A Green And Pleasant Land

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A Green and Pleasant Land



Chapter 1: Alexander’s Marriages



December, 1283

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Alexander, King of Scots, of the mighty Dunkeld dynasty looked at his ministers and he wanted to scream. He was one of only two members of the Dunkeld dynasty left alive. His eldest and only surviving son Alexander, Lord of Mann being the other. It was a sharp contrast to how things had been at the beginning of the decade, where he’d had not only Alexander, but also his son David and his daughter Margaret. Something that had more than made up for the loss of his beloved wife Margaret. Now, it was just him and his eldest. That needed to change. He knew what would happen if he and his son died without heirs, there would be chaos and war.

He cleared his throat and began. “My son requires a bride. He is nineteen summers old now, and thus is of the right age to marry. I had asked for you all to come with appropriate candidates in mind and I will hear your choices now.”

John Comyn, Lord of Badenoch and a man Alexander had come to trust spoke first. “Sire, it seems prudent to me that given our trade links with the Low Countries that we arrange a marriage between our Prince and a member of said region. Personally, I would recommend Margaret of Flanders, daughter of Guy, Count of Flanders. She might be young but she comes from an illustrious and fertile family.”

Alexander looked at Comyn, and asked. “When you say she is young, how young exactly is she?” He did not want a child for his son, he remembered what his own marriage had been like as a child and the thought of doing that to his own son repelled him.

“She has only recently turned to eleven, Sire.” Comyn said. “But she is by all accounts a healthy and beautiful child.”

Alexander shook his head. “No, I shall not have that. We need heirs immediately, not in five years’ time.”

James Stewart, High Steward and another man that Alexander trusted spoke. “Sire, I have a suggestion if I might?”

“Go ahead.” Alexander commanded.

“Sire, Berwick is flourishing, but at present there seems to be tension between England and France, we cannot afford to lose out on the valuable trade routes that England provides, therefore I would recommend a marriage between the Prince and Elizabeth of England, the daughter of King Edward.” James Stewart said.

Alexander considered it, he knew his brother by marriage was a good man and good relations between their two nations was important, but still, there was something about another English marriage that did not sit too well with him. “She is also another child, I will say it again, that I do not want another child bride to be wed to the heir of Scotland. We need a bride who will be able to have children as soon as possible.”

“What of Marie of Brittany, then Sire?” Thomas Durward asked. Durward was the son of the man who had mentored Alexander when he was a child, he had displayed a head for numbers and therefore instead of executing him, Alexander had kept him on.

“How old is she?” Alexander asked. Brittany had potential, the Duke was close to Edward, but was not completely in his thrall, furthermore, Brittany was thriving right now, trade links with them would not go amiss.

“She is fifteen, Sire, but she is ready for consummation, according to my friends in the court of the Duke.” Durward said.

Alexander mulled that over, Brittany was wealthy, and if the girl was ready for marriage, that could make things ever more interesting. However, before he could say anything, John Comyn spoke. “Sire, whilst Brittany might provide an interesting marriage, the girl is still young and therefore given to the frailties of childbirth at such a young age. Might I recommend someone slightly older and more likely to survive?”

“Who did you have in mind?” Alexander asked.

“Princess Sancha of Portugal, Sire.” Comyn said. “Her father was one of the wealthiest men in all of Christendom, and Portugal has its own independent trade routes which would not make us reliant on England.”

Alexander thought on that. “Her mother was quite fertile was she not?” He remembered being quite impressed by the number of children the woman had managed to give birth to who had survived.

“Yes, Sire. And her brother has also had a lot of children with his wife.” Comyn said.

Alexander mulled it over and then replied. “Then Portugal it is, send word to our ambassador there, tell him to approach the matter with delicacy.”

 

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Chapter 2: Denis The Wise



February, 1284​

Denis sighed, another lot of letters that would need to be edited and re-written. Sometimes he wondered if the members of his chancery did this deliberately, if they were in league with the Church in trying to undermine his authority. He always dismissed that thought as ridiculous though, knowing that if he pursued that line of thought madness lay. He looked through the documents and then at his ministers.

“Why is it that the letters redrawing the boundaries of the nobles’ lands and the lands of the crown are not here?” He asked.

John, Lord of Lusa and his main clerk looked nervous. “Sire, the letters had to be redrafted again.”

“And why was I not told of this?” Denis demanded, fighting to keep his voice calm.

“Sire, it was not thought worthwhile disturbing you from your other works. It was only a minor change that was needed.” Lusa responded.

“And what was this change?” Denis demanded. He wanted to know whether they were deliberately changing what he had written down or whether he had made some error in the spelling.

“It was a phrase, Sire.” Lusa responded. “The phrase was about the boundaries, it made it seem as though the boundaries were fluid, we are changing it to make sure that the phrase confirms the presence everlasting of the boundaries.”

Denis did not trust Lusa, but he was content enough to concede. “Very well, though I shall want to see the letters before they are sent out.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.” Lusa said bowing his head.

Denis then picked up another series of documents and read through them. “I see that the Count of Barcelos has finally acknowledged that he was in the wrong to withhold the payments.” Barcelos was such an aggravating person, a man who knew when he was right and when he was wrong, but who often thought he was right more than he was wrong.

“Yes, Sire.” Lusa said. “We managed to convince the Count that there was no need for him to shift and change as much as he had in the past.”

“Good, we shall need his services before the year has begun properly.” Denis said.

“Sire?” Lusa sputtered.

“Yes?” Denis asked raising an eyebrow.

“Are you sure that is a wise idea? Barcelos is a radical man who veers from side to side.” Lusa said.

“And that is exactly why we want him here. The more radical he is, the more he will ensure that his fellows fall into line.” Denis replied. Before Lusa could respond, Denis looked at the herald at the door and gestured for him to let their guest come in. The doors opened and the herald announced.

“Malise, Earl of Strathearn.” The man who entered was big, broad and red of hair. He looked like some sort of giant. Denis rose and nodded to the man, thankful that the man knew Latin.

“Lord Strathearn,” Denis said. “I hear you have come with a proposal from your King.”

“Yes Sire,” the man answered gruffly. “I have come to present an offer of marriage from His Majesty King Alexander.”

Denis raised an eyebrow. Scotland was a distant Kingdom and one he had never before considered as worthwhile, but if there was a chance of making one of his family a Queen he would never not listen. “Go on.” He ordered.

“Sire, my King wishes to offer the hand of his son, Alexander, Prince of Scotland to your sister Her Highness, Sancha, Princess of Portugal. He believes that such a marriage would bring benefits to both our Kingdoms.” Strathearn replied.

Denis considered this. Scotland was out of the way, a small Kingdom on an island dominated by England. However, as he thought about that, he thought on something his father had said long ago. If they could bring Scotland out of that axis involving England and Castile, then perhaps they could have a very helpful trading partner and a place where they could place their goods without the tariffs. He looked at Strathearn and said. “I believe that such a marriage would be beneficial to both our Kingdoms. Tell your King I consent to this marriage.” He looked back at Lusa and indicated the man should draw up a treaty.

Strathearn looked delighted. “Thank you, Sire, I shall tell my King at once.” With that the man bowed and left the room.

Denis turned to Lusa and said. “Make it so that the King of Scotland must accept a free trade agreement. That will give us countless riches.”

“Yes, Sire.” Lusa said.

 

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Chapter 3: Badenoch



April, 1284
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John knew the meetings were often long and drawn out, but he loved them. He loved politics just as his father had before him. Playing the great game, and ensuring his family was in the most powerful position in the realm behind the King. For four decades, they’d helped shape policy and the way affairs were conducted. True the King might see the Lord of Annandale as a father figure, but Annandale rarely attended council meetings, and Comyn made it his business to remain in Stirling, leaving the affairs of his estates to his wife. Oh, if only he had a daughter of an age with the Prince, then they could have a Comyn as Queen.

He cleared his thoughts and listened as the King spoke. “King Denis is a bold man, that much I shall give him. He offers his sister’s hand in marriage in return for Scotland accepting a trade agreement where there are no taxes on the products, and that we give him prime access to our sea routes.”

The moment John heard that, he knew that the King had doubts. He could see it written in the man’s face. He went to speak, but was cut off by the Steward. “Such a thing is most definitely going to annoy King Eric, Sire, and might even violate the treaty signed with Norway.”

John wanted to shout, the Steward always did this. He would take a good thing and make it go bad, just as he had done with the suggestion John had had for the King’s own second marriage two years ago. John looked at the King and saw him pondering this, he knew now was his time to strike. “It would not violate the treaty, Sire.” The King looked at him and raised an eyebrow, John continued. “The Treaty only spoke of allowing fishing rights to for Norway, nothing to do with trade. Consequently, we can develop the agreement somewhat more.”

“What did you have in mind?” The King asked, and John knew he had him.

“We reply to this proposal with our own terms. Granting access to our ports for Portuguese trade, but also enforcing a reciprocal tax free trade agreement, therefore ensuring that Portugal acquires some of our own produce. They do not have the type of beef or wool that we do, furthermore, they are not in the England and Castile alliance, and do not have direct access to the Flemish circuit. We do, that will be our card.” John said.

“I like that.” The King replied. “Furthermore, Strathearn writes that the King prefers ale and beer to wine, therefore, we can increase our production of that in the monasteries and ensure that we do not go missing there.”

John smiled. “Exactly, Sire. A King who drinks Scottish beer and eats Scottish beef is less likely to want to look elsewhere for anything else. Especially if we then sell Portuguese goods at a rate into England.”

It was at that moment that the Steward spoke again. “I am not so sure of that, Sire.”

“What?” The King asked almost impatiently.

William Fraser, Bishop of St Andrews and Chancellor and an ally to Bruce spoke then. “Sire, if Your Majesty does agree to this trade agreement, you will also be agreeing to an alliance with a man who is constantly at odds with His Holiness, and with his own clergy. It might not send a good message.”

John quickly spoke then. “Sire, we can sort that issue out by sending a delegation to Rome to assure His Holiness that Scotland remains dedicated to the church and that this alliance is merely a matter of business.”

“I am not sure whether that would be enough.” Fraser said. “Other concessions might be demanded.”

John was about to snap when the King spoke. “Then it is your duty to ensure that they are not demanded. Go to Rome and speak with His Holiness, inform him that we are doing our Christian duty by this marriage and that with our trade agreement we would ensure we have eyes and ears in Portugal.”

John was impressed, the King hid his intellect well, behind a blustering exterior, but he was truly a smart man. “A brilliant strategy, Your Majesty.” John said.

The King nodded and said. “Write to Strathearn and tell him we shall accept this proposal but with our terms added on.”

“At once, Sire.” John said making a note of this. He felt taller, he would keep his family in power and push out men like Stewart.

 

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Chapter 4: A Prince’s Marriage



June, 1284
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Alexander straightened out his shirt and then looked at himself in looking glass and smiled. His blonde hair had been cut short a few days ago, and his beard had been trimmed, his father had insisted on that latter one saying: “You’re not a barbarian.” And so, Alexander had done the deed himself. Marriage, it was a strange thing that, to think he would soon be marrying a woman he had never met before, a woman who didn’t come from the same place as him, and a woman who no doubt shifted expected a great many things from him and a great few things as well.

Alexander had done his duty in that regard, he’d disregarded his mistress Eleanor after he’d learned of his betrothal, he would not shame his wife to be, and as such he’d taken it as a good thing. Eleanor had been a serving girl when they’d first men five years ago, and soon he’d taken her to his bed to have his way and she hers, theirs had been a passionate affair, but she sometimes got on his nerves. She demanded things she had no right to demand and so cutting her off was a boon.

He looked at his friend William, Earl of Ross and smiled. He then moved away from the glass and as the doors opened he made his way down the hallway, through the open garden and into the abbey. The music started playing when he entered, and there were people gathered around, the entirety of the nobility had come it seemed, and he knew there were people outside, the peasants, waiting and watching. He nodded to his father as he walked up to the altar, the man grinned at him. Alexander turned then and waited.

A few moments passed and then his bride to be entered, she wore a dress that really brought out her darker skin, and he nearly gasped as she approached and he got a better view of her. She was stunning, auburn hair, and haunting green eyes. She smiled nervously at him and he returned the favour. They both turned then to face the Bishop and the abbey fell silent.

William Fraser cleared his throat and spoke in perfect Latin. “We are gathered here today to witness the marriage of these two individuals. Their marriage shall seal together the alliance between Scotland and Portugal forevermore, and bring with it many bearings of prosperity. They are to swear their oaths to one another now.”

Alexander looked at his wife to be, smiled and then said. “I, Alexander, Lord of Mann and Prince of Scotland, do hereby take you, Sancha, Princess of Portugal, as my lawful wife. I promise to protect you, to love you, and to serve you with everything that I have, from this day until my last.”

Sancha replied in kind. “I, Sancha, Princess of Portugal, do hereby take you, Alexander, Lord of Mann and Prince of Scotland, as my lawful husband and master. I promise to love you and to serve you with everything that I have from this day until my last.”

With that done, they both turned back to the Bishop and listened as the man said. “Marriage is the most sacred vow a man and woman can make to one another. With their vows complete, these two royal persons are now united together, if there is nobody who believes they should not be married, I shall now with the power invested in me, pronounce you man and wife.”

A cheer rose as Alexander leaned in, removed the veil and kissed his wife quickly on the lips. He pulled back and smiled. He then extended his arm and as his wife took it, they walked out of the abbey together. They said nothing until they got into the carriage that would take them back to the castle properly. When they were in there, Alexander said. “Well that went easier than expected.”

His wife-that still felt slightly odd to say- giggled and replied in slightly broken French. “It was good that it was that easy, I had felt nervous.”

Alexander was not surprised by the admission, but by how open his wife was being. He had not thought that such a thing was possible, his friend William’s own wife was very closed off and apparently only spoke when it came to that time when she wanted a good fucking. Alexander found himself drawn to his wife then. “I…I felt the same.” He replied in French. Then added. “I did not know you spoke French, my lady.”

“Please, call me Sancha, it is my name.” His wife-no- Sancha said. “And I thought it only prudent to learn how to speak the language of the court that I am to be a Princess of.”

Alexander smiled at that. “Well you speak it much better than I do.” He smiled when he heard her laugh, she really did have a brilliant laugh.

Sancha moved a little closer to him then, and he found himself putting an arm around her. “So, tell me, dearest husband, what are these nobles of the Kingdom like?”

“Please, Sancha, if I am to call you by your name, you can call me by mine.” Alexander said.

Sancha looked at him and he found himself very taken by her in that moment, and as she smiled he felt his heart do a strange flip. “Very well, Alexander.”

Alexander grinned, he wanted to kiss Sancha in that moment, but then decided against it and instead he replied. “Well, the main nobles you have to look out for are the men of my father, the King’s council. There’s Lord John Comyn, the man with the flaming red hair, he’s a passionate man and a schemer, he will try and get his wife to be your chief lady in waiting. Then there’s the Steward, he’s a smart man, if somewhat slow on the uptake. Then there’s Durward, he’s an idiot. Then there’s Robert Bruce, Lord of Annandale and his son of the same name who is the Earl of Carrick, Bruce the elder is a good man, he’s someone you should get to know.”

“And his son?” Sancha asked.

“His son is not worth the ground he walks on.” Alexander said simply. He had never liked Carrick and had never understood what his father saw in the man.

“And what of the man who stood at your side during the ceremony?” Sancha asked.

“Ah…” Alexander smiled then. “That is my friend William, he is Earl of Ross. He is a good man and his wife is someone who I think you should meet.”

“Okay, I will keep that in mind.” Sancha replied as the carriage stopped before the entrance to the great hall.

 

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If you guys can see it, here's the family tree for England and Scotland as of June, 1284

 

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Chapter 5: Edward’s Decisions



October, 1284​

“Speak.” Edward commanded of the doctor standing before him and his wife. Their son Alphonso lay sleeping on the bed next to them, and their other son Edward was in a cot in the other room, guarded by three of the best men Edward knew.

“Sire, I have examined the Prince and have followed all procedures, the illness that affected him two months’ prior has gone.” The Doctor, a man named Dee said.

“You are sure?” Edward demanded. He had nearly lost another son, Alphonso the boy who promised to be the greatest King of them all.

“I am sure, Sire. Everything I have done and everything I have read indicates that the Prince will live.” The Doctor replied.

“Why did he fall ill?” Eleanor asked, looking between him and the Doctor. “We had followed your instructions and ensured he was kept away from damp environments.”

“I believe it might have been something he ate, my Queen. There are symptoms like this that are quite present in parts of the West coast, which display themselves as a deep sickness. Thankfully it was caught early and the right cures were applied.” The Doctor said.

“How can we make it so that he does not fall ill like this again?” Eleanor demanded.

Edward was about to answer that such a thing would not be possible, that it would be up to God to decide, but the Doctor spoke and surprised him. “Change the sort of food he eats, my Queen, replace certain things with more meat and ensure he gets a good helping of fruits. Oranges would be the best thing. That is all I can suggest.”

Edward rose, Eleanor with him and he opened the door. “Thank you, Doctor. Speak with my chamberlain about payment.”

The doctor bowed his head and said. “Sire, I am doing my duty, I do not require payment.” With that he bowed, straightened and then left.

Edward watched him go and then said to the guards. “Nobody is to disturb us until I say otherwise.

“Yes, Sire.” The guards both said.

Edward closed the door and then hugged Eleanor. “Thank goodness.” Eleanor said into his chest.

Edward pulled back and together they moved into the study which linked the two rooms. “We shall need to decide when to hold the marriage, the Count of Holland was willing to wait until Alphonso was better, but now that he is we must have the marriage as soon as possible.”

Eleanor needed. “The sooner the better, perhaps having it in the next month or two before Michaelmas would be the best.”

“Would that be right?” Edward asked. “The conditions are quite unpredictable at this time of year. We would also need to be back in London by then.”

“The doctor said he was okay to travel, furthermore, they would not need to consummate the marriage immediately, get the ceremony done and made official, then let them get to know one another.” Eleanor said.

Edward smiled at his wife. “As we did.” Those had been some of the most fun times of his life, getting to know Eleanor and getting to know what it was like to fall in love.

“Like we did.” His wife agreed.

They sat in companionable silence for some time after that, Eleanor reading something or the other, and Edward sifting through some documents. His time in Wales had been productive, the rebels were dead, and the Welsh had accepted his authority, some of the lords were also gaining lands in the place, to serve as administrators here. He had toyed with naming his brother by marriage a Welsh lord, but had decided against it, he did not need the King of Scots involved in Wales as well.

Eventually, he broke the silence and said. “I am going to name Alphonso, Prince of Wales. I intend to conduct a ceremony here in Caernarvon before we leave.”

“To show the Welsh that they are official the heir’s people and therefore subject to the crown?” Eleanor asked.

“Yes.” Edward responded, his wife always knew his reasons for doing things, it was one of the things he loved about her.

“A wise move, though perhaps we should wait a week or so before embarking on such a thing. We do not want to strain Alphonso.” Eleanor said.

“Indeed, we can write to the Count of Holland from here, and then make our way through.” Edward surmised.

“What month?” Eleanor asked.

“I think December, allow the Count to see the splendour of London during Michaelmas.” Edward said.

Eleanor smiled. “I think that is perfect.”

 

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Chapter 6: Alphonso, Prince of Wales



October, 1284​

Alphonso felt stronger than he had done in a great many months. Ever since the illness had come and gone, he’d noticed a change in himself. No longer was he content to do some studying and then leave to play, he wanted to know everything he could about everything. His mother had remarked on it to him a few days’ ago when he’d complained about having to leave the sparring yard for preparation for this. He understood why his father was making him do this, that didn’t mean he enjoyed it.

The Archbishop of Canterbury cleared his throat and the entire church fell silent. That his father had ordered a church built at Caernarvon did not surprise him, his father wanted to make it quite clear that he was indeed the master of Wales. “Alphonso, Earl of Chester and heir to the throne of His Majesty King Edward, do you understand why you have come here?”

“I do.” Alphonso said simply.

“And do you know what needs to be done?” The Archbishop asked.

“I do.” Alphonso said. Otherwise I wouldn’t be here you, moron. He thought to himself and then quickly chided himself for thinking such a thing of a man of God.

The Archbishop nodded. “Then let us begin.” The man clapped his hands and the Holy Book was brought out as was the staff that had allegedly belonged to St David, the Patron Saint of Wales. Alphonso still did not know how his father had found the thing. The Archbishop held out the Holy Book and Alphonso put his right hand on it and held his left hand up. “Do you, Alphonso, Earl of Chester and heir to the throne swear before God that you shall do everything in your power to uphold the laws of this land, to protect the people of this land from harm and to act as a fair and just representative, so help you God?”

“I, Alphonso, Earl of Chester and heir to the throne, do hereby swear to protect these people, uphold the laws of this land and to be a fair and just representative for them, with every inch of my being and power. With God as my witness I swear.” Alphonso replied.

The Holy Book was removed and the staff of St David was brought forward. Alphonso grasped it in both hands. The Archbishop spoke once more. “Do you swear before the Saints of God that you will remember Wales throughout all your decisions, that you will reside within this place for as long as you are able, and that you shall not forget nor bring disfavour onto Wales?”

Alphonso had never understood this part of the oath, he was heir to the throne, he’d need to spend time in London, but his father had insisted on this being included, so he said. “I, Alphonso do hereby swear before the Saints of God that I shall reside and remember Wales nor bring disfavour upon so long as I shall live.”

Alphonso handed the staff back to the attendant. The Archbishop then took the holy water and sprayed some of the droplets on his head and shoulders and then dabbed his forehead with it. “With the power invested in me, from the Holy See and the Holy Father and the Holy God, I do hereby declare you Wales one true Prince. Arise, Alphonso, Prince of Wales and Earl of Chester.”

Alphonso rose slowly, bowed his head before the Archbishop and then turned and bowed to the assembled nobles. He knew what he needed to do next, he walked to where his father and mother were stood, he knelt before them and said. “Your Majesties, please accept my humble oath of allegiance and obeisance as Prince of Wales, I recognise your authority.”

His father spoke in a deep voice. “Your oath is recognised, arise, my Prince and our son.”

Alphonso rose, and then was embraced by his father and mother, to the cheers of those gathered in the church. They then walked out of the church as a family, where they were greeted by the nurse who held Alphonso’s younger brother Edward. When they were out of the church, Alphonso asked. “When do we leave for London?”

“On the morrow, and your bride shall be coming in a week after that.” His father answered.

 

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Chapter 7: A Portuguese Woman In Scotland



January, 1285
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Sancha stretched, her stomach was huge now, perhaps three months away from giving birth, and she was both excited and terrified. Her husband had surprisingly not taken a mistress during her pregnancy, and that was something she had found both relieving and odd, she knew her father had taken mistresses when her mother had been heavy with child, but it seemed her husband was a different man.

He was different in another way as well, she knew a man like her brother, the great King Denis would’ve laughed at her for wanting to learn the language that her future subjects spoke, but not her husband, he listened to her request and taught her. Her Scots was improving almost daily, but her Gaelic left much to be desired. She tried speaking in Scots now, whilst it was just the two of them. “I heard that Lord Comyn had an argument with Lord Bruce the other day, do you know what it was about?” Lord Comyn’s wife was one of her ladies in waiting, she was a nice lady but a bit distant and someone Sancha struggled to understand because of how thick her accent was.

“Yes, it was to do with some position in my father’s court.” Alexander replied. Sancha did not know what her husband made of the Comyns and Bruces, he always seemed quite so disinterested when speaking about them, whereas he was full of life speaking about someone such as the Steward or Durward. That confused her given how powerful the two families were.

“What position?” She asked, sounding out the words slowly, they still felt so awkward to her.

“Something to with the household guard. Comyn believes that his man has the right to stand in the guard, whilst Bruce argues his man is better.” Alexander said. “My father solved the problem by appointing both men to positions.”

“Is that the right thing to do?” Sancha asked. “From what I have….” She pondered the right word to use, and then said. “From what I have seen neither will be happy unless they have beaten the other.” She had seen such a thing in Portugal where the Lord of Lusa and the Count of Barcelos competed heavily with one another for her brother’s favour.

“It is the only way to ensure that neither side has reason to turn against the King.” Alexander replied.

“I do not understand?” Sancha replied in French.

Alexander smiled and replied in kind. “Scotland is built on the ties of the lords and their oaths of fealty to the King. However, many of the lords who you see before you at court came to Scotland with my ancestor King David. In return for their lands and services, they offered him fealty, and for a time that worked, but then as always happens in this damned Kingdom, the lords got powerful. And though my father is not weak, he knows that he cannot destroy the nobles, not yet at least. Therefore, he gives them roles at court and buys them off. It is not an ideal thing to do, but it is the way to stay on top of things.”

“And in dealing with people like Comyn and Bruce whose rivalry threatens the Kingdom?” Sancha asked, she was not blind she had done her searches on these families after coming to the Kingdom. “Is it not better to stamp them down?”

“You see, my father would, but they both control important Earldoms in the Kingdom. Badenoch and Lochaber belong to Comyn and control the North Western portion of this Kingdom, whilst another branch controls Buchan ensuring stability in a region that once sided with our enemies. Bruce controls the South West, a region which once rebelled and sided with rivals to the throne. Therefore, we must keep them happy and appeased. Positions at court and in battle do wonders for that.” Alexander replied though he did not seem pleased.

Sancha mentioned this. “You do not like it?”

“Of course I don’t, I think it is ridiculous. We are not England, we do not have some document drafted by up themselves Barons, we are Scotland. Our King should not need to worry about upsetting lords and facing rebellion every time he needs to make an important decision. He should be able to make a decision and have the lords accept it.” Alexander said.

“Then perhaps we should find a way to undermine their power.” Sancha said.

“How?” Alexander asked.

“Well, the more children we have, the more brides and grooms we will need to find for them, the nobles of Scotland will surely not balk at a chance to marry into the family. We can then use our children’s marriages to establish a group of nobles around us who support our intentions who are tired of this impasse between Bruce and Comyn and strengthen royal authority that way.” Sancha suggested.

Her husband looked thoughtful, and in that moment Sancha felt a flaring of desire for him, but she pushed it down, she needed to work with him now, not make love to him. Eventually her husband said. “It might just work, but to whom would we marry our children to?”

“Well, doesn’t Lord Edward have a daughter?” Sancha suggested.

“He does, and having a son married to that daughter would mean we have a Prince in Galloway able to keep an eye on the Bruces.” Alexander said.

“And it does also mean that the Balliols would stick with us, because of such a marriage and the prestige it would bring, alongside the Comyns perhaps?” Sancha said in agreement.

“Perhaps, though we would need to do this carefully. Any hint of it being overt and the nobles will not be happy.” Alexander said.

“What of your friend, William?” Sancha asked. She found the Earl of Ross a complete contrast to her husband, where Alexander was quiet and thoughtful, William was loud, brash and bold.

“I think he would agree to this as well. He has a son on the way.” Alexander said.

“Another chance there then.” Sancha said.

Her husband surprised her then when he leaned in and kissed her full on the mouth. When he pulled away he blushed and said. “You are brilliant, you know.”

 

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Chapter 8: My Kingdom For A Horse



April, 1285
​

It was damned hot in Bayonne. How anyone got any work done here, Peter did not know. Alas, he had agreed to this fight, and so he would not concede it just because he was already sweating in his armour. The terms were simple, the first man to surrender between himself and Charles of Anjou would give up their claim to Sicily. It had been suggested by Charles, and after someone had whispered in His Holiness’ ear that it was a good thing to go through with, it had been sanctioned. Bayonne in Gascony was chosen as the location with King Edward of England as the judge.

Peter rolled his shoulders. Looked at his men, there were one hundred of them and one hundred men with Anjou. It would be a bloody fight, but it would be worthwhile to finally end this damned war. Of course the French King was present as well. The man had been about to invade Aragon when the Pope had told him to stop. Peter mounted his horse and said a quick prayer. A Bishop came forward and spoke before them all in Latin. “To remind you both, the first person to surrender will renounce their claim to Sicily, this is what needs to happen. No deaths, no serious injuries, just surrender. Do you both agree.”

“Yes.” Peter said at once.

“Yes.” Anjou replied.

“Then begin.” The Bishop said clapping his hands and moving away.

Peter said another prayer, and then spurred his horse forward, his weapon of choice was a hammer, and it felt somewhat heavy in his hands as he moved. Some knight bearing the Capetian flower came forward to attack him and he swung his hammer hard. The man was knocked off his horse. Peter kept moving. Another man came and swung at him, Peter blocked the blow and fought off the man, using the weight of his hammer to push the man’s weapon out of his hands. He moved on. He risked a glance around the field. His men were doing better than Anjou’s, there were more of them up on their horses, but he could not see Anjou anywhere. Had the man fled?

He doubted it, but still that was slightly unnerving. Anjou was a dangerous fighter, he’d proven that over the past few years, and so his disappearance was something Peter would need to be careful of. He was brought back to the present when someone swung at him. A sword came and he just managed to block the blow on the edge of his hammer. He fought the man with intensity then. A swing, then a block, followed by another swing. Peter could feel his arms working overtime to keep everything balanced. He soon found a weak spot, just behind the man’s right hand, he swung hard, and saw the man’s hand dent and his sword drop.

Peter moved on. The crowd were roaring, he wondered briefly if there were more Frenchmen or Gascons in the crowd, and whether or not King Edward would meet the requirements of their marriage arrangement should he win. He hoped he would, otherwise this entire thing would just be completely embarrassing. He scanned the ground, looking for his enemy, and found him, galloping right toward him. Peter spurred his horse on to meet him, and their weapons met in a blaze of sparks. Peter grunted under the intensity of the fighting. They pulled away and then came back in a blaze.

Anjou pushed hard, and Peter had to call on every inch of his strength to keep the other man from beating him. They broke apart only to re-join seconds later. Peter this time had the advantage, he pushed hard and heard a crack as something in Anjou broke or dented. He was not sure but he was not going to stop. He kept pushing until Anjou stopped resisting. He expected to hear a call for surrender, but Anjou had leaned back and Peter had followed him, at the last moment he realised what was about to happen and he hurriedly tried to move back and out of the way but couldn’t, and so he got hit on the tip of his helmet.

The blow made his head shake slightly, but after a moment he managed to right himself. He struck back hard, his hammer hitting Anjou several times as the other man struggled to fight back. When Anjou did eventually fight back, Peter was rocked with several blows to the head and the chest. He knew he was going to feel this on the morrow, if he did indeed make it through to the morrow. Something inside him was aching and crying out for relief. But he would not surrender. He had come far too far to surrender now.

Anjou was on the attack once more, the man clearly sensed a chance. That was a good thing for Peter, for it meant that Anjou was worried and he would eventually make a mistake. Therefore, Peter allowed himself to take a few blows, here and there, they twisted through him and made his teeth rattle, but it would be worth it in the end. Especially now that he could see Anjou was tiring out. After the last swing missed him by a fraction, Peter decided now was the time to attack.

He leaned forward and swung, and he did not stop swinging. He hit Anjou’s right arm, he hit Anjou’s left arm, he hit Anjou on the head, he hit Anjou on the side and on the chest. He didn’t stop. Anjou was clearly too tired to stop the blows coming and seemed increasingly as if he was going to surrender. Peter knew he needed to knock the weapon out of Anjou’s hands if there was to be an end to this. And when he saw his opening he took it.

Anjou’s grip was slipping, Peter ducked and weaved and then swung as hard as he could at the man’s hands. One blow loosened the grip Anjou had over his weapon, another blow saw the weapon fall to the ground. Peter looked at Anjou and Anjou looked at him. Slowly, Anjou raised his hands up in the air and said. “I surrender.” Peter looked at him and Anjou moved to lift his helmet off his head, which he did with shaking fingers. “I surrender.” He said louder.

King Edward stood up and said. “We have our winner, by the grace of the Holy Father, I declare King Peter the King of Sicily.”

 

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Chapter 9: France’s Consternation



July, 1285
​

He was Philip, King of France, the third Philip to hold the most powerful crown in all of Christendom, and yet he still felt like a boy. He was not meant for this. His brother was supposed to have taken the throne, but instead he had. He only knew how to fight and how to fuck, he didn’t quite understand the bigger things that were thrown at him for being King. His son Louis had perhaps shown some intelligence, which had been snuffed out, but his remaining sons also showed intelligence, and he placed his hopes on them. Even if his heir and namesake increasingly frustrated him.

Philip cleared his throat. “With Aragon now in control of Sicily, what does this mean for us?”

Raoul Clermont, Constable of France and his main advisor on foreign affairs spoke. “Sire, what it means is that we have lost a valuable ally in Italy, and someone who could help us apply pressure on the Holy See. With Peter now ruling in Sicily, we must now accept that some of our influence will wane. King Charles will not hold the same power as he once did, even though he remains King of Naples.”

“And His Holiness has shown no willingness to reverse the removal of the Papal ban.” Philip’s son and heir Philip said. “Which has allowed England and Aragon to consummate their alliance with the marriage of King Edward’s daughter to that insipid fool Alfonso.”

Philip looked at his son and wondered where the sweet little boy he had once known had gone. “Very well. What can we do to ensure we do not lose out in this new arrangement?”

Raoul spoke then. “We can look to tie England closer to us as well. His Holiness did propose a marriage between Prince Charles, Count of Valois and King Edward’s daughter Joan. I believe such a marriage would be most welcome.”

“In return for what?” Philip the heir asked. “Gascony? King Edward will never give that up, his lords would revolt.”

“In return for peace between our two Kingdoms.” King Philip said looking at his son and willing him to be silent.

“Pah,” Philip the heir said. “Such a thing will never happen. Not until we have Gascony completely in our grasp.”

Philip sighed. “We cannot engage in war, but I shall not accept a lesser dowry for the girl. Something has to be given.”

At this his Lord Chancellor Pierre Chalon spoke. “Perhaps an offer of trading concessions, the removal of barriers? It would make things much easier for both Kingdoms. England’s exports into France cost them more than 2% of what they make. Remove the barriers and they will break even, and we shall achieve the same.”

Philip was not financially smart, but he understood what removing trade barriers could achieve. “Perhaps that would be something we could do.” He mused.

“The wine merchants will not like that.” His son pointed out. “They make a fortune from the protection offered by the barriers on English wine. Remove that and we shall be facing trouble.”

Philip sighed. “Yes, but there is nothing else that can be offered that would sate both our Kingdoms needs.”

His heir looked as though he’d grown a second head. “Then you will condemn our merchants to oblivion.”

“In the short term, My Prince.” Chalon said. “In the long term they would experience untold rewards and benefits from freer access.”

His heir snorted. “Perhaps, but people do not think in the long term. They will want answers today.”

Philip was growing tired of his heir’s constant downwards words. “Send a letter to King Edward offering this arrangement.”

“Yes Sire.” Chalon responded.

Before his son could protest, Philip rose, forcing his advisors to do the same. “That is all for today, thank you.” With that he moved away from the table and walked out of the room, he needed the welcoming embrace of his wife, and the relaxations that came with the summer.

 

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Chapter 10: A World Within A World



October, 1285​

Alexander looked outside onto the grounds below. Stirling Castle had belonged to the family since the time of Malcolm Canmore, built shortly after his defeat of Macbeth. It was a towering fortress and one that would take a lot of cunning and guile to take. Alexander knew that if his wife was still alive she’d snort and say he was paranoid. But he knew that she knew he was being reasonable. Their childhood together had shown them both just how foolish the nobles of Scotland were. It was the one reason he was trying to ensure his son and grandson never faced the same issues.

He turned from the window and looked at his son. Alexander, Lord of Mann and heir to Scotland, was leaning back, his blonde hair cut short and a beard growing where once there had been none. Alexander felt a jolt of pride for his son and said. “How is everything going with your wife and son?”

His son smiled. “Good. Sancha seems to have recovered from the ailment that affected her after Alexander was born, and the lad is finally sleeping well. We had a full night’s rest last night.”

Alexander smiled in response. “That is good, though you know my thoughts on that. The child is merely paying you back for the nights you kept your mother and I up.”

His son laughed. “I see.” There was a pause and then his son asked. “You said earlier that you were considering giving him a title, did you mean that?”

“Yes,” Alexander responded. “I believe the time has come for us to stamp more of our authority onto the lords and nobles of this kingdom. My own father meant to create me as Earl of Gairoch before he passed away, and I intend to do the same for you.”

There was a brief pause and then his son said. “But Gairoch belongs to the Earl of Mar does it not?”

“It does not, I had the chancellor look at the legality of ownership to Gairoch, it never left the crown’s hands. Mar was merely custodian of the place.” Alexander responded. “So, you shall be created Earl of Gairoch at the next meeting of the council and your son shall hold the title Lord of Mann.”

His son looked surprised and then said. “It is an honour, Sire.”

Alexander waved a hand and said. “Honour, it is common sense. The English gave their heirs a title to ensure that the regions placed under them would be easier to control. It is time we did the same. We cannot afford to be behind the English, not with this trade that comes through Portugal.”

His son nodded and then asked. “What about the feud between Bruce and Comyn?” A pause and then. “That threatens to erupt at any moment, is there going to be any means of sorting that out?”

Alexander rubbed a hand of his face. He needed to shave, his beard was getting out of control. “As of right now, direct action cannot be done. I am not sure that I agree with what the Earl of Lennox suggested, but at the same time I cannot see any other way.”

“What did the Earl of Lennox suggest?” His son asked.

“That to counter the bases that Bruce and Comyn have we raise several other nobles to the peerage. His suggestions were Stewart and Durward.” Alexander said.

“I agree about Stewart, that man leans more towards the crown than to either Comyn or Bruce, I’m not sure I agree about Durward. The man is a bastard, and is worth perhaps a barony nothing more. In fact, I’d actually suggest Hamilton. The man constantly keeps the lower highland clans in order.” His son said.

Alexander considered this. “I shall think on it, Lennox has only a daughter just now, a girl named Margaret, she is slightly younger than you but could make a good match for Stewart. Hamilton is a sensible suggestion.”

His son nodded. “Anything that keeps the Bruce and Comyn feud from erupting I think would be good.”

“Indeed, and when you have more children they can be of use as well.” Alexander said.

His son looked surprised and then nodded. “True, this is very true.”

 

[VVD0D95]

Chapter 11: An Indian Storm



January, 1286​

Ramachandra looked at the map spread out on the table before him. He looked at it and before him he saw a united Bharat as in the days of old, during the reigns of Guptas, the Kushans and the Mauryas. He was the heir to that legacy and he intended to see it completed before he died. Fifteen years on the throne he had been, ruling where once Lord Krishna had ruled, and he was determined that his son would inherit the world as had been foretold.

He cleared his throat. “We received word that the old Sultan has sent his generals southwards to bother the Vaghelas and the Paramaras. What news has come from there?”

His chief minister Rudra, the son of an old acquaintance spoke. “Sire, the Vaghelas have managed to repulse the raids of the Sultan, but the Paramaras are struggling. Indeed, there is a fear that their King took a serious injury during the fighting and therefore might not be able to continue should there be another invasion.”

Ramachandra nodded, he stroked his moustache and thought aloud. “This Sultan is old, but he is cunning. He will want to ensure that neither dynasty has the chance to regroup and strengthen itself internally.” He paused as something struck him. “Who is this man’s heir?”

“Sire, it is not clear who his heir is. His eldest son Muhammed died fighting the tribesmen from China, and his other son Bughra wishes to remain in Bengal. Following the death of his grandson Khusru, the succession is unclear.” Rudra said.

Ramachandra wanted to laugh with joy at this news, instead he asked. “Our spies in the Sultan’s court are still active are they not?”

“They are, Sire.” Rudra responded.

“Then write to them and tell them to start sowing the seeds of discontent. Tell them to start whispering campaigns for and against the different candidates for successor. And tell them, that they must ensure the Sultan choses the weakest of the claimants out of them all.” Ramachandra said.

“Yes, Sire.” Rudra said making a detailed note of this. “There was one other thing, King Arjuna’s daughter has finally come of age.”

Ramachandra nodded. The Paramaras were a strong dynasty, and their Kingdom of Malwa was strategically important. “Very well, send out a letter to King Arjuna, remind him of the agreement we made. Tell him we shall arrange a betrothal between our son and heir Simhana and his daughter, what was her name?”

“Radha, Sire.” Rudra supplied.

“Yes, Radha. We shall arrange the betrothal. With the usual dowry requests, but also an alliance.” Ramachandra said.

“An alliance, Sire?” Rudra asked.

“Yes, we shall be taking advantage of this chaos in the Sultan’s court to strike a blow and drive them away from our land.” Ramachandra said.

“Very good, Sire.” Rudra said.

“Send a letter to Saranga as well, informing him of our wish for an alliance and his son’s hand for our daughter.” Ramachandra said.

“Yes, Sire.” Rudra said.

Ramachandra smiled then as he looked back at the map. Soon, all of Bharat would bow to the Yadava dynasty as it always should have done.

 

[VVD0D95]

Chapter 12: Eleanor, Queen of England



May, 1286
​

Eleanor flicked through the books before her and ensured she knew what she was looking for. When she found, it she stopped and looked up. Her treasurer, John Tresham was sat opposite her and was waiting for her to speak. Eleanor looked through the numbers and then said. “From what this information tells me, the accounts are in good order. We are making a five percent annual gain on investment and on the rents from the dower lands. However, there does seem to be a slight dip in the months of October and November. Why is that?”

Tresham who had replaced her previous treasurer Henri Gascard, when Gascard had died from a wound taken on the road to York some eight months ago. Unlike Gascard who was charming and nice to look at Tresham was curt, to the point and looked a little like a boil. Still he was competent. “Majesty, from having looked through the accounts myself, it would seem that the dip in October and November is due to the beginning of winter. At that time fewer people are moving about and are more likely to stay in one place for longer. Though given that the land is not workable the money coming in is less than in previous months.”

Eleanor thought on this, naturally this was the right answer. But something about this was not sitting right with her. “This is the first time the dip in money has been quite so noticeable. Was there a particularly bad winter this time around, or was there some other reason?”

Here, Gascard would’ve shifted around until he found a polite way to say what needed to be said, Tresham simply said. “The cost of His Majesty’s wars in Wales have ensured that the increase in taxes has seen more people saving for that instead of paying the increased amount on rents in Your Majesty’s lands.”

Eleanor nodded, that made sense, however, she had looked through the legal writings on her lands and knew that they were considered in the taxation for the payment of her husband’s wars. “You do not think though that there might have been something foul at play?”

“Majesty?” Tresham asked, his face contorting in a very unpleasant image.

“The rents from my lands are included in the cost of taxation for King Edward’s lands, His Majesty made sure of that. Therefore, I do not know whether or not some sheriff or the other has been taking from the top.” Eleanor said.

Tresham looked thoughtful. “I shall need to examine the accounts again, but it is possible. There are one or two of the tax collectors who could have done such a thing.”

“Please do.” Eleanor said.

There was a brief pause, and then with a nod of her head, Tresham rose, he bowed and then left the room. As he left, she tidied up the books and placed them back in the appropriate draws. When that was done, the doors opened and her son’s tutor walked in. Father Charles was a portly man, who had fiery red hair. He looked almost like a member of her husband’s family, but for the stomach. She rose and greeted him before they both sat down. “Father, thank you for coming.” She began. “I wished to speak with you about my son, Alphonso, and how he progresses.” Alphonso had always been smart, from the earliest time she could remember, his tutors had always spoken about how quickly he picked things up and how hard working he was. Quite different to her daughters, some of whom rebelled against basic instruction.

“The Prince is doing very well, Majesty. He requested a copy of the honourable gentleman Vegitus’ works, and we have been reading through them.” Father Charles said. “He has digested them quite quickly, I must say.”

“Which books by Vegitus?” Eleanor asked. She had had the book translated for Edward when they had been on crusade many years ago, and he had found it fascinating. But he had been a grown man, her son was still a boy.

“De Re militari, Majesty.” Father Charles said.

Eleanor was surprised, but also not surprised. Alphonso showed a similar interest as his father had done in these matters. “And he understands the text completely?” She asked.

“As completely as one of his age and slightly older can, Majesty, yes.” Father Charles responded. “He has also mastered several Latin and French texts, and has told me he wishes to become more fluent in Your Majesty’s mother tongue.”

Eleanor was highly impressed. And she felt confident of her son’s and the Kingdom’s future. She decided then that she wished to see what her daughter by marriage had learned. “And his wife?”

“Princess Margaret has become fluent in French and Latin, Majesty, she is also taking steps to learn English also.” Father Charles replied.

Eleanor nodded. She could speak to the ladies about Margaret’s other lessons, but for now this was good enough for her. “Thank you, Father.” she rose then and walked with the man to the door, seeing him off. She then walked back to her table and picked up a letter from her daughter Eleanor in Aragon, and smiled as she read all about the little details of her first grandchild and namesake.

 

[VVD0D95]

Chapter 13: Rudolf of the Purple



September, 1286
​

Rudolf blinked and pushed back a sigh. He was old, and he felt it in his bones. No longer could he move with the pace and speed he had once called his own. Now all that was left to him was his mind. He left it to his sons to handle the military activities. Though increasingly he was beginning to think that was why nothing was getting done. He cleared his throat, took a sip of wine and then spoke.

“What word has come from the lands under danger?” He had wanted this situation resolved some six years ago, but it had not happened. He did not know if it ever would.

“Sire,” that was his eldest son Albert, Duke of Austria and Styria and his hope for the dynasty. “Bavaria continues to face tensions between various factions alongside Franconia and Savoy remains a risk. The Duke of Bavaria has asked for aid, stating that he fears his brother means to do him harm.”

Perhaps it was a sign of his age, but Rudolf didn’t know which Duke his son was speaking about and asked him as such. “Which one?”

“Duke Henry, Sire.” Albert responded. “He fears the invasion from his brother Duke Louis. He believes Louis wishes to unite the two Dukedoms into one.”

Rudolf sighed, those damned Wittelsbach’s and their ambition. “And is there any truth to this matter?” Rudolf asked.

“From what I have been able to find out, yes. Duke Louis wants to bring the two Dukedoms together, but he wants to do it through marriage.” Albert responded.

“Marriage? Presumably by his son and one of his brother’s daughters?” Rudolf surmised.

“Yes, Sire.” Albert responded. “And he is hoping that he can get Your Majesty’s support to petition His Holiness for this marriage. He wishes for a dispensation.”

Rudolf thought on this. His relations with the current Pope were not as good as what they had been with this man’s predecessor. “What this he saying he shall offer in return?”

“He says he will support you in any claim you make for the Imperial Crown, and will speak with his fellow electors.” Albert said.

Rudolf considered this. He wanted the Imperial title, he wanted to end the struggle and chaos that had gripped the Empire since the last Hohenstaufen had died, but he sensed there was a double-edged sword there. “What do you think?” He asked his son. “Do you believe he is being genuine?”

“I do not know, Sire. On the one hand, he is tied to us through marriage, but on the other hand, he is a Wittelsbach and they are notoriously ambitious. He could just be saying what he thinks we wish to hear.” Albert responded.

Rudolf pondered this and then said. “Tell him that if he can guarantee his support and his friends support in the next Imperial election, I shall consider supporting him. But he must present their support before the end of the year.” He looked at his second son and namesake Rudolf. “Rudolf, you shall venture to Rome, meet with our friends there, and inform them that we wish to get His Holiness’ blessing for an election.”

“Yes, Sire.” Both his sons replied.

“Dismissed.” Rudolf said. He watched as they both got up, bowed and then left. Once they were gone he looked at his hands and sighed, the skin was beginning to dry again and his eyes were hurting. He did not have long.

 

[VVD0D95]

Chapter 14: A Scheme At Gairoch



December, 1286
​

Alexander, Prince of Scotland and Earl of Gairoch sat next to his heavily pregnant wife Sancha, and watched the scenes unfolding before him. They’d invited several notables from around the area and even the Earls of Mar and Buchan to their home in Gairoch Castle, for a festive meal before the grand celebrations in Stirling. It hadn’t snowed yet this year, which was a relief. Alexander did not want to lose his wife or his children. Already there were two children for him and his wife, a son Alexander, named Lord of Mann by the King, and a daughter Margaret named after Alexander’s mother. Sancha was with child once more, and Alexander was both happy and a bit worried about that. He knew the problems of pregnancy well now. Sancha had been in labour for twelve hours with Margaret. He blinked as the Earl of Buchan came and sat down next to him.

Alexander Comyn, Earl of Buchan was a big man, he towered over most people, with his fiery red hair and his ruddy complexion he looked like a giant out of some sort of story. “My Prince.” The man said.

“Lord Buchan.” Alexander said in acknowledgement.

“Quite the festivities you have arranged for us today I must say, my Prince.” Comyn said. “I must admit I was quite surprised to receive an invitation.”

Alexander knew why the man was saying that, but he feigned surprise. “And why is that, my lord? You are one of our closest allies and friends, why would we not invite you?”

Buchan said nothing to that, instead he asked. “I know that there were some complaints from your side of the court over the appointment of Bruce’s man to the King’s guard, and for that I thank you. It is important we maintain a balance.”

Alexander nodded. “Naturally.” He did not say that he would not have gone for a Comyn man either. Instead he would have chosen one of the Hamiltons to sit in the guard of the King, but his father had overridden him.

“Now, there was something I wished to speak with you about, that I fear might not yet get to the King’s attention.” Comyn said.

Alexander said nothing, he merely waited, and hoped it would not be something to do with the Bruces. Eventually Comyn spoke. “I have received word from my daughter Marjorie that the Lord of Lauderdale came to visit her and her husband some nights ago and demanded their help.”

Alexander raised an eyebrow, the Lord of Lauderdale was the sort of man who cautionary tales were told of to little children. Indeed, the whole family was of that sort. “What did he want?”

“He wanted their assistance in handling one of his debtors.” Comyn said.

Alexander repressed a snort. “And I trust your daughter and her husband told him that such a thing would break the law. No lord should ask an Earl for help with their debts.” That had been something his great-grandsire had introduced to deal with the local chieftains some years ago.

“Of course, my prince.” Comyn replied. “But it was who the debt collector was that prompted my daughter to write to me.”

Alexander raised an eyebrow. “And who was the debt collector?”

“The Lord of Liddesdale, my Prince.” Comyn replied.

“Liddesdale?” Alexander asked surprised. Liddesdale was a small lordship on the border, not particularly wealthy, but a proud family. “How have they been able to afford lending money to someone who owns more land and money than them?” He asked.

“Exactly. I think there might be more to this.” Comyn replied. “We all know that Liddesdale’s father was known for his ties with the Jews, perhaps his son has done something similar.”

Alexander blanched a little at that. It sounded so sinister, but the Jewish people he had met had been nothing but friendly and kind. Indeed, two of them had helped provide comfort to Sancha during her labour and had been better at suggesting how she could ease the pain than the doctor Alexander had had. “Perhaps, or perhaps he has been using his words to con people out of money.”

Comyn nodded. “Perhaps. I do think it is the right thing to investigate, though, my Prince.”

Alexander nodded. “Agreed. I shall investigate this myself. Leave the letter your daughter wrote with my steward and I shall take the matter from there.”

“Yes, my Prince.” Comyn said, he rose, bowed, straightened and then walked away to go and speak with someone else.

Once he left, Sancha turned to him and asked in Portuguese. “What was that about?”

Alexander took his wife’s hand and said. “Someone has been breaking the law, and I need to see who it is.”

Sancha nodded. “Of course.” She knew he’d tell her more about it later that evening.

 

[VVD0D95]

Chapter 15: The Crown and the Key



March, 1287​

Edward shifted through the papers before him. He felt tired, he felt as though there was something chipping away at him. He was not sure what it was. Perhaps it was something he ate. He would need to speak with Eleanor about the cooks. He picked up one of the documents and then spoke. “This document says we are moving away from the debts and problems of the Welsh wars and the French issue. So, tell me, how have we managed this?”

John Kirkby, Bishop of Ely spoke then. “Sire, we have received the money owed to Queen Eleanor in full as Her Majesty requested. We’ve also received excess pay from the Earls of Gloucester, Hereford and Baron Mortimer for their feuding as agreed at Wigmore Castle.”

“Very good. And how might we continue this? There are several reforms I wish to bring to the realm. Improving the connections between the Kingdom and ensuring we have a proper drainage system.” Edward said.

Kirkby said nothing for a moment and then responded. “I believe that we would need to raise the taxation on the wine merchants and the wool traders to ensure we are getting the right dues from their sales. However, to be able to counter any protests we must also ensure we raise some slow raised taxes in regards to the nobles.”

Edward nodded, he knew that his father and grandfather had tried to do something like this once before, and they had faced rebellions from the barons. Gloucester himself had rebelled during this time. “We shall need to play a balancing act, I feel. Otherwise, we shall face another war and that is not something I wish to see.”

Robert Burnell, Lord Chancellor spoke then. “Sire, I believe I might have a way to achieve this.”

“Go on.” Edward commanded.

“Why do we not levy the tax on the wool merchants and wine merchants, and then add in a bill through the council and then through Parliament for a two percent rise in the amount they pay in their services to the crown. Furthermore, we could raise the cost of knighthood fees by two percent also. Given the number of nobles who have second and third sons who are wishing to achieve knighthoods that would give us quite a lot.” Burnell said.

Edward pondered this and asked. “Would such a thing be within the legal means? What of the Magna Carta would they not use that to challenge this?”

Burnell shook his head. “No, Sire. The Magna Carta covers many things but it does not mention anything about the Knighthood clause nor the services of the crown. Therefore, I believe that Parliament could not object to this being levied.”

Edward nodded. “Very well, have this drafted out and issued. And send the writs out for Parliament, I shall want this done officially.”

“Yes, Sire.” Burnell said. There was a brief pause, and then Burnell said. “There was one other thing that could be done to ensure the nobles don’t protest.”

“And what is that?” Edward asked though he thought he knew what was going to be suggested.

“A marriage between the former leader of the opposition, Lord Gloucester and one of Your Majesty’s daughters.” Burnell said. “It would go a long way to healing the divisions and would make Gloucester more willing to pay attention to what Your Majesty wants.”

Edward did not like the idea of giving one of his daughters to Gloucester, but he knew there was sense in the proposal. “My daughter Joan is betrothed to the Count of Valois, breaking that marriage would leave us at odds with France. Our daughter Margaret is betrothed to the Count of Brabant, our daughter Mary is in the church and our daughter Elizabeth is five. There is not one daughter who is free to be wed.”

“Then perhaps a member of the extended members of the Royal Family could be offered?” Burnell asked.

Edward thought on this and then responded. “My cousin Margaret could be considered a suitable bride. However, Gloucester had married our cousin as a first wife, therefore, one would need a dispensation from His Holiness to ensure it happens.”

Burnell nodded. “I can send a letter to our friends in Rome to ensure that it is granted.”

“And of course if you were to seize Jewish assets and money within the land, you would endear yourself to His Holiness, more Your Majesty.” Kirkby said.

Edward nodded. “Very well, send the letter, and send out the writ for the seizures.” He rose and walked out of the room, needing to use the toilet to ensure he did not do something he might regret later.

 

[VVD0D95]

Chapter 16: Alphonso’s Psalter



July, 1287
​

They’d finally managed to get rid of the lady who kept an eye on Margaret, and Alphonso trusted his two guards to be discreet. It had been hard to get rid of the harridan but they’d managed it somehow. “That was brilliant what you said.” Alphonso said, drinking a cup of wine. “The Queen needs to see her, brilliant, especially with the Queen actually having asked to see her.”

Margaret giggled a little and Alphonso felt something in him flip. “Well, at least now the Queen will hear about how disobedient I’m being according to Sister Elizabeth.”

“Yes well, Sister Elizabeth can be ignored for the time being.” Alphonso said.

Margaret feigned a gasp and put a hand to her mouth, Alphonso looked at her and felt the urge to kiss her then, but he prevented himself from doing so. “My Prince, how scandalous.”

Alphonso grinned. “Well, now that she’s gone we might as well take advantage of it.”

Margaret smiled as well, and his heart did that strange flip again. “And what did you have in mind exactly?”

Alphonso was very much aware that at any moment his father or mother or even Sister Elizabeth could walk in and then there’d be a scandal. So, he kept his hands behind his back and whispered. “Well, what did you want to do?”

“Well,” Margaret whispered back. “Isabella told me of the little game she and Patrick played the other day.”

Alphonso leaned in then, unable to help himself, Patrick had told him of this same game as well. “And what game was this?”

“It’s better if I show you.” Margaret replied. Before he could respond, she moved in and pressed her lips to his and then moved back.

Alphonso blinked and then said. “I didn’t quite get that, could you try again?”

Margaret giggled and leaned in, she pressed another kiss to his lips and then leaned against him and whispered. “Did you get it now?”

Alphonso grinned. “I did. I think I should try it now.” With that he held her to him and kissed her, he felt her deepen the kiss, and soon enough there was a bit of tongue which felt odd but also quite nice, but then they heard footsteps and drew apart. Alphonso took a deep breath and turned. But there was nobody there. He blushed then looking at Margaret, her hair was slightly astray, he helped her fix it and then took her hand. “So….”

Margaret looked at him and smiled. “So….”

Alphonso did not quite know what to do, his trousers had become somewhat tight, and he hoped Margaret could not see them. He cleared his throat and said. “Have you per chance read any of the story of Try?”

Margaret’s face lit up. “Oh I have! I have. I found it most fascinating, though I prefer the story of Heracles.”

Alphonso was intrigued. He preferred Jason, but Heracles always did seem fascinating. “Why is that?” He asked.

“The trials of Heracles are some of the greatest story telling ever to have existed.” His wife enthused. Her cheeks were flushed and she looked absolutely beautiful, Alphonso sat enraptured as she continued. “He conquers everything in his path and does it through understanding where his strengths and limitations are, and he ensures that at the end the people benefit.”

Alphonso nodded but then said. “But he also was fiercely arrogant and someone who had a fearsome temper. Furthermore, having Zeus as a father must have helped.”

His wife grinned at him, making him want to kiss her again. “Is that jealousy I hear, my Prince?”

Alphonso blushed and shrugged. “Not all, my Princess, indeed, it is an observation. I would rather be me than Heracles. Imagine having to perform all those trials, it would be exhausting.” He flopped down onto the ground dramatically causing Margaret to laugh.

She soon joined him on the ground and whispered. “I agree, I think it is better to be who we are than to wish to be someone else. Perhaps one day we shall build our own monuments.”

He looked at her and said. “Perhaps we will.” Though deep down he knew he would, for how could he not?

 

[VVD0D95]

Chapter 17: Comyn’s A Coming



November, 1287
​

John looked at his brother by marriage and wondered just how the man managed to maintain estates in Scotland as well as in Northern England. He constantly looked frazzled and uncertain, and as if he was led around by his far more powerful and charismatic wife. Still, Balliol was his brother by marriage and so he would discuss this matter with him. He started off with the pleasantries first.

“How are your wife and children?” John asked. Balliol had a son named Edward after his famous patron, and a daughter who he had named Margaret in honour of the King’s daughter and wife.

Balliol smiled. “They are well thank you, John, and yours? How are your wife and children?”

John nodded. “They are well enough.” He didn’t want to discuss his family with a man like Balliol, even if his wife was Balliol’s sister. She had far more back bone than he did.

“That is good.” Balliol said and then he surprised him by saying. “But you did not come all the way to Dundee, to ask me about my family. So, what is it you wanted to discuss?”

John smiled, sometimes Balliol could be clever, sometimes he could be quite daft. Either way now that they had cut through the pleasantries he could get to work on his actual reason for coming to this hovel of a town. “My cousin, Alexander has managed to get the Earl of Gairoch to investigate the Lord of Liddesdale for bribery and black mail charges. This is something that even the King has agreed to do. Though they are doing it discreetly. When the news is formally announced at court next month, there will be outrage from the Bruce faction, because Liddesdale is one of their men.”

Balliol caught on quick enough. “You want to know where I stand on the matter.” John nodded. And Balliol asked. “Well is there any truth to the accusations? I know your cousin’s daughter is married to the Earl of Dunbar, so what happened there?”

“The Lord of Lauderdale approached the Earl of Dunbar asking for help in loan repayment, because another lord was threatening him with black mail and bribery which naturally breaks the law. Dunbar’s wife wrote to her father and he brought it up with the Prince. There is some truth to the matter, but Lauderdale is someone who is easily biddable. He actually owes more debt to Dunbar than he does Liddesdale, but Liddesdale was easily pushed into bribery.” John admitted, all it had taken was a push in the right direction.

“And you’re sure the Prince and the King won’t discover this?” Balliol asked.

John shook his head. “I am quite sure. The Prince is someone who wants the truth to be uncovered and he has pursued this with great clarity and effectiveness. His wife has also investigated some of this through her ladies in waiting. The King wants his son to earn some success as well.”

“Very well.” Balliol said. “You’ve got my support there, but what else made you come here?”

John got the impression his brother by marriage wanted him gone, which he found amusing. “Your daughter is the same age as the Prince’s newborn son David, I believe it would be appropriate to arrange a marriage for them.”

“You think the King or the Prince would agree?” Balliol asked.

“I think the King would, he wishes to bring in more neutral parties to court, and your daughter would of course come with a hefty dowry. There is no reason why he should refuse.” John replied.

“And the Prince?” Balliol asked.

“The Prince will do whatever gives him and his wife the most security. Leave him to me, and it will be sorted. Just think about it though, your daughter will be a Princess.” John said. From the look on Balliol’s face he knew he had won him over.