Hey Aidun welcome aboard! Yes I have been keeping my eyes and ears open for any opportunities to have a go at England-watch this space my friend-lots of interesting updates from King Uhtred's reign to come :rofl:
O' Flower of Scotland-A Scotland The Old Gods AAR
- Thread starter Asantahene
- Start date
-
We have updated our Community Code of Conduct. Please read through the new rules for the forum that are an integral part of Paradox Interactive’s User Agreement.
Hey Aidun welcome aboard! Yes I have been keeping my eyes and ears open for any opportunities to have a go at England-watch this space my friend-lots of interesting updates from King Uhtred's reign to come :rofl:
Finally caught up with the writing. My compliments to you, it's truly a good read. The writing style and obviously the setting of it naturally draws the mind to Shakespeare's own Macbeth, and this seems to have many such poetic moments. The alternating storytelling methods are also fun, some being more successful than others (though I think that's perfectly normal given that you're experimenting with various styles, so of course there will be hits and there will be misses)
My only real complaint might be that most AARs tend to stick to more concise timelines of event, though I get that you can't really write about every minuscule thing that happens in the game. So granted, while it isn't the most common way of telling the story, I think it's an interesting new take on it and it doesn't take away from it. Just that the large skips between chapters make me wonder what happened while we were gone (Though you usually do a good job mentioning the past events in subtle passing).
All in all, it's a fun read and I'm looking forward to the next update.
As a bit of an afterthought, I don't think I've ever heard anyone use the phrase "watch this space" before. I know it's basically like "Keep your eyes open" or "Be on the lookout" so I was just curious where you picked up the rarer version of the phrase, so to speak.
My only real complaint might be that most AARs tend to stick to more concise timelines of event, though I get that you can't really write about every minuscule thing that happens in the game. So granted, while it isn't the most common way of telling the story, I think it's an interesting new take on it and it doesn't take away from it. Just that the large skips between chapters make me wonder what happened while we were gone (Though you usually do a good job mentioning the past events in subtle passing).
All in all, it's a fun read and I'm looking forward to the next update.
As a bit of an afterthought, I don't think I've ever heard anyone use the phrase "watch this space" before. I know it's basically like "Keep your eyes open" or "Be on the lookout" so I was just curious where you picked up the rarer version of the phrase, so to speak.
Hi Wolf6120. Thanks very much for this really useful feedback. Let me address all your points:
• What are the misses for you?
• Re the storytelling I see what you mean but for me it was important not to be like all the other AARs out there and mix it up somewhat. Because I am often playing one Ruler ahead it's a hell of a lot to try and commit to print so I'm kinda condensing. There is a tension with me between updating and actually playing the game. I have also been blessed with a dynasty where most members are particularly long lived so that doesn't exactly help...I do take on board what you say though and the next King will get at least 3 updates
• 'Watch this space' is a common expression in England. I am imagining you are not British?
Thanks again for the feedback-it's really useful and I am glad that (broadly) you are enjoying the story. I'm certainly enjoying telling it
I don't just enjoy it broadly, I enjoy it very much. Just wanted to offer some advice is all. As for the various styles, for me a less fun one was the Wikipedia-style update, though even that was a fun little change compared to usual AAR storytelling, so I can't say that I even really disliked it. And no, I'm not from the UK, just European. I've never heard any of the Brits I know say it, though maybe they've all been naturalized. Anyway, looking forward to this 3 update King 
I don't just enjoy it broadly, I enjoy it very much. Just wanted to offer some advice is all. As for the various styles, for me a less fun one was the Wikipedia-style update, though even that was a fun little change compared to usual AAR storytelling, so I can't say that I even really disliked it. And no, I'm not from the UK, just European. I've never heard any of the Brits I know say it, though maybe they've all been naturalized. Anyway, looking forward to this 3 update King
Well I'm glad that you're enjoying it very much. I am really going to ramp it up for the next few updates as what's happened in the game reads like some sort of epic novel
And when you say 'European' I'm European lol. Where in Europe?
26th September 1215
The Great Hall, Scone Palace, Gowrie
‘Helen MacAilpin, Dowager Duchess of Meath!’
Helen started down the aisle her carriage and bearing little betraying the trepidation and fear that clawed at her insides. The Herald had, at least, announced her due title, she thought as she processed, casting nervous glances to left and right. There were very few courtiers present and, on the dais, there was only the King flanked by his Chancellor, the Duke of Leinster. This was something-mayhap the King would not seek to humiliate her-she was his sister-by-law was she not? She deserved at least a fair hearing from the increasingly autocratic Scots sovereign.
It had been a hot summer and the dog days of the season were still harbouring much of the stifling heat that had been experienced earlier in the year. The great windows that now flanked the main transept had been kept open and a cooling breeze was lightly lifting the white gossamer hangings on either side. It was an eerily beautiful sight, Helen thought as she moved towards her objective.
At last she came to a stop at the Dais and knelt before King Uhtred, First of his name, King of Scots, Wales and Ireland. Uhtred for his part, his handsome but sharp features deeply tanned from the summers spent in Poland on Crusade, following in his Uncle Ewan’s footsteps. Sadly for the massed ranks of Scots Crusaders the outcome had been just the same as in that ill-fated holy war fifty years earlier: a craven last minute submission to Christ by the pagan rulers of that benighted land. The King had only these last few weeks returned from the campaign, his standing greatly enhanced by the venture-all had known that he was an accomplished warrior before he set sail with his army of fifteen thousand in May 1212. By the time of his return his name was whispered throughout the Celtic realms and beyond with awe.
The King hastened to raise Helen up a half smile playing across his scarred face, the product of a boar hunt gone wrong thirteen years before and an attack of the measles that had almost killed him in 1211.
‘Sister. Well met. I can only imagine what brings you hotfoot from your husband’s fastness in Leighlin’ This said loud enough that the few courtiers that he had allowed to witness this mummer’s farce could hear. A few titters punctuated the sound of blood rushing in Helen’s ears and the pounding of her heart.
But the King was still looking at her with no malice-his features almost kind. They had never really been friends whilst she had been married to his brother but their relationship had been cordial. There was something of a shared experience in their mutual dislike of Macbeth of Meath.
‘And how fares your husband, Duncan Dunbar? You must pass my Chancellor’s best wishes to his brother is that not so Leinster?’ A barely imperceptible nod from richly dressed man to the King’s right hand side. This was Farquhar Dunbar, her new husband’s brother: a man who aimed high and was on a rare visit to his liege as he had been spending much time in the English County of Durham, working tirelessly to try and unearth any evidence of Scots claims to that region-Uhtred was clearly not going to settle for what his father and uncle had gained from their fractious southerly neighbour.
Helen raised her chin proudly, ‘my husband is hale and hearty Sire, my son, however does none so well…’
‘Oh aye madam’ Uhtred replied coolly, ‘and why might that be?’
But all present knew full well the reason for John MacAilpin’s malaise: word had come from the King even before he had set foot back ashore that he was to yield up all of his titles, the proud Duchy of Meath that had only been previously recreated for his father and the Earldom of Galloway. The order had been peremptory-there was to be no delay:
‘You are to warrant your fortune high that your Liege does not stoop to slaying close kin but know that heresy will not flourish in these realms!’ The King’s emissary had declared according to her distraught son.
‘I warned you John-how could you be so bone headed?’ Helen had shouted at him when she had been appraised of the news, ‘You were warned to give up your Fraticelli beliefs-what did you think the King would do?’ At that point it had been all that she could do not to slap her errant offspring. He had ever been too high and mighty, too proud when cooler heads were required to prevail.
‘I cannot just give up what I hold so dear mother-how could I?’
‘Fool!’ She rounded on him, ‘you could have told the king what he wanted to hear and carried on your sinful beliefs in private.’ But the look of shock and horror on John’s face told Helen all she needed to know. And yet he was her son so she undertook, against her better judgement and the entreaties of her husband, to go on a mission to Scone to see if she could use her considerable powers of persuasion to change Uhtred’s mind. She had travelled with her lifelong companion Nerys Hamilton-Morcar, who had been, as always, a boon-companion and confidante on the short sea voyage from Wexford to Stranraer and then the uncomfortable carriage ride across the neck of Scotland to Scone.
Helen observed her King-he was already seen as a most just monarch but he also had a steely resolve and retained the trait of only giving his barons enough rope with which to hang themselves-she prayed that this did not include close kin.
‘Your nephew has had a change of heart my liege-he has renounced his heretical beliefs forthwith. Please Sire-be merciful. He begs-I beg you for the return of his titles.’
Uhtred carefully observed his erstwhile sister-by-law, only the twitch of his bearded face betraying any sign of emotion on his part. He was dressed simply in a tunic of midnight blue bordered with gold and, eschewing a crown, wore only a simple Celtic circlet. Whatever authority he exuded came not from his garments but his flint-like deportment-he was not one to be pushed-by anyone.
‘I am told, sister, that the Lords of Ireland would elevate Adam de Gowrie to the throne, are plotting to throw their votes behind this upstart who had the good fortune to command one of my battles in Poland-what know you of this?’
Helen started in shock then composed herself rapidly. Why had Uhtred suddenly mentioned this? Her inclination to scheme and her previous standing as the spymistress of Meath meant that rumours were never far from her ken: yes she had heard that the Dukes of Ireland were plotting to put their electoral votes behind a young Irish Lordling, Adam de Gowrie-he was a Crusader-and one of their own the logic had been. Now, it seemed, the Mac Ailpins were no longer seen as such. But why would Uhtred be worried about that now? He had only passed forty-three summers, was part of a line of Kings and Queens blessed with longevity: surely he had time to use his influence and change minds?
‘My Lord King I know of no such plot’ Helen lied smoothly, hoping against hope that Uhtred would believe her-she was here to entreat for her son not feed her sovereign’s paranoia. ‘And if there was, surely my Liege has the time to right such a wrong?’
‘We shall see my lady-we shall see…and now to your boon. You have asked for your sons lands and titles back yes?’
‘Sire.’
Uhtred’s face was set in determined mien, ‘Of the Duchy of Meath that title has been appointed to our beloved son and heir William.’
This was disappointing but not disastrous-in truth the Duchy only gave her son overlordship-no actual lands, levies or castles came with it. It was for his Earldom of Galloway that she had really come. Her gaze never left that of the King’s as he pronounced judgement on the other title.
‘Of the great Earldom of Galloway it is our intention to hold onto that domain as surety against those of our lords that would rob our son of his own inheritance. Times are a-changing Helen MacAilpin-mark it well. You have good leave to leave us.’
And with an imperious wave of his hand the audience was over. Helen was so startled at the King’s abruptness that she almost forgot to kneel, just catching herself as her brother in law stood and departed with barely a backwards glance. All she could think of, as hot tears came unbidden to her eyes, was how she would break the news of the confirmation of his disinheritance to her son…
Marianus Scotus:
After the return from the ‘great venture’ in Poland in 1215 until 1217 Uhtred laboured to influence the Scottish Parliament through his Council to change their laws granting him ever greater powers and dominion over the affairs of State. During the several years that followed, the King, through use of much bribes and persuasion, allied to his cause every Lord in Scotland and Wales and then in Ireland.
In the year of our lord 1218 and at the end of this period, sometimes called ‘the wooing of the barons’ Uhtred set before his magnates a piece of legislation: the change to hereditary succession in the Realm of Scotland. Those close to the throne were greatly affronted at this since the new laws disinherited them. At this stage, however, they held their peace.
Emboldened and with single-minded vision the King, affeared of the dispossession in Ireland of Prince William, his mightily esteemed eldest son, laboured to similarly change the law in Ireland. Because of the disobedient nature of the barons there this was not achieved until 1221 when Uhtred ordered the realms to rejoice ‘that there would now be good and assured governance from MacAilpin to MacAilpin.’
The King was great in spirit and merry and all the royal family basked in the afterglow of this puissant achievement but all the while amongst his magnates the storm clouds did brew and broth…
To be continued
The Great Hall, Scone Palace, Gowrie
‘Helen MacAilpin, Dowager Duchess of Meath!’
Helen started down the aisle her carriage and bearing little betraying the trepidation and fear that clawed at her insides. The Herald had, at least, announced her due title, she thought as she processed, casting nervous glances to left and right. There were very few courtiers present and, on the dais, there was only the King flanked by his Chancellor, the Duke of Leinster. This was something-mayhap the King would not seek to humiliate her-she was his sister-by-law was she not? She deserved at least a fair hearing from the increasingly autocratic Scots sovereign.
It had been a hot summer and the dog days of the season were still harbouring much of the stifling heat that had been experienced earlier in the year. The great windows that now flanked the main transept had been kept open and a cooling breeze was lightly lifting the white gossamer hangings on either side. It was an eerily beautiful sight, Helen thought as she moved towards her objective.
At last she came to a stop at the Dais and knelt before King Uhtred, First of his name, King of Scots, Wales and Ireland. Uhtred for his part, his handsome but sharp features deeply tanned from the summers spent in Poland on Crusade, following in his Uncle Ewan’s footsteps. Sadly for the massed ranks of Scots Crusaders the outcome had been just the same as in that ill-fated holy war fifty years earlier: a craven last minute submission to Christ by the pagan rulers of that benighted land. The King had only these last few weeks returned from the campaign, his standing greatly enhanced by the venture-all had known that he was an accomplished warrior before he set sail with his army of fifteen thousand in May 1212. By the time of his return his name was whispered throughout the Celtic realms and beyond with awe.
The King hastened to raise Helen up a half smile playing across his scarred face, the product of a boar hunt gone wrong thirteen years before and an attack of the measles that had almost killed him in 1211.
‘Sister. Well met. I can only imagine what brings you hotfoot from your husband’s fastness in Leighlin’ This said loud enough that the few courtiers that he had allowed to witness this mummer’s farce could hear. A few titters punctuated the sound of blood rushing in Helen’s ears and the pounding of her heart.
But the King was still looking at her with no malice-his features almost kind. They had never really been friends whilst she had been married to his brother but their relationship had been cordial. There was something of a shared experience in their mutual dislike of Macbeth of Meath.
‘And how fares your husband, Duncan Dunbar? You must pass my Chancellor’s best wishes to his brother is that not so Leinster?’ A barely imperceptible nod from richly dressed man to the King’s right hand side. This was Farquhar Dunbar, her new husband’s brother: a man who aimed high and was on a rare visit to his liege as he had been spending much time in the English County of Durham, working tirelessly to try and unearth any evidence of Scots claims to that region-Uhtred was clearly not going to settle for what his father and uncle had gained from their fractious southerly neighbour.
Helen raised her chin proudly, ‘my husband is hale and hearty Sire, my son, however does none so well…’
‘Oh aye madam’ Uhtred replied coolly, ‘and why might that be?’
But all present knew full well the reason for John MacAilpin’s malaise: word had come from the King even before he had set foot back ashore that he was to yield up all of his titles, the proud Duchy of Meath that had only been previously recreated for his father and the Earldom of Galloway. The order had been peremptory-there was to be no delay:
‘You are to warrant your fortune high that your Liege does not stoop to slaying close kin but know that heresy will not flourish in these realms!’ The King’s emissary had declared according to her distraught son.
‘I warned you John-how could you be so bone headed?’ Helen had shouted at him when she had been appraised of the news, ‘You were warned to give up your Fraticelli beliefs-what did you think the King would do?’ At that point it had been all that she could do not to slap her errant offspring. He had ever been too high and mighty, too proud when cooler heads were required to prevail.
‘I cannot just give up what I hold so dear mother-how could I?’
‘Fool!’ She rounded on him, ‘you could have told the king what he wanted to hear and carried on your sinful beliefs in private.’ But the look of shock and horror on John’s face told Helen all she needed to know. And yet he was her son so she undertook, against her better judgement and the entreaties of her husband, to go on a mission to Scone to see if she could use her considerable powers of persuasion to change Uhtred’s mind. She had travelled with her lifelong companion Nerys Hamilton-Morcar, who had been, as always, a boon-companion and confidante on the short sea voyage from Wexford to Stranraer and then the uncomfortable carriage ride across the neck of Scotland to Scone.
Helen observed her King-he was already seen as a most just monarch but he also had a steely resolve and retained the trait of only giving his barons enough rope with which to hang themselves-she prayed that this did not include close kin.
‘Your nephew has had a change of heart my liege-he has renounced his heretical beliefs forthwith. Please Sire-be merciful. He begs-I beg you for the return of his titles.’
Uhtred carefully observed his erstwhile sister-by-law, only the twitch of his bearded face betraying any sign of emotion on his part. He was dressed simply in a tunic of midnight blue bordered with gold and, eschewing a crown, wore only a simple Celtic circlet. Whatever authority he exuded came not from his garments but his flint-like deportment-he was not one to be pushed-by anyone.
‘I am told, sister, that the Lords of Ireland would elevate Adam de Gowrie to the throne, are plotting to throw their votes behind this upstart who had the good fortune to command one of my battles in Poland-what know you of this?’
Helen started in shock then composed herself rapidly. Why had Uhtred suddenly mentioned this? Her inclination to scheme and her previous standing as the spymistress of Meath meant that rumours were never far from her ken: yes she had heard that the Dukes of Ireland were plotting to put their electoral votes behind a young Irish Lordling, Adam de Gowrie-he was a Crusader-and one of their own the logic had been. Now, it seemed, the Mac Ailpins were no longer seen as such. But why would Uhtred be worried about that now? He had only passed forty-three summers, was part of a line of Kings and Queens blessed with longevity: surely he had time to use his influence and change minds?
‘My Lord King I know of no such plot’ Helen lied smoothly, hoping against hope that Uhtred would believe her-she was here to entreat for her son not feed her sovereign’s paranoia. ‘And if there was, surely my Liege has the time to right such a wrong?’
‘We shall see my lady-we shall see…and now to your boon. You have asked for your sons lands and titles back yes?’
‘Sire.’
Uhtred’s face was set in determined mien, ‘Of the Duchy of Meath that title has been appointed to our beloved son and heir William.’
This was disappointing but not disastrous-in truth the Duchy only gave her son overlordship-no actual lands, levies or castles came with it. It was for his Earldom of Galloway that she had really come. Her gaze never left that of the King’s as he pronounced judgement on the other title.
‘Of the great Earldom of Galloway it is our intention to hold onto that domain as surety against those of our lords that would rob our son of his own inheritance. Times are a-changing Helen MacAilpin-mark it well. You have good leave to leave us.’
And with an imperious wave of his hand the audience was over. Helen was so startled at the King’s abruptness that she almost forgot to kneel, just catching herself as her brother in law stood and departed with barely a backwards glance. All she could think of, as hot tears came unbidden to her eyes, was how she would break the news of the confirmation of his disinheritance to her son…
Marianus Scotus:
After the return from the ‘great venture’ in Poland in 1215 until 1217 Uhtred laboured to influence the Scottish Parliament through his Council to change their laws granting him ever greater powers and dominion over the affairs of State. During the several years that followed, the King, through use of much bribes and persuasion, allied to his cause every Lord in Scotland and Wales and then in Ireland.
In the year of our lord 1218 and at the end of this period, sometimes called ‘the wooing of the barons’ Uhtred set before his magnates a piece of legislation: the change to hereditary succession in the Realm of Scotland. Those close to the throne were greatly affronted at this since the new laws disinherited them. At this stage, however, they held their peace.
Emboldened and with single-minded vision the King, affeared of the dispossession in Ireland of Prince William, his mightily esteemed eldest son, laboured to similarly change the law in Ireland. Because of the disobedient nature of the barons there this was not achieved until 1221 when Uhtred ordered the realms to rejoice ‘that there would now be good and assured governance from MacAilpin to MacAilpin.’
The King was great in spirit and merry and all the royal family basked in the afterglow of this puissant achievement but all the while amongst his magnates the storm clouds did brew and broth…
To be continued
A’ Mòr Cogadu Sìobhalta (The Great Civil Wars)
1222-1234
Paul Murray Kendall (1972)
1. The Red Dragon and the White Lion rise (Gwynedd and Leinster’s uprisings) 1222-1225
Many commentators and historians have wondered whether Uhtred’s high-handed change of centuries old Scottish Succession tradition completely lacked foresight or whether he was just driven by the need to protect what he felt was his brilliant eldest son’s birthright, shaken as he had been by the Irish Lords support for Adam De Gowrie on his return from the Polish Crusade. Whatever, the King was not to rest for long on his laurels after his herculean political efforts from 1215 to win his baron’s to his side in order to spring on them the hereditary law of primogeniture. He had completed his coup by the summer of 1221-within a year the country rose up in the most serious challenges to the Mac Ailpin dynasty since Kenneth III had been toppled from power almost three hundred years earlier.
Was it any wonder that his Dukes would lead the revolt and that so many would be involved given that by taking away the possibility of an Elected King he was effectively disinheriting them all?
The following excerpt from the highly praised Nigel Tranter novel ‘The Magnificent’ gives a flavour of some of what may have been going through the King’s mind when he heard the news of a second massive uprising led by the Duke of Leinster a mere five weeks after the Duke of Gwynedd’s revolt to place the Pretender Adam De Gowrie on the Scots throne:
If the King was shaken by the news that his younger son Robert, the new Chancellor of Scotland, was presenting him it did not show. Uhtred was a warrior at heart-had long since learned that the first thing that unravelled in any war was the plan. Now his preparations to attack and defeat his own kinsman, Gwynedd and bring Wales and Scottish-ruled northern England to heel were in tatters. This new revolt changed everything.
‘How many can Leinster command and which other of my Dukes have joined him?’ Uhtred enquired of his spymaster, his nephew, Ewan II of Munster- a man of suspect loyalties himself but best kept close at hand had been Uhtred’s reasoning when challenged by his sons, William and Robert.
The swarthy Duke stepped forward bowing low
‘Uncle, my spies tell me that Farquhar of Leinster is aided in this enterprise by the Duke of Connacht. Between them they can raise most of the northern part of Ireland as well as Ossory and Leinster. Of Scotland we can be sure that the west , south west and Atholl will rise with their Dukes, Cumberland and Northumberland too.’
The dark Duke paused to let this sink in-this was no revolt it was effectively civil war.
The King’s face had paled-the only indicator of the seriousness of this affair. ‘Continue My Lord Duke-what of numbers?’
‘Sire by my reckoning the combined power of both rebellions is somewhere in the region of thirty thousand.’
An indrawn gasp from some of the courtiers assembled-the King raised an imperious hand to silence the murmurings that this figure had provoked. His practiced mind was already doing the sums-he was a born battle commander, had already proved himself in the Crusades in Poland-now was to come his sternest test. ‘But they are split perforce no? Gwynedd has maybe five thousand in Wales and Northern England and Leinster will summons maybe thirteen thousand here and a similar amount in Ireland.’
His son Robert nodded grimly, behind him The Lord Marshall Mayor Andrew of Aberdeen stood mute. It was to him that Uhtred next addressed himself: ‘My Lord Marshall-I want you to expedite the muster of our levies-I want to march within the week with no less than thirteen thousand. Robert you will accompany me. William, as my son and heir you will remain here in Scone-should anything befall me, you will succeed and rule.’
‘Aye my Liege’ from the Marshall, ‘but how will you take on so many?’
‘I will take them on piecemeal my Lord Marshall-I will take them on and defeat them one by one and settle this matter by force of arms for once and for all.’ The Monarch surveyed his Lords, Councillors and courtiers. They all looked so frightened-well he was frightened too but he would be damned to hell ‘ere he showed it.
‘Come my Lords-what are you all waiting for? There is work to be done is there not?’ And with that he rose, accepted their fealty and obeisance and departed the Great Hall, his sons following close behind.
Uhtred could never be accused of being slow to act. Within two weeks he had gathered an army of almost thirteen and a half thousand and criss crossed Scotland trying to bring the small groups of rebels to heel. By October the Royalists had their first small victory at Dumfries when Uhtred’s royal army trapped a small force belonging to the Duke of Orkney before the great castle there. Needless to say the smaller force was annihilated. It was a little victory but it was needed: at this time rebel forces were laying siege to Llanbadarn in Wales, Bunratty and Waterford in Ireland and most worrying to the King and his heir, Scone itself was under attack as was Forres, the seat of Mac Ailpin power in the Scottish Highlands.
By the early thirteenth century campaigning seasons were a thing of the past and though major operations tended to cease over the winter months at times of great strife Kings and magnates tended to like to keep their armies in the field. The winter of 1222-3 was no exception and it must have been with some relief that Uhtred and his forces finally managed to bring to bay one of the main rebel hosts deep in the Scottish highlands not far from the Seat of the great Dukedom of Moray at Forres.
Tacticians and military experts have put the losses suffered by Uhtred as down to the fact that his younger son, Robert was not commanding his Vanguard as he normally did-the young man had been incapacitated by a bout of camp fever. Mistakes by both his subordinate commanders resulted in the King’s forces suffering greater casualties than those of the rebels.
An even greater reverse was to follow however. In April of 1223 the Duke of Gwynedd landed five thousand soldiers off the coast of Buchan and force-marched them westwards to join with the four separate rebel armies that had been scattered around the Scottish hinterland. Uhtred with only seven and a half thousand remaining from his initial levies must have rued the losses at Forres some months earlier. He was now trapped and was brought to battle by an enemy army numbering over ten thousand not far north of Aviemore in the northern Cairngorms. It was no terrain for pitched battles and though Uhtred’s centre acquitted itself well, his two flanks were utterly destroyed.
Here is another excerpt from ‘The Magnificent’:
The battlefront was so narrow that Uhtred could see nothing of the fate of his right and left flanks or how the fight fared there. All he could see was the narrow view offered by his helmet visor as he thrust and hacked at the foes to his fore. He had a soldier’s instinct and knew that something was not right. Where was the protection that William Mac Cirig’s levies should have been providing to his left and where were Clunie’s heavy horse?
Suddenly one of his household knights was gesticulating wildly, pointing to his right. Above the din of battle and the desperate fight for his own survival the King could hardly hear but he did understand: one of his battles had collapsed-even now he could see desperate men fleeing the carnage.
Adam de Routier, one of his courtiers appeared in front and raising his sword in salute breathlessly shouted ‘Sire! All is lost-we are betrayed-both your left and right are fleeing the field!’
‘What? The cravens! They would abandon their king?’ Uhtred had never lost any battle that he had ever commanded-he could not-would not believe the evidence before him. Already his household knights were crowding around, protecting him. Horses were being brought up. His Squire, John, was suddenly there leading him none too gently to his mount.
‘Unhand me Sirrah!’ The King shouted wrenching his arm free but just as it seemed that he would do something rash his son rode up with six armoured knights, ‘Father! All is lost here-we must retire-in good order if we can-your safety is paramount.’
‘My son-‘
‘No father-you must go now. I will command what is left and make sure we retire in good order. Household knights-see to the King’s safety-the realms depend on it. Now go!’
Further resistance was futile-the King allowed himself to be led quickly to his horse-was mounted and a sizeable coterie of household knights sped from the battlefield whilst Prince Robert of Scotland organised a disciplined fighting retreat back through the mountain pass.
Uhtred escaped from that battle with only seven hundred and thirty five men-much of that owed to the superb generalship of his son, Robert. The remnants of the Royal Army limped back into Scone at the end of April. The King himself had been badly wounded in the press of battle, he was no longer a young man and had to be taken to his bed on his return to the Royal Palace.
Many a lesser man would have been beaten by this unexpected turn of events especially as they were still faced with an army of five thousand in Gwynedd, over five thousand in Atholl and a further eleven thousand in Ireland. Undeterred Uhtred ordered new levies to be raised and commissions of array were sent forth to all lands where the Royal Writ still stood. For the remainder of 1223 there was a sense of pause whilst both sides licked their wounds and gathered their strengths once more. In Ireland Leinster’s forces went unmolested as they besieged one royal castle after another. Gwynedd’s forces, meanwhile, wary of another pitched battle with the King had retired across the water to join with their Irish comrades at Knockaulin, Kildare. The rebel army there now numbered over fourteen thousand-a formidable force. A further scare came in November and concerned the King’s increasing bouts of illness. It is now thought that he was suffering from Quartan fever, probably contracted whilst he was campaigning in Poland. With his advancing age-the King was now 53-the bouts of fever increased in frequency. Whatever the cause, Uhtred was in no shape to do anything that winter except be nursed by his physicians and wife back to health.
Meanwhile all hoped that the massive army in Ireland would not decide to move north and attack Scotland. Scouts were deployed in Galloway and Dumfries, the most likely point of any hostile landing whilst the King’s spies were active throughout Ireland and Wales bringing a constant stream of news regarding the probable intentions of the rebels.
By the New Year the King had sufficiently recovered his health to once again take to the field at the head of a sizeable army. He had ordered the Royal Treasury bled dry-a mercenary army of ten thousand, The Celtic Band, were recruited forthwith and added to the mustering royal levies. In April 1224 Uhtred rode forth at the head of over seventeen thousand men-this time they made for Ireland: Gwynedd and his troublesome warring in North Wales would have to wait. Crossing from friendly Galloway into rebel-held Ulster the Royal forces first spent the summer crushing rebel resistance in Ulster before hastening, in the autumn, towards Dublin whose castle had only fallen to Leinster’s forces at the turn of the year after a heroic one-year siege. Because the rebels had only left a token force to garrison the great old fortress there Dublin quickly fell back into Royalist hands. But, as the winds of winter once more approached, all knew that it was not at Dublin that the reckoning would be had but at Knockaulin, to the west, where the main force of Leinster and Gwynedd’s levies were now besieging the castle.
The two mighty armies clashed on 2nd November 1224 in the plains south east of Knockaulin Castle at a point where four roads crossed (modern day Kilcullen)-the speed of the King’s march took the rebel army by surprise such that they were forced to fight on ground of his choosing. The King commanded the centre battle as always, his son Robert the rear (left flank) and Mayor Robert of the new town of Clunie commanded the van (right flank). Facing them were Duke Malise of Connacht- a man of not inconsiderable girth and little skill in battle. His battle commanders were, on the left flank, Earl Morgan of Fife-a competent enough warrior and on the right, Mayor Constantine of Newcastle-also Malise’s Spymaster. Just over seventeen thousand of the King’s men faced just under fourteen thousand rebels. Uhtred was matched in clansmen and outnumbered 2:1 in pikemen but he had over 400 heavy knights to Malise’s 77 and heavily outnumbered Connacht in heavy infantry (more than 2:1).
Here is a scene of the eve of the battle from ‘The Magnificent’
As his two battle commanders joined him in front of his pavilion that even now was being rapidly disassembled the old King gestured to the ground and using twigs spelled out exactly how he expected them to comport themselves. All were fully attired for battle on this damp autumnal day: the king looked imposing in his chain knee-length hauberk, leather gambeson and cuisses with saffron surcoat emblazoned with the rampant lion of Scotland. Upon his head his battle helm was adorned with a simple gold circlet so none would be mistaken who they faced in the heat of battle.
The old King surveyed his lieutenants. The two Roberts were his most trusty commanders-would not fail him: ‘I fully expect that Malise will reinforce his centre as that is where he expects to win.’
Robert snorted in derision ‘hell will freeze over ‘ere that corpulent whoreson will ever best you in battle my lord father.’
Uhtred eyed his son coolly, ‘It does not do my Lord Prince, to underestimate ones enemy in battle. Mark my words and mark them well. Each of you has been given an equal share of my army-I expect, therefore that you will outnumber your opposing battles-make the extra numbers count as I will be hard pressed in the centre!
The King had placed twigs down on the muddy ground to denote each of the six battles. He then put down an extra one behind that which represented Clunie’s right flank. ‘My Lord Mayor-you are our best cavalry commander and so will also command the heavy horse. I want you to hold them until all are committed-even the light horse. Do you hear?’ The King’s eyes were alive, bright even-almost feverish. ‘All will depend on our knights to break them-lead them yourself my friend-do not fail me!’
‘Aye my liege’ the trusted Mayor knelt on the ground, head bowed-beside him Uhtred’s son did likewise.
‘God will grant us the victory here-I know it. For Scotland and Saint Andrew!’
‘For Scotland! For Saint Andrew!’ was the cry taken up by the assembled soldiers and to this was added the familiar battle cry of ‘Mac Ailpin! Mac Ailpin!’ It was stirring stuff and as the cheering continued unabated none could see the King turn away and wipe a tear from his eyes.
The battle was a crushing defeat for the rebels-it broke their power in Ireland and it had destroyed the mainstay of the rebellion. Over the winter of 1224 the victorious royal army pursued their remnants across Leinster and Ossory winning further crushing victories at Clonmacnoise and at the sieges of Gowran and Leighlin. At Clonmacnoise the paladin, Earl Morgan of Fife was captured and killed and at Gowran, Gilbert taken prisoner as well as the Earl of Breisne at Leighlin. By spring 1225 Irish resistance had almost been broken.
Unfortunately for Uhtred a worldly reality struck home at the point that victory was within sight: his mercenary force still needed paying and the coffers were almost empty. The almost two thousand gold crowns that had been filling the treasury at the start of the war had now dwindled down to a mere one hundred and fifty. With heavy heart and a great sense of regret the King had to dismiss nine thousand of his troops-the Celtic Band departed-well paid and happy. The rest of the camp were none so sanguine-there were only three thousand remaining. Like thieves in the night the King led his demoralised forces back to the Scottish mainland via Man, this time heading to Northumberland to besiege Mitford. Behind him the Irish started rebuilding their forces. By May they had almost matched the King’s numbers whilst in Scotland two thousand once more surrounded Forres, laying siege to the devastated castle town. Meanwhile in rebel occupied North Wales, Gwynedd could still call upon over five thousand Welshmen to support his cause and was even now besieging Llanelwy. Calls to arms had been sent via one of his son’s trusted lieutenants to King Boson of Galicia and Basileus, Raphail ‘The Great’ of the Byzantine Empire-both brothers by law-both having daughters married to his sons. Boson had responded a year previously with the offer of troops to support but of foreign assistance there was, as yet, no sign-Uhtred was on his own.
Once again ‘The Magnificent’ captures this period perfectly and gives voice to the silent history:
July 1225 The King’s Camp, Forres.
As the Emissary bowed low in the King’s pavilion he noted that the King truly did look old-he was in his 54th summer and had hardly been out of the saddle a day in the last eighteen months. To his right, as always stood his younger son Robert, someone who, time and time again had distinguished himself in battle with his Sire. To his left was Mayor Robert of Clunie, his other trusted Battle Commander, To left and right were sundry other Captains and Squires-all attired for the coming clash with the army that had been besieging Forres.
‘Sire-glad tidings from your son and heir, William of Meath’ the emissary said kneeling on the floor rushes. It was a warm summers day and the wide flaps of the pavilion were pinned wide apart so as to let as much air as possible into the sweltering tent.
Uhtred accepted the obeisance and bade him continue, ‘what tidings could be so glad in the summer of my deepest care-we are losing the war in case you had not reckoned it.’
‘Aye Your Grace but this news I think you will be right glad of. My Lord the Prince bids me tell you that news has reached him that Adam de Gowrie-the Pretender to the thrones of both Scotland and Ireland, has died!’ And with that Ranulf MacTierney broke into a broad grin.
Uhtred was stunned into silence-could barely swallow so dry had his mouth suddenly become, ‘does this mean? Does this mean?’
‘Sire it does’ Ranulf finished for him ‘The rebels have withdrawn their demands-the realms are once more at peace-you have won!’
Suddenly all within earshot were clapping, cheering and hugging. It was as though a great dam of emotion had burst and all the tension, elation and disappointment of the last three years came flowing over the breach. In the middle of it all sat the King suddenly smiling through his tears of sheer joy. He rose and hugged his son close to him whilst the cry once more went up: ‘Mac Ailpin! Mac Ailpin!’ Mac Ailpin!’ And even now the old King dared to dream that his hopes for his dynasty were still alive.
To be Continued…
1222-1234
Paul Murray Kendall (1972)
1. The Red Dragon and the White Lion rise (Gwynedd and Leinster’s uprisings) 1222-1225
Many commentators and historians have wondered whether Uhtred’s high-handed change of centuries old Scottish Succession tradition completely lacked foresight or whether he was just driven by the need to protect what he felt was his brilliant eldest son’s birthright, shaken as he had been by the Irish Lords support for Adam De Gowrie on his return from the Polish Crusade. Whatever, the King was not to rest for long on his laurels after his herculean political efforts from 1215 to win his baron’s to his side in order to spring on them the hereditary law of primogeniture. He had completed his coup by the summer of 1221-within a year the country rose up in the most serious challenges to the Mac Ailpin dynasty since Kenneth III had been toppled from power almost three hundred years earlier.
Was it any wonder that his Dukes would lead the revolt and that so many would be involved given that by taking away the possibility of an Elected King he was effectively disinheriting them all?
The following excerpt from the highly praised Nigel Tranter novel ‘The Magnificent’ gives a flavour of some of what may have been going through the King’s mind when he heard the news of a second massive uprising led by the Duke of Leinster a mere five weeks after the Duke of Gwynedd’s revolt to place the Pretender Adam De Gowrie on the Scots throne:
If the King was shaken by the news that his younger son Robert, the new Chancellor of Scotland, was presenting him it did not show. Uhtred was a warrior at heart-had long since learned that the first thing that unravelled in any war was the plan. Now his preparations to attack and defeat his own kinsman, Gwynedd and bring Wales and Scottish-ruled northern England to heel were in tatters. This new revolt changed everything.
‘How many can Leinster command and which other of my Dukes have joined him?’ Uhtred enquired of his spymaster, his nephew, Ewan II of Munster- a man of suspect loyalties himself but best kept close at hand had been Uhtred’s reasoning when challenged by his sons, William and Robert.
The swarthy Duke stepped forward bowing low
‘Uncle, my spies tell me that Farquhar of Leinster is aided in this enterprise by the Duke of Connacht. Between them they can raise most of the northern part of Ireland as well as Ossory and Leinster. Of Scotland we can be sure that the west , south west and Atholl will rise with their Dukes, Cumberland and Northumberland too.’
The dark Duke paused to let this sink in-this was no revolt it was effectively civil war.
The King’s face had paled-the only indicator of the seriousness of this affair. ‘Continue My Lord Duke-what of numbers?’
‘Sire by my reckoning the combined power of both rebellions is somewhere in the region of thirty thousand.’
An indrawn gasp from some of the courtiers assembled-the King raised an imperious hand to silence the murmurings that this figure had provoked. His practiced mind was already doing the sums-he was a born battle commander, had already proved himself in the Crusades in Poland-now was to come his sternest test. ‘But they are split perforce no? Gwynedd has maybe five thousand in Wales and Northern England and Leinster will summons maybe thirteen thousand here and a similar amount in Ireland.’
His son Robert nodded grimly, behind him The Lord Marshall Mayor Andrew of Aberdeen stood mute. It was to him that Uhtred next addressed himself: ‘My Lord Marshall-I want you to expedite the muster of our levies-I want to march within the week with no less than thirteen thousand. Robert you will accompany me. William, as my son and heir you will remain here in Scone-should anything befall me, you will succeed and rule.’
‘Aye my Liege’ from the Marshall, ‘but how will you take on so many?’
‘I will take them on piecemeal my Lord Marshall-I will take them on and defeat them one by one and settle this matter by force of arms for once and for all.’ The Monarch surveyed his Lords, Councillors and courtiers. They all looked so frightened-well he was frightened too but he would be damned to hell ‘ere he showed it.
‘Come my Lords-what are you all waiting for? There is work to be done is there not?’ And with that he rose, accepted their fealty and obeisance and departed the Great Hall, his sons following close behind.
Uhtred could never be accused of being slow to act. Within two weeks he had gathered an army of almost thirteen and a half thousand and criss crossed Scotland trying to bring the small groups of rebels to heel. By October the Royalists had their first small victory at Dumfries when Uhtred’s royal army trapped a small force belonging to the Duke of Orkney before the great castle there. Needless to say the smaller force was annihilated. It was a little victory but it was needed: at this time rebel forces were laying siege to Llanbadarn in Wales, Bunratty and Waterford in Ireland and most worrying to the King and his heir, Scone itself was under attack as was Forres, the seat of Mac Ailpin power in the Scottish Highlands.
By the early thirteenth century campaigning seasons were a thing of the past and though major operations tended to cease over the winter months at times of great strife Kings and magnates tended to like to keep their armies in the field. The winter of 1222-3 was no exception and it must have been with some relief that Uhtred and his forces finally managed to bring to bay one of the main rebel hosts deep in the Scottish highlands not far from the Seat of the great Dukedom of Moray at Forres.
Tacticians and military experts have put the losses suffered by Uhtred as down to the fact that his younger son, Robert was not commanding his Vanguard as he normally did-the young man had been incapacitated by a bout of camp fever. Mistakes by both his subordinate commanders resulted in the King’s forces suffering greater casualties than those of the rebels.
An even greater reverse was to follow however. In April of 1223 the Duke of Gwynedd landed five thousand soldiers off the coast of Buchan and force-marched them westwards to join with the four separate rebel armies that had been scattered around the Scottish hinterland. Uhtred with only seven and a half thousand remaining from his initial levies must have rued the losses at Forres some months earlier. He was now trapped and was brought to battle by an enemy army numbering over ten thousand not far north of Aviemore in the northern Cairngorms. It was no terrain for pitched battles and though Uhtred’s centre acquitted itself well, his two flanks were utterly destroyed.
Here is another excerpt from ‘The Magnificent’:
The battlefront was so narrow that Uhtred could see nothing of the fate of his right and left flanks or how the fight fared there. All he could see was the narrow view offered by his helmet visor as he thrust and hacked at the foes to his fore. He had a soldier’s instinct and knew that something was not right. Where was the protection that William Mac Cirig’s levies should have been providing to his left and where were Clunie’s heavy horse?
Suddenly one of his household knights was gesticulating wildly, pointing to his right. Above the din of battle and the desperate fight for his own survival the King could hardly hear but he did understand: one of his battles had collapsed-even now he could see desperate men fleeing the carnage.
Adam de Routier, one of his courtiers appeared in front and raising his sword in salute breathlessly shouted ‘Sire! All is lost-we are betrayed-both your left and right are fleeing the field!’
‘What? The cravens! They would abandon their king?’ Uhtred had never lost any battle that he had ever commanded-he could not-would not believe the evidence before him. Already his household knights were crowding around, protecting him. Horses were being brought up. His Squire, John, was suddenly there leading him none too gently to his mount.
‘Unhand me Sirrah!’ The King shouted wrenching his arm free but just as it seemed that he would do something rash his son rode up with six armoured knights, ‘Father! All is lost here-we must retire-in good order if we can-your safety is paramount.’
‘My son-‘
‘No father-you must go now. I will command what is left and make sure we retire in good order. Household knights-see to the King’s safety-the realms depend on it. Now go!’
Further resistance was futile-the King allowed himself to be led quickly to his horse-was mounted and a sizeable coterie of household knights sped from the battlefield whilst Prince Robert of Scotland organised a disciplined fighting retreat back through the mountain pass.
Uhtred escaped from that battle with only seven hundred and thirty five men-much of that owed to the superb generalship of his son, Robert. The remnants of the Royal Army limped back into Scone at the end of April. The King himself had been badly wounded in the press of battle, he was no longer a young man and had to be taken to his bed on his return to the Royal Palace.
Many a lesser man would have been beaten by this unexpected turn of events especially as they were still faced with an army of five thousand in Gwynedd, over five thousand in Atholl and a further eleven thousand in Ireland. Undeterred Uhtred ordered new levies to be raised and commissions of array were sent forth to all lands where the Royal Writ still stood. For the remainder of 1223 there was a sense of pause whilst both sides licked their wounds and gathered their strengths once more. In Ireland Leinster’s forces went unmolested as they besieged one royal castle after another. Gwynedd’s forces, meanwhile, wary of another pitched battle with the King had retired across the water to join with their Irish comrades at Knockaulin, Kildare. The rebel army there now numbered over fourteen thousand-a formidable force. A further scare came in November and concerned the King’s increasing bouts of illness. It is now thought that he was suffering from Quartan fever, probably contracted whilst he was campaigning in Poland. With his advancing age-the King was now 53-the bouts of fever increased in frequency. Whatever the cause, Uhtred was in no shape to do anything that winter except be nursed by his physicians and wife back to health.
Meanwhile all hoped that the massive army in Ireland would not decide to move north and attack Scotland. Scouts were deployed in Galloway and Dumfries, the most likely point of any hostile landing whilst the King’s spies were active throughout Ireland and Wales bringing a constant stream of news regarding the probable intentions of the rebels.
By the New Year the King had sufficiently recovered his health to once again take to the field at the head of a sizeable army. He had ordered the Royal Treasury bled dry-a mercenary army of ten thousand, The Celtic Band, were recruited forthwith and added to the mustering royal levies. In April 1224 Uhtred rode forth at the head of over seventeen thousand men-this time they made for Ireland: Gwynedd and his troublesome warring in North Wales would have to wait. Crossing from friendly Galloway into rebel-held Ulster the Royal forces first spent the summer crushing rebel resistance in Ulster before hastening, in the autumn, towards Dublin whose castle had only fallen to Leinster’s forces at the turn of the year after a heroic one-year siege. Because the rebels had only left a token force to garrison the great old fortress there Dublin quickly fell back into Royalist hands. But, as the winds of winter once more approached, all knew that it was not at Dublin that the reckoning would be had but at Knockaulin, to the west, where the main force of Leinster and Gwynedd’s levies were now besieging the castle.
The two mighty armies clashed on 2nd November 1224 in the plains south east of Knockaulin Castle at a point where four roads crossed (modern day Kilcullen)-the speed of the King’s march took the rebel army by surprise such that they were forced to fight on ground of his choosing. The King commanded the centre battle as always, his son Robert the rear (left flank) and Mayor Robert of the new town of Clunie commanded the van (right flank). Facing them were Duke Malise of Connacht- a man of not inconsiderable girth and little skill in battle. His battle commanders were, on the left flank, Earl Morgan of Fife-a competent enough warrior and on the right, Mayor Constantine of Newcastle-also Malise’s Spymaster. Just over seventeen thousand of the King’s men faced just under fourteen thousand rebels. Uhtred was matched in clansmen and outnumbered 2:1 in pikemen but he had over 400 heavy knights to Malise’s 77 and heavily outnumbered Connacht in heavy infantry (more than 2:1).
Here is a scene of the eve of the battle from ‘The Magnificent’
As his two battle commanders joined him in front of his pavilion that even now was being rapidly disassembled the old King gestured to the ground and using twigs spelled out exactly how he expected them to comport themselves. All were fully attired for battle on this damp autumnal day: the king looked imposing in his chain knee-length hauberk, leather gambeson and cuisses with saffron surcoat emblazoned with the rampant lion of Scotland. Upon his head his battle helm was adorned with a simple gold circlet so none would be mistaken who they faced in the heat of battle.
The old King surveyed his lieutenants. The two Roberts were his most trusty commanders-would not fail him: ‘I fully expect that Malise will reinforce his centre as that is where he expects to win.’
Robert snorted in derision ‘hell will freeze over ‘ere that corpulent whoreson will ever best you in battle my lord father.’
Uhtred eyed his son coolly, ‘It does not do my Lord Prince, to underestimate ones enemy in battle. Mark my words and mark them well. Each of you has been given an equal share of my army-I expect, therefore that you will outnumber your opposing battles-make the extra numbers count as I will be hard pressed in the centre!
The King had placed twigs down on the muddy ground to denote each of the six battles. He then put down an extra one behind that which represented Clunie’s right flank. ‘My Lord Mayor-you are our best cavalry commander and so will also command the heavy horse. I want you to hold them until all are committed-even the light horse. Do you hear?’ The King’s eyes were alive, bright even-almost feverish. ‘All will depend on our knights to break them-lead them yourself my friend-do not fail me!’
‘Aye my liege’ the trusted Mayor knelt on the ground, head bowed-beside him Uhtred’s son did likewise.
‘God will grant us the victory here-I know it. For Scotland and Saint Andrew!’
‘For Scotland! For Saint Andrew!’ was the cry taken up by the assembled soldiers and to this was added the familiar battle cry of ‘Mac Ailpin! Mac Ailpin!’ It was stirring stuff and as the cheering continued unabated none could see the King turn away and wipe a tear from his eyes.
The battle was a crushing defeat for the rebels-it broke their power in Ireland and it had destroyed the mainstay of the rebellion. Over the winter of 1224 the victorious royal army pursued their remnants across Leinster and Ossory winning further crushing victories at Clonmacnoise and at the sieges of Gowran and Leighlin. At Clonmacnoise the paladin, Earl Morgan of Fife was captured and killed and at Gowran, Gilbert taken prisoner as well as the Earl of Breisne at Leighlin. By spring 1225 Irish resistance had almost been broken.
Unfortunately for Uhtred a worldly reality struck home at the point that victory was within sight: his mercenary force still needed paying and the coffers were almost empty. The almost two thousand gold crowns that had been filling the treasury at the start of the war had now dwindled down to a mere one hundred and fifty. With heavy heart and a great sense of regret the King had to dismiss nine thousand of his troops-the Celtic Band departed-well paid and happy. The rest of the camp were none so sanguine-there were only three thousand remaining. Like thieves in the night the King led his demoralised forces back to the Scottish mainland via Man, this time heading to Northumberland to besiege Mitford. Behind him the Irish started rebuilding their forces. By May they had almost matched the King’s numbers whilst in Scotland two thousand once more surrounded Forres, laying siege to the devastated castle town. Meanwhile in rebel occupied North Wales, Gwynedd could still call upon over five thousand Welshmen to support his cause and was even now besieging Llanelwy. Calls to arms had been sent via one of his son’s trusted lieutenants to King Boson of Galicia and Basileus, Raphail ‘The Great’ of the Byzantine Empire-both brothers by law-both having daughters married to his sons. Boson had responded a year previously with the offer of troops to support but of foreign assistance there was, as yet, no sign-Uhtred was on his own.
Once again ‘The Magnificent’ captures this period perfectly and gives voice to the silent history:
July 1225 The King’s Camp, Forres.
As the Emissary bowed low in the King’s pavilion he noted that the King truly did look old-he was in his 54th summer and had hardly been out of the saddle a day in the last eighteen months. To his right, as always stood his younger son Robert, someone who, time and time again had distinguished himself in battle with his Sire. To his left was Mayor Robert of Clunie, his other trusted Battle Commander, To left and right were sundry other Captains and Squires-all attired for the coming clash with the army that had been besieging Forres.
‘Sire-glad tidings from your son and heir, William of Meath’ the emissary said kneeling on the floor rushes. It was a warm summers day and the wide flaps of the pavilion were pinned wide apart so as to let as much air as possible into the sweltering tent.
Uhtred accepted the obeisance and bade him continue, ‘what tidings could be so glad in the summer of my deepest care-we are losing the war in case you had not reckoned it.’
‘Aye Your Grace but this news I think you will be right glad of. My Lord the Prince bids me tell you that news has reached him that Adam de Gowrie-the Pretender to the thrones of both Scotland and Ireland, has died!’ And with that Ranulf MacTierney broke into a broad grin.
Uhtred was stunned into silence-could barely swallow so dry had his mouth suddenly become, ‘does this mean? Does this mean?’
‘Sire it does’ Ranulf finished for him ‘The rebels have withdrawn their demands-the realms are once more at peace-you have won!’
Suddenly all within earshot were clapping, cheering and hugging. It was as though a great dam of emotion had burst and all the tension, elation and disappointment of the last three years came flowing over the breach. In the middle of it all sat the King suddenly smiling through his tears of sheer joy. He rose and hugged his son close to him whilst the cry once more went up: ‘Mac Ailpin! Mac Ailpin!’ Mac Ailpin!’ And even now the old King dared to dream that his hopes for his dynasty were still alive.
To be Continued…
Last edited:
Lucky break there. Anything special that killed de Gowrie, or did the game "natural cause" him?
Deep down, I was curious to see what would've happened if you had lost, but that last line is ominous enough to keep my hopes of downfall alive XD
Deep down, I was curious to see what would've happened if you had lost, but that last line is ominous enough to keep my hopes of downfall alive XD
He actually died of natural causes....thank God
It's not over yet though...watch this space
hmy:
Well, you got at least partly lucky there. I had to prolong a war long enough to kill two brothers in order to save the Byzantine Empire. Then I had to plot and murder all six of their children. First time I genuinely felt guilty about murdering people in CK2
Still, if it comes to the worst, I've always had more fun with "rising back to the top underdogs" stories than the slow and steady build towards world conquest
Still, if it comes to the worst, I've always had more fun with "rising back to the top underdogs" stories than the slow and steady build towards world conquest
Well, you got at least partly lucky there. I had to prolong a war long enough to kill two brothers in order to save the Byzantine Empire. Then I had to plot and murder all six of their children. First time I genuinely felt guilty about murdering people in CK2
Still, if it comes to the worst, I've always had more fun with "rising back to the top underdogs" stories than the slow and steady build towards world conquest
I agree to a point but I've already lost nearly everything. Remember when I started this game I was but a mere Duke with close ties to the crown....
Right who's still reading this (apart from Wolf6120)?
I'm trying to post at least twice a month now though that may drop to once a month but there will be little point if no one is reading anymore. Feeling a bit lonesome here
I'm trying to post at least twice a month now though that may drop to once a month but there will be little point if no one is reading anymore. Feeling a bit lonesome here
Sorry, Asantahene. I'm still slowly but surely getting caught up and enjoying every step of the way, so please do keep writing!
Revan this means a lot-I guess I am feeling a bit sensitive because there isn't much feedback going on which makes me wonder whether the story has run out of steam. I was wondering whether part of it was because I am too busy to post every week now-it's more like every 3 weeks :sad: