Robert the Bruce (narrator): Many years later, Edward the Longshanks, King of England, supervised the wedding of his eldest son, who would succeed him to the thrown. As bride for his son, Longshanks had chosen the daughter of his rival, the King of France. It was widely whispered that for the princess to conceive, Longshanks would have to do the honors himself. That may have been what he had in mind all along.
Longshanks: Scotland, my land. The French will grovel to anyone with strength, but how will they believe our strength when we can not rule the whole of our own island?
Longshanks: Where is my son?
Isabella: Your pardon, my Lord. He asked me to come in his stead.
Longshanks: I sent for him and he sends you?
Isabella: Shall I leave, my Lord?
Longshanks: If he wants his Queen to rule when I am gone, then by all means stay, and learn how. Please.
Longshanks: Nobles. Nobles are the key to the door of Scotland. Grant our nobles lands in the north. Give their nobles estates here in England, and make them too greedy to oppose us.
Advisor: But sire, our nobles will be reluctant to uproot. New lands mean new taxes, and they are already taxed for the war in France.
Longshanks: Are they? Are they? The trouble with Scotland is that it's full of Scots. Perhaps the time has come to reinstitute an old custom. Grant them prima noctes. First night, when any common girl inhabiting their lands is married, our nobles shall have sexual rights to her on the night of her wedding. If we can't get them out, we breed them out. That should fetch just the kind of lords we want to Scotland, taxes or no taxes.
Advisor: A most excellent idea, sire.
Longshanks: Is it?
Robert the Bruce (narrator): Now in Edinburgh, gathered the council of Scottish nobles. Among these was Robert, the 17th Earl of Bruce, the leading contender for the crown of Scotland.
Robert the Bruce: I hear that Longshanks has granted prima noctes.
Craig: Clearly meant to draw more of his supporters here.
Robert the Bruce: My father believes that we must lull Longshanks into confidence by neither supporting his decree nor opposing it.
Craig: A wise plan. And how is your father? We missed him at the council.
Robert the Bruce: Ah. His affairs in France keep him long overdue, but he sends his greetings. And he says that I speak for all the Bruces, and for Scotland.
William: (rides home and smells air)
William: You dropped your rock.
Hamish: Test of manhood.
William: You win.
Hamish: Call it a test of soldiery, then. The English won't let us train with weapons, so we train with stones.
William: Well, a test of a soldier is not in his arm, it's here (mind).
Hamish: No, it's here (Hamish hits William)
William: Hamish?
Hamish: Uh huh. (drumming, rock throwing contest)
Campbell: Here you go, son. Show him how. Come on! Haha, my boy!
William: That's a good throw.
Hamish: Ay. Ay, it was.
William: I was wondering if you could do that when it matters. As it, as is matters in battle. Can you crush a man with that throw?
Hamish: I could crush you, like a worm.
William: You could?
Hamish: Ay.
William: Well then do it. Would you like to see him crush me like a worm?
Crowd: Ay!
William: Then do it.
Hamish: You'll move.
William: I will not.
Campbell: He'll move. (Hamish misses, William hits Hamish)
Campbell: Fine display, young Wallace.
William: You alright? You look a wee bit shaky.
Hamish: I should have remembered the rocks.
William: Ay, you should have. Get up you big heap. It's good to see you again.
Hamish: Ay, welcome home.
Girl: William, will you dance with me?
William: Of coarse I will. (Horses ride in)
English lord: I have come to claim the right of prima noctes. As lord of these lands, I will bless this marriage by taking the bride into my bed on the first night of her union.
Scottish man: By God, you will not!
Lord: It is my noble right. (They ride off with bride).
Smythe: Ha ha. Ha ha.
(raining, outside of Murron's house)
William: Good evening, sir.
MacClannough: Ah, young Wallace. Grand soft evening, huh?
William: Ay, is that. I was wondering if I might have a word with your daughter.
MacClannough: What do you want to have a word with her about?
William: Well, ah, Murron, would you like to come and ride with me on this fine evening?
Mrs. MacClannough: In this? You're out of your mind.
William: Oh, it's good Scottish weather, madam. The rain is fallin' straight down, well slightly to the side like.
Mrs. MacClannough: She can not go with you.
William: No?
Mrs. MacClannough: No the no, anyway.
William: No the no.
MacClannough: No the no. We'll see later.
Murron: 'O the weather's just fine. It's hardly raining.
Mrs. MacClannough: Did you no hear what I said? Now get--Murron. It's you she takes after.
William: How did you know me after so long?
Murron: Why, I didn't.
William: No?
Murron: It's just that I saw you staring at me and I didn't know who you were.
William: 'O sorry, I suppose I was. Are you in the habit of riding off in the rain with strangers?
Murron: It was the best way to make you leave.
William: Well, if I can ever work up the courage to ask you again, I'll send you a written warning first.
Murron: 'O it wouldn't do you much good. I can't read.
William: Can you not?
Murron: no.
William: Well that's something we shall have to remedy, isn't it.
Murron: You're going to teach me to read, then?
William: Ah, if you like.
Murron: Ay.
William: In what language?
Murron: Are you showing off now?
William: That's right. Are you impressed yet?
Murron: No. Why should I be?
William: (in French) Yes. Because every single day I thought about you.
Murron: Do that standing on your head and I'll be impressed.
William: My kilt may fly up but I'll try.
Murron: You certainly didn't learn any manners on your travels.
William: I'm afraid the Romans have far worse manners than I.
Murron: You've been to Rome?
William: Ay, my uncle took me on a pilgrimage.
Murron: What was it like?
William: (in French) Not nearly as beautiful as you.
Murron: What does that mean?
William: Beautiful. But I belong here.
Mrs. MacClannough: Murron, come in now.
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