The back room of the Mermaid was currently host to a strange assembly. The aides of no less than three mighty earls were gathered around a table, conversing quietly over numerous empty flagons of ale and crumpled notes.
"So," says the first, a short, square Saxon with a flowing beard. "My lord Bigod contributes 1500 pounds to my lord de Ferrers."
"And my lord de Ferrers" says the second, a man with a thick northern accent, "invests that through the City to generate 3000, which he advances to de Clare."
"And in return," says the third, a man of obvious Welsh extraction, "de Clare and de Bigod will advocate de Ferrers' rights to re-fortify Tutbury Castle."
"And both de Clare and de Ferrers will advocate for Bigod's rights to the Earldom of Norfolk."
Nodding seriously to each other, each affixes a signature.
"This calls for another round, I think!"
"Another agreement! Ha! And my lord thought it difficult to find just the one!"
Laughing, they make their way into the front room, leaving the drafts of their painstakingly crafted plans behind them for the servants to dispose of. Things were developing apace for the future of England, it would seem.
[D7, EE] East Meets West
[D7, EE] East Meets West
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