Anyone who fancies a fictional but plausible (and thoroughly researched) account of the Big M could do a lot worse than try Dorothy Dunnett's "King Hereafter".

It's that old fashioned kind of a book that in my far-off and miss-spent youth we used to call "a rattling good yarn."

(Exits Stage Left to cries of "Shiver me timbers!" ... "Pieces of eight!" ... "Avast there, Jim lad...")

Wassail!