I don’t think I need talk about the Empire. It’s still there, now having good times, now bad. It will outlast me. I’m reasonably sure, Dear Reader, it will outlast you.
But you may have noticed, I still haven’t made it back to Jarrow. The reason for that is complex and may be the starting point of another story. I’ll only say that, with Theodore far advanced into a second, though assuredly no more happy, childhood, the English Church needs someone to hold things together in his name. Somewhere in the mass of papyrus I’ve generated, I mention killing, lying, scholarship and ruling. Well, it seems that I’m back, for the moment, to doing all these things. We’ll see how long that lasts.
Oh, and the cup — the fabled Horn of Babylon. Before the catalogue of his library was entirely wiped, Theodore said having the thing back would make me as unhappy as he’d been. Of course, that was a sign that he was on the way out. It’s a lump of silver, no more, no less. This being said, I did pass it straightaway to Good King Swaefheard. You’ll not imagine how grateful he was. He said he’d have it made into a crown and that, in one form or another, it would be possessed forever by all who ruled Kent, or even the whole of England.
Perhaps the speed with which I handed it on tells you something about me that I don’t choose to admit. But, when you get to my age, you really can’t be too careful.