Fortune's Embrace

"Mark you," sayeth he, "At Ayelsford's bloody battle,

Flesh and bone feathered cruelly with arrows sharp,

My voice cried out loudly to long absent Fortune,

This bleeding body an offering for a godly boon."

...

The olde man, eyes white, frost heavy upon his brow

capered before them as he laughed and mocked,

Grinning at their angry words and bearded frowns,

Their long-pointed fingers barring from their towne.

...

"Two grinning Saxon's saw death in these eyes," he taunted,

"Misfortune for them, they saw mine not their own

As I leaned upon my halberd bright. Do not doubt the might

Of these sinews, good fellows, as testifies their bones."

...

"But when I spied brave Fortuna running my way,

I cried out his name as he leaped into the fray

Cutting down many a foe barring our way, Saxon

Arrows flying thickly and yet missing him everyone."

...

"'Fortuna!' I cried loudly to rally those who had fled

Fortunes shifting as our warriors returned stoutly to the field

Fortuna's tongueless bray rising above the howling mass,

Wept we for joy as our blades drove them thru the pass."

...

But those dour men remembered not brave deeds of olde,

The Saxon shadow long a curse upon fair Briton,

Staring haughtily at his blind gaze and withered flanks

They scoffed, "Go a beggin' at other towns, olde one."

...

Some called for the priest to drive the prancing pagan away,

But as his cowled figure approached a spark of memory lit

A forgotten stronghold in his ancient, righteous heart,

"Do I know thee olde friend," he cried with tender care.

...

The two friends clasped one another and wept

The priest calling for meat and mead while gazing

Piteously at his friend's deep and blinded eyes.

"Rest and take thy fill, my good and lordly king."

...

The frowns upon the city's guards deepened

As they whispered darkly, "Who might he be?"

But good King Vortimer they did not acknowledge,

He who slew the Saxon tyrant Horsa at Ayelsford.

...

"Remember thee Fortuna?" cried the good olde king,

Mead dripping merrily from his hoary beard.

"I remember him well," the olde priest answered,

His eyes misting at the memory of such a one.

...

"He mutely begged of me as a boy," said the priest,

"His tongue cut most cruelly from his wee mouth.

I tried to instruct him to read and write Holy Writ,

But too simple, he, to learn the Roman script."

...

"Aye," said the old king, "I too, tried to teach,

But the poor, dumb childe could not learn

To parry, block nor stab, only swinging wildly,

A danger to brother warrior and foe alike."

...

"But his heart was stout and true, a better friend

None ever dare ask." "Tis true," answered the priest,

"He was goodly and honest a soul as any in God's

Starry host. I often remember him at my praying."

...

"God's good fortune graced him not, and yet

Fortune carried him like an eagle astride the wind."

"Aye, the king answered softly, "Many died at Aylesford,

But Fortuna alone of all my host remained uncut.”

...

"And after?" the priest asked with wrinkled brow.

"Aye... and After," the old king echoed sadly.

"Mortally wounded was I. They carried me atop a bier

To my long and kingly barrow before Midsommar's mourn."

...

"As they lay me in that dark place, the dawning pierced

The hammerstone and flooded my tomb with light,

Fortuna embracing me where I lie, his tears like goodly

Prayers, Sulis, Goddess of Healing, did vouchsafe."

...

"And after?" asked again the priest, the king sighing.

"Anon, anon, he joined the field and whet his Blade

With Saxon blood, and anon he departed after. With him

Fled Briton's fortunes to distant unsullied lands."

...

And weeping, good King Vortimer finally took his leave;

And passing through gates no longer barred

He leaned upon my arm as he tottered through our towne

To return to his barrow and his final midsommar's mourn.