#Ugh not my best writing and I will probably slim it down and tidy it up over the weekend but I want to at least try to publish on the 8th

[weavingthetapestry]

Talking Together: The Earliest Record of A Scottish Parliament?

(A ninteenth century engraving of the great seal of Alexander II. Source- Wikimedia Commons)

On 8th April 1236, letters were issued on behalf of King Alexander II of Scotland, recording the settlement of a recent dispute between the Cistercian monks of Melrose and the nobleman Roger Avenel. Although at first sight this may appear unremarkable, the document which contains the Crown’s record of this settlement can be considered the earliest official evidence of a Scottish parliament.

Some time before 1236, Roger Avenel and his ancestors had granted use of some land in Eskdale (Dumfriesshire) to Melrose Abbey. The Abbey was heavily involved in wool and leather production. Access to upland grazing for the abbey’s livestock, as well as timber and arable, would have made this Eskdale land extremely valuable to the monks. Unfortunately for them, Roger Avenel also felt entitled to use the land exactly as he pleased, and had no qualms about obstructing the same monks he and his predecessors had endowed. Despite the terms of his previous charter, Roger and his men loosed their horses and other animals on the land, and destroyed the houses, ditches, and enclosures made by the Abbey. In order to settle “the controversies stirred between them on this account”, the dispute between the two parties was brought before the highest judge in the realm- King Alexander II of Scotland. Eventually, a compromise was reached, providing for the use of the land by both Melrose Abbey and Roger Avenel, albeit in different ways. The warring parties were thus reconciled, “in the presence of our barons at the colloquium at Liston”, in the year of grace 1235.

It is likely that the letters which record this settlement were made at least a couple of weeks after this assembly at Kirkliston, since they are dated 8th April “in the twenty-second year of the reign of our lord the king”- i.e. 1236.* The document itself was witnessed by Andrew, bishop of Moray; Clement, bishop of Dunblane; Walter Comyn, the earl of Menteith; Walter, the Steward of Scotland; Walter Oliphant, justiciar of Lothian; Henry Balliol; David Keith, the Marischal; and Geoffrey, the clerk of the liverance. This cannot be taken as a list of everyone who attended the ‘colloquium’ at Kirkliston, though I would argue that most of these men were probably present anyway. Nonetheless the letter is possibly the earliest surviving “official” Crown record of what we now call the Scottish parliament- though this is by no means certain since the early history of this institution is shadowy and fraught with ambiguity...

(The old kirk of Liston, presumably near to where the ‘colloquium’ of 1235 took place. The church has its roots in the Middle Ages and may have been standing at the time of the first Scottish parliament. Source is picture by Tom Sargent who has kindly made this picture available on wikimedia commons for reuse under the Creative Commons License)

The early development of “parliament” in Scotland is even more obscure than in neighbouring England. Very few Crown documents have survived from the thirteenth century which relate to meetings that could be considered parliaments, and even the terminology used to describe the kinds of assembly we now call parliament can be ambiguous. Thirteenth century writers do not always use the same terminology we would expect, and it is unclear whether the words they actually use had exactly the same meaning in the thirteenth century as they do now, and indeed whether these words were used consistently. Some mediaeval chroniclers do refer to certain assemblies which were held by the kings of Scotland before 1235, and which they give the name “parliament”. In one Anglo-Norman work, the twelfth century chronicler Jordan Fantosme states that William the Lion held “sun plenier parlement” (translated as his “plenary” or “full” parliament) in 1173, when he wanted to consult the wise men of his kingdom on whether or not he should support the rebellion of Henry “the Young King” against the latter’s father Henry II of England. “Gesta Annalia”, a late thirteenth century Scottish chronicle, also uses a Latinised version of the French term “parliament”, to describe an assembly held by King Alexander II in 1215. However, no official documents associated with these “parliaments” survive, and the chroniclers who referred to them did not define their use of the term.

In records produced on behalf of the Scottish Crown, the word “parliament” itself doesn’t appear very often before the end of the thirteenth century. However quite a few surviving records do use the Latin word “colloquium” to refer to certain assemblies of the king and his barons- indeed this is the word used to describe the meeting held at Kirkliston in 1235. “Colloquium” has a similar meaning to the French word “parliament”, in that they both loosely describe a “talking together” or a discussion. In thirteenth century England, the Latin and French terms were often treated as interchangeable, and so early twentieth century historians, searching for early evidence of a similar institution in Scotland, were quick to identify any colloquium mentioned in Scottish records as a parliament in the usual sense of the word. However the word also carries its fair share of ambiguity. We do not know whether a “colloquium” in thirteenth century Scotland would have looked anything like our idea of a mediaeval parliament, nor whether the term always meant the same thing, nor can we identify what it was that set a “colloquium” apart from any other assembly or council in which the king of Scots consulted his leading vassals. There is also the danger that, having first encountered the terms “colloquium” and parliament in English and French contexts, historians have gone looking for a similar phrase in Scottish sources and inadvertently analysed the evidence through a subjective lens, based on a preconceived notion of what a parliament was.

Although more recent historians have acknowledged this danger, unfortunately the nature of the surviving evidence seems to compel them to work within the same framework, using the existed, if limited, terminology as best they can. The “colloquium” of thirteenth century Scotland does seem to be the closest thing we have to a word for the kind of formal assembly of the political community, chaired by a king, which we might describe more easily as a parliament in late mediaeval and early modern Scotland. It is also possible (indeed, likely) that the colloquium held at Kirkliston in 1235 was not the first of its kind. Nonetheless with such fragmentary evidence, it is probably reasonable to view that assembly as a very distant ancestor of the Scottish parliament that we know today.

So what might this parliament have looked like? During the Late Middle Ages, yet another phrase was commonly used to refer to both parliaments and general councils in Scotland- these were described as meetings of the “Three Estates”. This seems to have originated from the mediaeval theory that a Christian society should be made up of three sorts of people: those who prayed, those who fought, and those who worked. Different parts of Christian Europe developed regional variations on this theory but, in the context of the Scottish parliament, the “First Estate” (those who prayed) tended to refer to the higher clergy (bishops and important abbots). The “Second Estate” (those who fought) meant the higher nobility (from dukes down to lords of parliament and richer freeholders), and the “Third Estate” (those who worked) only referred to the commissioners elected to represent the country’s burghs (so not the common man as such).

However, in 1235 this parliamentary model had not yet evolved. The exact composition of thirteenth century Scottish parliaments is obscure, but in the record of the colloquium held at Kirkliston only the king and his ‘barons’ are mentioned. Evidence from other thirteenth century assemblies indicates that it was primarily members of the higher nobility who attended these- earls and the most powerful barons. Although they are not mentioned in the record of the Kirkliston assembly, the kingdom’s bishops also seem to have been permitted to attend these other “parliaments”. Burgh representatives do not appear until the 1290s, and A.A.M. Duncan has argued that they were not a regular fixture until much later. The other freeholders of Scotland (below the rank of earl and great baron) also do not seem to have attended parliament much before the fourteenth century. So the colloquium at Kirkliston in 1235 was probably just a meeting of the king and his leading nobles, though perhaps some of the bishops also attended.

In any case, the number of attendees would probably have been quite small- G.W.S. Barrow has argued that they would have “numbered in dozens or scores rather than in hundreds”. Also the Scottish parliament was always unicameral, in contrast to the English institution, which seems to have developed its separate Houses by at least the mid-fourteenth century. There was also no fixed location where parliaments were held as yet, and aside from the 1235 assembly at Kirkliston, during the thirteenth century meetings were also held in Stirling, Roxburgh, Holyrood Abbey, Edinburgh, and Scone, among other places. Like the king, parliament would remain peripatetic for centuries, and though Edinburgh eventually emerged as the most popular location during the reigns of James II and James III, the Scottish parliament only established itself there permanently in the seventeenth century**. Other customs associated with pre-Union Scottish parliaments- for example the Riding of Parliament or the Lords of the Articles- were also probably unknown in the thirteenth century.

(The Scottish parliament or Estates processing in the late seventeenth century. Source- Wikimedia Commons)

Wherever they met and whoever attended, mediaeval parliaments must have differed in some way from regular assemblies. Their most basic function was to provide an opportunity for the king to consult the political community on important issues. But historians are divided over just what kind of issue which would have dominated proceedings at early parliaments. Twelfth and thirteenth century chroniclers seem to have been interested in the assembly’s role as a venue for political debate and diplomatic activity. However this was probably only part of the story. Meanwhile parliament’s financial role (approving extraordinary taxation) which was to be such an important factor in the development of the institution in England, does not appear to have been quite so central in Scotland. A third function of most parliaments- one which is particularly important in our own day- is to develop and enact laws. This was probably performed by early Scottish parliaments too, but we lack evidence for substantial legislative activity before the fourteenth century.

In 1928, while surveying the evidence of earlier thirteenth century assemblies as a preliminary to their investigation of Edward I of England’s Scottish parliaments, the historians H.G. Richardson and George Sayles focused on parliament’s function as the highest court in the land. They came to the conclusion that, “the primary purpose of these early parliaments of Scotland was the dispensing of justice.” Certainly this is the role which we can see the colloquium at Kirkliston performing in the single surviving record which that assembly produced. The next documented colloquium, which met in 1248 at Stirling, is also known only from the record of an arbitration which took place there, again under the eye of Alexander II, while legal cases again crop up on several occasions during the reigns of Alexander III and John Balliol and the minority of Margaret (the remainder of the documented parliamentary business during the late thirteenth century is largely concerned with international diplomacy, which may however simply be due to the fact that this was the only subject which was considered important enough to record). However, in the 1960s, A.A.M. Duncan disagreed with Richardson and Sayles’ verdict, pointing out that the fragmentary nature of the evidence makes it difficult to assign special significance to any one function of the early parliaments. For his own part, Duncan characterised the early Scottish parliament as a venue for the promotion of the Crown’s interests, and “the occasion on which the rights of the king could be asserted by customary judicial process with final authority.”

(The coat of arms of Alexander II of Scotland, as portrayed in the thirteenth century ‘Historia Anglorum’ of Matthew Paris. Reproduced by permission of the British Library under a Creative Commons CC0 1.0 Universal Public Domain Dedication.)

Given that any debate which can be had about the early Scottish parliament’s early activities is severely limited by the patchy and ambiguous evidence available, it is perhaps unsurprising that some historians have tended to dismiss the colloquium of 1235 and other early assemblies as hurriedly as possible, moving onto the better documented meetings after 1286. As discussed above, sometimes this has even led to doubt over whether the 1235 meeting can fairly be called the earliest parliament at all. As Keith M. Brown, Alastair J. Mann, and Roland J. Tanner state in their historical introduction to the online “Records of the Parliament of Scotland” project:

“Between 1235 and 1286, therefore, parliament exists for historians in a kind of limbo – we can see that the term is used (in the early colloquium form), but can tell almost nothing about what was meant by that term. What set the early colloquia apart from previous assemblies of the king and his subjects has been lost, although there could have been a clear distinction, and the primary purpose of those early assemblies is unknown – whether they were political, judicial or legislative. There are no criteria that can be used for parliament’s emergence other than the moment that contemporary Scots began to refer to their assemblies in official sources by either the word parliamentum or colloquium. The debate about the earliest known Scottish parliament, therefore, becomes very simple – it was the Kirkliston colloquium held in 1235. Whether this was the first assembly to be referred to as such, or whether it differed in any significant way from the royal councils and assemblies that had occurred before will almost certainly never be known.”

If there is anything else to be said, it is only that, over the centuries which followed the Kirkliston meeting, the Scottish parliament evolved in many different ways, most of which could not have been foreseen by any of the men present in 1235. The mediaeval institution did at different points in its history perform a variety of functions, whether political, financial, legislative, or judicial, and although the Crown did often attempt to use parliament to bolster its own position, communication between the two was not a one-way street, and on several occasions the Estates talked back. In the early modern period, further development of the institutions and ceremonial associated with parliament occurred, while the abolition of the institution in 1707 followed a century which had seen parliament operating in new territory on more than one occasion. The current devolved parliament, which met for the first time in nearly three centuries in 1999 and usually sits at Holyrood*** is not only a very different body to that which met at Kirkliston over six hundred years earlier, but has itself changed since it was reconvened over twenty years ago. Nonetheless, a line can be drawn between the shadowy, probably elitist, assembly which took place in 1235 and the principle of public consultation which is supposed to underly Scottish democracy today. Though political systems and values must inevitably evolve over time, and though many historical events are obscure, difficult to define, and not easily subsumed into a greater narrative, the colloquium at Kirkliston is at least worth remembering as the first stage in, “the journey begun long ago and which has no end.”

(The debating chamber in the current Scottish parliament building. Source- wikimedia commons, where this photo was kindly shared by user:pschemp)

Additional Notes:

*In many official and religious documents from the Middle Ages, the year was reckoned to begin on 25th March. So if the colloquium took place in 1235 but the letters were not made until 8th April 1236, then at least a fortnight must have passed between the date when the settlement between Melrose and Roger Avenel actually took place and the date when a document was created to record this.

** Interestingly Holyrood, where the modern parliament is now based, was technically in a separate burgh from Edinburgh in the Middle Ages, the burgh of Canongate.

***When it is not in recess, which it is currently in the run-up to the May elections.

Selected Bibliography:

- Records of the Parliaments of Scotland website and in particular the record of the Kirkliston Colloquium listed under the reign of Alexander II and the historical introduction. This website is a magnificent resource, so I encourage people to look it up anyway.

- Jordan Fantosme’s “Chronicle of the War Between the English and the Scots”, translated by Francisque Michel.

- “The Early Parliaments of Scotland”, by A.A.M. Duncan as published in the Scottish Historical Review, vol. 45 no. 139 Part 1 (April 1966). Link is to JSTOR.

- “The Scottish Parliaments of Edward I”, by H.G. Richardson and George Sayles, as published in the Scottish Historical Review, vol. 25, no. 100 (Jul. 1928). Link is to JSTOR.

- “The Origins and Development of the Scottish Parliament, 1249-1329″, by Alison A.B. MacQueen. Thesis submitted for award of PhD, available on St Andrews research repository here

- “1999 Speech at Opening of the Scottish Parliament”, given by Donald Dewar

[sinsbymanka]

Thank you for the prompt @tuffypelly​! I needed the practice writing Modern!Hawke and Varric!

Prompt: “Don’t you remember the go karting incident?”

Someone broke into Varric’s apartment.

Again.

He ran through the list of usual suspects and began crossing them out one by one. Magic was clearly involved, the leftover energy gave him a bit of a shock when he grabbed his doorknob. So Rivaini was off the hook. No sign of blood or whiff of sulfur, which meant Daisy probably hadn’t come by to water the plants she insisted he needed. 

That left three witches. Sunshine would have patiently waited outside, so she could be discounted. Anders... well, it could have been Blondie, but somehow Varric doubted it. Blondie hardly ever came to visit anymore, and never uninvited. His friend was too busy working himself into a frothing rage over the templars in the undercity most of the time.

So. Hawke.

Varric shoved the door open and peered around his tidy apartment. Sure, he preferred the bustling arts district to the ritzy section his brother favored, but Varric was no starving artist. Everything screamed comfort, from the plush, worn leather sofas to the rich, mahogany bookshelves lined with his eclectic collection. His laptop sat, undisturbed, on his coffee table with his empty mug from the morning still beside it. 

On the other couch, however, the Champion of Kirkwall sat in a nest of her own making. She had wrapped herself up in his comforter like the apartment was freezing, but she hadn’t thought to turn on the heat, which she was more than capable of doing. She had a takeout container opened in front of her, chopsticks impaled in half eaten noodles, and a cartoon featuring brightly colored, implausibly proportioned women playing on his TV. 

“Hawke, if you didn’t save me an eggroll I’m kicking you out.” 

She didn’t turn from her chosen entertainment, but she waved in the direction of his kitchenette. “I brought you a whole damn meal. And beer. You’re welcome.” 

“What are you watching?” He asked, shuffling off his coat and throwing it over the counter. He swaggered to the fridge and opened it, withdrawing the still lukewarm container. Hawke hadn’t been here long, then. 

“Fuck if I know.” Hawke tipped her head to the side like an over-inquisitive parrot. “It’s on one of those strange Nevarran channels you get.” 

He opened the container and peered into the half-eaten remains of his portion of the takeout. He glared playfully at Hawke, who’d finally turned to watch him as he discovered her treachery. 

“I was hungry.” She defended with a sly grin, folding her arms on the back of the couch and resting her head on them. “Where were you?” 

“Tracking down those ingredients Blondie wanted for his ‘make my demon cat less crazy’ spell. Do you know what Sela Petrae is made of?” He muttered darkly. Hawke grinned evilly. 

“Why do you think I said I’d help him find the Drakestone?” 

“I hate you.” He groaned, rubbing his forehead. 

Hawke smiled, suddenly sweet. “No you don’t.” 

He didn’t, but he wasn’t going to admit it after finding out he’d spent all morning asking for crystallized urine. He grabbed his own chopsticks from the counter and ambled over to Hawke on the couch, collapsing beside her. 

“You worried about him?” Hawke asked, slim fingers worrying the frayed edge of his comforter. 

“Nah.” Varric lied easily. “He’ll be fine. He’s just having a mood.” 

“Yeah.” Hawke lied through her teeth too. “I’m not worried either.” 

They needed a change of subject. Varric gestured with his shoddy utensils at the TV screen. “Can’t afford your own cable?” 

“Like you’re paying for cable, serah.” Hawke huffed, settling back into the cushions and resting her head on his shoulder, an easy, light pressure that felt as precious as gold. 

Varric waited, spinning the silence out until Hawke finally relented. “I’ve been having nightmares again.” 

Nightmares. Cards spelling out portents of doom. The same refrain now for weeks. Kirkwall lurching into the next disaster, but none of them any wiser as to what it was. Hawke stared, unseeing, at the TV, while she recounted her dream. “I’m at city hall, standing on top of that awful dome with the naked statue. But the statue isn’t there, it’s me. I’m encased in bronze just like it is, and the metal is melting, scorching my skin. I have wings, but the feathers are falling past my fingertips and I know I’m going to fall. The world is on fire underneath me and I... I’m watching from the center of the flames.” 

“One question.” Varric couldn’t bear to see the strain weighing her down, making her look old beyond her years. Shit, she was just twenty-five. Too young for all this, by far. “That statue on top of city hall is naked Hawke. Out of author’s curiosity...” 

She laughed, like he knew she would, swatting him with the edge of his own blanket. “You’re awful. My premonitions of doom are jokes to you, is that it?” 

They weren’t, he’d seen too many of them come true, but he also knew by now they couldn’t stop them. Worrying themselves into an early grave wouldn’t help. May as well go laughing. 

“Andraste, Varric. Get me out of this place.” She swung the blanket off the couch and stood, a bundle of nervous energy. “I’ll text Fen and Merrill. You grab Bela. Let’s go do something fun.” 

“Hanged Man is right downstairs.” Varric offered. “I think the special tonight is their own special brand of watered down...” 

“For fuck’s sake. No, I don’t want to drink.” She babbled, wrapping strands of dark hair around her fingers. “Let’s do something exciting. Oh! The aquarium, down at the harbor. Let’s...” 

“Rivaini’s banned.” Varric smirked. “Someone caught her teaching a man to fish behind the shark tank, if you catch my drift. Besides, Broody will complain the whole time about the smell.” 

“Ugh. Fine.” Hawke sighed. “The Rose has...” 

“A two for one special for templars right now.” Varric advised cheerfully, careful to note the tension that immediately rose in Hawke’s shoulders. “Best leave Daisy out of it if we go there.” 

“Alright.” She huffed. “The amusement park...” 

Varric held her gaze and raised one solitary eyebrow. “Don’t you remember the go-karting incident?” 

Hawke bristled and crossed her arms over her chest, staring down at him. “That whole thing was blown wildly out of proportion.” 

“I’m still paying bribes for that mess so Aveline doesn’t find out. The fact that you didn’t get tossed in the Gallows that night is a miracle.” 

Hawke waved his concerns away dismissively. “Details.” 

“We’re emphatically not welcome at the amusement park, Hawke. Cops will be called. We’ll have to explain ourselves to Aveline. I’ll develop ulcers.” Varric bemoaned. 

“Your chest hair will wilt and fall out. Dogs will howl in the street.” Hawke collapsed back on the couch, dramatically, half on top of him. She nearly knocked his noodles from his hand. “Varric, I’m dying of boredom. It’s an ignoble end for the champion of Kirkwall. Do something. Anything.” 

He sighed wearily and sat his container on the table while Hawke’s eyes glimmered expectantly. He drummed his fingers on the table lightly, rearranging his schedule in his head. “Bianca.” 

“Varric?” The AI answered brightly. Hawke perked up immediately. 

“I need you to make arrangements to rent a car under one of my pseudonyms. A fast one, something sexy. We’ll bring it back late Sunday night.” Varric rubbed his stubbled jaw thoughtfully. 

“Modified for Dwarven use?” Bianca chirped. 

Varric looked at Hawke. “You gonna drive?” 

“If it’s sexy, of course I will.” Hawke purred playfully. “Where are we going?” 

“I’m gonna let the humans take the wheel, Bianca.” Varric stretched his arms above his head. “Work on cancelling whatever shit is on my calendar tomorrow.” 

He wrapped one heavy arm around Hawke’s shoulders and gave her a comforting squeeze. “We’ll go wherever you want. Caveat is, I’ve gotta be back on Monday.”

“Important meetings to avoid?” She teased, pulling her phone out of her pocket. 

“You know it.” He yawned into his other fist. “There’s a music festival in Ostwick on Saturday. Casinos in Markham are always a good time. I’d even let you drag me to Starkhaven.”

“If we go to Starkhaven, we’ve gotta take Bethy and Sebastian. I could use a damn break from their canoodling.” Hawke tapped away at her phone. “Who’s playing in Ostwick?” 

“Fuck if I know.” He was far too old to be keeping track of that shit. 

“You’re so helpful.” Hawke sighed. “Bianca?” 

“Chantry Oblivion, The Infamous Nugs, Refuse Project, and Tool of Anarchy.” Bianca offered. “There are smaller, lesser known bands at side stages.” 

“Ugh.” Hawke wrinkled her nose. “Markham it is then.” 

“Too much heavy metal?” Varric picked his chopsticks back up with his left hand.

“If I wanted to listen to people screaming I’d go to the Gallows and stand between Orsino and Meredith.” Hawke grumbled. “Bela’s in. So is Merrill.” 

Of course Rivaini was in. She’d be at the door any second, bag already packed. Varric shoveled another bite of noodles into his mouth and watch as Hawke looked up, eyes fastening on the windows lining his apartment, the ones looking out onto the broad swathe of shops and galleries. Her face went slack. 

“You should put a piano there, Varric.” She mumbled. 

He nearly choked on his mouthful of noodles. “What? For stone’s sake, why? Rivaini would just be bringing men in here whenever she wanted the experience of fucking on it instead of making the trek to your place.” 

Hawke shook her head, frowning, before dropping her head back to her phone. “I don’t know.” She sighed, rubbing her temple. “It was a thought. Something with Ostwick. It’s gone now.” 

Thank Andraste for that. Hawke resumed her grin and punched him lightly in the shoulder. “C’mon then. Let’s pack up your chest hair and go.”