‘That is a little French word I learned in Nantes before I took my vows,’ he says, his thin beard dripping. ‘It is a better word than business, because it implies courage and glory. I was a young man when I learned that word; back then I had more scholarly ambitions; but the word has stayed with me. I never did take them, though, my vows, that is, as I fell into the trap of a largely bosomed Wallonian named Hildegard, twenty years my senior. She had fat cheeks and a thick roll of flesh on her chin one could suckle at while lovemaking. I remember how her downy moustache tickled me when we made love. It sets me shivering when I think of it, even now. She taught me the word, and taught me how to employ it. Still, she was a devil, though a particularly foxy and licentious one; my first love, albeit not my greatest one.’

‘Well, then,’ de Flunkl says, feigning cheerfulness. ‘Let us enter into this so-called enterprise with no more dallying.’

‘So, state your venture,’ Ambrosio says. ‘No more luxuriant chat, I will become plainspoken.’

De Flunkl turns round and sees Harold of Tuite, still leant against the wall. ‘The hour is upon us,’ de Flunkl says. ‘Give me my things, if you are still with me.’

‘I will happily give you it. It is the deadweight that drags you down below.’

Harold lifts up the sack and hands it to him. De Flunkl roots through it, taking out a handful of scrunched parchments and some small items that jingle. He does this until he comes upon what he seeks.

He unfurls a map of Meath and stares at the little crosses he has marked on it.

‘I am purchasing lands, and given the inopportune absence off your mayor, you are to oversee the transactions, it would appear. I wish to purchase the right of use, in perpetuity, of Cregg, Garmanagh, Leafin, Posseckstown, Muff, Rath and Seller.’

‘Excellent proposition,’ Ambrosio smiles. ‘Let us exchange other people’s property. What is your price?’

‘Forty pounds, ratified, now, for the lands and attached peasants’ dwellings and eight pounds for you if you carry it off.’

‘Oh, you greasy little noble: that is twenty times less than what these lands transacted but five years ago,’ Ambrosio laughs. ‘I wish I myself had thought of such a scheme. You are a clever one.’

‘Lands come cheap,’ Harold says, ‘when they are devalued by multitudinous death and disturbances of the peace so great as this one.’

‘You had no shame in Trim,’ de Flunkl remarks.

‘Shame is what you learn, what is impressed upon you once you have sinned. I, at least, recognise my portion of our shame,’ Harold says.

‘Most admirable,’ Ambrosio says, rubbing his hands together. ‘Undervalued land; most ingenious. The more I think of it, the better it becomes.’