I should tell you how things went with the government of Boris, son of John while all these other things were happening, though it is in truth a sorry tale. Having, as they said, and kept saying at every conceivable opportunity, ‘got the Rebellion done’ Boris’ band of rascals and ne’er-do-wells proceeded to try to enrich themselves at every opportunity and to strip the Kingdom of the Angles, Saxons, Britons, Picts and Scots of all of its wealth. Woe to those people who had allowed themselves to be subjected to this cohort of rapscallions because of vague promises of worldly gain!

One of the first things that happened was that, diabolo instigante, these wicked people used, of all things, the plague to steal the riches of the kingdom. First of all Boris gave the task of monitoring the numbers of people with the plague to a friend of his called Dido, neither the Queen of Carthage nor, thankfully for us all, the Bishop of Poitiers but a woman who had run the horse races and other entertainments put on for the citizens of Cheltenham and other places. Many wondered, on that account, what qualifications she had for the job and in truth she had none but such things seemed to be of no consequence to Boris. As a result a sum of money so enormous that it cannot even be expressed in late Gallic Latin was handed over to her. As is the way with the plans of men, though, this all came to nothing and all of the money disappeared with nothing of value gained in return. What was worse, no one could complain because the count of the palace whom Boris had put in charge of weeding out corruption in government was married to this Dido. Truly, as the poet said, rem talis fabricare non poteras.

This was the worst of such things but it was not the only one, for Boris’ faction next allowed all kinds of merchants, salesmen, shysters and mountebanks to claim that they would provide clothing that might protect from the plague the people and especially those who tended the sick for the National Apothecary Service. Why, at one point even a tavern-owner was contracted to provide such materials, though he had no experience of procuring such things. The reason was simply that he lived near the abode of Count Matthias, known vulgarly as gallus or ‘the cock’, who, appropriately enough, had succeeded Jeremiah the Qweynt as Count of the National Apothecary Service. Thousands, multiplied thousandfold, of pounds of gold was poured into the coffers of these men and women, as though they were the insatiable mouth of the Charybdis of whom the pagans speak, but most of the material procured was worthless. Such was this scandal.

As if this were not bad enough, new taxes were announced by the cancellarius Rishwald, who had succeeded Javid Cicero when the latter had stepped down after a falling out with Boris, who had mocked the shape of his head or so they say. Now, although some of the richest people in the world, including indeed Rishwald and his wife, lived in the Kingdom of the Angles and Others, these were not to be taxed much at all. Instead a new levy was made on the wages of the ordinary folk. The revenue raised by this measure was, it was said, to protect the National Apothecary Service, which was under a heavy pressure because of the thousands of plague victims who needed treating. Few believed that this would come to pass though, because the Right Bastards hated the National Apothecary Service and wished to sell it off to their friends in much the same way as they had just poured money into the hands of their unscrupulous followers. There was therefore great anger, even among the foolish chroniclers of the Res Novae Magna Britanniae.

As usual, when the people of the realm began to be angry with the Right Bastards, Boris, son of John called forth the Countess of Domestic Affairs Pritigund, who had the ironic merit of having absolutely no merits whatsoever in any regard, but was a truly sinful and wicked character even by the standards of the Right Bastards. As I have told you, many people fleeing wars and persecution try to travel to the Kingdom of the Angles, Saxons, Britons, Picts, and Scots though I am unsure why as the people of that realm are generally pretty horrible, to foreigners especially. Nonetheless, try they do and each year many attempt to cross the dangerous seas in boats. As I told you earlier in the sequence of my narrative, the first experience many such people had of Britannia was of being railed at by Count Nigellus the Fool, with his wide, froglike mouth and teeth stained from the smoking of North Aremorican Weeds. In spite of that, many still wish to stay. So it happened that, to win favour with the people and prevent Count Nigellus from regaining his standing, Pritigund launched a fleet of galleys into the Maris Britanniae to repel these Sea People, as they were called. The captains of these vessels had orders to try to turn round the Sea People’s boats and force them back to the land of the Franks. This was a wicked idea as anyone with any sense knew but, peccatis facientibus, many of the Angles praised the scheme, though still others thought it too lenient as it did not involve actively trying to kill anyone with heavy ballista fire or some similar tactic.

At about the same time a great sporting event took place throughout Europe. This involved the ancient sport of harpastum or football as it is known. This game was invented far in the past and many centuries ago involved hundreds of people from neighbouring villages who would run back and forth for a day or so, chasing a stuffed pig’s bladder and paying scant attention to such rules as there may have been. Many folk would be injured and some even killed! Nowadays, however, it is much worse. It is a sinful occasion watched by thousands upon thousands but played by only a few, who earn vast wealth, greater even than was earned by the charioteers of the blues and the greens in old Constantinople. Although there are now rules and even a man who presides over the game, the main aim of the sport appears to be for these players to somehow deceive the president and break the rules without being caught. But let that be enough of the associations of football. Each nation now has its own team and every four years these play against each other to see which is best. The Angles and Saxons, the Britons, the Picts and Scots, and the Scots of Northern Hibernia all for some reason have their own separate teams. Of these the team of the Angles and Saxons succeed most often in getting to play in these championships, although sometimes the team of Picts and Scots comes too, though mainly in the role of jesters, as far as I have been able to discover. Should the Anglo-Saxons not qualify, as it is called, for the championships there is great wailing and gnashing of teeth and a sorrow like only unto that of the children of Israel in their Babylonian exile. This also comes to pass if this team fails to win the championships, as it inevitably does because, as they say in the vulgar speech of the common folk, it is not as good as it is cracked up to be.

This year, it so happened that the team of Angles and Saxons chose to show support for the great uprising of the North Aremoricans, about which I have told you. They did this by kneeling before the start of the game. This caused a great fury among the more ardent followers of the Right Bastards and especially the chroniclers of the Res Novae MB. At this, Pritigund saw a chance to further rally support and distract the Angles and others from the deeds of Boris’ faction, and spoke out against this. And so neighbour was turned against neighbour, citizen against citizen, kinsman against kinsman, as the Apostle foretold, in a bellum plusquam civile, or bellum culturarum. I am sorry to say that this did indeed distract everyone. As things turned out, the Anglo-Saxon team managed to get to the very final, as they say, of the contest. This was played against the men of Italy, but, as was customary on these occasions, the team of Angles and Saxons lost in the Ordeal of the Penalties. Most people in that realm were proud of their team so this too drew attention away from the rascally deeds of Boris and his faction.