The Western Gate

Foreward: With deepest apologies and reverence to ‘The Three Fates’ , I meant not at the outset to use them as figures, but they appeared and lo, became as written. Clotho, Lachesis and Atropos ~Forgive me.

Once Upon a moonlit sky when time was measured by the waxing and the waning of the Moon, three connivers gathered thereupon a mound.
The Kingdom upon which they slithered was The Imperial Athenaeum, a country bordered by the Exhibition Sea, the three gossips and chatterers of downfall, as always, were those whose pursuit of power and wealth far exceeded the pleasure of bestowing happiness and comfort to their fellow brethren.
The Land of the Imperial Athenaeum was ruled by ‘The Executor Chief’ himself ,and his gormless understudy the Praepositus, of course both were ill equipped to understand the thorough workings and machinery of the Imperial Athenaeum they relied instead on the musings and ruminations of the three ‘gossips’ who were known to others as the Three Fates. These were the advisors, overtly humble to the faces of those above them, and yet, whose noses upturned to anyone below.
Now, the wealth of the kingdom were such that necessities need be paid, the cooks, the stable hands, the messengers, the teachers, the stokers, and the Knights ! Ah, yes, the Knights. ‘Twas they, who maintained and kept running the Imperial Athenaeum, but in the eyes of the Fates, they were crude and unruly who wielded far too much power for their lowly ways. The Fates did not like them. Not one bit. And, now below the blackest Moon of the seasons, overlooking the gardens and the central obelisk of Imperial Athenaeum they conspired, in no uncertain terms amongst themselves but deliberately subtle to all else, the downfall of those ‘vulgar’ champions.
The knights, you see, because of their training, their skill, were not some gallant and perfumed ponces upon proud prancing steeds, but, brash, common and sometimes filthy but, they were also well paid, and had the full run of all the nooks and crannies of the Imperial Athenaeum, they were well favoured when it mattered, and alas, often not thought of at all when it didn’t. Those very same knights were not invited to balls or meetings nor addresses nor functions, and, If they were, then the barest means to support their accommodation and appetites were given.
Still, as has been brooded over, they were well paid. And this aggrieved the fates, for the fates could increase their wealth if only they could diminish the size of the knights. If only they could keep the wheels of the Athenaeum kingdom turning with the barest, the least and keep only the most grovelling knights, the barebones, so the meat of the wealth incurred by their employ could be redistributed to… well… to the advisors. To the fates.
Clotho the spinner of fate declared at once, ” we must water down the knights, such that they are a trickle, and yet enough to turn the mill, somewhat, and yet, how to convince the Executor Chief? and his pitiful Praepositus?”
“We Must,” at once Lachesis the measurer concurred, “find ways and means to shew their time is ill spent, that two knights are good as five, that waste and foul measure is prolific amongst them and the Chief executor’s money is ill spent.”
“And then,” declared Atropos the cutter,” we can be rid of them”.
Their plan was hatched that night upon the Overlook Moor, not all brews are made of spice and herbs, the foulest brew is stirred of bile and envy.
Lachesis set about to measure the Knights time, to see where time was wasted, ill spent, and to be fair, though difficult, in all avenues of employ there is waste, for who amongst us all can proffer a days wage without a moment to breathe, to think, to reflect.
The results did not favour Atropos to sever many or even a few knights, indeed, in as much as could be seen they were at just enough resource to maintain their duties, with little or none to spare in times of emergency or crisis.
“Then”, declared Clotho the spinner at the next meeting of the three,” let us take away the work they do, and portion it to others, let the guard-gates hunt the fowl, for that takes the bulk of time, the knights can take the stag and boar, let the store keepers oversee the raising of new buildings, and let us, indeed employ at much less rate our own knights;-squires and men-at-arms to meet with the needs of the people, the errands and the chores.”
“But,” declared Lachesis the measurer, “’tis a fools plot to spend wealth in order to cut?”
“Not!” reproached Clotho,” if they were financed by a new department, a new proposition, crafted under the guise to make gallant the kingdom of Aeterneaum?”
“A scheme!” quibbled Lachesis,” Theatre! and we can prod and probe the Executive Chief with hidden suggestion, that indeed, resultant, it would be his idea!”
” Indeed,” agreed Clotho, ” and the next time I measure the Knights worth, they will be seen to fail, twiddling thumbs and eyes misting, the yawn of inaction!”
“And” Atropos the cutter at last barked,” we can Cut them!”
Her twisted and gnarled fingers snapping in the gesture of a pair of scissors severing the arteries of the once gallant and loyal knights.
“First then!” declared Clotho,” let us bring onside to our plan an outside emissary, one to convince the Chief Executive and the quailing shadow Praepositus of the means to an efficacious and better plenished kingdom so as not to appear bias, so as not to make us appear malicious in intent.”
“Whom?” Lachesis demanded.
“Indeed, who but ‘she’ ! She whose job is figured in the malaise of drama, who tangles the weave and snarls the cloth and yet works in the background as a stranger in the shadows.”
The three fates both sang a name together, each epithet and yet the same, she who was not known, who was not allied to their company, and yet figured in their every move,
“Raptoria !” sang Clotho
“Taraxis ! ” Chanted Lachesis
“Kairosyne” Atropos bequeathed.
The counsellor by many names who serves for the few, on the posturing of juggling and courting, but really the slight jester and the thief…the snatcher, disturber and the instiller of Chaos. By words and rhetoric, by architecture astounding and performance, the labyrinth of oblivion.
So despairing were she, the master of ruin, the three fates could never invite her as “the fourth”, the avenue of that which lay past Atropos the cutter. To the weavers she were the dropped stitch, the tangled loop, the flaw in a perfect design.
And when the deed is done, she is gone.
The knights were doomed, the age of integrity and skill, of profession, apprentice and master over, it is the reign of the influencer, the era of the velvet tongued. Where erst the statues rose, and façades gleamed in strength and grace, behold now naught but a hewn stone, stripped of majesty and silent of delight.
See now, the Land of the Imperial Athenaeum, distinguished and known throughout the worlds as the bastion of knowledge, and yet, built on the shards of deceit and slippery serpent tongues, of self serving greed and fidgeting snides. Weep not. The Knights have thrown the sword back into the lake. Those men of renown, and yet the irony, in reflection, are not known, until the dire occurs, the earth rumbles, see the panic dance! Who shall wield the art to right those erring scales, not they whose hands once bore the craft! Not the knights—they have wandered to pastures new. The world will crave their skill, yet valued it only but in the hour of direst need.
The flag hath withered and become the shroud.

Header illustration, A Golden Thread;- John Melhuish Strudwick, 1885.