‘The first group is peasants,’ Ambrosio says. ‘The lands are emptied out now and there are too few peasants to till the earth, but still their only wish is that their wages be raised. They could, in this confusion, or any of the ones that have so often beset us, seize the country, reign it eternally, make it in their own lowly image, but even their dreams are limited by coin. Even they are trapped within its dreams, they who gain nothing from allegiance to it. Yes, they occasionally riot and come together in their little groupings to demand a few more half pennies, like they did in Cork last month, but they have lesser and fewer feelings than developed people like us, smaller emotions, and therefore less ambition outside what they can see. Ultimately, they’re cattle that have learned language. Usually they are just speaking cattle, content with their lot of grass; but even now, when they do not have their lot of grass, there will still never be a peasants’ reckoning. They have not the vision for it. And I will tell you another reason why, beyond the frequent deaths that overcome them. Peasants are flowing out of the country, fleeing to Calais and Liverpool to escape the pangs of hunger, because inside peasants are only two things: a brutish cowardice sanctified by God, which means they could never undertake a far-reaching venture like my lord’s’ – he nods to de Flunkl – ‘and a certain wandersomeness that comes about from not holding property. They seem toe-tied, an imbedded part of their local earth, but then their stomachs set them on their traitorous feet and they pack up their whole families and go elsewhere, ensuring their bodies are saved, but giving up the greater gains that could be garnered from adventuresome risk.’

‘This is most sensible arguing,’ de Flunkl says. ‘But, please, let us proceed on business; delay the conclusion somewhat to this fascinating discussion. I have already been tired out with the outlandish opinions of Gaels all morning and I have no wish to be receptive to more speechifying, although this is of a more sensical sort; and I mean no disrespect by it. I want to do my business; and so rid myself of ineffective servants by paying them off with my windfall. Nobber has become oppressive to me; and its heat does not sit well in me.’

‘Who is the second group?’ Harold Tuite asks.

‘You know who,’ Ambrosio giggles. ‘In your heart, you know. Your master just spoke of them.’

‘Ineffective servants?’ Harold asks.