16th May 1074
My father lies sick within his chambers and our enemies are quick to ready arms and armour for war. I will not let them steal this holy site from us, nor allow the kingdom to fall to barbarian scum like the Northmen.
I have sent Henry away by sea to Inverness. He shall steal the rebelling castle from under the nose of the grieving king and we shall have those treacherous dogs surrounded. It should help my brother too, whom is still distraught from his father's last letter to him. He will not reveal what it is he was informed of, but father could...no..he still lives...he can be stern at times. He was so with me, at least for a little while, before I matured.
Daniels...erm...Fredrick, whoever he may be, has departed to join Robert in his unenviable mission to keep the thieving French and Danish off of my beautiful Normandy. I am willing to record my thoughts in the journals, of course. History shall know me...and my victories.
I am Prince now. And I will conquer Britannia for my family and for my father!
...
27th July 1074
Robert, that is to say, Prince Robert, and I, are concerned with England. Prince Rufus has taken the old King's sickness worse than we feared and his creeping madness has only worsened. Now Scotland's ancestral seat has been split in 'twain by our own armies.
Poor misguided Henry obeyed his elder brother to the letter. The castle is now a small town, so they tell me: Perth, I believe it is now being called. By this time, Edward surely suspects us of wrongdoing and having a hand in all but one of his son's deaths. Riots and violence are spreading through his city of Edinburgh, and soon that kingdom shall have to vent all wrath at somebody, be that us or their own folk.
Stamford is a large town, large enough that it compares more to London or Exeter rather than Glyndower or even Numenor. I believe actualy that this might be a worthy addition to Normandy, perhaps more so than Angers castle. Who am I to decide though? I am a mere recorder and advisor. Robert must decide whether to remain and secure this place (for we surely must have to defend it from at least the French and the Danes at some point) or trade it away.
But what's this? The warning horn? What could possibly...
The French. The French have marched on Normandy! We must hurry back at once, lest we be trapped far from England in a foreign land. Robert and his army ride with me.
I hope we are not too late.