The sword hung, in forgotten hunger, on the wall above the gurgling infants until the new king came, in resplendent armor, holding high a lance and bidding glory to scribe his name forever with an ocean of blood.

The food was all taken for the soldiers and the queen was left alone in a high tower, weeping, her womb aching to be filled.

The army never returned and in hunger the mothers ate their children. Cold winter lay desolate the land and in spring none were left to do the planting.

On the field of battle mutual mutilation wandered through the seething crowd leaving the dismembered screaming among writhing limbs and weapons. From a hilltop the distraught monarch saw his dream shattered and fell upon his sword.

And for a year no history was made... .