THE ROWAN CANTICLES - Canticle II: Canto II - Lost Kin Found
A Tale Told in the Ancient Manner
The Rowan Canticles is an epic poem written in doggerel tetrameter. In other words, although each line contains eight syllables and rhymes with other lines nearby, like Shakespeare, I’ve used enjambment (one line spilling over into the next) here and there, especially in dialog sections. Mostly, though, I’ve striven for iambic tetrameter, which makes for a nice rhythm. You’ll notice that couplets, quatrains and other rhyme schemes refresh with each long Canticle. The old school language of The Rowan Canticles can be dense, but hey, it’s fun and it fits the fantasy.
Each week I will post a fresh Canto here at Substack, adding to the story. You’ll find ninety-nine Cantos in all contained in the three Canticles. The work is 13,000 lines long, about the length of Homer’s The Odyssey.
I hope you enjoy it!
Odds Bodkin
Don’t forget to download the companion Glossary below for definitions of archaic words to smooth your read!
CANTO II
LOST KIN FOUND
“Faith is a magic, small but strong.
It eddies near the edge of Fate,
That vast current that flows along
In whorling fortunes, never straight.
Unstoppable as Fate may be,
It sometimes senses Faith's small charm,
Aswirl at its periphery,
And, for its use, breaks off some harm
That otherwise stood in our way.”
So thought Gudrunlod as she steered
The oxcart past children at play
Among the fish crates that she veered
To miss along the thoroughfare.
"Upon his death, I've reached my source.
I guess that's Fate." She tossed her hair
And wished her oxen were a horse.
"A trudging scullion, I appear,
I'm sure," she mused, looking about.
"A fine wench in her eighteenth year,
Sure to attract some hulking lout
No doubt." Displeased, she ambled on
Past women's glares and fishmen's stares
Out doorfronts, storefronts. Whereupon
She wondered which among those pairs
Of eyes her mother might have known.
"Ho, lass!" She turned. There stood a man,
An oxbreadth wide, back hard like stone,
Smiling as coyly as one can
When teeth, like broken battlements,
Grin framed by stubble, wood-rasp tough.
"Now if you got yer common sense,
You'll know that, although I look rough,
That’s only due to lack of care.
The sort a woman might provide."
At that, cap lifted in the air,
An ox he patted, stepped aside,
And cocked his eye to see how she
Responded to his throaty purr.
"Ho, sir," she said, "how gallantly
You rescue me from, as it were,
Nothing at all, save privacy."
The huge lout bowed, then quickly rose,
At first quite pleased, then suddenly
Unsure about the words she chose.
"Say what?" he asked. “Well, what I mean
Is, that I know no one save you,
Privately speaking. Strangers seen
In public, public grow. ‘Tis true."
The hulkish suitor winced, then said:
"Where come you from? What be your name?"
As he the plodding ox team led.
"Not here, but there. My name's a claim
Upon me, too, and mine to know
'Til I have yours, which I do not."
"Fie! Words like weeds in your mouth grow!"
"True. Slim defense, but all I've got,
Large sir," she answered forthrightly.
"We have no girls like you here 'bouts.
You highborn? That it?" "No, not me."
"Forgive me if I share my doubts,
But you, I say, a princess are,
Disguised as the grimepot you look."
"Grimepot. Thank you. I've traveled far
To be insulted and mistook
In the same breath. Still, if you'll tell
This grimy belle where Silya dwelled,
A girl who died in some sea spell . . ."
At that, like tall oaks nearly felled,
The big man teetered as if struck.
"Say not that name along this street!
‘Tis death's name here! It brings ill luck!
You know it? How?” he did entreat.
Surprised, she lied in wariness.
"I . . . heard the story . . . from a friend."
"You've friends here? Who?" "I must confess,
They live not here." "Lass, you pretend
Quite poorly. Still, please be forewarned.
Still, to this day, that name brings dread.
She died here, but was never mourned,
Save by her kin, and most them's dead."
"Someone named Bretta?" "Mind went wild.
Died broken-hearted, once they fled."
"Once who fled?" "Why, the Mage and child.
Look, lass, we can't talk here," he said.
"My Sis and me, we'll take ye in.
‘Tis unwise here to walk and chat.
We two's all's left of Silya's kin.
Big Gald's my name, I'll tell ye that."
Gudrunlod's heart ran wild and quick,
As if her mind it strove to race.
She nodded, then devised her trick
And sweetly lied in Big Gald's face.
"My name is Gayla. Place your claims,
Sir, oh Big Gald, upon me now.
Strangers grow public when their names
They've traded thusly. You've my vow
That I shall well remember yours."
"Gayla, eh? Well, uh, come this way.
If there's one thing this man deplores
‘Tis women with no place to stay."
Continue to Canticle II: Canto III →
Having refused the Mages’ vow of celibacy, Devlin returns to the town. He quickly learns they are not the forgiving sort.