The Iron
Crown

Alas, our hopeful and auspicious start did not last long: though storms were few, we did not sight land for many years. When at last we came near a pleasant shore the open hostility of the natives prevented our landing.

Our stocks of food, however, have remained fairly constant, though I know not how, so although we cannot reach land, it seems, we shall not yet die.

I have devoted much time to the study of the ancient tomes entrusted to my care, but find little enlightenment.

When the King dies I shall be called upon to find a queen for his son (or so the tradition has it), but I am growing old myself and fear I shall not be alive to fulfil this quest.

These past years I have sought some land where I could take a wife, that a son of mine could serve as I have served Denis, King of Pernia, and his nameless Queen, but I still await a landfall.

Meanwhile I have not regained the power of speech.

There is a motto in the Book of the Names of the Families of Pernia which runs Labris redde vocem mutis, give back speech to silent lips.

I have had these words embroidered on the sail.