The first poor lass that goes with you

In field or bank or wood.

MARGARET exits during the song.

PHEMY finishes her song and exits.

The Great Hall, Stirling, Three Months Later

JAMES processes in with MARGARET as the Estates assemble.

JOHN. As we are summoned by our King and by our God, the Three Estates of Scotland are hereby called to service.

A small CHOIR hurries in and groups itself behind JAMES. JOHN walks forward. He raises a ceremonial staff.

May it please Your Majesty, your graces, my…

He is cut off by the CHOIR bursting into song. The song builds to a dramatic pause/climax. JOHN raises his ceremonial staff to speak again, JAMES shakes his head, stopping him.

The CHOIR sing something like –

The King, The King, His Majesty, His Majesty

Praise him, Praise him

Fal-la-la la la-la

Fal-la-la la la-la

Fal-la-la la la-la

Fal-la-la la la-la.

The CHOIR finishes on a crescendo, enthusiastically conducted by JAMES.

SANDY. Oh, fuck this!

SANDY exits, followed by the whole parliament. Over this, JOHN finally speaks.

JOHN. Well, as parliament is dissolved, Your Majesty. The council needs to meet today. I will find you later.

JOHN exits. MARGARET goes to JAMES.

MARGARET. A cathedral is larger than any of us. A cathedral is the closest thing a mortal creature gets to seeing immortality. A cathedral is a great beast we build of stone that carries us inside it like a whale, swimming through the centuries towards the throne of heaven.

JAMES. That’s beautiful.

MARGARET. That’s how you explained it to me. So why aren’t you explaining it like that to them?

You idiot, James! You idiot!

These are the men you need if you ever want to raise an army! They’re your only defence against invasion!

JAMES. Oh, Christ in a bread basket, here we go again. Let England invade! I’ll be delighted to surrender. Save a lot of time and money and all that wasted effort bouncing around waving our fists and kidding on we’re not just a wee boy without a catapult facing up to a bear.

Let England eat us and get it over with! What’s the point! What’s the point? Today, tomorrow, a hundred years from now? They’ll do it one day, won’t they? They’re bigger than us! They’ve got more money! Face the reality, dearest! They’re having us! Let’s get it over with and get on with something that makes sense of our imminent plummet into an open grave! Like a wee madrigal, maybe. Can you sing one, darling? Can you do anything that’s fundamentally useful? No. All you can do is tell me what I can’t have.