As bride for his son,
Longshanks had chosen
the daughter of his rival,

the king of France.
[Singing In Latin]
It was widely whispered that
for the princess to conceive,

Longshanks would have to do
the honors himself.

That may have been
what he had in mind all along.

Scotland... my land.
The French will grovel
to anyone with strength,

but how will they
believe our strength

when we cannot rule
the whole of our own island?

Where is my son?
Your pardon, my lord.
He asked me
to come in his stead.

I sent for him,
and he sends you.

Shall I leave, my lord?
If he wants his queen
to rule when I am gone,

then, by all means,
stay and learn how.

Nobles are the key
to the door of Scotland.

Grant our nobles
lands in the north,

give their nobles
estates here in England,

and make them too greedy
to oppose us.

But, sire, our nobles
will be reluctant to uproot.

New lands
mean new taxes,

and they're already taxed
for the war in France.

Are they?