rode
up and handed the dagger to De Valence.
"The next time that you draw this dagger," said he, "let it be with a
more knightly aim than assassination."
De Valence, careless of the looks of horror and contempt cast upon him
by his fellow countrymen, broke it asunder, and, throwing the fragments
in the air, said to the shivered weapon, "You shall not betray me
again!"
"Nor you betray our honours, Lord de Valence," said De Warenne sternly.
"As lord warden of this realm, I order you under arrest until we pass
the Scottish lines."
After the exchange of prisoners had been effected, Wallace invaded the
enemy's country, and brought rich stores from the barns of
Northumberland to the starving people of desolated Scotland. The
reduction followed of all the fortresses held by the English in Northern
Scotland. King Edward himself was now advancing; but a greater peril
menaced the regent than that of the invader.
Many of the nobles, headed by the Earls of Athol, Buchan, and March,
were bitterly jealous of the ascendancy of a low-born usurper--for so
they called Scotland's deliverer--and conspired to restore the
sovereignty of Edward. Their chance of treachery came when Wallace faced
the English host at Falkirk. When the battle was joined, Athol, Buchan,
and all the Cummins, crying, "Long live King Edward!" joined the
English, and flung themselves upon their fellow-countrymen. Grievous was
the havoc of Scot on Scot; and beside the English king throughout the
battle stood Bruce, the rightful monarch, aiding in the destruction of
his nation's liberties.
But on the night of that disastrous day, a young stranger in splendid
armour came secretly to Wallace. It was Robert Bruce, seeking to offer
his services to his country and to wipe out the stigma that his father
had cast upon his name.
_IV.--The Traitors_
None fought more fiercely than Robert Bruce in the attack made by
Wallace's men upon the English on the banks of the Carron, and the
traitor, Earl of March, fell by the young warrior's own hand. But
treason, smitten on the field of battle, was rampant at Stirling; and
when Wallace returned there, bowed with grief at the death of Lord Mar,
he found the Cummin faction--Lady Mar's kinsmen--in furious revolt
against the "upstart." His resolution was quickly made; he would not be
a cause of civil strife to his country.
"Should I remain your regent," said he to the assembled people, "the
country would be involved in ruinous dissensions. I therefore quit the
regency; and I bequeath your liberty to the care of the chieftains. But
should it be again in danger, remember that, while life breathes in this
heart, the spirit of Wallace will be with you still!" With these words
he mounted his horse, and rode away, amidst the cries and tears of the
populace.
Lady Mar, whose secret hopes had been stirred afresh by the death of her
husband, heard with consternation of Wallace's departure. But he went
away without a thought of her; his mission was the rescue of Helen, to
which he had pledged himself by the death-bed of Lord Mar. Helen had
been kidnapped by De Valence, and carried off by him to his castle in
Guienne.
Wallace disguised himself as a minstrel, and travelled to Durham, where
King Edward held his court, and where young Bruce, taken captive, was
now confined. By making himself known to the Earl of Gloucester, Wallace
was able to gain access to Bruce, whose father was now dead, and to lay
his plans before him. These were that Bruce should escape from Durham,
that the two should travel to Guienne and rescue Helen, and that they
should then, as unknown strangers, offer their services to Scotland.
The plans were fulfilled. Bruce escaped, De Valence was once more
deprived of his prey--he did not suspect the identity of the two knights
until after Helen had been delivered from his clutches--and the pair
fought as Frenchmen in the wars of Scotland. To few was the truth
revealed, and only one discovered it--a knight wearing a green plume,
who refused to divulge his name until Wallace proclaimed his own on the
day of victory.
But the secret could not be kept for ever, and it was Wallace himself
who cast off the disguise. At the battle of Rosslyn the day seemed lost;
an overwhelming mass of English bore down the Scots; men were turning to
fly. The fate of Wallace's country hung on an instant. Taking off his
helmet, he waved it in the air with a shout, and, having thus drawn all
eyes upon him, exclaimed: "Scots, follow William Wallace to victory!"
The cry of "Wallace!" turned the fugitives; new courage was diffused in
every breast; defeat was straightway changed into triumph.
Soon after this declaration the knight of the green plume came to
Wallace, tore off the disguise of knighthood, and stood before him the
bold and unblushing Countess of Mar. It was unconquerable love, she
said, that had induced her to act thus. Wallace told her once more that
his love was buried in the grave, and entreated her to refrain from
guilty passion. Angered, she thrust a dagger at his breast; he wrenched
the weapon from her hand, and bade her go in peace.
Ere sunset next evening he heard that he had been accused of treason to
Scotland, and that his accuser was the Countess of Mar.
He faced the false charge, and repudiated it. But such was the hatred of
the Cummins and their supporters that it was plainly impossible for him
to serve Scotland, now that his name was known, without causing
distraction in the country's ranks. He wandered forth, alone save for
his ever-faithful follower, Edwin Ruthven, a price set upon his head by
the relentless Edward, leaving his enemies to rejoice, and his friends
to despair of Scotland's liberty.
_V.--Tragedy and Triumph_
As Wallace journeyed in the regions made sacred to him by Marion's
memory, he was met by Sir John Monteith, who offered to conduct him to
Newark-on-the-Clyde, where he might embark on a vessel about to sail.
Wallace gladly accepted the offer, little guessing that his old and
trusted friend Monteith was in the pay of England.
As he and Edwin reposed in a barn near Newark, a force of savages from
the Irish island of Rathlin burst in upon them. Wallace, with a giant's
strength, dispersed them as they advanced. But a shout was heard from
the door. Monteith himself appeared, and an arrow pierced Edwin's heart.
Wallace threw himself on his knees beside the dying boy. They sprang
upon him, and bound him. Wallace was Edward's prisoner.
As he lay in the Tower of London awaiting death, a page-boy entered
nervously, and turned pale when he cast his eyes upon him. He started;
he recognised the features of her who alone had ever shared his
meditations with Marion.
"Lady Helen," he cried, "has God sent you hither to be His harbinger of
consolation?"
"Will you not abhor me for this act of madness?" said Helen, in deep
agitation. "And yet, where should I live or die but at the feet of my
benefactor?"
"Oh, Helen," exclaimed Wallace, "thy soul and Marion's are indeed one;
and as one I love ye!"
At that moment the Earl of Gloucester entered, and to this true friend
Wallace expressed his wish that he and Helen should be united by the
sacred rites of the church. Gloucester retired, and returned with a
priest; the pair were joined as man and wife.
Two days later Wallace stood on the scaffold. The executioner approached
to throw the rope over the neck of his victim. Helen, with a cry, rushed
to his bosom. Clasping her to him, he exclaimed in a low voice: "Helen,
we shall next meet to part no more. May God preserve my country, and--"
He stopped--he fell. Gloucester bent to his friend and spoke, but all
was silent. He had died unsullied by the rope of Edward.
"There," said Gloucester, in deepest grief, "there broke the noblest
heart that ever beat in the breast of man."
* * * * *
It was the evening after Bannockburn. The English hosts were in
panic-stricken flight; Scotland at last was free. Robert Bruce, king and
conquerer, entered the Abbey of Cambuskenneth with his betrothed,
Isabella, and stood before the bier of Wallace.
Helen, wan and fragile, was borne on a litter from the adjoining
nunnery. In her presence Bruce and Isabella were wedded; her trembling
hands were held over them in blessing; then she threw herself prostrate
on the coffin.
At the foot of Wallace's bier stood the iron box that the dead chieftain
had so faithfully cherished. "Let this mysterious coffer be opened,"
said the Abbot of Inchaffray, "to reward the deliverer of Scotland
according to its intent" Bruce unclasped the lock, and the regalia of
Scotland was discovered!
"And thus Wallace crowns thee!" said the Bishop of Dunkeld, taking the
diadem from its coffer and setting it on Brace's head.
But Helen lay motionless. They raised her, and looked upon a clay-cold
face. Her soul had fled.
* * * * *