Summertime and the living is dicey

The days at this time of year were long. Š., the summer solstice, was little more than a week away. The fire of heaven beat upon the warriors, making small ovens of their metal helmets, soaking into their armor and causing it to feel heavier than it was, mocking their resolve and draining them of energy. Those who fainted from heat and lack of water did not survive unless comrades could pull them from the fray or the enemy mistook them for the already dead.

...

D’s evil fantasies that morning of poisoning the [River] T. had a foul reversal when his own blood tainted the [River] P., his injured and almost fainting body stumbling at the water’s edge. It was not even a great servant of [the war goddess] who dealt the final blow but a nine-year-old boy who had joined the rush from the city to finish of the invaders. The lad swung his father’s shovel in a great arc that caught the staggering baron in the ribs and pushed him off the riverside path and over the bank. Dazed, bleeding, and disoriented the man who once hosted a young [claimant to the throne] fell into the battle-muddied water and drowned in his first desperate breath.

Oh yes, the war has gotten nasty. War has a way of doing that. We have reached the point of massacre and none of the principals were even involved in this battle.

It is time now to return to the heartland and the three main armies.

I promise that I did not consciously think of the Republicans and Blue Dogs in Congress while writing of this slaughter, but wearing crankypants all this week does fit with the tenor of the current passages.

On to chapter fifty-eight tomorrow, perhaps. Midafternoon I am running off with my friend Kathy to Tijeras, just so we can get out of town and visit.

I was so tired today that I took a nap earlier this evening AND I plan to go to bed before too long.

Sweet dreams, my sensuous sweetmeats!

--the BB