D.A. Prince/Grendel Beowulf blade-bearer, oath-owed to Heorot, guest-guard against Grendel, giant and Geat slayer, kenned keen the ghast-glarer, grim gorger on greatness, knew him as death-dealer, hewer of heart-loss, sought for him stealthy, sword scabbard-stayed. Tracked him through sea-swamps, sullen and sodden, found him deep-daisied, fresh fastness of flowers, Grendel in ground-work, hoe-er of hollyhocks, mulcher of marigolds, kind carer of campions. Mind-vexed with vengeance, Beowulf bewildered discovered no discord in Grendel as gardener, groaned at dead-heading not Geats but geraniums, digging out dock-roots not heroes of Heorot, picking prize posies, much-marvelled for mother. Beowulf heart-heavy, hides half from Hrothgar; gold-gaining gets glory, tells triumph tales.
Basil Ransome-Davies/Richard Nixon Alone in the shadowy corridors of the Capitol, Richard searches his heart for the reasons why everyone hates him. Washington is a tough city to succeed in, he has never doubted that, but the competition for power, influence and — yes — money has raised vindictiveness to insane levels. Can a principled Quaker from Los Angeles County survive in such an environment? It has already begun to affect him, he knows that. He even drinks a little these days, uses the odd profanity. It is not always easy summoning the strength to resist the worldly, tarnishing effect of Senate life. Moreover, being cold-shouldered by those who count means limiting his career when, as he privately admits, he has his eyes on the top. He maturely accepts it will be a sacrifice to adapt but he must hold his nose and enter the struggle. Not for himself; for God and America.
Bill Greenwell/Judas Iscariot The light glinted kindly on his fingers as they thrummed the table-top. It was a philosophical matter, that was what it was. You had to take the individuals out of the equation and consider the whole business, you owed the others that. After all, no one ever founded a world religion without some tears. So. He looked at his face in the pail of water. It was warm, agreeable, a little lined — the face of a treasurer, he decided: friendly, but slightly austere. It was like an investment. You had to consider the reaction rather than the action, and then the reaction to that. And if things were not set in motion, how sad for posterity! A sacrifice must be made. He looked back at the water. Two sacrifices. There was a soft knock. It was the pharisee’s boy. ‘Mr Iscariot?’ ‘Yes, my lad.’ ‘I have the shekels you asked for.’ Time.
Charles Curran/George Jeffreys Lately I was obliged to spend some time in Taunton, where I met with many local artisans who complained of the dearth of employment following the disturbances caused by the rebellion of the late Duke of Monmouth. I was at once struck by the happy coincidence of charity and necessity, and forthwith commissioned the idle carpenters to provide plentiful beams and planks of about six feet in length, the distressed cordiners to furnish many lengths of stout rope, and the starving weavers to make me numerous sheets. Common labourers I did not forget, and took on a goodly number of sturdy men well able to dig neat holes, nor did I neglect the seafarers, whom I engaged to provide suitable transportation to the West Indies.. Thus the King’s justice could proceed with expedition, and to the benefit of the deserving!
Sergio Michael Petro/Sauron A ripple appeared to pass through the ranks. These were the words they’d seemingly waited their whole lives to hear. Thoughts they’d almost dared not think had finally found a voice. On the ledge above in his magnificent armour was their leader, their brother, their last, best hope for liberation. ‘For too long you have been the dirt of this Earth. Hated, shunned, vilified. And why? Because you are darker than these so-called Men? In this army all are equal, none are excluded because of where they were born, or the race they were born into. We march against a force that would seek to keep you enslaved. Our dream is a new world, not of separated kingdoms and separated peoples. But of brotherhood: one creed, one race, one Middle Earth!’ The Orcs, Goblins and Trolls roared their approval, determined to fight, willing to die for their freedom.
Your next challenge is to submit a blues song written by a well-known politician contemplating the impending General Election. Please email entries (16 lines maximum), wherever possible, to lucy@spectator.co.uk by midday on 21 January.
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