The very first thing I published here were two poems I had had the good fortune to see published elsewhere, in Bunbury Publishing’s creative writing magazine.
In July, Bunbury Publishing launched their first Creative Anthology, collecting together their favourite pieces from the first twelve issues of the magazine. I was shocked and pleased when they asked if they could include one of my poems in the book – and very excited when my copy arrived in the post!
It’s an amazing collection of work from around the world and I’m really enjoying dipping into it once or twice a day (and definitely not just reading and rereading my own poem for the novelty of seeing it in print…). The folks behind Bunbury are brilliant and passionate people and the anthology’s a real testament to what they’ve created.
If you’d like a copy of your own *wink wink nudge nudge* you can buy the Anthology here. Take a look!
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The longer I look the more terrifying this gif becomes – but it’s got books in it so
This poem has been sitting around unfinished for years. Its preoccupation with the Muses suggests I was writing it around the same time as the second canto of my absurd homage to The Faerie Queene, but the subject of this hymn is Nyx, a classical goddess of the night. A primordial figure, a first principal associated with creation and the mothering of gods, she is seen only in shadowy glimpses but possesses such exceptional power that she daunted Zeus himself.
For a long time I’d been stuck on the eighth verse and didn’t know where to take the poem after the ninth. I brought it along to a reunion of my old writing group and enjoyed reading what I had, so set out to break my block at last. Still don’t know what I think about this draft – any thoughts or suggestions most welcome!
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O Sisters nine, I pray, impartial be,
Nor for the love you bear your father sheen
Look harshly on these humble lines, or me –
But lend your aid to praise the darkness’ Queen.
With heady draughts from Helicon’s quick springs
My tongue exult, to exalt her deity;
Then plucking from the stars that lyre whose strings
Orpheus pluckt, this lay accompany.
Or if the ancient feud too violent proves,
‘Twixt Night and Day, for you to curb your ire:
Still gash my mouth with Pegasus’ fell hooves
And there a second Hippocrene inspire.
Or should you deem my stumbling verse too rude,
Then make a second Marsyas of me:
That from my flesh a lyre might be thewed
Forth pouring hymns to Nyx eternally.
For whether aid or ire, O maidens bright,
Still must ye bow your heads, and cloak your rays,
In deference unto primeval Night,
While I her dusky splendours darkly blaze.
For what can prideful Day boast more than Night?
And how should Night derided be by Day?
When only by the dark may we mark light,
Yet without light still Night’s dark charms bewray?
For though sweet flowers dazzle in the sun,
Their incense burns more sweetly ‘neath night’s veil;
Nor can the jay’s bright feathers overrun
The senses like the soft-tongued nightingale.
And can the daylight on thy love’s silk skin
Outmatch the midnight’s warmth beneath thy hand?
And does not all enlightenment seem thin
Beside those things in dreams we understand?
Eke while Day brings but toil, and daily cares,
The Night grants every weary worker sleep,
To beg at fate no more with futile prayers,
But praises soft upon their pillows heap.
Nor only rest, but revels are the Night’s,
The tabor and the pipe, the wine, the dance,
The joy which honest merriment invites
And all that follows from flirtatious glance.
So sisters nine, I beg you, do not cling
Unto Parnassus’ verge for that last sight
Of evening’s glow, but heed me as I sing:
Come down into the valley of the Night.
Let rest your weeping eyes, Melpemone;
Clio, let be those scrolls in dead sea jars;
Put down your pen and sleep, Calliope;
Urania, behold the whirling stars!
O Polyhymnia, pour out the wine!
Thalia, drink; dance on, Terpsichore;
Erato, join your throbbing voice to mine;
Euterpe, play that flute with gaiety.
In time let each with each a partner find,
Nor fear that Cupid’s dart might miss its mark:
Night’s devotee, he chooses to be blind
And knows right well his target in the dark.
Then lie exhausted down beneath Night’s cloak
And trace the contours of your lovers’ face
While I, my thoughts adrift like scented smoke,
Fall on into my goddess’s embrace.
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Just maintaining my cred as a creature of the night…
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With Southern England, Northern England, Scotland, Wales, Ireland, Scandinavia and… pretty much the rest of northern Europe spread across eight odd tables, Come to a King was on a different scale to City of Shadows but similar in size, featuring roles for about 70 players, plus the fantastic control team who make the whole thing possible. Players were eorls, jarls, kings, queens, abbesses, bishops, mercenaries and adventurers, many of them contenders for the crowns of England, Denmark, Ireland and so on. The core concept of Come to a King – which made me want to play this megagame the moment I heard about it – is right there in the title: each player had to decide who to support. And not just once, but every hour or so, players had a choice to make: which contenders council do you attend? Is loyalty or survival more important, religion or ethnic ties, family or country? When is it safe to turn your coat? And can you make a bid for the throne yourself?
A larger council meant legitimacy, power, money, soldiers and connections. Watching the councils of the various kings wax and wane over the course of the game was fascinating. For a time the Saxon council of Wessex seemed to have shrunk to a rump of three, while the conquering Danes and upstart King in the North were drawing in crowds of fifteen and twenty. At one point the bickering Saxon and Danish councils merged into an unwieldy conglomeration, as their respective and rival kings sought some kind of accommodation with each other. Who knows what was going on in Ireland, Wales, or distant Scandinavia?
As Godwin, Bishop of Lichfield on the Southern England map, I had a handful of goals (suggested on my character sheet but quickly personal): to attain a higher church office; to see a true Saxon king on the throne; and to bring woe to my rival, the dastardly Bishop Aethelstan of Hereford. I quickly set my sights on the vacant Archbishopric of York and made it my mission to bring God’s word back to Northern England. By the end of the day I had become Archbishop of York, with papal approval; swindled gold for my enthronement out of that Danish usurper Canute using false promises that I’d crown him king of England; and then crowned a triumphant Saxon king of an independent Northern England. All in all I was rather happy.
My rivalry with Aethalstan was a little more… complicated. According to our character sheets, we were enemies, but both by design and temperament we found we agreed on most things, at least for the first half of the game. Frenemies was the word of the day. It was a great roleplaying experience – making it clear I despised Aethelstan while constantly finding myself working alongside him was lots of fun. And fate smiled on me again: by the end of the game, the constant betrayals of Aethelstan’s closest allies, the perfidious lords of Hwicce, had heaped more misery on him than I could ever have achieved.
For more on my experience, and the eternal fremnity between Bishops Godwin and Aethelstan, check out my Saxon-esque chronicle below. It’s a fairly limited account though! Whereas with City of Shadows there was more going than I could ever convey, for Come to a King it was clear there was more happening than I’d ever know. To round out your sense of what went down in 11th Century Europe (and how the game worked), check out these other great accounts:
The Last Viking – Jarl Gilli and the Last Crusade
Brothers Earngrim – Danes on tour
Check out this cast list if you’re struggling to keep up with all the names!
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The Lichfield Chronicle
The Lichfield Chronicle is a fragment from a collection of annals recording the history of England, covering the years between 1014 and 1022, although its dating is suspect. Discovered in York Minster in 1977, it offers an unparalleled window into the era. Generally thought to have been written at least a decade after the events it describes, it was commissioned by Godwin, then Archbishop of York but previously Bishop of Lichfield, and composed by a single scribe over several years. The surviving manuscript is remarkable in two ways: 1) for its distinctly Saxon account of this turbulent period in English history; and 2) for its unremitting smear campaign against the unfortunate Bishop Aethelstan of Hereford.
If you are interested in the period, you may appreciate some of the other resources we have on display, such as the so-called “Betrayal Flag” of the shortlived petty kingdom of Hwicce. If you are studing the Lichfield Chronicle, suggested further reading includes the translated poems of Ottar the Black, which provide a useful Danish counterpoint to the Saxon narrative.
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“Can we rest now?”
A loving travesty of The Faerie Queene.
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With something of a reputation for starting wildly (over)ambitious creative projects, it should come as no surprise that I bear an enduring affection for gargantuan Renaissance larping poem, The Faerie Queene. Edmund Spenser’s epic comes in at six (and a bit books), 79 odd cantos, more than 4000 stanzas and some 48,000 lines… and was still unfinished. Spenser’s original plan called for another six books, for a total of twelve.*
While being driven slowly mad by my degree, I founded myself writing a Spenserian epic of my own. Ostensibly a travesty – “a literary burlesque of a serious work or subject characterised by grotesque or ludicrous incongruity of style, treatment or subject matter” – part of me thinks it’s too serious in its literary allusions to be a parody of anything but myself. If anything, it’s a love letter to my scuffed, postbox red, absurdly huge copy of The Faerie Queene, all the way down to the lines and lines of tiny, faux scholarly annotations.
Regardless, I’m quite fond of it really, and even a little proud of all those Spenserian stanzas. So here it is, tidied up, lightly edited and with the last few fragments strung together.
*Amusingly, the crowd power of Wikipedia can’t even finish the summary.
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Megagame?
On 12 September 2015, I participated in my first megagame, an event called City of Shadows. What’s a megagame, you ask? Well, it’s a kind of roleplaying game on a huge scale, usually involving multiple teams of players adding up to tens or even hundreds of people, which takes place over most of a day. City of Shadows was run by the Megagame Makers, a team who’ve been designing and organising these events since the early 1980s.
Does that give you any sense of what a megagame is actually like? Probably not! I quail at the thought of trying to encapsulate my experience in words, let alone the megagame as a whole. Each one is an astounding achievement, a collective experience greater than the sum of its parts, and a testament to the expertise and flair of the Megagame Makers team. I’ll give it a go, though.
Like many others, I suspect, I came across megagames via analogue gaming site Shut Up and Sit Down, which has twice filmed the megagame experience (these videos are actually a great window into what playing one is actually like – you can find them here and here). I was really excited by what I saw – megagames looked like they took ideas I’d toyed with (roleplaying, collaborative story telling, layering of systems) and ramped them not just to eleven but way beyond. So a booked myself in to one.
Reporting for the Big City Daily Trumpet
Billed as “The Megagame of Crime, Corruption and Weird Science”, City of Shadows took me to the pulpy 1930s setting of Big City, where politicians, policemen, organised criminals, masked vigilantes and self-proclaimed scientific geniuses all rub shoulders while scrambling to push their own agendas. As editor-in-chief Jameson, I was tasked with running Big City’s foremost newspaper, the Daily Trumpet, keeping the city up to date on every scandal, rumour and terrifying scientific monstrosity.
And it was amazing. Amazing and quite overwhelming (although not as overwhelming as Laurence Kirby’s plunge into the deep end). There is an incredible amount to keep track of as the Press, a great deal of time pressure, players clamouring for interviews and photo ops, endless rumours and more news than you can ever report.
Fortunately I was blessed with an incredibly talented press team: Freelance Photographer Gareth Evans was a gleeful newshound who gracefully got the paper up and running during my floundering first hours; Fearless Reporter Paul Holman kept the presses churning with a conveyor belt of scoops; and Determined Reporter Dave Smith was heroic in his dedication to copy that delighted, entertained and informed. They made the Daily Trumpet, in short, but indulged my scattered attempts to set the agenda with great patience!
Having aimed to print and distribute a single sheet of news every 30 minutes to an hour, and despite initial difficulties with the printer (damned commie printers’ unions and their strikes!), we ultimately dashed off more than eleven issues, and received some lovely feedback from other players at the end of the day.
I was also lucky in regards to my personal goal as editor-in-chief: to ensure, as far as possible, diverse representation in the Daily Trumpet. This could have been a challenge in a room with many more men than women, but I was blessed by a city where prominent women set the pace: from Professor Gorgunza, greatest mind of the age, to the criminal queenpins of the Griežti Vaikinai (the Lithuanian mob), to vigilante turned politician, City Redeemer.The coverage might not always have been positive (looking at you, Griežti Vaikinai) but it was fair!
Get me Judge Jeffries! I want pictures of Jeffries! And the Lithuanians! Incriminating pictures!
In terms of the game itself – what a saga! The gangs (sorry, “legitimate business interests”) jockeyed for position as the most notorious crime outfits in the city, paying scientists to unleash zombie plagues on their enemies and infiltrating City Hall with insouciant ease. Some Police lined their pockets while others resisted all corruption, some courted the papers and followed politics, others kept their heads down and focussed on their precinct. The Vigilantes were all over the place: pursuing murderous vendettas against the Sicilian Mafia; spawning supervillains; promoting themselves via toy lines, government mascot deals, and feature films; running protection rackets and robbing banks; some of them were even humanely and efficiently fighting crime (we didn’t report on that). The Scientific Geniuses, meanwhile, were quietly beavering away – before unleashing a slew of “wonders” on the city, from the aforementioned zombie plague to giant robots of various shapes and sizes. The Mayor and his team had the unwelcome task of surfing this madness while angling for reelection…
The election campaign in the latter part of the day was great, injecting a huge amount of energy into the game and looming larger than earthquakes and giant robots. A three way race emerged, between the incumbent Mayor Firefly, the absurdly corrupt Judge Jeffries, and the flamethrowing vigilante known as City Redeemer, on a platform of crime fighters and disgruntled police captains.
My own goals shifted several times during the day. At first, I was determined to expose collusion between City Hall and organised crime (the gangs were walking in and out like they owned the place), especially after Judge Jeffries started mentioning libel charges and newspapers getting closed down! I was convinced Mayor Firefly was taking money from the Sicilians at the very least, Judge Jeffries seemed to be in bed with the Lithuanians, and if the Police Widows’ and Orphans’ Fund wasn’t a front for money laundering I’d’ve swallowed my pipe.
Once the elections started to ramp up, and the true extent of Judge Jeffries’ corruption became plain (his running mate – set to be Deputy Mayor if he won – was the Underboss of the Lithuanian mob!), my priorities changed – I needed to do everything I could to ensure he didn’t win. Any candidate was better than the mob candidate.
The smear campaign that followed was, if I say so myself, of near Corbynian proportions.
However, I wasn’t sure who the Daily Trumpet should back against Jeffries. Mayor Firefly, certainly corrupt but not so much? Or City Redeemer, righteous but potentially unstable (she once burned a man alive and he turned into a supervillain). In a fit of democratic feeling, I asked the Press team to vote on which candidate the Daily Trumpet to support. Rightly or wrongly, I voted for Mayor Firefly, who seemed the least bad option. Fellow newby Dave voted for City Redeemer and change. Our two veterans, however, both voted Jeffries, I can only assume out of a mixture of confusion and despair.
This was unacceptable, of course, so I sent the three of them on reporting errands, figuratively locked myself in the newsroom, and wrote a rogue editorial throwing the Trumpet‘s weight behind Mayor Firefly. I regret nothing!
It was with immense relief that I listened to the election results. Jeffries trailing in third place, Mayor Firefly second, and City Redeemer the shock winner. We had done it! Realistically, huge amounts of campaign funding had done it, but we had done it! City Redeemer was immediately mobbed by excited supporters, scientists and vigilantes claiming their place in the new City Hall, and of course reporters for the Daily Trumpet.
I was genuinely, deeply excited to be interviewing City Redeemer at this point. Her election felt gamechanging, she was outlining truly exciting policies to fix our beloved, crime-ridden, zombie-infested, cracked and flooded mess of a city, and this interview felt like a career-defining moment. And in a way, I suppose it was. A few minutes into the interview, a member of the Control team (like Games Masters for the megagame) announced that my signature pipe had exploded – a dastardly attempt on the new Mayor’s life that killed me and from which she barely escaped.
Mere moments later, continuing the interview as my late character’s son (No one can stop the free press! There are always more journalists!), the assassins struck again. This time, no handy pipe being available, the bomb was planted somewhere inside me (gross)… and this time, there was no escape for City Redeemer.
And that was a wrap.
Extra! Extra!
This is a mere sliver of the City of Shadows experience, so if you enjoyed this and want to know more about what was going in Big City, I’d recommend these other great accounts:
Incorruptible: The Diary of Captain Holden – a policeman’s take
The Misadventure’s of Edwin R. Scott – a scientist’s notes
Bad Justice – a vigilante’s confession
Professor Gorgunza – memoirs of the age’s greatest scientific mind
The Red Skull Rises – a villain is born
A Henchman’s Tale – a crime lord’s testimony
If you’re really keen, you can find fragmentary back issues of the Big City Daily Trumpet on the Megagame Maker’s Facebook page: Issue 1, Issue 2, Issue 4, Issue 6, Issue 7, Issue 8, Issue 10, Issue 11. Alas, many were lost in our hurry to get copies printed.
And finally, here’s one last Daily Trumpet, written after the event, largely as an apology to City Redeemer, in whose tragic death I was unwillingly essential.
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RIP City Redeemer, you were rad.
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Some of the other stories that were written for this project, including a very different take on the World, are available here.
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Death
Do you fear the rising river flooding grey across the garden?
Or does the blind grasp of the seedlings cast shadows in your mind?
There comes a pale horse riding over rucks of regal satin
Its white mane gently blowing over thighs like ivory
And you want to stay and listen to that whistle through the ribcage
But you feel the roses growing in tangles ‘round your feet
Well there’s people as can fathom if a bone’s from man or woman
But you’re not that kind of pervert and all that you can see
Is the marks of hungry lions mar the music of her femurs
And the fracture in her girdle is a fissure in forever
Lie down before the body on its thorny bed of flowers
And let the water change you in the belly of the river
Bid farewell to the garden for the river keeps on flowing
From the end to the beginning, to the reaping from the sewing
But the roses go on growing
Lie down before the body on its thorny bed of flowers
And let the water change you in the belly of the river
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The World
The sand looked so soft, but lying on it is a saga in discomfort. Leaden and hard beneath her, yet shifting to form these awkward lumps and hollows in the small of her back, beneath her shoulders. Rolling over gets sand all over the towel.
And now she can hardly read. The book’s white pages burn white in the sun, like a screen with the contrast too high, making her squint.
Mattea sighs, flops the book down in the sand and rolls back over. The sky is an unlikely blue, brushed with clouds and spangled with the bright green lights of the Wreath. Is that what we look like from here?
Lucy is still splashing about in the cobalt waves. Mattea waves:
“How’s the water?”
“Better now!” Lucy crashes up the beach, wrapping her towel around her shoulders. “Can’t believe how cold it was at first. Must have been a glitch – no one would ever have swum in that, it’s unrealistic.”
“I think this whole Outing’s glitched – this sand is like lying on the floor.”
“I could fiddle with the parameters?”
“Nah, that’s all right. I should Head anyway.”
“Okay.” Lucy sprawls over the book. “The Urge to Transcendence?”
Mattea shrugs self-consciously. “It’s one of Wings’. Body/soul stuff, you know? Anyway, see you.”
She Heads.
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Returning to Headspace is like leaping into that ocean again. A freezing rush, overwhelming, exhilarating – and as Marcie Lions likes to say, unreal. Mattea basks in the eucophony of a million minds, letting the seaside Outing slip away.
//hey mattie//
//hey wings//
Wings’ Headspace handle is a multimedia punch of clapping pinions, specks launching skyward, piercing eyes and eagle screech. She has never told Mattea her real name.
//you down that text?//
//started. went Outing with Lucy though //
//lucys a cow//
//hey!//
//All meat no brain, graze graze graze. you joining the conversation now? it’s good, i’m mainlining it//
//not now, got to log off sometimes, otherwise…// Mattea flicks her a gliff of an unconscious body, drooling on the couch and drooping with excess weight, limbs grown weak and flaccid – a picture of ill health.
//kill the body, free the mind//
//youd die//
//yeah right. down that text, mattie, you’ll get it. its like the wreath project, see? the more of us they threw up here, the more they poisoned “mother earth”, the more people wanted to join us. now look at everything we’ve accomplished//
//i’ll read it//
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It’s like lying in the bath while the water runs out, coming down from Headspace. Heaviness returning as buoyancy is lost; surfaces pressing against surfaces. A loss, yes, but there is almost something pleasant in the returning weight, an appreciation of your body’s heft, it’s thingness.
Mattea sits up easily. A song unpauses. Outside my window… is a tree / Outside my window…
One finger slides absently down the volume. Her eyes pass over the headsup, noting the time, trajectory, temperature. She thinks, and the air con hums into more vigorous life. She doesn’t notice as the music volume compensates. …there is a world of pain…
A message flashes on her desktop. She eases into the chair, glancing at her anglescreen, cursor blinking on page one of the Serenity manuscript. Glances back at the desktop. Marcie is on chat.
Hey Mattea, Marcie Lions here.
Hey Marcie, she types. She tabs over to Wing’s book, then back to the manuscript. She half reads. Marcie chats about airlocks and engines, building a little flyer so she can visit other habitats. Head in the clouds as always. Mattea tells her about the beach Outing, the blue sky and the green ribbon of the Wreath.
You can’t actually see the habitats from Earth, Marcie says. Not during the day. They add them so people feel at home.
That’s the kind of stuff Marcie knows.
Mattea looks up, past the screens and out through her window. The other habitats curve away around the Earth, the world below, brown and blue.
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Okay, it’s getting sad how easy it is to choose these Buffy gifs. Guess why I was listening to Cream?
‘Band Candy’.
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Interactive fiction from 2014. This was written for a writing jam with the prompt “After every party I die”. It’s probably the single piece I’m most proud of writing. I’ve embedded it below but if that’s not working you can read it here.
Quick note: Heroes is circular by design and rewards multiple playthroughs…
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inklewriter is a free tool for writing interactive fiction being developed by inklestudios, creators of the fantastic 80 Days. It’s a clean, fun and intuitive way to write branching stories. In particular I like the labels you can use to make conditional content: options or even internal paragraphs which only appear if certain choices were made earlier in the story. There’s a lot of scope for crafting a narrative which reacts to and is personalised to the reader’s choices. Check it out! The inkle team gave me some really helpful feedback on Heroes and were kind enough to feature it in the inklewriter Library.
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Circa 2012. You can read the first tale here. I have notes for several more stories like this, and still love the idea of a collection exploring Camelot’s rise and fall – and values both modern and Malorean – through the untold tales of atypical knights.
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When the court of king Arthur was most happy in the service of valiant knights, as old books maketh mention, there was one among them hight sir Dagonet, that was king Arthur’s fool. And this sir Dagonet was no hardy knight of his hands, but sought ever to give his king good cheer and his knights, and he was a true lover in all things. And so it passed that this sir Dagonet would travel into Cornwayle, for there was a lady dwelt there hight Myfanwy, and he loved her passing well and she him.
After some little time, he came unto a fair manor, that was this lady’s, and there were many making great dole. So sir Dagonet inquired what was the cause, and they told him how his lady was taken by a dread knight and strong, and he was called sir Helior of the Thorn. Then sir Dagonet spoke not, but his legs would not hold him. And he fell upon his knees, for all his joy was gone. Then the tears bit at his eyes, and he tore his hair as he were wild for very sorrow. Then he mounted on his horse again, and rode like madness to where king Arthur kept his court.
And I find it written that he rode through a forest by a fair well where sir Tristram de Lyones was wont to be. And sir Tristram was called the prowest of any knight but it were sir Launcelot du Lake; yet for it seemed his lady was untrue (and that was La Beall Isode, and she was a fair lady and a true lover) this sir Tristram forsook his armour and his sword, and let his horse to wander where it would. And he wept and tore his hair as he were woode, and wox full mad for very sorrow. And in this rage he fell upon sir Dagonet, and beat him and soused him in the well, so that he was like to be drowned. Then sir Tristram hyed him into the forest.
So was sir Dagonet sore aggrieved, nor might he travel farther but must stay some days and be healed, though his cause was desperate. Yet none did hear him complain, for often and anon he was beaten of king Arthur’s knights; and many had laughed to see the madman beat the fool. But when he could he set out again, though not so quickly.
And so it befell that king Arthur was hunting with a noble host of knights and ladies. And when sir Dagonet came amongst them they fell back suddenly, for his clothes were all torent and his hair unkempt; and tears stood on cheeks. And sir Dagonet would have ridden before the king and fallen on his knees before him, but that the men and women of the court would have news of Cornwayle, and in especial of sir Tristram, that was much talked of in those days. Nor would they release him but he had told them of sir Tristram’s madness and his sorrows. And then was there much grief-making, for sir Tristram was one of the best knights of the world and was brought low. And so sir Dagonet met with king Arthur and fell upon his knees before him and beseeched a boon.
“Well,” king Arthur said, “ask and it shall be granted.”
“My lord,” said sir Dagonet, “my lady that was both fair and good has taken been by sir Helior of the Thorn. And she is the dearest to me of any wight.” And he might speak no more for weeping.
And king Arthur was desirous to comfort his fool, and eke he asked of those present if they were any knight would adventure to rescue sir Dagonet’s lady. And many would have, for that was a noble host of knights and sought ever after worship. And sir Tor would have assayed, and sir Dinadan, that was a friend to sir Dagonet; sir Braundeles, and sir Ywain, that was called the Knight of the Lion. But sir Dagonet said, “That is not the boon I ask, my lord, but that ye would knight me, and grant me arms and a strong horse, that I might adventure for my own lady.”
And some laughed then, for this was no knight, but the king’s fool.
And sir Dagonet said, “I know that ye have knighted me but in jest. For often have ye armed me but for laughter, as when ye dressed me in sir Launcelot’s arms, and so made a mock of king Mark that ran from me. And also when sir Kay would mock at sir Brewnor, called by him La Cote Mal Tayle, so he bid me arm and joust with him; for no worship is it to beat the fool. And often have I battered my own shield and boasted of my prowess before ye, that ye may laugh and your knights, though it were but shame to me. But she is the dearest to me of any wight, and my own lady, and I would rescue her and I can. And though I be a fool, ever have I been a true lover, which is more than many knights. Therefore I ask that ye knight me, lord, and as ye have armed me merrily now arm me sadly. And if ye should hear that I have failed, then let another venture.”
And king Arthur was amazed, but he consented to this. And solemnly he knighted sir Dagonet again. But his knights grew wroth with the fool, for it seemed he had spurned their aid, and eke shamed them, for there were some amongst them knew in their hearts that they were no true lovers. And they scorned sir Dagonet, and made mock of him. And no arms nor horses could be found for him amongst them, so that he must adventure armless and on foot perforce, but that sir Dinadan, that was a right noble knight and kind, made him a gift of his own. And so sir Dagonet was mounted passing well and armed. And he thanked the king and sir Dinadan and took his leave. But many there smiled to see him go, and others laughed, and all made merry of the new knight.
Then as he passed there was a great noise, for the king’s hounds had set upon a cur that had come amongst them. And sir Kay, that was a witty knight of his tongue, called out to sir Dagonet, and said that this should be his first adventure, “to slay the dreadful beast.” And so sir Dagonet dismounted and drew his sword, and went amidst the dogs where they were fighting. And he struck mightily, but his aim was not good, and by mischance he slew one of the king’s hounds, and so too when he struck again, so that the pack fell back for fear. Then the cur made much of its saviour, and licked his face and fawned on him like a spaniel. And sir Dagonet was wroth to be so shamed before that company and chased the cur in his anger; yet though he kicked and cursed, still it would gambol about him. And so many laughed at sir Dagonet then, and sir Kay made much of the “mongrel and fool, and both in their coats of motley.” And mockingly they dubbed him La Chevalier du Corniaud, which is to say, the Knight with the Cur.
And sir Dagonet blushed red for pure shame and the tears bit at his eyes. But for all he kicked and cursed at the cur, still it followed him from that place, like the laughter.
*
And so he went from that place, and anon he came unto a wide forest. And he rode through this forest for many days, for it was said that sir Helior of the Thorn did dwell therein. And ever the cur came behind him. And so he came unto a clearing, and he espied a horse tied to an oak, and a knight fast by with a maiden. And that knight saw sir Dagonet, and said, “Sir, for thou have a horse and my lady does not, I would joust with thee.”
And the knight sprang upon his horse and raised a great spear, would sir Dagonet or no. So he dressed his shield and raised his spear also, and they rushed together. And sir Dagonet break his spear on the shield of this knight, but the knight’s spear struck him in the chest so that he flew over his horse’s tail and landed full heavily. And while he groaned and could not rise, the knight took sir Dagonet’s horse for his damosel, and they rode on their way. And sir Dagonet watched that knight departing with his maid, and bethought him of his Myfanwy, and his tears were hot. And he sighed full sore and moaned, for he knew not how he might find her without his horse.
Then came the cur unto sir Dagonet, and licked his face as he would comfort him. And for he was wroth and nigh mad for sorrow, he beat the cur and kicked it. But the cur complained not, for often and anon had it been beaten by men. So sir Dagonet pushed it from him, and went his way. And he sweated and pained, for the forest was dense and his armour was heavy.
Then it fortuned that a horse came rushing by as it were greatly affrighted, and he fain would have caught if he could. But a great voice cried, “Hold, knight, thou shalt not deprive me my supper and I breathe!”
And sir Dagonet was sore afraid, for there came a great giant, and it bore a club like unto a piece of timber. And there was a knight across the giant’s shoulder, and the horse was his. Then sir Dagonet hefted his sword, but it availed him not, for the giant struck him such a buffet that he flew against the lower branches of a tree, from whence he fell and moved not. Then the giant paid him little heed, but pursued the horse.
So it befell that a fell snake came upon sir Dagonet whiles yet he swooned, and would like to have slain him had not the cur still followed him. For the cur barked at the snake, and sir Dagonet awoke, and as he waked the cur took the snake in its jaws and shook it till it were dead. Then was he thankful; eke yet he sighed for great dolour, for his armour was bent and battered, and he wot not how he could fight in it. And so he departed that place.
And after many days sir Dagonet espied a castle, that was broad and well-diked, and there was a village hard by. And he inquired of the people whose castle was this. And they said it was sir Helior’s, that was a hardy knight and a strong. And for he had destroyed many good knights and taken their ladies, they said, he feared none earthly man, but it be sir Launcelot, sir Trystram, other else sir Lamerok (for these were called the greatest knights of the world in those days). And they told how this sir Helior had but lately brought a lady to his castle, but she had locked herself in a tower, for which he was full wroth. And of this they were right glad, for sir Helior was a ravisher of women.
And sir Dagonet had great pain and sorrow for the dread and danger of Myfanwy (for so he deemed this lady), and for that the castle was so strong, and eke its lord so hardy. And as he sorrowed there came three wild knights and set upon him, for this was lawless country, and sir Helior kept no law in those his lands. Then sir Dagonet dressed his shield and drew his sword, but it availed him not, for they were strong knights of their hands. And they seized upon his sword and shield, and they threw him to the floor and beat him, for they deemed it sport. And then they had like to have slain him, but of of a sudden there came a great roar from the forest, and the branches shook as if some great beast did bat them in its fury. And these recreant knights were affeared, for they deemed it were a lion. So they fled, and left sir Dagonet to be devoured.
Then sir Dagonet had almost swooned for fear; but when the branches parted he espied only the cur, a-wagging of its tail. And then he laughed, and had great joy of that cur, and it repented him that ever he had beaten it. And though he lamented the loss of his sword and his shield (for the knights had fled with them), and the destruction of his armour, and his horse that had been stolen, yet he might be but a little sad, for the cur would lick his tears, and sport and jape in the bushes so that the branches shook, and bark and roar.
Then did sir Dagonet bethink him how the knights had fled a dog that seemed a lion. And he bethought him how king Mark had fled him when he had seemed sir Launcelot. And sir Dagonet bethought him how the great of the lion’s strength lay in his mighty voice, that goes before him, more than his claws. And so he lay down to sleep in great good cheer.
Then when the sun had risen, he strode full knightly through the streets of the village until he came before the castle of sir Helior. And he bore his helmet in his hand, that was bruised all out of shape, but he had no sword or shield with him. And when he stood before the walls he let out a great cry, as he had heard sir Launceleot or sir Tristram cry upon the tournament field: “I seek the false knight sir Helior of the Thorn!”
Then there came upon the walls a man passing big, and said, “False knight, you call me, scarecrow? And what knight are thou, with armour all torent? What knight are thou, bearing nor shield nor sword? What knight are thou, that stumbles here on foot like a forester?”
“I am a knight of the fellowship of the Round Table,” said the stranger knight, “and sworn to do battle with all false knights. And thou art no true knight, but a destroyer of worthy knights and terror to good women; and thou hast torn the lady Myfanwy from sir Dagonet, that is the king’s fool, the which shall cost thee dearly. And as to my armour, it is the witness of a thousand enemies, who each struck me once but hurt me not, and were not suffered to strike again! And as for my shield, a mighty giant reft it from me and threw it in a flood, before I slew him! My sword I left fixed in his brainpan, whence no man might remove it! And as for my horse, he was taken by a grisly lion, the which I followed to a cave, wherein I left its carcass!”
Then sir Helior began to look upon this stranger knight with different eyes. For of late his people were sore affeared of some great beast of the forest, and swore they had heard it roar. And the knight that could boast such deeds was perforce a strong knight and a man of worship. So he said in courteous wise, “And what is your name, sir knight?”
“As to that, ask again when you have come down from your walls,” said sir Dagonet.
So anon sir Helior was armed and went forth the castle gate. And his armour was all of green steel, and girded round about with many an iron thorn. And he bore a wide shield, and a mighty sword upon his hip. And he was mounted upon a great black horse, with eyes of fire. And for it seemed this stranger knight must be some man of worship, and he feared but three such men, sir Helior asked again, “And what is your name, sir knight? Are ye not sir Lamerok, sir Pellenore’s son?”
“As to that, ask again when you have come down from your horse,” said sir Dagonet.
So sir Helior dismounted him, and sir Dagonet said, “Nay, I am not sir Lamerok, though he be a bold knight truly; yet were I he, methinks I would not be so bold as to fight thee in armour all torent, and eke on foot.”
And sir Helior’s heart was eased by this, for he would liefer have to do with many another knight but sir Lamerok. But soon his fears returned, and he bethought him what knight might be so bold as to fight in armour all torent, and eke on foot. And he held onto his horses reins, and asked again, “Your name, sir knight? Are you not sir Tristram de Lyones, that is called one of the prowest knights on life?” And he awaited the stranger’s answer in great doubt, for he would liefer have to do even with sir Lamerok than sir Tristram. But sir Dagonet only said, “As to that, ask again when you have doffed your helm.”
And sir Helior of the Thorn wot not to do, but at last he unbuckled his helm, for his horse was near unto him yet if he need flee. And sir Dagonet said, “Nay, I am not he; nor is he yet a knight of the Table Round, as I am. And were I sir Tristram, though he be a valiant knight and strong, yet methinks I would not be so bold as to fight thee bareheaded, without sword nother shield.”
And sir Helior’s heart was eased but for a moment, then sore bestad with fear, for he bethought him of but one knight so bold as to fight in armour all torent, and eke bareheaded without sword nother shield. And so with trembled lip he asked again, “Sir knight, are you not sir Launcelot du Lake, that is the queen’s champion, and the hardiest knight of the world?”
And sir Dagonet spoke not, but eyed him sternly.
And for he deemed this stranger knight sir Launcelot, sir Helior blaunched full pale, and his legs held him not but he fell to his knees, for he was much affrighted. And he called on sir Launcelot’s great courtesy, and on his famous magnanimity, and begged his poor life of sir Launcelot, that he might spare him.
“Only render me thy sword and service,” said sir Dagonet, “and sir Launcelot would spare thy life.”
And so sir Helior ungirded his sword and put it in his hands, and with much weeping he thanked him, and trowed that this was sir Launcelot truly, for his great mercy. And sir Dagonet looked down upon this false sir Helior, this destroyer of good knights, that had torn his lady Myfanwy from him, and was like to have done great wrong by her. And his heart grew cold.
“Nay, I am not he,” he said, “for sir Launcelot is a very parfit knight, and I am but a fool. And were I he, methinks, this I would not do.” And he raised sir Helior’s sword above his head and thrust it mightily, so that the blood braste forth and stained the earth with purple, and sir Helior was slain.
*
And so sir Dagonet unlocked the tower of sir Helior that was dead, and found his Myfanwy therein. And the knight and this lady were nigh overcome with joy, so that their tears were like a single stream upon their faces. And sir Dagonet wept for the blood on his hands and the knight he had slain. But the people of that village rejoiced full well, for sir Helior had been a great tyrant over them, and they would have made sir Dagonet their lord and his lady their lady, and give them the castle and the lands there about. But sir Dagonet would not, for he said those lands were “sir Launcelot’s, truly, though I slew sir Helior.” And sir Dagonet left that place with his lady in sober wise. And the cur was with them.
And after a time they came again to king Arthur’s court. And king Arthur had much joy of his fools return, for he had missed him, and queen Guinevere made much of the lady Myfanwy. And then sir Dagonet told the knights and ladies there that he had slain sir Helior, and he showed them his sword and thorny armour in evidence of this. And he told how the cur had saved him many a time or he would no more walk on life. And some there believed him, and some believed him not, but deemed he had stolen those arms by some fool’s trick. And sir Kay was merry to see sir Dagonet still with the cur, and made many a mock at him, and king Arthur’s knights laughed at the fool as they were wont.
And king Arthur made orders for a new siege to be brought for the Table Round, that sir Dagonet might take his place there. And sir Kay was given task of this, and he bade servants do as he ordered them, and they brought forth a siege where these words had been writ: For the Chevalier du Corniaud. And he asked sir Dagonet what he thought of his handiwork, and the men and women of king Arthur’s court there grinned, and bated their breath in readiness.
But sir Dagonet was silent only, and went to that siege and gravely seated his lady therein. And he placed his hand on the head of the cur, and the other on Myfanwy’s shoulder, and she took it in her own.
Then sir Dagonet said sadly, “The Chevalier du Corniaud, my lord? Nay, rather, call me the Chevalier du Coeur, for terrible things I have done, for love.”
And no one laughed.
*
So endeth the tale of sir Dagonet, that was a faithful fool and true lover, and slew sir Helior of the Thorn to save his lady, as ancient books diversely maketh mention.
*
Now go watch The Zeppo from Buffy Season 3.
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Circa 2012. One of the best things about an English Literature degree was the incentive to bury yourself in a text until you had really absorbed its voice. Reproducing the style and sensibilities of something like the Morte Darthur was immensely enjoyable and not something I’m sure I could now – certainly not without a long reread.
*
So it befell that king Arthur was sore bestad with sorrow, for that his court was lorn and empty of the most part of all his knights. For at this time half and more of his knights were questing after the Sankgreal, and therein had many a good knight and noble baron lost his life, other else his honour, and the noble fellowship of the Round Table been nigh disparbeled. Nor yet had sir Bors returned with tidings of his successful adventures, and of sir Galahad and sir Percival, nor had sir Launcelot returned to comfort the king, that was said to be the best knight of all the world. And of the absence of sir Gawayn that was his nephew, and of sir Launcelot, in especial, the king had great pain, for these were the men he loved best of any.
And for that her husband was full of dole, queen Guenevere had made a great feast that he might be merry. So she gathered into court all the knights of the Round Table that might be found, and made great store of vitayles for a merry feasting, and each made good cheer of the other though they were but few. And there was sir Kay the Seneschal, sir Uwayne Le Avoutres, and sir Hebes; sir Gareth, that sir Kay caused to be called Beaumayns; sir Severause le Brewse, and sir Pelleas that was loved of one of the ladies of the lake, that she kept him ever from danger (and her name was dame Nyneve); sir Gryfflet, sir Braundeles, sir Clegis; and others whose names I find not written. And there came also sir Galahalt the Hawte Prince, with twenty of his knights, for to do king Arthur comfort.
Then was it king Arthur’s custom that he should not sit down to a feast ere that he had seen some adventure. And queen Guenevere knew this, and made known to the company that a damosel was come to Arthur’s court in great distress, and complaining of strange troubles.
“Well, let her be before us, then,” said king Arthur, “and we shall see how we may relieve her woes.”
So the damosel was brought in. And she was a passing fair maiden, and there hung on her girdle a fine sword. So when king Arthur saw this sword it much misgave him, and he said, “Maiden, it be not seemly that ye bear a weapon in this wise, woman that ye are.”
And the damosel wept bitter tears, and said, “Lord, it is not from choice I bear it but necessity.” Then Arthur had pity of her, and enquired eagerly after the cause of her sorrow and why she bore that sword.
“That I will tell ye,” said the damosel. “There lives a false recreant knight, sir Domnall, that has about him many knights and knaves like unto him. And with this host he forced my father’s house, and there slew both my father and my brother! And there he would like to have ravished me, I am sure, for he says that ’tis but for love this evil deed was done, and ’twas my beauty killed my father and brother – but that I got me to my brother’s horse, by God’s grace, and slipped them by. Yet I fear me I shall never be free of this mine enemy, for he pursues me still.”
Then were they sore aggrieved for the sorrow and the peril that had befallen this damosel. And many sighed, and many cursed the man that brought such shame upon the order of knighthood.
“Yet ye have not told us the cause of this fair sword that hangeth upon thy girdle,” said king Arthur.
“As for that”, said the damosel, “when I had fled my father’s house I betook me to dame Nyneve of Avalyon, for I knew that she might help me. And she girded this sword upon my hip, and set me again upon my brother’s horse, saying, ‘Now search thee for the knight that may draw this sword from its scabbard, for that knight shall be thy true protector; and that shall be a true knight and one of the best on life.’ And unless this knight I find, never shall I be free of sir Domnall. Therefore have I come here, my lord, for it is said that thine is a fellowship of the noblest knights on life. And queen Guenevere out of her great goodness promised me this audience.”
“Ah,” king Arthur said, “it repenteth me that this adventure should now befall when the most part of my knights, and some among them the most worshipful of the world, have departed. Yet nevertheless, we shall assay, peradventure any of this noble company be thy true protector. And I shall assay first, not for that I believe I am most of worship, but so I may encourage all those here. And if we may help ye, we will.”
Then the king took the hilt of the sword in his hand, which was set with garnets and enchased with silver and copper wire, so that it was wondrous to behold; and the pommel stone was a great green agate. But in no wise could he stir it. Then did sir Gareth assay the damosel’s sword, but it was not his. Then assayed sir Severause la Brewse, and sir Pelleas, and all the knights of the Round Table there present, but none could move the sword. And so sir Galahalt and his twenty knights, which were passing good knights, though not of the Table Round.
When it was known that none there might help her, the damosel with the sword nigh sowned for sorrow. And sighing king Arthur said, “But if sir Launcelot were here then ye must be happy, for I dare say he is the best of any earthly man, and a true protector of all good women. Other else his pious son, sir Galahad, other sir Gawayn, that is a full strong knight of his hands, both these might do ye succour, by my troth.”
So then the king stood, and said, “Do not despair, damosel. And I may, then will I bring ye to these knights, wherever they may be found. And a valiant company shall bear ye to them in all safety, and ye shall have a fair palfrey to ride upon and gentlewomen to wait upon ye.”
Then the damosel with the sword said sadly,“That may not be; for the lady Nyneve has charged that none accompany me in my search, and that I ride no horse but that my brother’s, which shall after be my protector’s. Yet will I seek these knights of which ye speak, if they be the noblest and the best.” And so she departed Arthur’s court.
Then was queen Guenevere greatly saddened, that her feast that should be merry had brought only more dole. But more pain she felt for the plight of the damosel with the sword, and she went to her before she left. And taking her by the arm, she said, “Advise thee well, and when a knight would draw that sword and be thy protector, be sure he do so but for very pure love of thee, other else respect for all womankind. All manner other reasons were a shame to thee, and to all good knights. And it were better thou look to thyself than let such shame befall.”
And the damosel gave thanks to the queen, and so she departed. Then leave we the court of king Arthur, which all unhappy is, and turn to the quest of this damosel with the sword, and pray it may have a happy ending.
*
Through many lands and strange this damosel did search and inquire after those three knights. And ever and anon she was accosted by false and savage men, and must spur her brother’s horse and flee if she would not be slain, or worse. For in those days there was great unquiet in king Arthur’s lands and the lands surrounding, for that the knights of the Round Table did not maintain peace and justice in those lands, but quested ever after the Sankgreal. And some even of that fellowship turned to villainy, and besmirched themselves with many foul deeds. So did sir Aggravayne and sir Mordred, that were sir Gawayn’s brethren, fall upon sir Dinadan and slay him, that was a valiant knight.
And always was this damosel affeared that she would meet with sir Domnall, so that all men seemed to bear his face.
So after some weeks it befell that this damosel came to a moated castle, and there she found sir Gawayn. Great cheer had sir Gawayn of the lady of that castle, for he had but lately rescued her husband from a giant that lived in those parts. And sir Gawayn would woo this lady, but she was true to her husband and took no mind of this. So when the damosel with the sword knew that he was sir Gawayn, she joyed greatly; and for his part, he marvelled at the beauty of this damosel, though he misliked the sword she wore.
And when he had heard how she must find the knight could wield that sword, other else live ever in fear of sir Domnall, he said unto her, “Fair lady, and thou grant me a kiss, this sword I shall draw and be thy protector.”
Then the damosel blushed at these words, and sir Gawayn smiled and said, “Nay then, let me assay the sword, and should it yield to me then the kiss may be granted. For thee are fair, and I would not have thee ravished by this recreant knight, but rather that thee live by me and be my lover.” So with that he made to grip the sword’s hilt.
And almost she let him, but then she remembered the words of queen Guenevere, that dealt of pure love and respect of womankind, and she bethought her how she had seen sir Gawayn woo the lady of the moated castle. Then she stayed his hand, and said, “That may not be, for ye would not protect me for love or service, but so ye might have me as sir Domnall would have me, though it go by another name.”
Then sir Gawayn wax wroth, and turned from her full orgulously, and soon departed that place. But the damosel with the sword stayed there several days to recover from her journeys.
*
By this time sir Domnall had heard rumour of the damosel with the sword that wandered to and fro, and weeting well it was the woman he wanted most of any in the world, he hurried him unto the moated castle, and twenty of his followers with him. And it was only through the help of the lord and lady of that castle that she escaped him into the forest, nor could she leave him far behind, for he was like a hound snapping at her heels. And there were knaves and bandits in great number in these lands, that often she must spur her brother’s horse, and often beat them off even with the sword in its scabbard.
By the by she came upon a little chapel where lived an hermit, a good man and holy. And she had cause for much joy in that chapel, for therein sir Galahad knelt at prayer. So the damosel with the sword knelt also and prayed that this knight might be her protector. Yet sir Galahad paid her no mind. In the meanwhile, the hermit brought victuals, but none for sir Galahad, he said, “for he is fasting.” And then soberly the damosel thanked this good man of his generosity, but she would not eat, for while sir Galahad did fast so too would she. And that day she spent in prayer and fasting, and that night also, for so would sir Galahad.
And when the morning came, he rose and gazed upon the damosel as if he wot not that she had been there, and said sternly, “What is thy business here, maiden? And why dost thou bear that sword, which is not right for a woman to bear?”
“For that I must,” said she, “until I find the knight can wield it and rescue me from mine enemy. And that knight shall be a true knight and one of the best on life; therefore have I sought for ye, and sir Launcelot, and sir Gawayn, and beseech ye assay the sword and be my protector.”
Then was sir Galahad silent, until at last he said, “I am sorry, maiden, but I have a sword already, and am bound thereby to a quest I may not let easily. I must seek the Sankgreal; I cannot seek thy foe. Yet will I do my utmost should I meet him, for I shall know him by his arms, yet will I not make no promises, nor in no wise may I be thy protector.”
These words wrought much sadness in the damosel, for he seemed a knight of prowess, and holy. Sighing she said, “That may not be, for none can vanquish sir Domnall but they wield this sword and none other. Yet ye say troth ye cannot by my protector, for I shall have no man so but he love and respect womankind, and ye love only heavenly things.”
Sadly then she departed that chapel to seek sir Launcelot. And soon after sir Galahad went on his way, so that sir Domnall passed by that place unhindered.
*
And so it befell that four recreant knights of sir Domnall, whose horses were swifter than their fellows’, fell upon the damosel with the sword as she rode out of the forest. So she spurred her brother’s horse which was passing swift, but these knights were not dismayed, but pursued her on left and right. And she was sore afraid, for they were more like wolves than men.
When as she felt despair tear open in her breast, for that her brother’s horse was nigh exhausted and began to stumble, she espied a knight that was full comely galloping across the plain. And he braste among her enemies, and with his spear he threw one down so that he rose no more. Then he draw his sword, and with two mighty strokes he slew two more, so that the fourth knight fled in terror for his life. Then he turned his horse, and the damosel with the sword rode to him and thanked him many times. And he lifted his visor, and said, “My lady, it repentith me that ye should bear a sword, for by it I may know that great shame has fallen on me and all knights. For it be our duty to make all lands safe and peaceable for maids and damosels, and yet ye ride here armed, and eke pursued by foes.”
And the damosel told him for why she bore that sword. And she told him of her quest, from Avalyon to king Arthur’s court, and of her dealings with sir Gawayn and sir Galahad, and her search for sir Launcelot.
“Then,” said the knight, “ye are happy, for I am sir Launcelot du Lake.”
So the damosel had great joy, and was relieved of the great of all her dread. And she prayed him to assay the sword. He were full loath, for he would not presume to achieve where so many worthy knights had failed, or be seen to raise himself above his fellows; and yet she prevailed upon him. Then he gripped the sword by the hilt, but all in vain: for he could nor shift nor stir it any way. And the tears burst from her eyes, not knowing now where to look for her protector.
But sir Launcelot said, “Have comfort, for though I may not be thy protector, yet will I accompany ye to some place of safety, for I see that ye are hard set upon by thine enemies. And for the love I owe all women, for often have they succoured me when I was starved for hunger or for wounds; and in especial for the love I bear my lady, queen Guenevere, I must do what I may to aid ye. And though ye be charged to search alone, it seemeth me ye know not what ye search, or where, and thus I deem ye cannot search; and as ye do not search, ye do not fail thy charge and ye go with me.”
And sir Launcelot was kind, and she was weary and affeared of her pursuers, so she consented unto this. And while that she travelled in his company sir Domnall dare not approach her, for fear. Yet hovered he and his knaves about her still, and oft amidst the trees she spied them when she lay down to sleep. And they followed at a distance when they rode, though sir Launcelot went as he saw them not. Then might she have no rest, but ever was afraid. And it was like the shadow of sir Domnall did crush down upon her at all times, so that she could not breathe; no matter that sir Launcelot did defend her, that was the best knight of any earthly man.
So it was that in this wise sir Launcelot and the damosel with the sword came unto a goodly manor, and there dwelled an old gentlewoman. And this gentlewoman did them much honour, and laid out good store of victuals. Then sir Launcelot inquired of any worthy knight adventuring in these lands, for ever would he help that damosel. And the gentlewoman could tell of some knights that were passing strong, and some right noble; so was the damosel recomforted a little, for peradventure one of these might wield her sword.
Then she bid sir Launcelot leave her when he would, for she knew that if she sought these knights then she must go alone, or other else she failed the charge of dame Nyneve. And he would have stayed nevertheless, but she said, “That may not be.” Then he departed full soon, for still was he bound to seek the Sankgreal. Yet might he never achieve it, as old books say, for the love he bore to women. Then let us leave of sir Launcelot, and turn to what next befell this damosel.
*
When sir Launcelot had departed a night, then was the damosel awakened by a cry without her chamber. And the shout was “Damosel, fair damosel!”. So went she to her window and espied below sir Domnall, and his men surrounded the manor. And she knew him for his arms were red, and on his shield was a woman depicted, that he was wont to call his own.
“Damosel, fair damosel! Know well there is no escape, nor will I suffer thee to leave me again, for both thy father and thy brother are dead for thy beauty, and I would not slay another if I may. And I hear that thou bearst a sword, though thou art a woman, and I have seen thee wander forth unchecked, though that thou art but a maiden, and this is not right in the eyes of the world. Yet I forgive it thee, for I know that thee do not so but for necessity, to find thy true protector. Then let me assay that sword, and I weet I shall draw it with little ado, for thou art mine. And if thou refuse, I shall storm this manor with my knights, and none shall protect thee but I slay them. And they shall be dead for thy beauty.”
Then she knew not what to do, so that she ran to the gentlewoman of that manor. And weeping she told her all that sir Domnall had said, and how she could never find the knight to wield that sword, though she had assayed the best knights on life. Then that gentlewoman held her, and said, “Dear maid, would ye have sir Domnall wield this sword?”
And she said full quickly, “Nay! For I hate him; and he hath but despite of me, though he say he loves me. And queen Guenevere advised me, let none assay this sword but would do so for pure love other else respect for all women. And otherwise were shame to that knight and me, and better were I look to myself than yield to such a knight.”
Then said the gentlewoman, “Maid, what is thy name?”
“My name is Brende.”
And the gentlewoman smiled, and said, “It repenteth me I did not ask before, for thy name is thy answer. For by Brende is signified a ‘brand’, and that brand is a sword. And by that I know that thou art the very knight thou seek, and shall thy true protector be and all women’s. Then look to thyself, sir knight, and draw thy sword.”
So Brende set her hand upon the hilt and drew forth the sword as easily as ye might write thy name. And she spoke with the gentlewoman of what she would do, then returned she to the window. And sir Domnall saluted her, and said, “Well, damosel, what say thou? Shall I assay?”
“Yea,” she said, “ye shall. But ye must come alone to the manor, for I will have none others about me when ye do. And if ye can draw the sword, I will yield me quietly.”
And so sir Domnall came to the door of the manor, and the gentlewoman let him in. And as he came in, Brende smote him across the helm so that he fell and moved not. And the gentlewoman closed the door hastily, that none might see. Then did Brende arm herself in sir Domnall’s arms, which fit her well. And she took up his shield with the woman upon it, and made it her own. And in this was no shame, for just so sir Launcelot would serve a nobler knight, when that he was besieged in the queen’s chambers by sir Mordred and sir Aggravayn and was like to be slain. And so ye may read in the book of the Morte Darthur.
Then Brende mounted her horse, that had been her brother’s, and dressed herself to battle those without. But she wore no helm, that they would know she was not their master. And though they were twenty, they could not withstand her, for she braste among them and slew those that would have killed her with mighty strokes, and the remnant fled for very fear. Then turned she back to the manor where sir Domnall lay lifeless, and thanked the gentlewoman full soberly. And then she departed for king Arthur’s court.
*
So I find it written that as she went she met again sir Launcelot; but he knew her not, but thought her sir Domnall by her arms, and so challenged her. And for she bore no spear, he let fall his own, and drew his sword. And they dealt each the other many a stroke, but at the last Brende gave him such a buffet that he fell down dazed. Then mounted she her horse and continued on her way. And sir Launcelot greatly marvelled, for now it seemed he knew that horse, and also the knight by her riding.
And so in time she came to sir Galahad, and he also knew her not, but thought her sir Domnall. And for she bore no spear, he came at her with his sword, but she held against him full knightly. So they fought back and forth many hours, but at the last she knocked him down. Then mounted she her horse and continued on her way.
And so as she went she encountered sir Gawayn. And he knew her not. And for she seemed sir Domnall, he dressed himself to battle that he might have the honour of rescuing the damosel with the sword. So he raised up his spear and spurred his horse to a great gallop. But Brende warded his spear against her shield, so that sir Gawayn was thrown backwards off his steed. And they rushed together with such force that he may not rise, but lay still and groaned. Then turned she her horse and continued on her way.
And so at last it befell that Brende came again unto king Arthur’s court. And she appeared before them all, but none there knew her. And she asked that she be made a knight of the Round Table, “for I am that knight slew sir Domnall the ravisher in defence of the damosel with the sword. And that ye may know I speak truth, here are his arms I wear, and this his shield. And here is the sword of that damosel which I have drawn.”
And king Arthur did so with all speed, for he was much beholden to this knight. Then would he know “thy name, sir knight.”
“My name is sir Brende,” said she, and took off her helm. Then was there great marvel, for they saw she was that damosel with the sword. And king Arthur was wroth and said, “Maid, why bearest thou that sword and eke these arms?”
“In truth,” said she, “for that I achieved the one, and won the other. And they are mine, I deem, for only I might wield this sword, nor could none other have taken these arms from he I bested. Also, I have bested sir Gawayn, sir Galahad and sir Launcelot each in plain fight, as they shall tell ye. And by this ye may know I am a true knight and one of the best on life.”
Then returned sir Gawayn, and after sir Launcelot, and they confirmed all that she had said. But sir Galahad by this time had gone into Sarras, where he died. And then the king and queen had great joy of sir Brende, and she of them. And she was a true protector of women and one of the best knights in the world. Yet for she was not wont to fight in games and tournaments, but ever fought in earnest against false men and recreant knights while that she lived, she is little remembered in the annals of the time.
*
“Now that’s everything, huh? No weapons, no friends, no hope… take all that away, and what’s left?”
Two poems written for writing jams in 2013. The prompt for the first was “Siren”; for the second, “Aftermath”. Both were kindly included in Bunbury Magazine’s Issue 5 – Mythology Special (main website here).
Update 11/08/2016 – A pool at Pegae has since been published in Bunbury’s Creative Anthology for 2016 – in print, no less!
*
Odysseus and the Sirens
What do the sirens sing? We cannot know
Nor ask past patrons gathered deep below.
Only a few may hear, and live – they dare
To strive, seek, find and never yield; see, test,
prototype and build; cut, sniff, snort, smoke, and
So expand their minds, push past the bounds of thought,
And overstep the pale of the possible,
That renown is theirs, and for each a share
Of mantic verses from the sirens’ store.
But which is best, when all is said and done:
To hear, tied down, and always yearn for more?
Seal ears with wax and stolidly work on?
Or pluck Orpheus’ lyre from its zone
And drown their song with music of your own?
*
A pool at Pegae
This water more still
Than the silent, leaden bell
Long since the ringing
No ripple mars
It’s cold painting of the sky
The depths are hidden
The wild thyme bruised
Heavy feet in the bushes
Cast about in vain
Heaven is silent
But the son of the thunder
Cries Hylas, Hylas
A keel crunch kisses
The Mysian sand goodbye
Their ship departing
Each oar stroke even,
Each oarsman with his partner
And two seats empty
During the quest for the golden fleece, Jason and the Argonauts made land at Mysia to replenish their stores. The youth Hylas was sent to collect water but did not return. Hercules went in search of him, but found no sign. Refusing to abandon Hylas, Hercules remained behind when the Argo put to sea. Some believe that Hylas was ravished away by nymphs of the pool at Pegae.
*
Hope none of you are contemplating railroad spikes…