The trouble with Scotland is that it’s full of Scots.
Not the archers. My scouts tell me their archers are miles away and no threat to us. Arrows cost money. Use up the Irish. The dead cost nothing.
If we can’t get them out, we’ll breed them out.[instituting the right of Prima Nocte]
Bring me Wallace. Alive, if possible. Dead… just as good.
As King, you must find the good in any situation.
Archers.[English Commander: I beg pardon, sire? Won’t we hit our own troops?]Yes. But we’ll hit theirs as well. We have reserves.