The English diplomat waves a hand. "There are hardly and of my King's subjects there. Let the Irish have the town, least they have sailed here in vain. However King Brian has consolidated his lands already and a question arises, where does all the gold from taxes and trade go?"
Sir Thomas leans back and fingers the golden chain that fastens the heavy cloak on his shoulders. "Ireland has no right to any land outside their own island. Desires such as this set you a dangerous path. In any event, we wish for trade with Ireland and our Western ports are ready to open up. Let us sign a ceasefire and begin healing old wounds. As for the quelling of the Welsh rebellion, my master even now rides to battle whilst the so called Welsh King runs before him and robs innocent peasants and craftsmen. His head shall grace the top of a pike within the year."
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