‘Muse on this a little while. This southern bitch saw a total destruction of humanity and used it to further her own interests. The serpent has arisen, and no mask is sticking enough to return its disguise now. And this is not the end: little whores, their husbands dead, will soon be trading openly, making monies gleefully while their partners rot in unflowered, unmarked graves. This breakdown is total, everlasting, and has enabled women to enter new spheres, even those most vital and manly spheres of industry and business. When I saw ye men approach on the horizon I thought I would get to speak to a man, at last, a sensible man, one who could read a little perhaps, one who loved God a little, and now ye are here and all I want is a kiss on the cheek from my woman. My woman, who chokes me like so much clawing ivy, and still I crave her; I crave her love, her approval, her caresses. I even crave the violence she brings to bear on me.’

William looks at the sacks of bodies. ‘Let us leave now,’ he says. ‘This man is insane.’

And yet William does not move; he is frozen.

‘Have I perhaps shocked you, man?’ Ambrosio says to him. ‘Were my words too true, like an arrow running through you? Do they hurt too much? Do you think I speak drunkenly? That I am merely a rambling fool? I did see the way you gazed at our little Alannah; I saw the stiffness in your gait; they enchant and soften the mind by hardening the body, do they not? You would do well not to trust Alannah, my good man, for she has lies and has deceit crossways in her, as she is both a Gael and a woman, a cantankerous concoction.’

‘I do not heed women,’ William says, ‘but I would heed that breed more than I would ever heed you, you brazen lunatic.’

Ambrosio tuts, dismisses him with a wave of his hands. ‘Go if you will go,’ he says. ‘The town is open and free to guests if you can find any hosts. The people are mightily suspicious at these times, though, and like to kill intruders if bothered. It is in their manner to do so; I’ve seen it with these eyes in my face. My only warning would be that you should go to from where you came, and in your wanderings do not meddle with my wife. Do not even speak with her.’

He then turns round, and holds forth his cup to de Flunkl; his tone suddenly shifted.

‘A cup of rosewater, perhaps? I drink a good deal of the stuff now. It keeps me fresh and strong, sharp and healthy. My wont would be to eat fistfuls of rose petals, but I found it distracted guests, munching my fistfuls of pink summer roses, like some kind of savage Gael.’