Braveheart Page #35

PRINCESS:

I have come to beg for the life of

William Wallace.

EDWARD:

You fancy him.

PRINCESS:

I respect him. At worst he was a

worthy enemy. Show mercy... Oh thou

great king... and win the respect of

your own people.

Longshanks shakes his head.

PRINCESS:

Even now, you are incapable of mercy?

The king can't speak. But hatred still glows in his eyes.

The princess looks at her husband.

PRINCESS:

Nor you. To you that word is as

unfamiliar as love.

EDWARD:

Before he lost his powers of speech,

he told me his one comfort was that

he would live to know Wallace was

dead.

She leans down and grabs the dying king by the hair. The

guards flanking the door start forward but the Princess's

eyes flare at them with more fire than even Longshanks once

showed -- and the guards back off. She leans down and hisses

to Longshanks, so softly that even Edward can't hear...

PRINCESS:

You see? Death comes to us all. And

it comes to William Wallace. But

before death comes to you, know this:

your blood dies with you. A child

who is not of your line grows in my

belly. Your son will not sit long on

the throne. I swear it.

She lets go of the old king. He sags like an empty sack back

onto his satin pillows. Without even a look at her husband

she strides out of the room, with the rattling breath of the

dying king rasping the air like a saw.

EXT. LONDON TOWN SQUARE - EXECUTION DAY

The crowd is festive; hawkers sell roast chickens, and beer

from barrels. Royal horsemen arrive, dragging Wallace strapped

to a wooden litter. As they cut him loose and lead him through

the crowd, the people begin to jeer and throw things at him:

chicken bones, rocks, empty tankards.

We see a former English soldier, one of those who fled in

terror at the battle of Stirling, lift a stone from the street

and hurl it; it cracks against Wallace's cheek.

Wallace's eyes capture the soldier, and hold him, piercing

his soul. The soldier looks away in shame, even as the rest

of the crowd jeers more.

Grim magistrates prod Wallace and he climbs the execution

platform. On the platform are a noose, a dissection table

with knives in plain view, and a chopping block with an

enormous axe. Wallace sees it all.

MAGISTRATE:

We will use it all before this is

over. Or fall to your knees now,

declare yourself the king's loyal

subject, and beg his mercy, and you

shall have it.

He emphasizes "mercy" by pointing to the axe. Wallace is

pale, and trebles -- but he shakes his head. The CROWD grows

noisier as they put the noose around Wallace's neck...

WE INTERCUT:

-- THE PRINCESS, in helpless agony, hearing the DISTANT NOISE

from her room in the palace...

-- Hamish and Stephen, disguised as peasants among the crowd,

helpless too, but there, as if to shoulder some of the pain.

-- Longshanks, rattling, coughing blood, as Edward watches.

-- Robert the Bruce paces along the walls of his castle in

Scotland. His eyes are haunted; he grips the embroidered

handkerchief that belonged to Wallace.

ON THE EXECUTION STAND

a trio of burly hooded executioners cinch a rope around

Wallace's neck and hoist him up a pole.

CROWD:

That's it! Stretch him!

In the SCORE, AMAZING GRACE, wailed on bagpipes, carries

through all that happens now... Ties hand and foot, Wallace

is strangling. The Magistrate watches coldly; even when the

executioner gives him a look that says they're about to go

too far, he prolongs the moment; then the Magistrate nods

and the executioner cuts the rope. Wallace slams to the

platform; the Magistrate leans to him.

MAGISTRATE:

Pleasant, yes? Rise to your knees,

kiss the royal emblem on my cloak,

and you will feel no more.

With great effort, Wallace rises to his knees. The Magistrate

assumes a formal posture and offers the cloak.

Wallace struggles all the way to his feet.

MAGISTRATE:

Very well then. Rack him.

The executioners slam Wallace onto his back on the table,

spread his arms and legs, and tie each to a crank. Goaded by

the crowd, they pull the ropes taut. They crowd grows quiet

enough to hear the groaning of Wallace's limbs. Hamish and

Stephen feel it in their own bodies.

MAGISTRATE:

Wonderful, isn't it, that a man

remains conscious through such pain.

Enough?

Wallace shakes his head. The executioners cut off his clothes,

take hot irons from a fire box. The crowd grows silent; we

see them, not Wallace, as the irons are touched to his body,

but we hear the burning of flesh. Then the Magistrate signals;

Wallace wants to say something.

WALLACE:

That... will... clear your sinuses.

Everyone hears; Hamish smiles, even through his tears.

Rebuffed, the Magistrate nods to the executioners, who lift

the terrible instruments of dissection.

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