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It’s certainly going to be very interesting especially if the pope reminds Alexander that Ireland is an English fiefdom
A Green And Pleasant Land
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Chapter 43: Domesticity
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Chapter 43: Domesticity
September, 1294
For a change it was nice and quiet in Westminster, the King and Queen were off visiting the Earl of Arundel, and had left Alphonso and Margaret in charge of things. Alphonso looked down at his son and daughter as they slept and felt peaceful and content. This was the life. This was what made it so worth living. Margaret wrapped her arms around him and he smiled.
“They look so peaceful when they sleep.” He murmured.
“They do indeed. Though Edward’s taken to wandering around everywhere now, and the fact he can string a sentence together has left the servants a bit lost.” Margaret responded.
Alphonso laughed. “Didn’t he ask for fish for one of the dogs today?” Sir Richard had mentioned that to him when he’d returned from dealing with the Earl of Gloucester earlier.
“He did. I had to explain to him that giving fish to the dogs would not be a good idea.” Margaret responded.
Alphonso moved forward and as he felt his wife’s arms fall to their sides he turned around and took her hand and led her to their room, which was through a doorway. He sat down and Margaret sat in his lap. “How have you been?” He asked her.
“Well enough, and you?” Margaret asked. “What did the Earl of Gloucester want?”
“He was giving me a report on what the Welsh were doing.” Alphonso said. “It seems they’ve found a new man to rally to.” That had not surprised him. The Welsh were quite stupid. They would survive for a time but eventually they would be destroyed.
“Who?” Margaret asked.
“Someone named Madog, a cousin of Llewelyn.” Alphonso said simply.
Margaret shifted slightly, and Alphonso could tell she was nervous. “Does that mean war then?”
“I do not know. Gloucester was left with clear instructions to work with Hereford and the Mortimers to sort out any trouble on the border. I do not think he will head directly into Wales though. Not with how things might be going in Ireland.” Alphonso replied.
“Things have gotten worse?” Margaret asked. She was the one who had suggested the letter writing having used an example of how her own father had got his lords to sit down and talk with him before.
“I think that the King is worried that the Irish will not respond well to them. He is worried they will take it as a sign of weakness and therefore will simply expand their alliance.” Alphonso replied. “There is talk already of plans to name someone High King.”
“That would most definitely be high treason.” Margaret said. “So, what happens next?”
“Next? Next we wait and see whether these fools in Ireland respond properly, or whether they sit on their hands and do nothing or allow the alliance system to continue.” Alphonso replied.
“Perhaps there is one way to change things?” Margaret suggested.
“And what is that?” Alphonso asked looking at her and marvelling at her sheer beauty.
“A writer, and a singer. Alice mentioned him to me, she’s seen him perform before in a fair near Oxford, and she says he made all the townsmen delight, even her husband. And you know what he’s like.” Margaret said.
“Hmm, the Irish do like a good song and story.” Alphonso said, he’d been told that by John de Burgh, son of the Earl of Ulster a few times before.
“Exactly. I think if we send him through, he can convince them of the merits of standing firm and staying with the crown.” Margaret said.
“What’s his name?” Alphonso asked intrigued.
“John Chaucer, he’s coming to London in a few days’ time I believe.” Margaret responded.
“I shall see if I can get him to perform for us once before I decide.” Alphonso said, kissing his wife’s cheek.
Chapter 44: Irish Lies
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Chapter 44: Irish Lies
October, 1294
October, 1294
Brian, King of Tir Eoghan sat on his throne, a cup of ale in one hand and a piece of paper in another. He handed the piece of paper back to Aedh, King of Connaught, and sighed. “What are we to do? You can tell in the words that are written down that King Edward grows impatient.”
Aedh, a younger man, who had come to the throne through destroying his cousins, sighed. “I know. I think we must think of a way of listening to what he has said without giving up on our pride. Otherwise we both know none of the minor Kings will support us ever again.”
Domnall, King of Tyrconnell snorted. “We should refuse to comply with his demands, refute the declaration of his father and invade the territories of his allies.”
Brian sighed, Domnall was a young man, newly enthroned from a people who lived on war. “If we do that he will invade and all three of us will die, and any chance of a fully independent Ireland will be gone.”
Domnall laughed. “Ireland will die if we comply with these terms he demands on putting on us. We should never have allowed the English to have come here in the first place. It is one thing for the Scottish to settle in the furthest northern regions, we share a culture with them, but the English? I would rather cut of my own hands than allow them here.”
“And if we do go through with what you propose, what then? When the English land their armies on our shores, we will not have the man power to defend ourselves. We do not fight in the same manner as they do. We do not have the same organisation as they do. We will be destroyed.” Brian pointed out, remembering the last time such a revolt had happened and the heartache he had experienced and the vow he had sworn.
“Then we must prepare and train. We must ensure such a thing never happens again. We can and shall change.” Domnall said.
“Good luck trying to convince the other Kings and chieftains to change.” Brian said derisively.
“We can manage to do that if we just have the will and the patience.” Domnall said clearly getting frustrated. “I do not understand why you are so reluctant to try this. This is something that we should be aiming for. We are not made from the knees we bend, but from the heads we remove.”
Aedh spoke then. “If we do what you suggest the English will know what we are about for months before we are ready. They will never let us settle nor will they allow the Scots any attempt to aid us or mediate. King Edward’s friend Ulster will do what he does best, and that is raid, raid and raid. I do not know about you, but I do not want another mother coming to me asking why her children aren’t coming home.”
“That is the price of war. And of maintain freedom. People must die.” Domnall said derisively.
Brian remembered the carnage that had come when he was a boy and he snapped then. “You are a boy. You do not know anything of war. Of the sacrifices that must come from it, of the pain and hurt that comes from it. You know nothing.”
“And you are an old fool who is sat here hiding away whilst the future of this great nation lies in your hands. Are you scared?” Domnall taunted. “Are you afraid of what a lion can do to the great Irish lands. To the descendants of Brian Boru and those who remain? We are not afraid, I can tell you that much. The people of Tyrconnell will not sit and hide.”
“Then you will die. And your land and Kingdom will disappear.” Brian said.
“Better to fight and die with your boots on standing, then to die kneeling with a chain around your neck.” Domnall said, he made to leave, but before he could, Aedh spoke.
“A compromise then?” Both Brian and Domnall looked at the man. “We give the English a year, one year to do what they say they will do in this letter, and if they don’t then we shall rebel and destroy them.”
There was a long pause, as Brian looked at Domnall. They both knew that the other would blink first, or rather they hoped that the other would blink first. Then Domnall spoke. “I would be willing to consider this, on one condition.”
“What condition is that?” Aedh asked.
“That you agree that I might marry your granddaughter.” Domnall said.
Brian knew why the other man had said that. If Domnall was married to his granddaughter then by tradition, if Domnall went to war, Brian would have to go to war also. He hesitated on this, his granddaughter was a sweet girl he did not know whether she would do well with Domnall, but then he knew the peace he wanted relied heavily on this, so he conceded and said. “Very well, I consent.”
Chapter 45: Madog
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Chapter 45: Madog
October, 1294
October, 1294
Michaelmas had come and gone, Madog had been planning to begin the revolt on the day, but had changed his mind due to the fact that one of their main spies had disappeared. He had not known whether the man had been captured or had turned coat, either way they had decided to put things on hold. But with King Edward in Windsor, or wherever it was the fool went, the time was right to move. He had summoned his men and they were advancing on the English held land in the north of Wales.
He gestured to his men to keep low. The early morning light would be their protection, the English guards were just about waking up. Madog looked at Owen and nodded. The younger man knocked an arrow, and drew the bow, he held it for a second and then unleashed an arrow. It whirred in and took the guard down by the neck. Before the other guard could see where it had come from, Owen had unleashed another arrow which took him out. Madog smiled, and pushed through the bushes, roaring as he went. “For The Dragon!” They charged into the camp.
Some sentries inside the camp walls found them and fought. Madog snarled and cut them down. One was a boy no older than his own son, but he put that thought to the side. This boy was an Englishman, the lowest of the low. He and his men swarmed into the camp site and took the lives of the English as they came and found them. His axe was wet with blood before the sun had even risen properly. The commander of the camp was found with his pants by his ankles, a woman in his bed. Madog saw that she was a Welsh woman, someone he’d seen around the village before. He snarled.
“How many men are there?” He demanded in English of the commander.
The man looked terrified, but still resumed his haughtiness. “I don’t know what you mean, savage.”
Madog put the axe against his throat. “How many men in the castle?” He knew that the camp was merely a diversion, it was meant to show them that the English had the men to destroy them. but the English had grown lazy.
“Three hundred.” The man gasped.
“Good.” Madog said, he gestured to Owen to slit the man’s throat. He heard the woman scream and moved to her. “What were you doing sleeping with him?”
The woman looked at him with wide eyes. “I was simply doing as I was told.”
Madog grabbed her arm, saw that she bore his cousin’s mark on her arm and snarled. “You betrayed the cause. You don’t deserve to live.”
He went to raise his axe, but before he could bring it down, the woman said hurriedly. “I can show you a way into the castle.”
“How?” Madog demanded.
“I work there as a maid. I know the way in and out of the castle that all the servants use. Nobody will tell a soul. They all hate the garrison commander.” She said quickly.
Madog thought quickly for a moment and then said. “Very well, get dressed and lead the way.” He knew the castle was only a few hundred metres away, it would not take long to get there.
He stepped outside as the woman got dressed, he kept Owen inside though, to make sure she did not try to run away. Eventually she was dressed and ready, so they walked, he got his men with him, all five hundred of them, they formed up and marched. The morning light was shining brightly as they left the burned and charred ruins of the campsite in their wake.
As they walked through the woods, and toward the towering castle before them, Madog wondered how many men they would find within the castle. Caernarvon was the main castle of the occupation. Taking it would be a sure sign that they meant business and would not be stopped. The woman led them out of the woods, through the smaller forestry and through a small door on the castle’s left side, the door was unlocked. Madog raised an eyebrow at that.
“The commander of the garrison ordered that the door always be left unlocked.” The woman said simply.
Madog said nothing, he simply followed the woman through the doorway, up the stairs and onto the floor of the servant’s quarters. He looked at her and asked. “Where is the commander’s room?”
“On the second floor, go straight, and turn right.” The woman said. As Madog went to leave, the woman whispered. “Long Live Wales.”
Madog nodded, and followed her instructions. There was nobody in their path as they walked straight through the hallway, passed obscene paintings and tapestries. He ignored them, but also made a note to tear them down once he was done here. As they walked up the stairs they found men milling about, not in armour but simple clothes. One man tried to raise the alarm, but Owen removed him with an arrow. After that, men appeared, these men were armed.
Madog relished the chance to shed more English blood as he moved up the stairs. His axe sang with joy, slowly demolishing the resistance within the castle. There were screams and shouts, but he knew what he was doing. He had been training and preparing for this day since his cousin had been killed after all. Slowly but surely they made it up to the first level of the castle, and then more men came, these were heavily armoured. He took a few blows and sustained a few wounds, but for the most part he was unharmed.
Those men who he or his other men could not kill, Owen and the other archers took care. Slowly but surely they made their way to the second floor, where he found a boy who looked as if he still didn’t know that his cock wasn’t just for pissing standing around. Madog grabbed the boy and snarled in broken French. “Where is the commander?” The boy pointed to a room just down the hallway.
Madog let the boy go, and stomped down the hallway, he kicked down the door and found the commander there sat, dressed in armour and ready to fight. “Who are you?” He demanded calmly.
Madog looked at him and replied in Welsh. “I am Madog, Prince of Wales.”
The man tried to respond, but before he could, Madog grabbed him, and buried his axe in his head. He then watched the man fall to the ground, stepping over the corpse he sat down in the man’s seat and smiled to himself. Owen walked in then bowed before him. “The castle is yours, my Prince.”
VVD0D95
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Coming in hot and fast. Alphonso's definitely going to earn his spurs here. As are several other nobles: Percy, de Bohun, Neville to name a few
Chapter 46: A Scottish King On English Events
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Banned
Chapter 46: A Scottish King On English Events
December, 1294
Alexander looked at the lords who had come to Stirling, before the events of the Christ child’s birth and Christmas. He was impressed, usually such a gathering would take weeks or months to organise, but instead he had simply sent the summons out two days ago and they had come. Those who needed to be here at least had come. Comyn, Bruce, Dunbar, Fife, Strathearn, Atholl. Those with lands in England were here now as they needed to be.
Alexander spoke first. “I understand that King Edward has sent a letter to all of your reminding you that you have lands in England and therefore need to come southwards to aid him in his fight against the Welsh. I wished to discuss this matter.”
There was a brief pause, and then suddenly, Robert Bruce, the young Earl of Carrick and grandson of the Lord of Annandale spoke. “What is there to discuss? We owe him fealty for those lands, and therefore we are obliged to do service when he asks.”
Alexander looked at the young man, his son said the boy had potential, but all he saw now was an impetuous young man from a family that seemed more English than anything else. “The reasoning he has given I believe to be flawed.” Alexander responded. He held up a hand to stop Bruce from replying. “Yes, Madog has rebelled, but his claims to rebellion are justified under English law, the same law that Edward is using to summon you to fight for him.”
“What claims are those?” Bruce demanded.
Alexander looked at the man in surprise. Did he truly not know what the claims were? “Improper and faulty governance of the realm. Which under the treaty which Edward signed with the remaining Welsh lords allowed for a claim of grievance to be put forward to the lords of the conquered territories. If they did not do anything to address it, the only thing that could be done under the Magna Carta was fight for them to be addressed. Which is what Madog seems to be doing.”
Bruce looked genuinely shocked. His voice was like one of a child caught doing wrong. “You do not truly believe that do you, Sire? You cannot believe it right for a man to rebel just because he himself is no longer in power.”
“Madog was never in power, you idiot.” John Comyn, Lord of Badenoch said. “He was someone who only held a title that passed to him because his cousin died. The true rulers in Wales all bent the knee to King Edward and none of them have rebelled against him.”
“Still, King Edward has the right to address force with force.” Robert responded.
Alexander looked at the boy, he wanted to know what he would say to convince this assembly of that fact. “Go on.”
Bruce looked surprised. “King Edward is the feudal overlord of Wales, by the laws of the land of Wales and of England, his decisions cannot be termed wrong they can only be termed as slightly misguided. If Madog truly wanted to have his concerns addressed he should have gone to London first and presented them there and allowed the King to deal with the matter. Rebellion is not permitted in such circumstances when no physical harm has been committed to any of King Edward’s subjects.”
“So, are we to go now and shed our blood and the blood of our retainers in Wales, fighting against men who fuck sheep, because of a simple legality?” Comyn asked.
Dunbar, who knew the most about English and Welsh law, and had advised Alexander on the right course to take on this matter spoke then. “The simple answer is yes. We have to, through the duties and oaths we swore for our lands in the south, we must go and fight.”
Comyn turned to look at him then, and Alexander knew exactly what was going to be said by the man. “And are you going to fight in Wales, Sire? Are you going to go and shed blood there? After all you own land in England do you not?”
Alexander nodded. “I do. However, I am not going to go and fight. I have done my duty enough times.”
“So, if you are not going to go and fight, why should I?” Comyn demanded.
Alexander knew this was the time to play the card. “Because your Prince is in Wales right at this very moment, commanding a legion of Gallowglass as they raid the Welsh coast.”
There was complete silence then, none of the lords gathered had known that he’d sent his firstborn son out to Wales to do this. He’d reached an agreement with Edward over this very fact some time ago, and Alexander had managed to bring the Gallowglass in at the right time. Eventually, Atholl spoke. “When should we depart then?”
“As soon as the new year begins.” Alexander commanded, smiling.
Chapter 47: Conwy Castle
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Chapter 47: Conwy Castle
February, 1295
“Sire, we have enough provisions to see us through until April. But should the fleet not come until then, or should we not be relieved, I fear we shall have to surrender.” Those were the words that came from Henry de Lacy, Earl of Lincoln. The man had joined up with Edward’s host after having to retreat from the field of battle following defeat at the hands of Madog, the rebellious Prince of Wales.
Edward nodded. “And the morale of the men?” He needed to know if his men were prepared to go for the long haul or not. If they weren’t he might surrender now, it would be embarrassing, but he could always return from this. He could not if his men revolted.
“They are prepared to do whatever you order them to, Sire.” Henry replied.
That was good, at least now he would not be like his father, forced to hide somewhere, or being captured by rebels because his men were not to be trusted. Before he could speak however, the John de Warenne, Earl of Surrey spoke. “Sire, I think we should still go ahead with plan a.”
Edward bit back a sigh. That was a constant problem with John Surrey, he always wanted to go with the most aggressive choice. Patiently, Edward explained. “We have only three thousand men in here, men who are currently relying on rations. If I ask them to go out and charge into the unknown, some of them will drown, and most of them will mutiny.”
“So, are we simply going to sit here and wait?” Warenne asked, an edge to his voice.
Edward looked at the man, fixing him with a stare Eleanor had once called his death look. It had the desired effect, Warenne shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “We will do what is necessary to survive and win this war.”
He looked at Henry de Lacy then and asked the man. “How many men are there outside the castle walls?”
“Somewhere between three to five thousand. They are numerous and they are living off the land. I have heard tell that the people around this castle are growing weary.” Henry said.
“So, we could use that discomfort to our advantage.” Edward said thinking quickly. “If they are unhappy with the way the rebels are treating them, they will look for some sign of recourse. Madog has shown he is more interested in punishing those who had sided with us than in rewarding those who have now turned.” Edward thought about this, Madog had the same problem his cousins had had. They were too primal in their thinking. They were too quick to cut off potential sources of funds and allies. He smiled then. “Send that singer out. The man, what’s his name?”
“Geoffrey Piper, Sire?” Henry asked.
“Yes, him. Send him out. Tell him to sing the songs that he knows, and tell him if he does so there will be a a great reward in the waiting for him.” Edward said.
“What good will a singer do us?” John asked derisively.
Edward looked at the man and said. “It will ensure that the people, the common people know our message, and that they will take it to heart. Madog is forcing them to be loyal to him through steel, we will give them loyalty through song.”
Just as John was about to respond, a trumpet sounded in the distance, followed by a shout and then a piercing scream. Edward got up and walked to the window, but he could not see anything. “Find out what’s happening.” He commanded of one of the guards in the room. The guard nodded, and hurried out. Edward remained standing at the window, trying to get a glimpse of what had caused such a terrifying scream. But all he could see was the cold and the wet. The guard soon returned. “Well?” Edward demanded.
“Sire, Prince Alphonso has arrived with an army, some six thousand strong. They are fighting the Welsh.” The guard said.
Edward smiled. “Let us prepare then.”
Last edited:
VVD0D95
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Any suggestions for who you’d like to see next?Edward: That's my boy.
Alphonso about to win his spurs here.
Nice update.
Just one quibble (sorry):
Just one quibble (sorry):
There's absolutely no way a singer would be knighted at this point in history. He might perhaps be made a freeman of a royal borough (Windsor, or Westminster, or York, etc), which would exempt him from paying tolls on entering towns, crossing bridges, etc - a significant saving when travelling round. Alternatively, he could be employed as an official singer/minstrel of the court, which would give him both extra money and some status.
VVD0D95
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Ahhh I get you, though could
One argue that Edward is dangling a big carrot in front of the man?
Not really. England was incredibly class-conscious at this time (as were all mediaeval / feudal realms). There were only about 1000 knights in the whole kingdom (ignoring the earls, etc who were also knights). They were required to have quite high annual incomes and be entitled to bear arms (coats of arms that is, not weapons). Someone dubbed a knight would have his own lands, with tenants below him, and would be required to serve the king with a retinue of armed men for a period each year. Basically, a knight is a member of the nobility at this point in English history. A mediaeval king would never consider raising a singer to this level of the nobility.
Sorry.
Edit:
I suggest something like this:
Tell him to sing the songs that he knows, and tell him if he does so I will make him a freeman of the realm.” Edward said.
Chapter 48: Alphonso's Moment
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Chapter 48: Alphonso’s Moment
February, 1295
February, 1295
The castle loomed before him, but in front of him was the enemy. Some three thousand Welshmen had congregated together to lay siege to his father inside Conwy Castle. Alphonso had been at Wigmore when he’d heard what had happened. His father having left him there to wait for the Earl of Warwick and the northern levies. They’d then moved as quickly as they could through the marshland and the hostile terrain, surprisingly facing no foes, arriving here early in the morning.
Warwick was commanding the left flank, Alphonso the right, they’d divided the army into two, three thousand men each were under their direct command. Alphonso saw the standard flying from the castle, the coat of arms of England, and he took heart. “Fly the banner high!” He barked out. Edmund, his squire did as commanded. The standard was raised, trumpets sounded. “About me!” He barked. His men moved into formation as the order was passed down through shouts and roars. His heart thudded. His blood pulsed. He knew what would come. “Lances at the ready.” He took his lance from Patrick, another squire. Steadied his hands and then said. “Charge.”
With as much control as he could manage he spurred his horse on. He knew he had to be in the lead otherwise everything would fall apart. As the ground disappeared underneath him, he tried to clear his mind of any disturbing thoughts and to convince himself that he would not fall. That he could not fall. He was the son of Edward the Conqueror, the man who made Popes and God tremble beneat his gaze. He would not falter. As the first signs of the enemy came into view, he repeated that motto to himself. He would not falter, in that moment he was Richard the Lionheart and the Welsh were Saladin.
His lance crushed someone as it hit them, it hit another person and then snapped. He drew his sword quickly. He saw Patrick get gutted by one of the barbarians, but could do nothing as he sped passed them. He swung his sword, and felt relief as it connected with the head of a foe. This foe crumbled at the blow, but his comrade came at Alphonso. Alphonso swatted the man’s blows away and then used his elbow to push the man away, wincing slightly at the pain. Around him all was chaos. He briefly saw Edmund fighting with a sword, before the boy disappeared. He saw someone who he thought was Henry Percy using an axe, but then the crowd swallowed him whole.
A boy who was perhaps no older than his brother Edward came up to him, carrying a pike that was far bigger than he was. Alphonso swatted it away, and moved on, but then he heard a scream, he turned around and saw the same boy being gutted by one of his men. He looked at the boy and saw the light dim from his eyes, and he shuddered. He turned back around. Alphonso shook his head. He needed to be a lion now, not a human. He shivered slightly and then pushed on. His sword did most of the work. The enemy came and went, he cut those who came at him and let the crush of the men do the rest of the work. Eventually, as the castle came closer into view, he saw that most of the Welsh were there, defending it.
“To me!” He roared. Somehow over the din, some of his men heard him. Henry Percy was the first to respond, the man was covered in blood and dirt, and seemed to be enjoying himself.
“We’ll be drinking a toast to your name, my Prince.” Percy said.
Alphonso could smell shit and blood and piss, nearby and wrinkled his nose, but said. “Perhaps, let us finish this off now. We need to clear them from the castle gateway.”
“Right.” Percy said. “Archers!” He roared.
There were archers with Warwick, and he wondered whether Percy truly had that loud of a voice that soon enough there were arrows flying into the air. He turned to his left and saw that Warwick was there, with his son, and Alphonso’s friend Guy. Alphonso raised a hand and his men stopped. They watched the display. Arrows flew into the air, and the men in front of the castle gates were felled or ran forward to move away.
The barrage continued for a few more moments before it stopped, when Warwick raised a hand. Alphonso lowered his hand and he galloped toward the gate. His men accompanied him, as he got to the entrance, the drawbridge was lowered and a figure rode out accompanied by several other figures. For a moment Alphonso did not know who it was but then he saw his father’s standard. He stopped his horse just short of his father. sheathed his sword, and dismounted. He walked before his father’s horse, his father dismounted as well.
Alphonso bent his knee. “Sire, I have come as requested.”
His father put a hand on his shoulder and said. “Arise, Sir, you have done your King and country a great service.”
Alphonso did as bid, and then before he knew what had happened his father had pulled him into a hug. “Sire…” he said but trailed off. Around him he could hear the cheers of the people.