A lesson learned from WILLIAM WALLACE: BRAVEHEART, by James Mackay

 The true story is often a lot more complex—and fascinating—than the Hollywood version. 

Like many an historian, I have long had my issues with Mel Gibson’s 1995 historical epic film Braveheart, not the least of which it beat out the excellent Apollo 13 movie for best picture, in the first Oscars ceremony I remotely followed and watched. Gibson has long since revealed himself as an awful person with a warped worldview, one that is often evident in Braveheart itself (as movie writer Nathan Rabin hilariously put it a decade ago, Gibson pines for a simple world where all heroes are wise grizzled vets, strapping young warriors, and fair innocent dames, and all villains are murderous psychopaths and lisping gays). Beyond any personal criticism of him and the movie, it also quickly became infamous for being one of the least historically accurate movies of all time, as Gibson presented the young noble knight Wallace as a wild poor Scottish peasant, covered in blue war paint (1000 years after its use declined) and wearing a kilt (500 years before its use began). As much as everyone has mocked Braveheart over the years though, I actually knew very little about William Wallace himself, and for my summer reading I finally got a chance to catch up on James Mackay’s excellent William Wallace biography. Even though the book is nearly three decades old, it remains one of the only major modern studies of Wallace, partly because the man himself is a fascinating enigma from which we can only construct a partial picture of. 

As most of the historical sources of Wallace’s leading of Scotland in rebellion against England were written by anti-Wallace English sources—and most of his heroic reputation was told decades after his death by Scottish bards—Mackay openly acknowledges the challenges of a Wallace biography, when one has to try and discern the truth while sifting through legends and screeds. We know a few facts about Wallace—he was a young Scottish noble of low ranking, whose lack of inheritance and purpose undoubtedly inspired him to seek other ways of winning glory. He was likely a giant of a man, over six feet tall, as attested both by people who saw him and by the massive size of his few surviving weapons and clothing pieces. When England’s king Edward I (The Longshanks, also a tall man) attempted to conquer Scotland at the end of the 13th century, Wallace became the unlikely leader of a resistance movement, one driven largely by his personal charisma and brilliant battle tactics. Wallace destroyed a large English Army at the Battle of Sterling Bridge, but then was bested by Edward I at the Battle of Falkirk the following year, which forced Wallace to spend his final years in hiding leading a guerilla resistance movement. Ultimately, Scottish nobles loyal to Edward betrayed Wallace and handed him over to the English, and he was brutally tortured to death in 1305, with his remains scattered around England and put on display as an example. 

Beyond those basic factoids, much else of the story of Wallace is pure speculation. His wife was likely murdered (refusing to cooperate with the English in turning Wallace over to them, rather than resisting a rape as portrayed in Gibson’s always-go-for-the-extreme movie), and that likely played a role in driving Wallace into a murderous rage against the English, to the extent where he often brutally butchered them even when unnecessary. He also was a well-educated man who likely tried to negotiate with the French to help the Scots, an ultimately futile exercise. Wallace’s pure patriotism contrasted with the often scheming selfishness of Scottish nobles, which likely made him an inspiration to future Scottish heroes such as Robert the Bruce. However, much of Wallace’s story is shrouded in legends and unlikely tall tales, so Mackay is on a constant search for the more certain truths. 

Mackay uses the story of Wallace to examine medieval morality in general, which was often quite alien to more modern societies. Though Wallace himself was an undoubtedly heroic figure, he was capable of great brutality, such as threatening to murder his own men who lost heart in the fight against the English. Wallace’s nemesis Edward Longshanks was a fascinating figure in his own right, a Tywin Lannister-esque figure of grand achievements and horrific crimes. He could be diplomatic and forgiving when the situation called for it (hence why many Scottish nobles didn’t mind serving him), but absolutely ruthless to those he perceived as his enemies. In his mind, Wallace was a greater criminal than other Scottish lords who fought him, because they occasionally would acknowledge his royal claims, whereas Wallace never once swore allegiance to Edward—it was the primary reason Edward ordered a brutal death for Wallace while offering mercy to others. 

Mackay overall does an excellent job making the most of his limited sources to tell a tale of a bold Scottish patriot who inspired a people to fight for independence, while acknowledging the complicated politics and brutal realities of the medieval world. Though his biography of William Wallace is decades old, it remains an excellent read for anyone who’s curious about the true stories of the fight for Scottish independence, who realize what a bad idea it is to try and get historical information from Mel Gibson (although yes, of course, his battle scenes are epic!)