Maid of Norway, Queen of Scotland: A Plantagenet Britain Timeline
- Thread starter pandizzy
- Start date
Does it look like i have high standards for poetry?
It's to be written by anyone. To Margaret maid of norway. It's sort of to celebrate her arrival in England.
Also it should sorta be like this meme.
Save yourself the work. Just adapt a verse or two of this.
en.m.wikipedia.org
Okay, it's about 200 years late, but for the purpose of the story, I'm sure it would do...
The Thrissil and the Rois - Wikipedia
Okay, it's about 200 years late, but for the purpose of the story, I'm sure it would do...
I have an idea!
Maybe write a bad poem in purpose!
For example, in the section poem is mentioned, the guy who says the poet can be described as a somewhat drunk man who probably wrote the poem to get some money to buy more wine. And, after he is paid a money for “how great his poem is”, we can have a scene of King Eduaord commenting on how mediocre (or even bad) the poem was, and getting angry at whoever is arranging these things for allowing an obvious drunkard to get in the line of poets.
They made me write a poem in Year 11.
I don't remember it in full, but I believe it opened with 'Oh Poetry!/How I Hate Thee', and also included the phrases 'worthless waste of words' and 'antiquated art form' - because alliteration (and incredibly basic rhyming!) was the only poetic technique I could be bothered with.
When they asked me to pick a poem for analysis, I of course chose 'Butchered to Make a Dutchman's Holiday', the work composed by Australian hero and war criminal Breaker Morant as he was awaiting execution for the war crimes that he did.
I did not pursue English further in Year 12.
I don't remember it in full, but I believe it opened with 'Oh Poetry!/How I Hate Thee', and also included the phrases 'worthless waste of words' and 'antiquated art form' - because alliteration (and incredibly basic rhyming!) was the only poetic technique I could be bothered with.
When they asked me to pick a poem for analysis, I of course chose 'Butchered to Make a Dutchman's Holiday', the work composed by Australian hero and war criminal Breaker Morant as he was awaiting execution for the war crimes that he did.
I did not pursue English further in Year 12.
@pandizzy, I think Arthurian litteratur was in favour at this time in English court, so perhaps some courtly love poetry will work?
No one ever made me write poems in school because I never did those assignments.
@pandizzy
Here's my attempt at a poem for you. In an attempt to make it a bit mediaeval, it borrows liberally from the real poem The Pearl (specifically this translation).
Here's my attempt at a poem for you. In an attempt to make it a bit mediaeval, it borrows liberally from the real poem The Pearl (specifically this translation).
’t was on a summer evening,
When all the leaves were green,
Then came the Maid of Scots to us,
To be Lord Edward’s queen.
The delight her coming did import,
Is far too great for me to tell,
As came she to her Lord consort,
We all did fall under her spell.
As his fair queen he did espy,
Lord Edward gladly welcomed she,
“Welcome! Welcome!” was heard his cry,
Receiving her most generously.
More courtly maiden there was none,
A gleaming mantle she did wear,
Her diadem with splendour shone,
Never saw we queen so fair.
That gracious girl, so fair, so small,
So beautiful, so seeming slight,
Royally clad, with gems and all,
Adorned with many pearls bright.
Her features pale as ivory shone,
Her shoulders, all unbound, lay light,
Like burnished gold her tresses on,
That gleams anew in day’s sunlight.
Her gorgeous dress and its decor,
Its pearls and silver gleaming bright,
I judge no tongue e'er found before
Words to describe that glorious sight.
I hope it's of use.
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thats perfeeect!@pandizzy
Here's my attempt at a poem for you. In an attempt to make it a bit mediaeval, it borrows liberally from the real poem The Pearl (specifically this translation).
’t was on a summer evening,When all the leaves were green,Then came the Maid of Scots to us,To be Lord Edward’s queen.The delight her coming did import,Is far too great for me to tell,As came she to her Lord consort,We all did fall under her spell.As his fair queen he did espy,Lord Edward gladly welcomed she,“Welcome! Welcome!” was heard his cry,Receiving her most generously.More courtly maiden there was none,A gleaming mantle she did wear,Her diadem with splendour shone,Never saw we queen so fair.That gracious girl, so fair, so small,So beautiful, so seeming slight,Royally clad, with gems and all,Adorned with many pearls bright.Her features pale as ivory shone,Her shoulders, all unbound, lay light,Like burnished gold her tresses on,That gleams anew in day’s sunlight.Her gorgeous dress and its decor,Its pearls and silver gleaming bright,I judge no tongue e'er found beforeWords to describe that glorious sight.I hope it's of use.
Better for your purposes than what I would be able to, easily, uh, fashion. (Pun intended)
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And the syllable count is within reason. Don’t ask me about stressed and unstressed syllables though. And it’s a lovely poem.
Chapter XI - Longing
June 1293. Stirling Castle, Scotland.
“I will take this dress, and this dress,” Margaret declared, walking around her bedchambers. “And these jewels also.” Her governess chuckled as she followed her, since the little queen had not yet realised that all of her dresses would be coming to England. Margaret stopped before the window, clutching her little hands and Egidia stopped behind her, watching her carefully as she mournfully sighed. "I wish I could take all of Scotland with me, so I'd not miss it for even a moment."
Egidia Stewart said nothing for a moment. Then she stepped forward, closer and closer, and placed a comforting hand on young Margaret's shoulder. It was rather uncommon to touch the Queen so boldly, but she was only a child.
"We will come with you, my lady," Egidia said. "All of us. Mary Bruce, Elsbeth Comyn. Your friends will be there." She sighed and cupped the back of the Queen's hand in what she hoped was a comforting gesture. "And one day, you might bring your husband here and show him our proud land. Or your son. He would need to know Scotland to be her king, isn't that right?"
"You're right," Margaret answered, looking up at her governess and foster mother with a smile. She rested her head on her hand. “Do you think England is very different from Scotland?”
Egidia smiled and shook her head. “I have never seen England, but I imagine it can’t be much changed from here,” she said. “The two countries are on the very same island. England and Scotland are sisters.”
“I like that idea,” said Margaret. “What should I wear to meet King Edward and the Prince of Wales?”
“Perhaps your velvets, if it’s not too warm, my lady,” said Egidia. “We will soon set out and we might arrive in England before July even ends, so we must care for you not to overheat.” Gently, and not overtly, touched the back of her hand to the young girl’s neck, so as to be certain that there was no growing fever upon her. But Margaret thought it was only a fond caress, leaning her head against the hand. “And when you wed Prince Edward, you will wear a heraldic coat over your dress, so all may know you’re a queen.”
Margaret nodded and tilted her head up to look at Egidia, blinking her almond-shaped blue-green eyes. “You’ll see me married, won’t you, Lady Stewart?” she asked. “And stay with me afterwards.” She frowned slightly. “I demand it!”
Egidia smiled. The little queen reminded her of her own daughters, whom she had not seen in quite sometimes as they were too young to join the royal household. She was gentle, and good, but somehow, aware of her own station. Although the guardians, and Egidia herself, were a tad too gentle with her, the Queen was not spoiled, but wanted to stand in her own dignity. And she was still a little girl at heart.
“Of course, I will,” she said, stroking the back of the Queen’s head. “Who else would know to do things the way you like them?”
Margaret blinked. “I love you,” she whispered. Egidia smiled.
“And I love you, my little girl,” said the loyal governess. Margaret wrapped her arms tightly around Egidia’s waist and the woman smiled, stroking her golden hair. Soon, the little queen would be ten and tradition dictated that she start wearing the veils of women. At least, that was the Scottish way. The English were more relaxed in their ways, so girls could wait until they were twelve. The governess wondered whether or not they ought to wait. “You and I are going to be very happy together in England, I’m sure of it.”
“Do you think he’ll like me?” Margaret asked. “My intended. Prince Édouard.”
“He’d be a fool not to, my queen,” said Egidia. “But even if he does not, you must remember. For now, until his father dies, you are a queen and he is just a prince. He needs you more than you need him."
Margaret blinked up at her and Egidia knew she'd take her words to heart. Which was good. The guardians, and all of Scotland, hoped for the Queen to be a strong and determined young girl who would never allow Scotland to be swallowed up by her southern neighbour.
Egidia pinched her cheeks. "Come, my lady," she said. "The guardians want you to meet the newest captain of your guard."
"Is it Sir Andrew?" Margaret asked, eager to see the man that first greeted her in Scotland. But Egidia shook her.
"No, madam," said the governess. "The Guardians trust Sir Andrew to be their eyes and ears in the Highlands. He'll be needed there." The little queen made a displeased face and Egidia chuckled as she coaxed her charge out of her room, to where the newest captain awaited her.
He was a large and tall man, with stern eyes and a trimmed beard. Certainly nearly two feet taller than Egidia herself. He was dressed in simple, but well-made clothes, though he lacked the usual protective gear and weapons one would expect in the Queen's guard. Of course, as he was not in service yet, and would only begin in a month, when they set out for England, he was allowed to be more respectful.
"My lady," the man said, falling to his knees. "It is a great honour to be presented to Her Grace, the Queen of Scots."
Margaret smiled. She enjoyed when she was treated as someone better than others.
"My lady, allow me to present to you the new captain of your guard," said Egidia, gesturing to him with a graceful hand, "William Wallace."
Windsor Castle, England.
His new mother had asked him to meet her. Even though Édouard knew he was not supposed to call her mother, according to Elizabeth, he still did in his head. She was his father's wife, the Queen of England, and he owed her respect, even if she hadn't been crowned yet. It was for money, his father explained, but when he was bringing his father's boots to the shoemaker, he heard the man say it was because his father would not have her crowned until she proved herself capable of bearing sons.
Though, if that part was true, the child in her tummy would soon allow her to be true. Everyone was saying it would be a boy.
He wondered, as he waited for her to be made ready for him, what she wanted. Maybe she'd give him a gift. His birthday had been in April, but he was always receiving new presents. Maybe she wanted to see him because she loved him, though they weren't close. Maybe she just wanted to see how he was. Women were supposed to be very caring and loving.
A pinched-face lady walked to him, curtsying shallowly. "My prince," she said. "The Queen is ready to receive you." Édouard had arrived some time before they were to meet, so the Queen was not decent enough. She needed some measures of refinement to meet with her husband's son, of course. She was a queen.
He was waiting in the antechamber so he walked into the Queen's most private apartments. She was sitting by the window, wearing a blue dress and white veils to cover her hair and neck. Édouard bent at the waist and she smiled, arching her angular black brows.
"My lady," he said. "You called and I came to serve."
"I'm happy to see you, Édouard," said the Queen. She had a high and bell-like voice, almost like a song. If she were not a queen, he'd say she would have made an amazing singer. "Are you hungry? There are sweetmeats for you, if you'd like." She gestured for the food.
Édouard looked in the direction, but he shook his head. He would eat with the King later and his father would be very upset if he came with a full stomach. It all looked very good though and smelled delicious. When he looked back at his stepmother, she smiled as if she could see what was in his mind.
“Maybe just a piece of cake,” she suggested. “It would be such a shame if you didn’t eat just one.” He nodded and Queen Yolande gestured for one of her ladies to cut a piece for him. They were mostly Aragonese, with dark eyes and angular eyebrows, come to England to marry his father’s lords to bind the two countries closer together. The Queen herself had dark blue eyes which seemed to see into his very soul as he sat before her. “Do you know why I called you here, Édouard?”
“No, my lady,” he responded. Her lady served him his cake and Édouard smiled at her before moving to dig in. The cake was delicious, and creamy, and he focused on it as he ate, the Queen looking at him.
She placed a hand over her stomach. Édouard could see that, though her garment was shapeless, there was a swelled growth there, just under her hand. His little brother. The people were talking about it, even though many considered such a state to be vulgar. They were all so happy that his father’s wife proved herself capable of bearing children and when the boy was born, all would be full of joy.
“You will be king someday,” Yolande said. “When your father is sadly called to the Lord’s side.” Édouard nodded. A lady offered him a goblet full of cold water and he sipped it slowly, quenching his thirst. “And your brother and I will be under your protection.” She leaned in to look at him. “There will be many people who’ll try to drive a wedge between you and him. But you won’t let them, will you?” She smiled. “You’re very clever, Édouard. I know you won’t allow yourself to be led by the council of lesser men.”
Édouard twisted his mouth. “I suppose so,” he said. “But my guardian said that the baby can be a girl too. And then she’ll be Queen of France.” It’s what his father wanted. But his stepmother made a face before she quickly smoothed down her expression.
“And if she is a girl, you will care for her, won’t you? And make her Queen of France as your father wants.” She touched his hand and Édouard looked at her with wide blue eyes. “Even if there comes a time when your own daughter might become wife to the crown prince, you won't undo your father's wishes." She smiled as Édouard trembled. "You'll never betray your sister like that. Won’t you, my son?”
“I'd never,” he said.