Weather: The chill continues today, reminding everyone that winter is a-cumin in. The wind has changed, coming again from away eastwards along the river. No precipitation today.
Events:
LM: Our Neighbors to the North [court]
EA-EE: The Melee: Part 1, Registration
EA-EN: A Sovereign for Lindisfarne
Day 7--Saturday, the Ninth Day of September
Day 7--Saturday, the Ninth 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 7--Saturday, the Ninth Day of September
Rumors
de Clare sure had a spring in his step yesterday.
I wonder what he's got to be happy about?
I don't know, but he made a beeline to de Ferrers' tent.
I hear Roger de Bigod wants to make representations to the king about getting his Earldom back.
Yeah, he was speaking with the Marshal yesterday. And I saw him trying to butter up Queen Eleanor the day before that.
Well, he's ticking all the right boxes.
Let's just hope ol' Gundreda don't find out!
That Giles de Braose is a very thoughtful young man. He was up all night looking after that English knight, Sir John Castle.
Really? But it wasn't his brother that smote him, was it?
No, it was that Simon de Montfort character...though it's as likely the lance slipped and touched a vital by mistake as any malice.
Still, good on de Braose for doing the Lord's work of pastoral care, there.
Yeah, good on him.
de Clare sure had a spring in his step yesterday.
I wonder what he's got to be happy about?
I don't know, but he made a beeline to de Ferrers' tent.
I hear Roger de Bigod wants to make representations to the king about getting his Earldom back.
Yeah, he was speaking with the Marshal yesterday. And I saw him trying to butter up Queen Eleanor the day before that.
Well, he's ticking all the right boxes.
Let's just hope ol' Gundreda don't find out!
That Giles de Braose is a very thoughtful young man. He was up all night looking after that English knight, Sir John Castle.
Really? But it wasn't his brother that smote him, was it?
No, it was that Simon de Montfort character...though it's as likely the lance slipped and touched a vital by mistake as any malice.
Still, good on de Braose for doing the Lord's work of pastoral care, there.
Yeah, good on him.
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