Weather
The weather today is a threat of days to come, as the wind picks up and adds a blast of cold to the proceedings. Many noblemen seem content to rest in their tents, or invite each other over for conversation, rather than take their leisure out-of-doors. Hopefully the weather will pick up again tomorrow.
Events
LM: The Court of Love
LE: A Wise Father
Day 6--Friday, the Eighth Day of September
Day 6--Friday, the Eighth Day of September
Gm * Man of Angles * Sionnach * Scealai *
Every phrase and every sentence is an end and a beginning,/Every poem an epitaph. And any action/Is a step to the block, to the fire, down the sea's throat/Or to an illegible stone: and that is where we start.
We die with the dying:/See, they depart, and we go with them./We are born with the dead:/See, they return, and bring us with them./The moment of the rose and the moment of the yew-tree/Are of equal duration. A people without history/Is not redeemed from time, for history is a pattern/Of timeless moments. So, while the light fails/On a winter's afternoon, in a secluded chapel/History is now and England --Eliot, Little Gidding
Every phrase and every sentence is an end and a beginning,/Every poem an epitaph. And any action/Is a step to the block, to the fire, down the sea's throat/Or to an illegible stone: and that is where we start.
We die with the dying:/See, they depart, and we go with them./We are born with the dead:/See, they return, and bring us with them./The moment of the rose and the moment of the yew-tree/Are of equal duration. A people without history/Is not redeemed from time, for history is a pattern/Of timeless moments. So, while the light fails/On a winter's afternoon, in a secluded chapel/History is now and England --Eliot, Little Gidding
Re: Day 6--Friday, the Eighth Day of September
Rumors!
The bidding for Northumberland really seems to have gotten to the King. I hear he's been fulminating against his Earls for failing to meet William the Lion's bid.
Well, who of them could compete with a King?
de Ferrers?
Yeah, probably de Ferrers.
Anyway, de Clare seems to have taken the King's upset to heart. I hear there's plans in motion to try to buy Strongbow's Irish lands off the Royal House.
Don't those belong to John?
Maybe not for long...
Nichole d'Aubigny turned down an approach from the Earl of Devon!
What? But Richie Redvers is such a cutie!
I know, but I hear there's an understanding between her pa and that Breton cousin of the King's.
Ah, I see. Well, a Plantagenet is a better catch than an Earl. Specially with things as they are.
I'm not sure what passed between Henry de Bohun and Aubrey de Vere, but the little guy was sure looking downcast as he left Oxford's tent yesterday afternoon.
I think Oxford probably told him he's got problems of his own.
Wish one of the Earls would look after him, though. Imagine, losing your father before you're old enough to have firm memories of him, and then to lose your destiny before you're old enough to defend it...
Did you guys see Waleran de Beaumont's horse?
*sighs wistfully, shedding a single tear* Yeah, Guerriere, from Leondegrance out of Champs-de-Mars.
Magnificent. Just...just magnificent.
Ranulf de Blondeville is sure in a foul mood.
Imagine, you're trying to impress your wife, and her brother comes along and sweeps up all the glory. AND you get knocked on your ass by a guy with the greatest piece of horseflesh in the Home Counties.
Yeah, I guess that'd chap my butt somethin' fierce.
I 'eard the German...
You mean William of Brunswick?
'S'what I said, yeah? The German! Anyway, I seen 'im talkin' a lot wiff Essex. Up to some Continenal scheme, no doubt.
Come off it, mate! What kinda scheme could possibly get under way with a Crusade on?
I dunno, but they's up to somefink, they is. *taps side of nose twice* I can smell it.
The bidding for Northumberland really seems to have gotten to the King. I hear he's been fulminating against his Earls for failing to meet William the Lion's bid.
Well, who of them could compete with a King?
de Ferrers?
Yeah, probably de Ferrers.
Anyway, de Clare seems to have taken the King's upset to heart. I hear there's plans in motion to try to buy Strongbow's Irish lands off the Royal House.
Don't those belong to John?
Maybe not for long...
Nichole d'Aubigny turned down an approach from the Earl of Devon!
What? But Richie Redvers is such a cutie!
I know, but I hear there's an understanding between her pa and that Breton cousin of the King's.
Ah, I see. Well, a Plantagenet is a better catch than an Earl. Specially with things as they are.
I'm not sure what passed between Henry de Bohun and Aubrey de Vere, but the little guy was sure looking downcast as he left Oxford's tent yesterday afternoon.
I think Oxford probably told him he's got problems of his own.
Wish one of the Earls would look after him, though. Imagine, losing your father before you're old enough to have firm memories of him, and then to lose your destiny before you're old enough to defend it...
Did you guys see Waleran de Beaumont's horse?
*sighs wistfully, shedding a single tear* Yeah, Guerriere, from Leondegrance out of Champs-de-Mars.
Magnificent. Just...just magnificent.
Ranulf de Blondeville is sure in a foul mood.
Imagine, you're trying to impress your wife, and her brother comes along and sweeps up all the glory. AND you get knocked on your ass by a guy with the greatest piece of horseflesh in the Home Counties.
Yeah, I guess that'd chap my butt somethin' fierce.
I 'eard the German...
You mean William of Brunswick?
'S'what I said, yeah? The German! Anyway, I seen 'im talkin' a lot wiff Essex. Up to some Continenal scheme, no doubt.
Come off it, mate! What kinda scheme could possibly get under way with a Crusade on?
I dunno, but they's up to somefink, they is. *taps side of nose twice* I can smell it.
Gm * Man of Angles * Sionnach * Scealai *
Every phrase and every sentence is an end and a beginning,/Every poem an epitaph. And any action/Is a step to the block, to the fire, down the sea's throat/Or to an illegible stone: and that is where we start.
We die with the dying:/See, they depart, and we go with them./We are born with the dead:/See, they return, and bring us with them./The moment of the rose and the moment of the yew-tree/Are of equal duration. A people without history/Is not redeemed from time, for history is a pattern/Of timeless moments. So, while the light fails/On a winter's afternoon, in a secluded chapel/History is now and England --Eliot, Little Gidding
Every phrase and every sentence is an end and a beginning,/Every poem an epitaph. And any action/Is a step to the block, to the fire, down the sea's throat/Or to an illegible stone: and that is where we start.
We die with the dying:/See, they depart, and we go with them./We are born with the dead:/See, they return, and bring us with them./The moment of the rose and the moment of the yew-tree/Are of equal duration. A people without history/Is not redeemed from time, for history is a pattern/Of timeless moments. So, while the light fails/On a winter's afternoon, in a secluded chapel/History is now and England --Eliot, Little Gidding