Out of a wooden world of long benched halls and horns of mead. Rise garnets of blood red from India: the finest Byzantine silver, and beads of blue Italian glass. The eye is teased: bewildered, held in thrall by niello accents etched on Frankish gold. Fantastic creatures-- abstract, ribbon-like, whose convolutions suddenly will end in mean and jewelled head-- reveal themselves. Not as a maze, or Celtic version of a wandering Greek key-- but 'Dark Age'-- Norse. Whose truths and myths ferment the English soul.
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