Chapter 18: Contumelious Northumbria
The will of the people has been made clear: Northumbria needs to be vassalised, to avenge the contumacious Yorkshiremen.
Mathúin Martyn points out that we still hold a truce with them, so it would be folly to attack immediately. The court, and the people do not listen. Instead, the mood discharges into a crisis. Or more a commotion, or traditional Irish ruckus.
Abhorred by all the violence, artists leave the country.
Suits them... by now we are the second riches country on earth. If the artists don't want our patronship, then so be it.
Just after the artists fled the country, Prince Martyn suffers from a terribly tragic accident. He is found dead in his art room, having accidentally strangled himself with a silk scarf. Cathaoir Dongan, the last remaining court artist and expert in silk colouring, steps up to take Martyn's place as Prince of the Realm.
With his bellicose attitude, Cathaoir sends a delegate to the pope. No longer shall the Roman-Catholic church have any say in the matters of Ireland, hundreds of miles away from Rome.
Cathaoir's second order of business is to declare war on Northumberland. They are guaranteed by England and Scotland, but Scotland is our ally. The Scottish diplomat personally guarantees us that Scotland will honour its alliance. So, nothing that could go wrong, eh?
Well, congratulations, Scotland, you just made it onto our list! The Scottish diplomats must have read too many of our secret Irish Alliance Doctrine papers. That, and the fact that the AI will always side with the defender, so no surprises here. We need to take down Scotland a notch as well anyway.
At least the Castillians are still on our side, and offer not barrels of whisky, but rather barrels of Port. A decent substitution.
But then, Britanny decides that it needs to enter the war on the side of the Northumbrians. How did these pesky Yorkshiremen manage to get so many friends with their backstabbing ways? This might be bad, that's one rather powerful country that we did not expect to fight!
And so, the war begins. Customary, the Irish expeditionary force is sounds trashed and beaten. It manages, again, only barely to retreat from the battlefields and back onto the waiting transport ships. Lost prestige, lost men, and high war exhaustion entails.
Can Ireland win this war? Will the combined might of Scotland, England, and Brittany prove too much? Can Ireland at least win a battle? Or is this the test for the Irish Fighting Doctrine, which states that you must lose the very first battle of every war? Be sure to check back tomorrow, for another update of Ireland's Teardrop!