Braveheart Page #13

SHOUTS of alarm:
ARMED MEN are coming! The farmers scramble

for their weapons, ready to fight; even Campbell jumps up;

but what they see coming out of the darkness are twenty more

farmers, with hayhooks, knives, axes, anything they could

find for weapons. Their leader is MacGREGOR.

CAMPBELL:

MacGregor -- from the next valley!

MacGregor leads his men into the circle of rebels.

MACGREGOR:

We heard about what was happenin'.

And we don't want ya thinkin' ya can

have your fun without us.

WALLACE:

Go home. Some of us are in this, I

can't help that now. But you can

help yourselves. Go home.

MACGREGOR:

We'll have no homes left when the

English garrison at the castle comes

through to burn us out.

They all look at Wallace.

EXT. ENGLISH MILITARY STRONGHOLD - NIGHT

Furious preparations: armorers pound breastplates, hone

spears, grind swords in a shower of sparks. The garrison is

led by BOTTOMS, the English lord who claimed the right of

prima noctes. Now he shouts to his scurrying soldiers.

LORD BOTTOMS:

Gather the horses! Align the infantry!

(grabs a man)

Ride to the Lord Governor in Stirling.

Tell him that I will hang five rebels for every good

Englishman killed! FORM FOR MARCH!

The troops begin to scramble into the courtyard. At the same

time, the messenger gallops to the gate and nods for the

keepers to open it. They pull up the chains and the heavy

gate rises. The messenger spurs his horse to gallop through --

and is hit in the chest with an axe!

The Scots, hidden just outside the gate, come pouring through,

led by Wallace! Arrows pick soldiers from their perches,

Scots drop over the wall; the surprise is so complete that

it's over almost without a fight. Lord Bottoms looks around

in confusion...

LORD BOTTOMS:

Stop them... Don't let... Align...

Scots drag Lord Bottoms off his horse; an arrow in a flexed

bow jabs right up to his eye, the archer ready to drive the

shaft through Bottom's eye socket and into his brain; but

Wallace's hand closes on the archer's fingers -- and Bottoms

sees that the archer at the other end of the arrow shaft is

none other than the Highland farmgirl he forced into his bed

on her wedding night. Beside her is her husband, holding a

scythe, red with English blood.

WALLACE:

On your way somewhere, M'lord?

LORD BOTTOMS:

Murdering bloody bandit!

The point of Wallace's sword jumps beneath the Lord's chin.

WALLACE:

My name is William Wallace. I am no

bandit who hides his face... Find

this man a horse.

The green eyes of the defiled highland bride flash fire.

William takes his hand from her bow and looks at her, grief

for Marion in his eyes; for the sake of that she does not

release the string.

WALLACE:

Give him a horse.

Hamish extends the reins of the Lord's thoroughbred.

WALLACE:

Not this horse. That one.

He nods to a bony nag hitched next to a glue pot.

WALLACE:

Today we will spare you, and every

man who has yielded. Go back to

England. Tell them Scotland's

daughters and her sons are yours no

more. Tell them Scotland is free.

As the Scots cheer, Wallace throws Lord Bottoms onto the

nag's back and slaps the horse's rear. IT shambles away,

followed by the English survivors, as the Scots chant...

SCOTS:

Wal-lace, Wal-lace, Wal-lace!...

CLOSE - A GRAVESTONE - EXT. HIGHLANDS - DAY

The marker is carved with the name MARION MacCLANNOUGH, and

beneath her name A THISTLE is chiseled into the stone.

Bagpipes wail like banshees and the Priest who married Marion

and William now mutters ancient prayers as her body, wrapped

in burial canvas, is lowered into the earth, under the sad

eyes of those who just fought in the battle.

Opposite William stands old MacClannough; he stares across

the open hole that accepts the body of his daughter, his

eyes full of pain, and then staggers away.

Wallace kneels at the graveside in unspeakable grief. From

within his shirt he withdraws the embroidered handkerchief

she gave him, and the bloodstained strip of cloth he gave

her. He places the strip over her heart, and as the

gravediggers fill the hole her returns the handkerchief to

its spot over his own heart.

EXT. LONDON PALACE - DAY

Prince Edward is in his garden, playing the medieval version

of croquet with his friend. The Princess, ignored, sits

watching. Longshanks marches through the game, furious.

LONGSHANKS:

Scottish rebels have routed Lord

Bottoms!

EDWARD:

I hear. This Wallace is a bandit,

nothing more.

Longshanks slaps his son, knocking him down among the colored

balls and wickets. Everyone gasps, stunned.

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