The Lost Prophecies
“And then, when war-blood stains the trading stones, Will murder spoil the rock’s most sacred place.
And while the King’s house mourns its shattered bones, Will blaze the traitor’s sainted face.
When scarce a decade since the plaguey scourge, Far worse than northern wars have ravaged sore, Then kings and rock will clash and purge, And strife will visit colleges once more.
I Cambridge, November 1350 It was a good night for crime – dank, foggy and dark. The robber stood in the shadows ...cast by the college of Peterhouse and bided his time. The only light was from the lamp that hung above the gate, a pale, sickly gleam that did little to dispel the blackness. He smiled grimly. Perhaps God had sent the mist to help him. It was not such a wild thought: the so-called Black Book of Brân, with its uncannily accurate prophecies, was considered dangerous by the Church, and God might well have decided He did not approve of what its current owner – William de Drayton – intended to do with it.MoreLess
And while the King’s house mourns its shattered bones, Will blaze the traitor’s sainted face.
When scarce a decade since the plaguey scourge, Far worse than northern wars have ravaged sore, Then kings and rock will clash and purge, And strife will visit colleges once more.
I Cambridge, November 1350 It was a good night for crime – dank, foggy and dark. The robber stood in the shadows ...cast by the college of Peterhouse and bided his time. The only light was from the lamp that hung above the gate, a pale, sickly gleam that did little to dispel the blackness. He smiled grimly. Perhaps God had sent the mist to help him. It was not such a wild thought: the so-called Black Book of Brân, with its uncannily accurate prophecies, was considered dangerous by the Church, and God might well have decided He did not approve of what its current owner – William de Drayton – intended to do with it.MoreLess
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