The smallest sounds echoed down the long, magnificent corridors with their gilt and vaulted ceilings supported by columns as tall as ancient gods.Įven the hundreds of public rooms weren’t enough to display all three million items in the treasure trove. In the darkest hours of the early January night, there was only time and the scrape of guards’ worn boots over marble that had once known only the polished arrogance of royalty. There was room after room filled with extraordinary sculptures, ancient icons and immense tapestries, paintings to make angels weep and saints envious, quantities of gold and silver and gemstones beyond the ability of even man’s deepest avarice to comprehend. The public areas were above the thieves, buildings three and four stories high that held centuries of art and artifacts collected by rulers whose whim was the very breath of life for their subjects. Tides that should warm each neighbouring life They brought me rubies from the mine, And held them to the sun… Who gave me Faith’s music and told me about the “house wine” of the South. For my wonderful daughter Heather Maxwell
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