The new Royal Palace, Dunragit, Galloway
Council Chamber
April 9th 1280
King Donal II and contemporary coinage of King's Head
It was the old king who had peremptorily ordered the seat of Scots power moved from old and ancient Scone to the principle City in lowland Galloway. He had half an eye on his new found English conquests mayhap, Donal thought, as he traversed the marble and stone walkways of the newly refurbished royal palace. Dunragit was airier, more spacious and-well, more apt in many ways, though it would be many hundreds of years before it could replace the tradition of Scone for certes!
He had been Sovereign for a little over half a year but much had happened meantime since his solemn coronation the autumn previous. Had he been ready to be named heir? Of course he had-his father and he both, estranged from the rightful recipient, his errant older brother William, had been thick as thieves for years indeed he had been schooled by the old king-determined as he was not to make the same mistake with his younger son. He often found himself wondering how much his even temperament was to do with the alignment of the fates and how much to do with how he had been nurtured by his mother and father. His German mother! He missed her still-taken away too soon but she had lived to see one of her sons grow into a man any parent would be proud of. Donal had ordered one of the suites in the East Wing to be named after her; the
Irmele Karling Suite-fitting: when he was daydreaming in there he could almost hear her utter the familiar words ‘
wie geht es mien liebling?’
Sons and fathers…he had to admit that when he had heard of the demise of his unloved brother he had not been surprised. The unspoken look that had passed between he and his father was all the communication needed-that and the unspeakable sadness that lingered in old Farquhar’s eyes. A close embrace told the older man that his young son would judge him not-supported him ever as it always had been. He was just glad that his mother was not a party to it-she would never have willingly consented to the assassination of her eldest child, however lost he might be.
Almost there-how much bigger this royal palace was, Donal thought. Urgent Council business he had been told-a Council that was more his father’s than his, though he had served upon it as the King’s Steward for some years. He was content to leave all well alone for the moment, though-the Lords on the Council had come to love him-no need for changes…yet. His attendant guards fore and aft moved in time with him-well practised as they were in keeping pace with their King-their gaze seemingly fixed but, in reality, on the watch for anything that might be out of the ordinary. A shame they couldn’t gaze at the marvellous transepts and soaring arches of this marvel of the stone mason’s craft. Aye he was very content to stay here and call Dunragit capitol.
‘Make way for the King!’ The Herald shouted as they finally approached the Great Council Chamber and entered within. The room was large and spacious and could fit many times the number that now occupied it. At the large oaken table were spaces for twenty but it was only the five chairs at the far end and his own high backed one that were moved to accommodate their owners. These Lords had all stood on his entry and were now bowing low in fitting obeisance to their sovereign.
‘Sit. Sit my lords. We have business to attend to do we not?’ Donal’s practiced eye noticed that they had an extra guest; none other than his friend and cousin Malise Mac Ailpin, Earl of Caithness. ‘My Lord of Caithness-well met cousin. But you were in Oxford pressing our suit there against the English were you not? What brings you hotfoot back to us?’ The King’s green eyes were twinkling at this for he and the rest of the Council knew full well that Malise was about to be appointed to the Steward’s position that Donal himself had vacated to become King.
Still kneeling low his friend responded ‘My Liege, I bring you joyous news! Oxford is ours! We took its last main holding, Eynsham, this week past, my soldiers had to drag Aethelreada of Buckingham out forcibly. I have ridden night and day to bring you these tidings Sire.’
‘That was well done laddie!’ Grunted The Lord Marshall with what must have passed in those rough lands as appreciation. He clapped the much younger man on the shoulder almost knocking him over. Things were done very differently on Orkney and its Duke, Birger, Second of that name, was a willing proponent of its martial ways. He had objected loudly to the appointment of Malise as commander of the Scots army, when the old King had proposed it, but Farquhar was not a man to be easily gainsaid.
Donal settled back in his chair, exhaling softly. Oxford taken? So soon? What could all this mean? He looked across at his kinsman, Adam of the Isles-his father’s trusty Chancellor and now his. As if divining his thoughts Adam stood and cleared his throat, ‘Sire if I may ask that we first hear from our lord of Dunbar on what may be happening within the Kingdom I will then upbraid us on the goings on without. I believe what I have for you and the Council will be well worth the wait.’
Donal nodded ‘very well. My Lord of Dunbar what news of threats from within the body politic?’
Neil of Dunbar rose and bowed. ‘ Sire-when talking of threats we are only encompassing those magnates who would stir plots to set up your half brothers in your stead. At present my liege they know that they do not have the strength to oppose you and are weakened by the youth of the Princes, them only having passed six, seven and ten summers apiece.’
‘But that makes them more biddable-easier to control does it not My Lord?’ The King responded smoothly. In truth he was not overly concerned: the age of his three half brothers, the fact they liked him-and he them-and the recent return back to her father’s court in Italy of the one person who could have acted as a lightning rod for discontent, Queen Mother Ippolita, meant that a plot to contest the succession was highly unlikely.
‘It does Sire but you have chosen wisely in placing all three into the hands of your most loyal followers.’ This with a nod to the Lord Marshall, the Chancellor and to Malise-all of whom had been entrusted as guardians to the young Princes.
‘Rest assured I will make a soldier of Robert!’ Birger growled, ‘I will beat out of him these lily livered lowland ways-that I will-the quintain and the quarterstaff shall be his masters from henceforth!’
‘Of that I have no doubt my Lord Marshall’ Donal replied whilst thinking that of the three, Robert- the eldest-would have the hardest time of it up in windswept Orkney but out of sight, out of mind. It would be five years hard grafting for the boy but he had no doubt that at the end of it he would have another capable soldier to serve his needs and that of the Realm. Seven year old Kenneth and his younger brother, by one year, Malcolm would be learning the softer art of diplomacy with Malise and Adam of the Isles-both kinsmen: there would be room enough for both diplomats and soldiers in his new Scotland.
‘And I presume it is to you that I owe gratitude for the precipitous departure of the boys mother, My Lord of Dunbar?’ This with a half smile on his handsomely bearded features.
The spymaster smiled enigmatically back, ‘let us just say, my Liege, that I told her that there was nothing left for her here and that her sons would be well looked after-a position that she understood after-ah-some persuasion..’
Donal did not care to know what that ‘persuasion’ might have been-he just knew that in Dunbar he had one of the most effective, and deadly masters of the dark arts that Scotland had ever seen. He understood that it was he who had expedited the removal of his older brother after years of trying by his father. For that, alone, the Kingdoms would be eternally grateful.
‘I see. Ahem. I propose, my Lords, to hold a Grand Tourney. All my barons shall be invited. Let us use the opportunity for all to see their new liege and it will be a chance for me to display some of my own martial valour.’
‘A great plan!’ Boomed the Lord Marshall, though Donal noted that Duke Adam was looking a little more circumspect
‘My Lord O’the Isles what say you?’ the king asked solicitously
Duke Adam, always a worrier, set out his reasons why he felt it was unsafe: people did, after all, get badly wounded in the pell mell and even killed at such Tourneys though there hadn’t been a grand such spectacle in many years.
‘Your concern for my weal is duly noted cousin but I will fare well-worry you not-the Lord Marshall knows my worth when it comes to martial matters. Furthermore there is plenty of coin in the treasury-my father left us over six hundred gold crowns so our finances are in rude health.’ The nods and smiles of approval were gratifying for Donal, unaccustomed as he was to being at the head of proceedings for once.
He turned to the Court Chaplain, the now venerable Gilchrist of Dunkeld who had been Prelate for most of his father’s long reign, barring a spell of a few years spent in the royal prisons for a brief dalliance with the accursed Fraticelli heresy. Donal recalled that the whole affair had deeply shocked his devout father but out of fondness he had ensured that the priest’s incarceration had been comfortable and had taken to spending many hours in the royal prisons in earnest discussion with his erstwhile mentor trying to convince him of the error of his ways. It must have worked, for the Bishop of Dunkeld had duly repented and been accepted back into God’s good graces as well as that of his grateful sovereign.
‘My Lord Bishop you have been praying that my Queen’s belly would quicken such that I can be granted an heir to cement my place as King have you not?’
The old man who was now nearing the biblical four score and ten years and was hard of hearing, inclined his head to better hear his young charge. ‘W-What’s that you say my son?’
‘MY WIFE IS WITH CHILD!’ The King shouted gleefully at which news his Council all rose clapping and cheering the forthcoming arrival of his son. Donal smiled outwardly inwardly wondering why it was that, where dynastic matters were concerned, the presumption was, always that any future child would be male.
‘God has smiled upon you, your grace, and has blessed your union-I am sure that you and the Queen will provide many more.’
Donal raised his hands for quiet, ‘and now My Lord Chancellor-please let us know what momentous news it is that you have been harbouring. News of no small import methinks? Speak sir.’
Duke Adam of the Isles rose, his face at once grave but also triumphant. ‘Sire for the whole of my tenure, in this great office of state, I have been studying the ancient laws of our own realms. A necessity for my job, of course.’ He paused for effect-all were listening intently, the King no less than any. ‘Some years back I was approached by a Clerk from Lancashire-he brought with him a knowledge of Ancient English land law that I had been wholly ignorant of…’ Another pause.
‘Pray continue My Lord,’ Donal asked, intrigued. He knew that Adam had been doing some sterling work unearthing long forgotten laws that gave Scotland claim to a great many of the English Counties that his father had recently conquered but this sounded like something altogether different. What he did know was that despite what was left of once mighty England being merely a rump-it would take many years for him to take the whole realm, county by county. He might then have to kick the greedy Bretons out who had seized Somerset, Dorset and Winchester: these days Fraticelli England had become fair game for any who might covet it-war could be waged under the pretext of returning its people to God’s embrace, after all. Whatever-it would not happen in short order but may well be his life’s work…
The Chancellor was continuing, ‘my lord, with the assistance of this Clerk I discovered an old English law that has lain dormant for many hundreds of years. In fact since the time of the formation of the Kingdom of England by King Aethelbert Reginar in 1031. It is named
Lex Anglicanus res terrarium…’
Another pregnant pause-despite himself Donal found himself growing impatient, ‘pray to the point my lord-what has this ancient land law to do with Scotland?’
‘Apologies Sire.’ The Chancellor, now smiling broadly continued ‘A clause in this law, inserted I believe to nullify the threat from the Viking heathen, at that time, states quite clearly and unequivocally that-and here I read from the section itself..’ The Chancellor reached for a tome that had been lying on the table in front of him throughout and thumbed through its pages. The manuscript looked ancient-certainly of some weighty import. ‘Forgive me my Lords-what I am about to read you concerns us all. The section in question states:
and for the elimination of all doubt this realm of England shall be ruled only by the sovereign who controls more than half of its ancient counties. It then goes onto list all the de jure shires of England…’
Donal was still looking blankly at his Chancellor-what was he implying? Around him he could see the other lords of his council similarly weighing things up.
‘Sire I have studied the counties of all of Ancient England and it is my duty to inform you that, with the recent acquisition of the great county of Oxfordshire you now own more than half of England.’
Maybe it was the oblique way that it had been put to him, maybe sheer incomprehension at the weight of the news that had just been imparted to him but the King merely stared, his eyes blinking as his mind struggled to digest what he just heard with his ears but somehow could not quite understand. His lords, however, had not missed what was being said and led by the Chancellor they stood, as one and knelt low in fealty to their Liege with the Chancellor declaring in stentorian tone: ‘GOD SAVE KING DONAL, SECOND OF THAT NAME, KING OF SCOTS, IRELAND
AND ENGLAND!!’
It was a refrain that none present needed any prompting to take up. The doors to the Council Chamber were flung open by the guards who themselves also knelt, the courtiers without doing likewise and from all came the acclamation: ‘GOD SAVE THE KING! GOD SAVE THE KING! GOD SAVE THE KING OF SCOTS IRELAND AND ENGLAND! GOD SAVE THE KING’
Afterword:
If certain of his forebears were to be remembered forever more for their deeds of martial valour none could match, in the end, those of Donal II for not long after the appropriation of the crown of England he marched a massive army of near thirty thousand Scots, Irish, Welsh and English Levies southwards. The composition of his mighty army, comprising all of the nations that made up his realm was a statement of intent-this was Albion personified come to unify the Isles at last, a new Arthur made flesh.
Shattering the paltry English at Winchester in the autumn of 1280 he had conquered what was left of that once proud country by the spring of 1281. Almost without pausing he then took on the Bretons defeating them and their allies in a series of set piece battles over 1281 and 1282. The names of the fields at Exeter, Trowbridge and Winchester itself, a byword for the Scots King’s prowess both in battle and his magnanimity after it.
In September 1281 King Donal II of Scots, Ireland and England made his triumphal entry into London and there, under the eye of his new subjects and a host of magnates from all three realms he was formally crowned as Sovereign, undisputed of the British Isles.
Good King Donal’s story does not end here-there were to be many more twists and turns to the fate of the 1st King to rule over all the Isles…but that is another story…
THE END
