Robyn Young

“At that moment, Robert saw James Stewart turn to him. A jolt went through him as the steward nodded. Before anyone could begin speaking again, he headed out of the crowd towards Wallace, leaving his men looking on in surprise.‘We have chosen to elect this man as our guardian.’ Robert’s voice was harsh as he gestured to Wallace. ‘But he is still just the son of a knight.’‘You dare to challenge his election?’ demanded Adam. Other shouts of scorn and ire joined his.‘On the contrary,’ answered Robert, ‘I am suggesting that a man of William Wallace’s achievements, a man who is to be sole guardian of Scotland, bears a title befitting his prowess.’ He faced the crowd. ‘I, Sir Robert Bruce, Earl of Carrick, offer William Wallace the honour of a knighthood.’ He turned to Wallace. ‘If he will bend before me.”

“At the negotiations in Irvine, it became clear to me that there was no side I could stand on. The English despise me and my countrymen don’t trust me. Wallace and the others are rebelling in the name of Balliol. I cannot fight with them. It would be as much a betrayal of my oath as when I was fighting for England. I know what I must do. What I should have done months ago.’Robert felt embarrassed, about to say the words. Inside, his father’s voice berated him, but he silenced it. ‘I want you to weave my destiny,’ he finished. ‘As you did for my grandfather.’When she spoke, her voice was low. ‘And what is your destiny?’He met her eyes now, all hesitation and embarrassment gone. ‘To be King of Scotland.’A smile appeared at the corners of her mouth. It wasn’t a soft smile. It was hard and dangerous. ‘I will need something of yours,’ she said, rising.”

“From the woods that surrounded the burgh came a mass of men. Some rode, others ran. All carried weapons, mainly axes or spears. A few wore mail shirts and cloaks, but most just leather aketons. Among them were a handful of men clad in the short tunics favoured by Highlanders. These men were bare fromthigh to foot, an alarming sight to Ormesby, who had only heard rumour of these wild men of the north. Asthey came, they roared a multitude of battle cries. Ormesby caught one name in the din, issuing from a group of mailed riders who followed a burly man on a finely caparisoned horse.‘For Douglas!’ they howled. ‘For Douglas!’Below, the townsfolk were scattering. The English soldiers had formed a tight knot outside the hall, blades drawn, but even as Ormesby watched, the forlorn group of beggars he had seen threw off their ragged skins and furs, revealing thickly muscled warriors. They fell upon the soldiers with savage cries,daggers thrusting.Footsteps sounded on the hall stairs. The door burst open and two soldiers appeared. ‘We must go, sir!’The clerks and officials were already hastening across the chamber. Donald was running with them.Ormesby remained rooted. ‘Who are they?’ he demanded, his voice high as he turned back to the window, seeing the horde rushing into the town. His eyes fixed on a giant of a man running, almost lopingin the front lines. Taller than all those around him, agile in the stride, he wore a simple dark blue tunicand wide-brimmed kettle hat. The other men seemed to be running in unruly formation around him. But it was the blade in the man’s hands that Ormesby’s eyes were drawn to. He had never seen such a sword, so broad and long the giant had to grasp it in both hands as he came. Another name now became audible in the roar of the mob.‘Wallace! Wallace!”

“You still haven’t told me what King Edward will do when he has all four relics,’ Robert said, fixing Humphrey with his gaze.‘We aren’t privy to all his plans, Robert, as I’ve told you. Only the men of the Round Table know his full intentions. We have to prove ourselves worthy to be trusted as they are.’‘Do you not ever wonder?’Humphrey paused. ‘I just know my kingwill do what is best for my kingdom.’Robert said nothing. He thought of hisown kingdom, beleaguered by Edward’sinterference, and a ghost of a threat drifted in his mind.But even as it appeared, he pushed itaway. Scotland was its own kingdom, with its own king. It wasn’t Wales or Ireland, fractured and isolated. However much Edward had desired the Crown of Arthur he had come here, first and foremost, to put down a rebellion. Yet still, on this bleak shore with Humphrey beside him, Robert felt a sense of standing at a crossroads with many paths leading away before him. In his mind they all led into darkness.”

“Robert held back in the press, letting others go after the rebels fleeing before the charge. Their orders were to slaughter anyone found in the streets to provoke a quick surrender, after which mercy would be granted to those left alive. He had seen death throughout his life, but the duel he’d had with Guy was the closest he’d come to ending someone’s life and even then there had been rules imposed. There were no such boundaries here. The freedom to kill was a dizzying, precipitous feeling. But the veteran knights were pushing in behind him, forcing the issue. With a snarl of frustration at his own hesitation, Robert fixed on one man darting away down an alley and spurred his horse out of the crush in pursuit.”

“Robert rode beneath the banner of Carrick, the dragon shield on his left arm. He wore it proudly now in common cause; this symbol of Arthur, the warrior king. As he caught sight of Humphrey, the knight raised his fist in a defiant gesture that Robert returned. Today, God willing, they would finish this campaign. He wanted to return home blooded, to be able to tell his grandfather that he too had won his spurs in the king’s war. Nerves and anticipation battled within him, his breaths coming hard and fast in the tight encasement of his helm.”

“Affraig’s eyes moved to the oak tree that towered above her, its branches like antlers against the white sky. Her gaze travelled up to the weathered web that hung from one of the higher boughs, the slender noose swinging inside. In her mind she saw herself weaving it while she chanted words against Malachy’s wrathful curse. She remembered the lord’s hand settling on her shoulder, the hiss of the fire,his breath on her neck and, outside, stars falling like fiery rain. Her gaze moved west towards Turnberry.Her memory clouded with thoughts of the earl, but as she thought of his son her mind cleared. The stars had been falling too on the night he was born. She remembered seeing Mars, full and red, a bloody eye winking in the black.”

“Across the hillside, above the chaos of Montfort’s left flank, a scarlet banner was raised by Edward’s men, the dragon at its centre a terror wreathed in golden flames, a sign that there was to be no mercy. The noblemen who survived the battle would be taken prisoner and ransomed, but no such chivalry awaited the foot soldiers beyond.”

“The unhorsing, wounding and capture of the enemy was sought, for corpses fetched little ransom, but in the blind chaos of the charge, death was a whore who did not care who she drew into her darkness, veteran knight or callow bachelor.”

“Edward shifted from one foot to the other, then headed to one of the younger knights from Carrick, leading his horse and their father’s white mare. ‘Sir Duncan, will you hold the horses?’ ‘That’s your task, Master Edward,’ chided the knight.John de Warenne had ascended the platform beside Bishop Bek and was addressing the assembly. There were more men than benches and those who hadn’t found a place had crowded in behind. Robert could no longer see his father and grandfather. He glanced round as Edward spoke again.‘Please, Duncan.’ ‘Why?’ Edward paused. ‘If you do, I won’t tell my father you once tried to kiss Isabel.’ The knight laughed. ‘Your sister? I’ve never even spoken to her.’ ‘My father doesn’t know that.’ ‘You’re jesting,’ said the knight, but his smile had disappeared. Edward didn’t respond. The young knight’s face tightened, but he held out his hand to take the reins. ‘Wherever you’re going, you had better be back here before the earl.”

“The Red Comyns had always done well behind the throne. The king was but an instrument, as his father used to say. They were the musicians.”

“Mas ela sabia, lá no fundo ela sabia. Ela tinha sido um recipiente onde o rei tinha despejado a sua angústia e o seu desespero. Estando tão vazia, ela deixara-se encher pelo negrume dele. Para ele, a criança que dava pontapés e que sonhava dentro dela não era mais do que uma semente que ele tinha plantado por engano, uma erva daninha que tinha de ser arrancada”

“Há homens nesses tronos, comandante, homens sem escrúpulos, ávidos de poder, que poriam em perigo nações inteiras para satisfazer o seu desejo de supremacia”

“Garin tinha sido um peão, um peão fraco e controlado. Era o rei Eduardo quem tinha sido o verdadeiro traidor, o lobo no aprisco, o causador de todas as suas desgraças. Ele tinha sido o seu guardião. Tinha-se tornado o seu inimigo”

“Will combatia impiedosamente, metodicamente, golpeando os homens à volta dele com o único objectivo de os derrubar antes que eles o matassem. Eles já não eram homens. Na sua visão, eles eram alvos que tinham de ser destruídos. O instinto tinha dominado o intelecto e o remorso tinha-se desvanecido por necessidade. Agora, ele era uma máquina alimentada por uma necessidade de sobreviver, pelo medo e pela adrenalina. Rugia enquanto os golpeava com a espada, o gume da lâmina a atravessar qualquer área de carne exposta que atingia”

“There is a time for faith, Bishop, and a time for action. It would be a foolish man who stood on a battlefield and faced an army with a Bible in his hands. We are here to do the bidding of our Lord Almighty, but it is through deeds, as well as piety, that we serve Him.”