Right in front of you, you’ll see an octagonal stone monument decorated with colorful crests and topped by a tall column crowned with a proud unicorn-just look for the tall pillar standing boldly in the open square near St Giles’ Cathedral.
Welcome to the heart of historic Edinburgh-it's the Mercat Cross, where stories, secrets, and a fair bit of mischief have echoed for centuries! Picture yourself hundreds of years ago, standing in this very spot, the air thick with the smell of market stalls, horses, and city life, and the voices of townsfolk all around. Above you, that unicorn glints on top of the cross, keeping a dignified watch over all who gather here. The cross you see now dates from Victorian times, but the first Mercat Cross was here way back in the 1300s-a time when armor was in fashion and a bad haircut could truly be fatal!
It’s called the ‘market cross’ because this was the buzzing center of trade. But the Mercat Cross was far more than just a fancy signpost for shoppers. Imagine town criers with their scrolls, trumpets blaring, as they shouted out royal proclamations, new kings, or the latest rules for the city. When a new monarch takes the throne, even today it’s proclaimed right here-no pressure for the poor herald who has to get the name right.
Now, don’t be fooled by its peaceful look! This square has seen drama that would put soap operas to shame. Dark tales of executions, hangings, and even the burning of seditious books played out right where you’re standing. Back in the 1500s, after a Scottish defeat at the Battle of Flodden, a demon-yes, a demon named Plotcock-was said to have read out the names of doomed soldiers here at the cross. Richard Lawson, clever chap, threw a coin at the base as if to say “not me, mate!” and survived.
The cross was the place for public embarrassment too. In the days of eggs and rotten fruit, you might be tied to the pillar and pelted for hours if you’d offended the wrong people-ask Sir James Tarbet, who spent an unfortunate afternoon covered in yolk for saying the wrong kind of mass.
During the wild years of religious upheaval, things got even nastier. Here, you’d hear the clang of swords and the prayers of the condemned. Lady Warriston, after a plot gone murderously wrong, was granted a ‘nicer’ beheading instead of the usual burning or drowning-if that’s what you consider nice!
The 1600s brought high drama: beheadings of noblemen and the hanging of war chiefs, with their hanged bodies displayed above the crowd. It was also here that the heads of traitors decorated spikes, a grim warning for all to see. Even moments of national joy or outrage took place here-after the death of Charles I, Scotland had the nerve (and the bagpipes!) to declare his son Charles II as king right here at the cross.
But it wasn’t all doom and gloom. This was where townsfolk gathered for celebrations, feasts, or even to cheer on new laws-okay, maybe not all the laws. In 1745, cheering (and some very vocal ladies waving handkerchiefs) greeted Bonnie Prince Charlie’s proclamation proclaiming his father the King of Scotland-though a few gents were suspiciously absent from the windows.
Though today, its crowds are more eager tourists than raging revolutionaries, the Mercat Cross remains the voice of Edinburgh’s history. Its stonework even hides bits of the old cross, medals once rescued by Sir Walter Scott, and layers of stories in every mark and weathered crest. Close your eyes a moment and listen-you just might hear a whisper of old proclamations, or the soft clinking of coins as a clever citizen tries to trick fate again.
