On a rise overlooking a valley
                                                    circled by blue metrical mountains,
where the river source lies,
                                               a collection of shabby dwellings around a church
became a town on a hill
                                          with a single gate, a few high windows, a deep moat,
and thick perimeter walls
                                             in which twenty or thirty families lived, self-sufficient,
the women spinning wool,
                                              the men hunting with nets and falconry,
until, without provocation,
                                               their Lord was murdered in his sleep.
It takes a special charisma for one man to say to another,
                                                                                                ...