An advance force of Normans arrived just before Richard de Clare, Earl of Pembroke, at the headland of Baginbun where they were met by a hostile force of Hiberno-Norse and Gaedhelic Irish troops. The battle was turning against the heavily outnumbered Norman troops when they stampeded a herd of cattle at the defenders who scattered as a result and were slaughtered. Too late for Alice of Abergavenny whose bethrothed was killed. She took an axe to the seventy prisoners the Normans had taken and sent them to their deaths, dumping their corpses over the cliff-edge.

A screaming wraith atop a cliff
Writhing in an orgasm of slaughter.
One-by-one seventy men
Did she depatch with an ever blunting blade of an axe.

Bloody Alice of Abergavenny
Gripped by the rapture of Gaedhelic gore
Dripping slowly down the cliffside.
Seventy dead, yet she wants more.
Bloody Alive of Abergavenny
From what fashion house does your cloth come?
All natural fibres I’ll warrant
From the dye, to the cloth, to the thread from the dead.

Prisoners they were but no matter to her.
Her bloodlust fuelled by the pain of her loss.
For earlier that day her spouse’s corpse lay decaying
On the bloody field of battle.

Bloody Alice of Abergavenny
Gripped by the rapture of Gaedhelic gore
Dripping slowly down the cliffside.
Seventy dead, yet she wants more.
Bloody Alive of Abergavenny
Her body dripping from her labour and it’s fruits.
As she gives so she taketh away.

Though he was of the invading force
And dispatched by the defenders.
As so often is the case in life
A woman’s rational is replaced by madness.

A screaming atop a cliff
Blooddied breasts for all to see
Yet no man looked on her with lust
As her needs fullfilled with a montain of corpses to her knees.

Bloody Alice of Abergavenny
Gripped by the rapture of Gaedhelic gore
Dripping slowly down the cliffside.
Seventy dead, yet she wants more.
Bloody Alive of Abergavenny
Her body dripping from her labour and it’s fruits.
As she gives so she taketh away.