scotland! scot-land!
the french will grovel to anyone with strength! but how will they credit our strength when we cannot rule the whole of our own island?!
where is my son?
i sent for him -- and the little coward send you?!
if he wants his queen to rule, then you stay and learn how! i will deal with him.
nobles are the key to the scottish door. grant their nobles land here in england. give our own nobles estates in the north. make them too greedy to oppose us.
perhaps it's time to reinstitute an old custom. grant them prima noctes, "first night." when any common girl inhabiting their lands is married, our lords shall have sexual rights to her on the night of her wedding. that should fetch just the kind of lords we want in scotland.
scottish rebels have routed lord bottoms!
you weak little coward! stand up!
i go to france to press our rights there! i leave you to handle this little rebellion, do you understand? do you?!
and turn yourself into a man.
what news of the north?
while i am in france fighting to expand your future kingdom i learn that stirling castle is lost, our entire northern army wiped out! and you have done nothing?!
impossible. how dare you bring a panicky lie.
if he can sack york, he can invade lower england.
edward, who is this shitpoker who speaks to me as if i needed his advice?
you fight back at last!
we must sue for a truce, and buy him off. but who will go to him? not i. if i came under the sword of this murderer, i would end up like my nephew. and not you, the sight of my faggot son would only encourage an enemy to take over this country. so whom do i send?
my son's loyal wife returns, unkilled by the heathen. so he accepted our bribe.
then why does he stay? my scouts say he has not advanced.
you spoke with this wallace in private. what kind of man is he?
the scottish nobles have sent him no support. his army starves. our stall has worked, he must withdraw. you may return to your embroidery.
this is what happens when you must send a woman. and a fool.
my greatness is better demonstrated with this.
so the scots will have none of them, will they? my armorers have already made a thousand.
for double his lands in scotland, and matching estates in england.
use the reinforcements! but take wallace alive!
looks over the battlefield, strewn with the bodies of the scottish dead. for now, he is satisfied.
now we kill two birds at one stroke. we recruit from scotland for our armies in france.
what choice do they have? now they must serve us or starve.
he is gone! finished! dead! if he has not yet bled to death or had his throat cut for him, he will not survive the winter. it is very cold -- is it not, our flower?
his legend grows! it will be worse than before!
let her speak.
you see, my delicate son? i have picked you a queen.