THE ROWAN CANTICLES - Canticle II: Canto III - Blooded Life
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 III
BLOODED LIFE
“Love, ‘tis a weed lest it's an oak.
True love the heart’s earth grapples slow,
While false love's promise, quick to poke
Itself upward and spread its show,
Can’t reach the height that time bestows.
Instead, it bursts its heated bloom
And shudders, dying as it grows,
In passing clouds of sweet perfume.
Now, weed or oak, which one is mine?"
Devlin had queried of himself
While stepping down the serrate spine
That linked the Temple's rocky shelf
Across the fosse to solid land.
"An oak, I bet, though my bloom's full,
I must admit. And their demand
That I turn steer instead of bull?
How then with my strange, moonish maid
Would I sire children at my feet?
By incantation? A fool's trade
If anything. No, risk defeat,
But to a grander thing aspire,
King Rowan Fool. That hagborn toad
And all his shavelings with their spire
Will not from me my manhood goad
With promises of heartless days.
No. I've a plan for my fine life.
Against the trees defense I'll raise,
Then take Gudrunlod for my wife.
Sounds dandy. Still, with no futhark,
Or periapt, or charm imbued
With counterspell, I'm yet a mark,
My death to Fate's wall tightly screwed."
So Devlin thought as into town
He made his way, Gald next to see.
Then suddenly, as if to drown
Him, untoward waves leapt past the quay
And fell on him, their added sum
Of froth and force enough to trip,
Then spin him, top-like, on his bum.
Quickly, he found a ring to grip,
Which saved him as the waves reversed,
Sucking him seaward with his sword.
"Great Norns in Warog!" Devlin cursed.
At that, malicious laughter roared
High on the Temple's balcony.
He saw a small group of Mages
Slapping backs uproariously.
"Life's book turns on thinner pages
Than you think, King Rowan Fool!"
The Dwarf Mage from the Temple sang.
Devlin muttered, "You foul pustule,
We'll meet again." He felt a pang
Where certain ribs had struck the curb,
Then, wincing on his insides, rose.
"At least my pages I disturb
With blooded life! Not what you chose!"
He yelled back coarsely, backing off,
Blade drawn and slicing at the air.
Vaguely he thought he heard them scoff.
"Scoff all you like. I do not care,"
He muttered, backing up a street.
A child stared at him from a door.
A swelled rat scuttled past his feet.
A wave searched for him at the shore.
A widow brushed her hair and dreamt
As she her door locked from within.
An old man spat in worn contempt
And doglike, scratched his bony shin.
A seabird keened, lifting away.
A cloud retarded evening's light.
A zephyr paused, then ran to play
Where wind dies in the coming night,
And Devlin, seeing just the child,
Lowered his sword, ruefully smiled,
Grabbed at a stoop where rags were piled
And wiped his face, eyes tired and wild.
Continue to Canticle II: Canto IV →
Gudrunlod and Devlin are both in Peloon, but neither knows it. Meanwhile, Big Gald takes Gudrunlod home where he lives with his sister, Batty, who is not pleased to see the beautiful girl Gald has dragged in.