4
There was, at this time, a certain public robber or brigand, Willelmus Walays by name, who had been many times outlawed. He, during his flight and wanderings, gathered around him all outlaws like himself, who chose him as their leader, and speedily increased to a multitude.
WALTER OF HEMINGBURGH, IN WALLACE PAPERS, p.33
At that time there was in Scotland a certain youth, Willelmus le Waleis by name, an archer who obtained his living by means of his bow and his quiver; of base descent, and mean birth and training.
COTTONIAN MS, IN WALLACE PAPERS, p.8
BY stating that the five Englishmen who tried to seize William’s catch of fish on the bank of the Irvine Water were retainers of Henry de Percy, Blind Harry has led successive biographers and historians to assume that this incident must have occurred late in 1296 or early in 1297. Thus the period of Wallace’s outlawry and brigandage, before emerging as a national leader, is invariably telescoped into a matter of months. If we accept that William was in his early thirties at the time of his death in 1305, and was eighteen when he slew young Selby, we are faced with the problem of the empty years, before ‘he raised his head’. If the incident at Irvine Water took place in 1292, during the Interregnum when the south of Scotland at least was occupied by English troops, then it must be assumed that William was an outlaw from that time onwards. Harry records that he was protected by his kinsman, Wallace of Auchencruive, and found refuge in Leglen Wood on the banks of the River Ayr, and that in later years this was one of his favourite hiding-places. Centuries later, this beautiful wooded dell was to be a haunt of the young Robert Burns, who would walk twelve miles from Lochlie on Sunday afternoons to pay his respects ‘with as much devout enthusiasm as ever pilgrim did to Loretto; and as I explored every den and dell where I could suppose my heroic Countryman to have sheltered, I recollect (for even then I was a Rhymer) that my heart glowed with a wish to be able to make a Song on him, equal to his merits’. In 1929 the Burns Federation erected a cairn linking the patriot and the patriot-bard.
Remarkably little is recorded of the state of Scotland during the reign of King John. Of one thing we may be certain, however, and that is that the continuing independence of Scotland was largely illusory. It seems highly unlikely that Edward surrendered all the castles and ‘Strengths’ of the country to John Balliol and withdrew all his forces at the end of 1292. It is more probable that the more important fortresses remained in English hands for strategic purposes. How else could Edward have enforced his legal summons on his increasingly recalcitrant vassal? That there were Englishmen aplenty, throwing their weight about in a sullen, ever more resentful countryside, there can be no doubt. This uneasy situation, of a country where the normal processes of law and order were breaking down, and where the common people were gradually asserting themselves against an alien presence, explains the rather cryptic lines of Blind Harry regarding his hero:
Although only eighteen years of age, he was seemly, robust and bold. He carried for weapons either a good sword or knife and with such he often had encounters with their English foes. When he found one without his fellow, such an one did no further harm to any Scot. To cut his throat or to stab him suddenly he did not miss. Nor could any one trace how he came by his death.1
This conveys the impression of Wallace going about the country, a cross between a serial killer and an avenging angel, striking down the hated Southron whenever the opportunity arose and leaving no clues as to the identity of the assailant. In Harry’s matter-of-fact words, he was ‘dispitfull and savage’ against anyone of the Saxon race. Over the centuries historians have been embarrassed by these revelations in their national hero, seeking to mitigate them by imputing a degree of bloodthirstiness to the poet himself. Others, however, remind us that the 1290s was a brutal period in which the mortality rate was high at the best of times and life was cheap. Public hangings for a wide variety of offences were commonplace and even quite minor misdemeanours might be punished by a severe flogging or mutilation. Conversely, there was not the intricate machinery of law and order that emerged in much later centuries. Men often took the law into their own hands; vendettas and revenge killings were frequent and customary. Furthermore, the escalating oppression of the Scots was regarded as justification enough for killing the hated English and their collaborators. There are many references in the chronicles of the period to such acts of lawlessness by brigands and robbers in Scotland, but little or no reference to the atrocities and reprisals inflicted on the often innocent bystanders, for the simple reason that the chroniclers were Englishmen who had a vested interest in presenting a rather one-sided view of events. ‘The iron of English oppression had already entered deep into the soul of Wallace.’2
As Blind Harry was weaving into the fabric of his poem many of the oral traditions concerning William Wallace, it seems probable that some at least of his adventures and exploits belong to the period before 1296, even though Harry places them in the context of a Scotland after the sack of Berwick and the downfall of Balliol. The sceptics, interpreting Harry literally, have tended to dismiss these feats of arms largely because they could not possibly have taken place in a matter of months. If, however, we can accept that they were probably spread over a period of three years (1293–96), they not only make more sense but explain how it was that, by the time Wallace emerged as a national leader, he had acquired the skills of generalship necessary to organise and lead a relatively large force, and take on what was arguably the finest, and certainly up to that time the most successful, army in Europe.
Historians who reject Blind Harry as pure fable, on the other hand, are faced with the problem of explaining the paradox of the landless younger son of a minor laird, a callow youth with neither wealth, land nor nobility, emerging as the undisputed leader of his country. One recent writer has raised the interesting speculation that William, unknown to his contemporaries far less posterity, had served his apprenticeship as a soldier. ‘It follows from this that he had left Scotland to fight, for no opportunity was to be found in his homeland.’3 Blithely overlooking the lack of any such foreign adventures, or even a hint of them, in the writings of Blind Harry, Wyntoun, Major or Fordun, it is further conjectured that William might have fought in Wales or France and that, mirabile dictu,he may even have fought for King Edward. Given the size and prowess of Wallace, and his undoubtedly charismatic qualities as a natural leader of men, it seems unlikely that such a young paladin could have gone for long in Edward’s service without coming to his notice. The singular lack of any reference to the young Scottish giant in either the records or the chronicles of the period makes such conjecture rather pointless. A more important point is that, had William ever served under Edward, this would surely have been brought out at that farce of a trial in 1305, as inescapable proof of the treason with which he was then charged. And William’s defiant denial of treason at that time surely rules out the possibility of service under Edward, even years earlier.
The likeliest solution to the enigma is that Wallace was a fugitive from the law. For some of the time he would have lain low in the great Selkirk Forest that spread over much of southern Scotland; but even in spite of his great height, which must have made him conspicuous, he might frequently have emerged in disguise from his lair to mingle with the crowds at fairs and visit the market towns. The youth who had been intended for the Church was apparently not averse to female company, if Harry is any guide in the matter, and this sometimes led him into narrow escapes from the forces of law and order.
The English chronicles, reviling the Scottish hero and indulging in character assassination, frequently refer to William as a brigand and a robber, and mention his ‘repeated outlawries’. Apart from this and the embroideries of Blind Harry, the only shred of evidence regarding William Wallace before his emergence as a guerrilla leader is contained in a document of 8 August 1296 indicting one
Matthew of York, accused by Cristiana of St John [Perth], of robbery, viz. on Thursday next before St Botulph’s Day, he came to her house at Perth in the company of a thief, one William le Waleys, and there by force took her goods and chattels viz. beer, to the value of 3s, replies that he is a clerk and not bound to answer. The jury finds the charge proved, and he is adjudged to penitence.4
Of course, by that time Scotland was in the process of being pacified by Edward. If this thief William le Waleys is our hero, he may well have been one of those countless ex-soldiers, lately in the service of John Balliol or the Earl of Buchan, now made redundant by the turn of events. It is more likely, however, that William had been living the life of the wandering brigand, a latter-day Robin Hood, not so very dissimilar from the picture conveyed by Harry. In any case, a proud young man of warlike mien could not easily forgive or forget the way in which his father was done to death, and would be quick to resent the contemptuous behaviour of the English garrisons. In one incident, according to Harry, Wallace paid a visit to Ayr in disguise and could not resist taking on an English churl who had a formidable reputation as a weight-lifter. This buffoon, for a groat (fourpence), would let anyone who dared strike him across his back with the rough pole which he carried. When William heard of this he offered the man three groats, and struck him with such force that he broke the fool’s back. The other soldiers tried to overpower Wallace but he brained one with the cudgel and broke the neck of another, then drew his sword, felled a third and slashed through the armpit armour of a fourth. Including the churl, Wallace killed five Englishmen in this brief but bloody encounter before leaping on his horse and making his escape to Leglen Wood.
William may have been lodging with his uncle Sir Ranald when there was yet another fracas in the streets of Ayr. On this occasion the sheriff’s servant had gone to the market to buy some fish and was on his way home when he was intercepted by Percy’s steward who demanded the fish. Wallace just happened to be passing by and interceded on behalf of the servant, telling Percy’s man to leave the boy alone. The steward responded by lunging at William with his hunting staff. William ducked, grabbed the man by his collar and plunged his dagger into his heart. Again, men-at-arms converged quickly on the scene, with the usual deadly result; but gradually the sheer weight of numbers, and the fact that the English troopers were armed with spears, forced Wallace back to the sea-wall. Desperately he tried to fight his way out of the press but he was borne to the ground and overpowered. He was bound hand and foot and carried to the Warden’s dungeon where he was closely confined in appalling conditions and deliberately weakened by slow starvation. Sir Ranald, at great personal risk, tried to ransom his young kinsman, but Percy was obdurate. The outlaw was left to rot in his dungeon, Celimus the gaoler being instructed to give him nothing but water and rotten herrings. Under these conditions it is hardly surprising that Wallace contracted a fever and hovered close to death. On the day appointed for his trial it was found that Celimus had gone too far; the cell door was opened to reveal that William was in a deep coma. Assuming that the prisoner was already dead, the English threw his corpse over a wall into a dungheap where he would be left to rot.
Fortunately news of this disgusting end came to an old retainer of the family, the woman who had been William’s first nurse at Ellerslie. This woman, living in the Newton of Ayr, went to the English and sought permission to take away his corpse to give it a decent burial. With great reluctance they eventually agreed, so the woman and her friends bore away the body to her house where, as she was cleansing him, she noticed a faint flickering of his eyelids. She spoon-fed him — even her daughter, who had a twelve-week-old baby, suckled the young giant and brought him back from the brink. Because rumours were flying round the town, the women were compelled to arrange a wake for Wallace to keep up the pretence of his death.
Harry relates that, about this time, Sir Thomas Rymour of Ercildoune, then in his seventies, was visiting St Mary’s monastery at Faile near Mauchline, when he heard the rumour of Wallace’s death. He was so alarmed at this that he sent a servant into Ayr to seek the truth. On being told later that William had, in fact, survived his ordeal he declared:
For sooth, ere he decease,
Shall many thousands in the field make end.
From Scotland he shall forth the Southron send,
And Scotland thrice he shall bring to peace.
So good of hand again shall ne’er be kenned.5
Sir Thomas, known to posterity as Thomas the Rhymer, had foretold the death of Alexander III and was widely regarded in his own lifetime as a soothsayer and prophet. This latest prophecy would soon have spread beyond the monastic cloisters. In modern parlance, a prophecy by Thomas the Rhymer was probably the best bit of public relations Wallace could have got; even the English became alarmed when news of it, coupled with Wallace’s miraculous escape, reached their ears. Incidentally, the effect on William himself would have been incalculable. In an age of superstition and a universal belief in the supernatural, such a prophecy by so renowned a personality must have given William a sense of his own destiny. His invincibility against the English, coupled with his resurrection, must have given him the feeling that he could achieve anything if he put his mind to it.
When he had recovered, William sent his old nurse, along with her daughter, baby and servant, to his mother at Ellerslie, fearing some reprisal once the truth leaked out. He himself could not return to Crosshouse as he did not wish to compromise his uncle. Instead, he set off on the road to Glasgow, ‘without belt, boss, buckler or band’, armed only with a rusty blade which he had found in a corner of the nurse’s house. On the way he stepped aside to let pass an English esquire named Longcastle, accompanied by two stout yeomen. Longcastle, ‘a soldier keen and terrible’, was suspicious and insisted on taking the young wayfarer back to Ayr with him. Inevitably Longcastle paid for his suspicion, William’s rusty blade slicing through the Englishman’s neck. One of the yeomen he decapitated with a single stroke; the other tried to flee but William chased after him and made such a stroke between his ribs as to expose his liver and lungs. Thus providentially William acquired horses, armour and silver, ‘for spending money he had none’.
At Riccarton he was reunited with his Uncle Richard who had mourned his death. This seems to have marked a turning point in William’s career. Hitherto he had been a lone maverick, lashing out at individuals or, at best, getting into an affray with no more than a handful of the hated English. Now the prophecy of Thomas the Rhymer gave him a broader purpose. Could he, indeed, a landless younger son, succeed where the great magnates of Scotland had so signally failed?
He was now joined by Sir Richard’s three sons Adam, Richard and Simon, as well as by Robert Boyd of Kilmarnock and other trusty companions. No longer the lone outlaw, but the leader of a band of desperate men, William became more ambitious. Adam, the eldest son of Sir Richard, was to become one of William’s most distinguished lieutenants. Mention has already been made of William’s nephews Edward Little and Tom Halliday who were his constant companions. Harry tells us that Halliday’s eldest daughter married young Sir John Graham who was later to become Wallace’s second-in-command, while a second daughter married Johnstone, whom Wallace subsequently appointed constable of Lochmaben Castle. Other relatives who joined his ranks about this time included young Patrick Auchinleck of Gilbank, William’s ‘eyme’ or uncle by marriage. Kirkpatrick of Closeburn in Dumfriesshire (a relative of the Roger Kirkpatrick who would help Robert Bruce slay Sir John Comyn a few years later) was described as ‘of kin’ and ‘to Wallace’s mother near’, suggesting a relationship on the Craufurd side. William Craufurd and one Kneland or Cleland are described by Harry as cousins. The network of nephews, cousins and far-out relatives was probably very extensive; far from being confined to Ayrshire it was spread right across Scotland from Dumfriesshire in the south to Moray in the north.6 The importance of this kinship cannot be overemphasised; it gave Wallace’s band ties of blood as well as a common purpose, at a time when conspirators did not dare trust outsiders. More significantly for long-term success, this network cut across regional, linguistic and cultural barriers, giving Cymric, Picto-Scottish, Anglo-Saxon and Danish elements a solidarity in the face of their common foe.
That these and other young men were drawn to William Wallace there is no denying. By now his exploits against the hated English must have spread far and wide. His miraculous escape from death and his retrieval from the grave must have had the ring of a resurrection about it, and the biblical parallels would not have been lost on William’s followers. His giant stature and extraordinary stamina inspired confidence in an age when men fought with weapons that relied on brawn rather than brain, far less technology. But he also possessed considerable personal magnetism and charm. He was an inspired leader and his men adored him. One of his earliest adherents was Kerly from Cruggleton, near the village of Sorbie in Wigtownshire. This Gallovidian Gael was his most faithful companion, accompanying him on many of his exploits and fighting by his side through thick and thin.
Blind Harry states that in July, ‘when the sweet flowers and all edible vegetation grow abundantly in every glen and hollow’, Wallace got the opportunity to avenge his father’s death. No date is given, of course; but from a reference to Percy’s men the year 1297 is implied. This would make a nonsense of chronology, so it has to be assumed that the ambush at Loudoun Hill took place the previous summer, before Sir Henry de Percy’s appointment. Writing more than a century and half after the event, Harry can be forgiven for an anachronism regarding Percy’s appointment. Some other English magnate would undoubtedly have preceded Percy but his name is not known. The death of Longcastle and his companions would have confirmed the rumour that the outlaw Wallace had cheated death. Harry has Percy debating how best this menace could be contained and draws the interesting conclusion that such a man must be won over to King Edward’s interest by a reward of gold and estates. Given the facility with which the great magnates changed sides in the late thirteenth century, such a course of action is not as far-fetched as it might seem.
In the meantime, however, William’s spies and informers brought him the news that Fenwick, the knight who had slain his father, was back in the south-west of Scotland, and had been entrusted with a delicate mission. He was in charge of a convoy bringing a large treasure of gold and silver, including the confiscated chattels of the Scottish churches, to Ayr. Harry has Fenwick travelling from Carlisle, which is unlikely in view of the fact that William laid a trap for Fenwick’s men at Loudoun Hill — ironically, the very spot where Fenwick had killed Sir Malcolm Wallace five years earlier. It seems more probable that Fenwick and his men were travelling from that other English stronghold, Lanark. This would explain why their route lay through Avondale and thence to the Irvine Valley. Loudoun Hill, dominating the head of the valley, was the ideal place for an ambush, where the track passed through a steep defile. Master John Blair, the Benedictine monk from Dunfermline, was one of their number when Wallace’s band took up their positions and was an eye-witness of the battle, for Harry cites him in describing the plan.
Harry also provides a detailed description of William’s mode of dress and armour at this period:
Ever since he left prison Wallace wore secure armour; from that time he always used good light harness in case of sudden strife; from it he would never sever. An habergeon he wore under his gown, a small steel helmet he had in his bonnet, and no more; his gloves, of plate cloth armour, well covered; and in his doublet, a close collar of steel. His face, which was always bare, he kept with his two hands, which worthy were and wicht.7
A habergeon was a neck-covering of chain-mail extending across the breast. The light armour worn by William could easily be concealed under tunic or jerkin, while the small steel basinet protecting his head could be covered by a cloth bonnet. Unlike the knights and pikemen of the period, however, William did not wear a closed helmet with a visor or eye-slits, hence the reference to protecting his face with his mailed hands.
According to Harry, Fenwick’s men-at-arms numbered nine score, while Wallace had fifty men at his command and right on his side. More importantly, William had the element of surprise and had chosen his ground well, at a point where the English could not ride more than two abreast. The Scots partially blocked the pass with rocks and boulders and fought on foot, thrusting their spears and swords under the bellies of the English horses where their armour was thinnest or non-existent. Wallace, with a well-ground spear, ran it through the corselet bar of the leading horseman with such force that the shaft split asunder. Swiftly he drew his great two-handed sword and finished off the hapless knight with a deadly stroke. The English tried to ride down the Scots but the latter held firm, withstanding repeated charges. Fenwick himself, armed with a sharp lance, attempted to skewer Wallace, who neatly sidestepped and struck a blow which sliced through the Englishman’s saddlebow. Fenwick was unseated and toppled from his destrier, where he was finished off by Robert Boyd with a stabbing sword. Adam Wallace of Riccarton slew Beaumont, a renowned squire, his blade shearing right through the Southron’s neck. In the general confusion riderless horses trampled many a warrior underfoot. Although greatly outnumbering their attackers, the English lost heart when their leaders were killed. About eighty of them managed to escape towards the south, leaving a hundred dead. Significantly, there is no mention of wounded in this tally, and it is assumed that no quarter was given. On the Scottish side three men were slain, two from Kyle and one from Cunninghame, who had left their homes to follow Robert Boyd. Quite casually, Harry recounts that the victors made the English servants lead the baggage horses to Clyde’s Forest: ‘when they were out of dread of being surprised they bound them fast and hanged them on the boughs of trees.’ Then, as an afterthought, he adds hastily, ‘Wallace spared none who were able for war, but he made his followers always forbear to injure women or priests.’ Brigand he might be, but Wallace still had certain standards.
This ambush netted Wallace two hundred pack-horses, heavily laden with provisions and wine, as well as the armoured destriers of the knights and men-at-arms, armour, weapons and money. ‘Both stuff and horses, in great abundance, he sent privately to friends round about, the remainder right happily they consumed on the spot.’ News of the battle spread like wildfire, the English exaggerating the size of the force which had attacked them. The Scots, who knew better, marvelled that fifty lightly armed men could have achieved so much. It seemed as if Sir Thomas’s prophecy was coming true. More importantly, however, William’s success destroyed the myth that heavily armoured horsemen were invincible: confronted by a well-disciplined force, on ground which was chosen by the latter and used to best advantage, the much-feared English cavalry could be defeated.
For twenty days the Wallace band remained in Clyde’s Forest. This densely wooded area south of Lesmahagow and extending to the Clyde is largely open moorland today, but Wallace’s Cave near Coalburn, a great sandstone fissure, is traditionally regarded as the outlaw’s stronghold in this area. The fame of the giant outlaw spread far and wide and other fugitives, broken men and youths seeking adventure and revenge, flocked to him. Percy is said to have journeyed to Glasgow to take counsel with Sir Aymer de Valence, ‘a powerful and false traitor, who dwelt in Bothwell’. This is poetic licence at its worst. Sir Aymer, Earl of Pembroke, and a nephew of Henry III, could not be described as a Scottish traitor by any stretch of the imagination. We have only Harry’s word for it that he was in Scotland at this period — in fact he seems to have been in Flanders till late in 1297, and as far as can be ascertained from historical records did not come to Scotland until 1298. He was one of the Guardians of Scotland appointed by King Edward in 1306 and, in that context, was a formidable opponent of Robert Bruce, which may be why Harry confused him with the earlier struggle involving Wallace.
According to the poem, however, it was Sir Aymer who advised Percy to make a truce with this ‘awful chieftain’. Sir Ranald Craufurd, threatened with dismissal and the forfeiture of his lands, was allegedly forced to act as intermediary in this deal. The sheriff sought out his nephew in Clyde’s Forest and came upon his company as they were sitting down to dine on some of the spoils of the ambush. Sir Ranald laid out the terms offered by the English; Wallace, strongly urged by Adam Wallace and Robert Boyd, agreed. The truce was to last ten months. The band thereupon broke up, each man going his own way. William rode with Sir Ranald and his retinue back to Crosshouse. This truce was said to have taken effect in August. Wallace, however, was not one to sit back idly. Chafing at inaction, he longed to visit Ayr again. One day, when his uncle was away from home, William, in company with fifteen comrades in disguise, slipped into the town. On this occasion he witnessed a passage-at-arms, under the challenge of a famous English champion. After the challenger beat several opponents his eye lit upon the young giant and he called him out. Wallace accepted the challenge and without further ado slew the champion. Then, and only then, it dawned on the English soldiers that the victor was that redoubtable outlaw Wallace. A fierce skirmish ensued between the two parties but once again the outlaw made good his escape to Leglen Wood, leaving twenty-nine English soldiers dead in the market place. Notwithstanding the fact that Percy was alleged to have lost three of his own kinsmen in the affray, Harry claims that he merely sent a messenger to Sir Ranald charging him to take surety of Wallace that he should keep away from market, town or fair, ‘so that he might be out of the way of the resorts of his soldiers’.
After a night in Leglen Wood, Wallace returned to Crosshouse where his uncle showed him Percy’s letter. William agreed to behave himself and stayed at Crosshouse for sixteen days. The fourth book of Harry’s epic begins in September 1296 with a great council at Glasgow, to which Sir Ranald and his retainers were summoned. William was with this entourage and rode ahead with his two trusty companions Gray and Kerly, overtaking Sir Ranald’s sumpter horse ridden by a young servant. Ahead, on the road, however, they caught up with the tailend of Percy’s baggage train at Hesilden east of Cathcart, a few miles south of Glasgow. When Percy’s men insolently commandeered Sir Ranald’s fresher pack-horse for their master, William tried to remonstrate, but to no avail. He must have had a hard time controlling his anger, but he let the English soldiers take the animal and leave their own jaded beast to carry Sir Ranald’s baggage. Presently William returned to the main party riding across the moor and reported what had taken place. Sir Ranald was philosophical about the matter and said it was better to lose a horse than the lives of good men over such a trifle.
As Harry reports it, the road to Cathcart was William’s road to Damascus. His reply to his uncle was measured and dignified, but unequivocal:
As surely as God shall save me, of this great wrong I shall have amends; and neither for truce, nor to please you, will I let it pass. With witness I herewith give up my allegiance, for, if in cowardice you choose to forfeit your rights, you, yourself, shall soon by them be done to death.8
Sir Ranald knew better than to argue with the young hothead, and let him go. He himself, however, thought it prudent to delay his journey and instead of pressing on to Glasgow that evening took lodgings at Mearns Cross. Meanwhile Wallace and his two comrades rode on and caught up with Percy’s baggage-train at East Cathcart. They immediately recognised Sir Ranald’s sumpter horse by its trappings, as well as the three horsemen and two foot soldiers who had behaved so insolently earlier in the day. The enemy, in turn, saw that the Scots meant business and turned with weapons drawn to meet this threat. Wallace dismounted, the better to fight on foot; drawing his huge sword he struck the leading horseman with such force ‘that both hat and head he made to fly’. A second he slashed across the face, splitting his skull asunder, and left a third mortally wounded. Meanwhile Kerly and Gray had despatched the yeomen. They then took the best of Percy’s pack-horses as well as the destriers, helped themselves to the pick of Percy’s harness, equipment and arms, besides gold, silver and jewels, and went on their way.
By nightfall they had entered Glasgow, but, crossing the wooden bridge over the Clyde in the town centre, they kept on riding until they were well clear of the city, it being Wallace’s intention to head for the Lennox, the wild, mountainous region around Loch Lomond. The three men made camp that night, but the following day rode on to a hostelry kept by true Scots who gave them shelter.
Meanwhile the council met and formally outlawed William Wallace. To this council may belong the undated document which granted to Edward de Keith, in the name of King Edward, ‘all goods and chattels of whatever kind he may gain from Messire William le Waleys the King’s enemy’.9 When Sir Ranald and his retinue arrived at ten o’clock, he and several of his party were arrested by the English and brought before the court to answer for the highway robbery and murder. Sir Ranald, however, produced a cast-iron alibi and denied all knowledge of Wallace’s murderous actions. The charges were dropped against the sheriff, but his nephew and his companions were publicly posted as outlaws. Now all men’s hands were turned against them. Sir Ranald was forced to swear a mighty oath that he would not communicate with his nephew. Wallace’s band was widely dispersed and this seemed to represent the nadir in his fortunes, but in the Lennox he made contact with Sir Malcolm, Earl of Lennox, who offered him sanctuary and even promised to make him master of his household. Contrary to Harry’s statement that Earl Malcolm ‘had not made bond’, he had in fact sworn fealty to King Edward not once but twice (on 14 March and 28 August 1296), but he was one of the few Celtic magnates of Scotland left and, secure in his island fortress of Inchmurrin in Loch Lomond, he could take his allegiance to the English sovereign lightly.
Wallace, however, declined the offer. He was not content to lie low in the wilds of Dunbartonshire; instead, he soon recruited another band, eventually having ‘sixty likely men at wages’. Some of these were apparently Irishmen, driven out of their own island by one of Edward’s lieutenants named MacFadyen, and numbering among them one Stephen of Ireland who was to become, like Kerly, one of William’s most trusted supporters. Another adherent at this time was a strange character called Fawdon, ‘melancholy of complexion, heavy of stature, dour in countenance, sorrowful, sad, ever dreadful and without pleasance’. All in all, this seems to have been a pretty rough bunch of murderers and cut-throats; William ordered Gray and Kerly to stick close to him at all times, until he trusted the others better.
Wallace’s exploits in the ensuing months make him sound like a latter-day Robin Hood: killing and robbing the English and giving the spoils to the Scots ‘with judgment and in a handsome manner’, disdaining property himself although he had an abundance of gold to spend.
With his sixty desperadoes, Wallace headed north. Their first exploit was the capture of the pele-tower at Gargunnock, a little west of Stirling. He sent two scouts at midnight to spy out the land; they returned to report that the garrison security was lax, the sentry asleep, the drawbridge down and workmen going in and out without question. Wallace and his men managed to gain entrance to the castle but found the door secured with a stout bar. William wrenched the bar with his bare hands, ripping out some of the masonry with it, then smashed down the door with his boot. The noise awoke the sentry who lashed out with a pikestaff which William wrested from his hands and then brained him with. By now the constable, Thirlwall, and his troops had been roused but they were speedily despatched to the last man. The women and children of the garrison were spared, though confined in the dungeon. The corpses of the garrison were concealed in the ditch and the drawbridge was raised. Wallace and his gang remained in the pele for four days, undetected, before they gathered up their spoils, liberated the women and children, torched the little castle, and made their getaway.
Travelling under cover of darkness and mostly on foot, they made their way with Stephen as their guide to the River Forth, crossing at Kincardine. On the thickly wooded bank of the Teith William shot a large deer which gave them ample fresh meat. Crossing the deep waters of the Teith, they entered Strathearn and holed up during the daytime in a thicket, sallying forth at dusk to kill each and every Englishman they ran across: ‘Some they took by sleight and some they slew by force.’ At Blackford in Perthshire, for example, they encountered five riding to Doune, whom they slew and stripped before throwing the corpses into the river. Thereafter they crossed the Earn and headed for Methven Wood where they found ‘a land of great abundance’ and rested for some time.
William was not a man to remain inactive for long. He was curious to visit St Johnstone (Perth) so, leaving Stephen in command during his absence, he set forth with seven men. At the gate to the town he was accosted by the mayor or provost, to whom he gave his name as Will Malcolmson from Ettrick Forest. The mayor explained that his men were on the lookout for the outlaw Wallace. William replied that he had heard tell of this man but could give no news of him. The governor of Perth at this time was Sir Gerard Heron and his lieutenant was Sir John Butler, son of Sir James Butler of Kinclaven. Regretting that he had neither the men nor the arms to seize this town, William reconnoitred it thoroughly, learning of the strength and disposition of the enemy.
On discovering that Sir James Butler was returning to Kinclaven, Wallace retraced his steps to Methven Wood and gathered his band. The following day they advanced on Kinclaven, on the right bank of the Tay, a little above the confluence with the Isla. There the outlaws hid in a wooded hollow near the castle. Early in the afternoon William’s scouts brought news that three outriders had gone past, but Wallace waited until the main body of ninety horsemen, with Sir James in their midst, had come up. The numbers were more evenly matched on this occasion, but the English cavalry thought that they were far superior to the lightly armed Scots, who were mostly on foot. With lances levelled they charged forward but, mindful of the lesson learned at Loudoun Hill, the Scots stood their ground and slashed at the legs and bellies of the horses, disabling them and throwing their riders to the ground where they could be more easily put to the sword. Wallace himself clove Sir James ‘deeply into bone and brain right through all his armour’. After the death of their commander the remnant turned tail and fled, leaving sixty dead on the field. The panic-stricken survivors clattered into the castle with the doughty Wallace hard on their heels; single-handedly he secured the drawbridge until his men could catch up. Then they entered the fortalice and slew every man, sparing only the women, Lady Butler, the children and two priests, all of whom they confined closely while they systematically plundered the castle and dismantled its fortifications. Setting the women and priests free, the Scots burned down the castle and withdrew into Shortwood Shaw. In this action Wallace lost five of his own men.
Lady Butler and her party hastened to Perth to give the alarm. Immediately Sir Gerard Heron mustered a thousand heavily armed cavalry to pursue the marauders. Five squadrons were ordered to surround the wood while the sixth, led by Sir John Butler, made a direct assault. Wallace had taken up a strong position, a cleugh fortified on three sides by a hastily improvised stockade of tree-trunks, with an open space in front. Here he was determined to make a stand. Butler had a hundred and forty Lancashire longbowmen with eighty spearmen in close support. Wallace had only twenty archers, and few of them were skilled with the longbow, being more used to handling spears and swords. William himself was equipped with a strongbow which, like Ulysses in Greek mythology, none but he had the strength to draw. He had only fifteen arrows but he made each one count and despatched the enemy with deadly accuracy. The English archers, however, had an unlimited supply of arrows and rained down a deadly hail on the Scots, who were saved only by the thickness of the surrounding woods. William himself had a very narrow escape when an English marksman shot him ‘under the chin, through a collar of steel, on the left side, and hurt his neck some deal’. This, incidentally, explains the near-contemporary French description of Wallace which states that he had a wen or scar on the left side of his neck. Fortunately, on this occasion, William spotted his assailant and, darting out from his lair, struck the archer with his great sword, cutting his head off.
At a crucial point in this skirmish, the attackers were reinforced by a company of three hundred men-at-arms led by William Lorn (Sir William de Lorraine) from Gowrie, intent on avenging the death of his uncle, Sir James Butler. This was a desperate moment for Wallace. He swiftly harangued his men: ‘Here is no choice but either do or die. We have the right with us.’ The Scots, now reduced to fifty men, were confronted with a well-armed force numbering ten times as many. The battle raged fiercely and, in spite of his arduous efforts with his ‘burly brand’, Wallace was forced to withdraw his men and seek refuge in the thickest part of the wood, where the ascent was steep and craggy. Here they made a desperate defence against their violent foes. In the mêlée Wallace came face to face with Butler whose father he had so recently killed, but the English knight was saved by the bough of a tree which William sliced through, bringing it down on his head. Lorraine, coming to the aid of his cousin, was cut down by Wallace who managed to get back into his little stronghold unscathed. The news of Lorraine’s death spurred on Sir Gerard Heron who ordered his squadrons into the wood, to close in for the kill; but the Scots managed to slip out on the north side, leaving seven of their comrades for dead. In the confusion Wallace’s band was well away before the Englishmen realised it.
That night the Scots retreated into Cargill Wood to tend their wounds. Mercifully the English did not pursue them, being more intent on recovering the booty which Wallace had taken from Kinclaven, but all they found was Sir James Butler’s horse. They then withdrew back to Perth, more despondent than elated. The following night, however, the Scots returned cautiously to Shortwood Shaw and recovered their cache of booty where they had concealed it under the rocks. By dawn they had reached Methven Wood again and established themselves in a ‘strength’ in Elcho Park where they remained for some time, undetected by their foes.
It was at this juncture that William’s human frailty almost let them down. Chafing at inaction as usual, and keen to return to Perth where he had a ‘leman’ (mistress), he disguised himself as a monk and went into the town to keep a tryst with a girl whom he had presumably met on his first visit. On this occasion, however, he was recognised on account of his great height which no monkish garb could conceal. The English kept him under surveillance and after he had departed they interrogated the frightened girl who divulged the date and time of their next assignation.
On that day, however, the girl blurted out to William what had happened and was in a wretched state, wondering what would happen. With great presence of mind, Wallace resorted to a subterfuge which had helped him before. He donned the largest of her gowns and crammed her cap on his head. Then, secreting his sword under the gown and wrapped in her voluminous hooded cloak, he proceeded by the nearest way to the south gate. To the guards he said in a falsetto voice, ‘To that chamber, quickly, Wallace is locked in!’ They were deceived and let him pass, but two watchmen outside the gate noted this ‘stalwart quean’ walking with large, rapid strides, and went after her. On the South Inch, William turned to face his pursuers whom he left dead in a matter of seconds. Meanwhile, the troopers stormed the house where Wallace was supposed to be confined. In the great commotion, the girl somehow managed to escape. Shortly afterwards the discovery of the corpses on the South Inch led to a hue and cry. Sir Gerard Heron despatched six hundred well-armed men in hot pursuit; but by that time Wallace and his men were back within Elcho Park.
Heron was equipped with a bloodhound of the best Gilsland breed and this animal tracked Wallace back to the park. Heron and half his men surrounded the park — in reality a thick woodland — while Butler, as before, led the attack with three hundred against forty-three. In the first furious encounter the Scots killed forty but lost fifteen. Finding this ground indefensible, they hacked and slashed their way through Butler’s throng and reached the River Tay, hoping to cross to safety, but the water was deep and half of them could not swim. The Scots had no alternative but to fight on, with their backs to the water. In this desperate skirmish they killed sixty of the enemy but lost nine. Now reduced to a mere handful, Wallace’s gang seized their opportunity as Butler’s troops were reforming, and dashed pell-mell between them and Heron’s men, heading for Gask Wood.
It was early November and nightfall saved the Scots from annihilation. The way was uphill and rough, the Scots were footsore and battle-weary, and when they were still east of Dupplin Moor and a considerable distance from their goal, Fawdon broke down and refused to go on. Having entreated and cajoled him to no avail, Wallace angrily drew his blade and lopped off the mutineer’s head. Blind Harry justified this drastic act, saying that Fawdon was suspected of treachery. Besides, the corpse would serve a useful purpose in holding up or distracting the bloodhound. Wallace is described as arguing with grim logic: if Fawdon were false, he would join the enemy; if he were true, the enemy would assuredly slay him when he fell into their hands. At least in this way Fawdon’s death would help his comrades.
The fate of the tardy Fawdon is hard to rationalise, especially as Stephen and Kerly now hung back while the others pressed on. These two, Wallace’s most trusty men, concealed themselves behind bushes near Fawdon’s body, to see what would happen when the pursuers caught up. Sure enough, the English stopped in their tracks and gathered round the headless corpse, speculating on what had happened. As they were doing so, Stephen and Kerly crept out and mingled with the crowd. Kerly gradually edged forward and when Heron was bending to examine the body, he suddenly struck him dead. Again, in the confusion, Stephen and Kerly made good their escape towards the Earn. Butler sent a party back to Perth with Heron’s body while the rest of his force pressed on to Dalreoch, about half a mile north of Dunning.
Meanwhile Wallace and his depleted band, now down to thirteen men, had gained the safety of Gask Hall (later immortalised in a song of Lady Nairne). Here they rested for the night. Wallace fretted about the fate of Stephen and Kerly and was conscience-stricken about the death of Fawdon. In this context Blind Harry develops a strangely atmospheric passage culminating in the dramatic appearance of Fawdon’s ghost. This apparition was heralded by mysterious horn-blowing and William sent out his remaining men to discover the source. In this strange manner he was totally isolated and seems to have lost contact with his men. Harry has him wandering along the banks of the Earn, all alone and moaning with self-pity. In this uncharacteristic guise he was intercepted by Sir John Butler who had ridden out, ahead of his men, to check the fords. Butler, sceptical of the explanation given by this strange young man, drew his sword and prepared to dismount, but William was too quick for him. Drawing his own blade, Wallace struck the knight a mighty blow across the thigh. William seized his horse and with a second stroke cut his adversary’s throat. An esquire who tried to ride him down with his lance, lost his life and his weapon. William rode away with a troop of cavalry in close pursuit. In the course of a running fight William slew a score of them, but at Blackford his horse broke down and he had to continue through the moorland on foot.
Eventually he came to the River Forth not far from Stirling. He dared not cross the river by the narrow bridge which was closely guarded. Instead, he bundled his sword and armour and swam the icy current at Cambuskenneth. He struggled to the south bank and hastened to the Torwood where he got shelter in a widow’s hut. Later, two of her sons guarded him while he slept in a nearby thicket; a third son ran off to Dunipace to inform the priest, Wallace’s uncle, of his presence.
Tired and bleeding, apparently deserted by even his staunchest comrades, Wallace was now at the depths of despair:
What I have had in war before this day —
Prison and pain — to this night was but play . . .
I moan far more the losing of my men
Than for myself, had I ten times such pain.10
Harry has the old priest counselling his nephew to make peace with King Edward who would surely grant him a lordship with great lands. William retorted that he preferred ‘to see the Southron die, than land or gold that they can give to me’, adding ‘from war I will not cease till time that I bring Scotland into peace, or die before’. This encounter with his uncle stiffened his resolve, and the arrival of Stephen and Kerly soon afterwards raised his spirits again. This time he was also accompanied by two of the widow’s sons, the parson of Dunipace providing them with good horses and fresh equipment. So Wallace and his tiny cohort crossed Dundaff Moor. The northern campaign, if one could call it that, had ended in the virtual annihilation of the Wallace band, but tales of their exploits were circulating far and wide and fanning the flames of resistance.
At Dundaff, a wild, rugged tract in .Stirlingshire, Wallace made contact with Sir John Graham. According to Harry, this lord of Dundaff was an old man who paid tribute to the English to remain at peace. Harry seems to have confused him with Sir David de Graham, who was the landowner in this area;11 this knight was among those captured at Dunbar and subsequently held in St Briavel’s Castle in England for a time. Sir David, however, had a son named John, and it was this brave young knight who was later to play such a prominent part in Wallace’s campaigns. Wallace remained three nights at Dundaff and decided to move on, on the morning of the fourth day. Young Sir John was keen to go with him, but William turned down his offer, saying that the time was not right. The loss of so many men in the recent campaign weighed heavily on his conscience. He planned to go south into Clydesdale and rally his friends there. If and when he could raise a force again he would send word to Graham.
Wallace and his closest friends rode south, skirting Glasgow and resting at Bothwell Moor where they were sheltered by one of his Craufurd kinsmen. From there they travelled to Gilbank, a small estate in Lesmahagow parish held by Patrick Auchinleck, another kinsman of Wallace on his mother’s side. There Wallace and his four faithful attendants spent the Christmas of 1296. Indirectly William heard that news of his exploits in the north was well known, but was comforted by the thought that the English, believing him to have perished in Strathearn, were no longer looking for him. Although he passed the time at Gilbank as unobtrusively as possible, Wallace was not inactive. Discreet messages were sent forth by means of Kerly who traversed Douglasdale to Muirkirk and thence to Ayr where he informed Sir Ranald that his nephew was alive and well. Kerly also contacted Robert Boyd at Kilmarnock and Adam Wallace in Riccarton. It is also likely that Lady Wallace, William’s mother, died about this time.
From time to time, William would slip into the nearby town of Lanark ‘for sport’. What sport was intended Harry is quick to specify. ‘When he journeyed to town from Gilbank and found any men of that false nation, they never did more grievance to Scotland’ was his elliptical way of saying that Wallace murdered Englishmen on sight. Some he stabbed with his dirk; others he slew by slitting their throats in some dark alleyway. One can imagine the terror this caused in Lanark, a town which was strongly invested by English troops at the time. A killer was on the loose, but no one knew who was perpetrating these deeds.
To the modern mind, these violent acts seem inexcusable; but in the context of the late thirteenth century they were understandable. To William the only good Englishman was a dead one, and he proceeded to practise what he always preached. We do not know for certain how the English authorities reacted but we can imagine that these mysterious slayings did not go unpunished. The chronicles are silent regarding reprisals, but Harry gives a hint. At Lanark there dwelled Sir William Heselrig, the English Sheriff of Clydesdale, ‘cruel, outrageous and despiteful in his actions; many therefore stood in great dread of him’. Heselrig stepped up the number and frequency of patrols in and around the town. No longer did Wallace slip his sharp blade across Southron gizzards; seeing that these patrols exceeded him in numbers he would step aside and courteously salute.
It was during this period that William is alleged to have met, and fallen in love with, Marion Braidfute. She was the eighteen-year-old daughter and heiress of Hugh Braidfute of Lamington who appears to have died shortly beforehand. Rather than return to Lamington, Marion preferred to reside in the Braidfute town house in Lanark, paying her taxes and accepting the king’s peace and protection. Harry adds, however, that her elder brother had been put to death by Heselrig, but she bore this tribulation with becoming resignation.
She suffered all and bore herself right lowly; so amiable she was, so benign and wise, courteous and sweet, full of noblesse, of well-ordered speech. Comely of countenance, and worthy of being commended for her virtues. Humbly, she bore herself and purchased a good name of every wight, keeping herself free of blame. True and righteous persons all lent her great favour.12
Wallace is said to have clapped eyes on this attractive girl one day in the Church of St Kentigern near Lanark. ‘The smart of love pierced him at last so keenly’ although he remembered how his last affair, with the girl at Perth, had cost his men dearly. He discussed the dilemma with Kerly who advised him, if he really loved her so much, to take her in marriage. William felt that love and war did not mix, and that until he had achieved his goal of liberating Scotland he could not afford to marry and settle down. For some time, however, he continued to see her whenever he came to town, although he had to be very discreet about it, as her dwelling was in the very centre of the town, at the lower end of the high street. Marion obviously gave him every encouragement, for she even arranged for him to come to the house by an alleyway leading to a gate in the wall of the back garden. The affair was complicated by the fact that Heselrig himself had designs on the girl, or rather her valuable estate, and planned to wed her to his son. Of the courtship of William and Marion, Harry says very little. In another context (William and his leman in Perth) he glosses over such matters by saying ‘I cannot speak of the intercourse they had — very ignorant am I of Venus’ pleasures’. According to the poem, William and Marion pledged themselves to each other, it being understood that William would come back and claim her as his bride once he had freed his country. Elsewhere in the poem, however, Harry claimed that Marion and Wallace got married and that she bore him a daughter who eventually married a squire named Shaw, bearing him ‘right goodly men’. Interestingly, the printed edition of 1594 inserted some lines not in the manuscript of The Wallace, asserting that this daughter of Wallace married a squire of Balliol’s blood and that their heirs succeeded to Lamington. This points to a second marriage with Sir William Baillie of Hoprig. Sir William, second of Hoprig, a son-in-law of Sir William Seton, obtained a charter of the barony of ‘Lambiston’ as late as 1368 which seems to accord with the legend.13 The obvious flaw in this story is the difficulty of reconciling dates. If William did not come to Clydesdale until December 1296, are we expected to believe that he met, courted, married and impregnated Marion soon enough for her to give birth no later than May 1297 when she was murdered? It is more probable that they had met and formed some sort of liaison at a much earlier date, probably in July 1296 when Wallace and his band were lurking in Clyde’s Forest. This would explain the birth of the daughter about April 1297. Strange as it may seem, the notion of Wallace having fathered a child, in or out of wedlock, has caused embarrassment to some nineteenth-century historians. Chief among them was the Revd Dr Charles Rogers who robustly dismissed the story: ‘The entire narrative is baseless; the patriot died unmarried. Nor does he seem to have had any illegitimate offspring.’14
Soon after Christmas Wallace left Gilbank and, accompanied by his quartet, rode to Corheid in Annandale where they were joined by Tom Halliday and Edward Little who rejoiced to find that rumours of his death had been unfounded. Another staunch adherent who now returned to the band was Master John Blair. According to Harry, this redoubtable cleric had spent some time in Paris after leaving Dunfermline. He had been at Loudoun Hill the previous summer but had not accompanied Wallace on the northern campaign. Henceforward he would remain close to his leader, chronicling his adventures.
With fifteen companions, Wallace now rode towards Lochmaben. Leaving most of his men in Knock Wood, he set out with Halliday, Little and Kerly to celebrate mass in the parish church. While they were at worship, young Clifford, nephew of Sir Henry de Percy, with some of his friends espied the Scotsmen’s horses hitched to a rail outside the hostelry, and spitefully cut off their tails. On returning from church and finding their horses in pain, Wallace asked the wife of the innkeeper who had done such a thing. She pointed to Clifford and his companions whom William accosted, saying that he wished to reward their services. With a single stroke he slew the practical joker and spilled the brains of one of his companions onto the road. Halliday, Little and Kerly made short work of the other three. Mounting their injured horses, Wallace and his men fled with a large number of English cavalry baying at their heels. Their mounts being weak from loss of blood, Wallace and his companions made a stand at one point and slew some fifteen of the leading horsemen. The others then held back and the Scots managed to reach the safety of Knock Wood where they rejoined their comrades. In an ensuing skirmish William cut down the redoubtable Sir Hugh de Morland and mounted his fine charger; on this occasion a score of Englishmen were killed or mortally wounded. Sir John de Graystock, the English commander, was furious and kept up the pursuit; but Wallace and Halliday fought such a skilful rearguard action that the Scots escaped unharmed.
By now they were well to the north-west of Lochmaben, on the open moorland on the slopes of Queensberry. Here, by chance, they met up with Sir John Graham with thirty men, and Kirkpatrick of Torthorwald, who had been holding out in Eskdale Wood with his band of twenty men. Immensely cheered by these timely reinforcements, Wallace wheeled about and charged towards the English cavalry, putting them to flight. Noting that a bunch of horsemen, about a hundred in number, had maintained their ranks, Wallace brusquely ordered Sir John to attack them. The Stirlingshire contingent obeyed the command and took the Englishmen by surprise with the ferocity of their charge, Graystock being slain by Sir John himself. Afterwards William apologised to Sir John for the curtness of his order given in the heat of the moment. Remarkably, in this running battle, the Scots did not lose a single man.
Flushed with success, the Scots, now almost seventy in number, held a brief council and decided on a change of tactics. Previously they had engaged in hit-and-run raids as well as isolated opportunist attacks on the enemy. Now the time had come to attempt something more spectacular — nothing less than an assault on Lochmaben Castle.
This fortress was the chief stronghold of the Bruce family and was located near the centre of the village. It should not be confused with the present Lochmaben Castle situated some way to the south-east and constructed at a somewhat later date. The original castle was a much less pretentious edifice, probably little more than a pele tower such as those at Gargunnock and Kinclaven. But it was sited on an eminence and from its battlements the garrison commanded a fine view of the surrounding countryside and controlled the movement of traffic through Annandale. More importantly, this was the seat of the Bruce family. The aged Competitor had died here barely a year previously and it was the chief stronghold of the elder Earl of Carrick although at this time he was resident in Carlisle where he was governor.
Shortly after the victory on the flanks of Queensberry, therefore, Halliday and John Watson, both men of Annandale, rode boldly up to the gate of the castle as dusk was falling. The unsuspecting gatekeeper recognised Watson as a local man and opened the gate without question, whereupon he was slain by Halliday. The gate was thrown open wide and Wallace and a small group of hand-picked men entered. Inside they found only a couple of men-servants whom they promptly despatched, and some women whom they confined as usual. By now the stragglers from the running battle were returning in twos and threes. As they were admitted to the castle by Watson, Wallace and his companions, waiting in the shadows inside, unhorsed and killed them. In this manner the castle was secured by the Scots. Hitherto Wallace had been content to plunder such fortresses and then despoil them; now he planned permanent occupation. Johnstone, the husband of Halliday’s second daughter, and probably the same Johnstone of Eskdale mentioned by Harry later in his poem, was appointed captain. Lochmaben was thus the first castle that William attempted to hold. Wallace and Graham, with forty men, then rode north into Lanarkshire, captured and dismantled the stronghold of the Lindsays at Crawford, and returned forthwith to Dundaff until the winter had abated.
In a matter of months Wallace had fought campaigns in the west, north and south-west, defeated much larger forces at Loudoun Hill, Shortwood and Queensberry, plundered the castles at Gargunnock, Kinclaven and Crawford, and gained control of Lochmaben. Even if we make allowances for Harry’s exaggeration of numbers killed and deeds performed, these short, sharp and bloody campaigns undoubtedly placed Wallace before his countrymen as the foremost champion of Scottish liberty, and witnessed his transformation from an outlaw into a guerrilla of great courage and resourcefulness.