THE ROWAN CANTICLES - Canticle I - Canto VIII - Escape of the Thieves
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 VIII
ESCAPE OF THE THIEVES
Bad men are fools who play the fox.
Trickstered by desperation’s shocks,
They steal the more, and care the less,
Until they’re caught, their lives a mess.
But, as bold liars, all attempt
To spin amicus from contempt.
With thoughts outdone, most juries hang,
Sparing smart thieves the jail door’s clang.
"A plan." "A plan?" "That's what we need."
"A plan? Whose plan?" "Our plan!" "Indeed?"
Goodpelf and Grodoo stood in stocks,
Smashed eggs and spit caked in their locks.
A day, the thieves had suffered there,
Wide targets in South Stitch’s square.
A hail of offal, slops and rot
Was for their plotting all they'd got.
At first the crowds had been irate
––A sea of faces, squinched in hate––
All hefting pitchforks, scythes and knives,
Who’d had them fearing for their lives.
At last, derision, though, prevailed.
The crowds laughed, even as they railed
And left, tar feathers to prepare.
“‘Tis bad enough, eggs in my hair,”
Gulped Grodoo, retching in his dread,
"How gets one tar from off one's head?"
"In your case, best to slice it off,"
Goodpelf said with an angry scoff.
He eyed the hayseed village square.
"Oh, good. A knife the tar will pare?"
"Your head, was more my point, you fool.
What sense to save an unused tool?"
"At that, Goodpelf, umbrage I take.
Whose plot was it this sale to make?"
"And who lay sleeping in his fat
Instead of guarding? What of that?"
Thusly they argued to and fro,
Watching some townsfolk come and go.
Ignominious, the pair’s plight
Grew worse as day drove fast t'ward night.
"Well what suggest you that we do?
These stocks are oak. The pins are yew.
There's no soul 'bout who'll pull them out.
I'll walk bent for a year no doubt."
Goodpelf ignored his comrade's gripes.
His eye was sharp for foolish types,
Those gullible for lack of wit,
The ones whose clothes did not quite fit,
Who, from hard birth or injury,
Lived hoodwinked by credulity.
Such a man Goodpelf was eyeing
Across the square––a fool trying
His own long shadow to outrun.
Three dizzy turns he just had spun
But that had not quite peeled it off.
Politely, he his hat did doff,
Giggling as it did do the same.
"A shadow sticks just like a name!"
Hallooed Goodpelf, turning the fool,
"Unless imprisoned, as a rule!"
With utmost quizzicality,
Brows knit to spy reality,
The simpleton advanced in haste
So as no moment's beans to waste.
To Goodpelf's face, up close he drew
And disjunct words began to spew:
"I wonder true! Collapse me not!
We spy it! There! Take all we got!
Prison what? Yes, and fast away!
A shadow in your shadow play
Has flat flesh! Sticky stuff! Sticky!
Stuck at my feet! Must think tricky.
Beans! Beans! Collapse me not! True! True!"
As his false grin now split anew,
Goodpelf wondered what words to choose,
This dolt's perceptions to abuse:
"Indeed, quite so, oh, learned friend.
But listen close, for I intend
A gem of wisdom to impart
'Twill overawe the stoutest heart."
"Indeed he will," piped up Grodoo,
Unsure what Goodpelf planned to do,
But knowing well his friend's arched eye
When Goodpelf planned to tell a lie.
"To unpeel shadows takes sweet time,
An undertaking most sublime.
Pilloried must they firmly be
Next to their owners, quite unfree
To hide from sunlight as they do.
See? Look, yours hides there, behind you!
It’s stocks you need to loose its glue.
A shame we've got the only two."
The simpleton grabbed at his chin
And thought how life, with cruel chagrin
And Fate’s rede, put it past his ken
To stand in stocks just like these men.
"Quite right! My shadow's nearly peeled!"
Hooted Grodoo, the ruse revealed
Enough to him to spark his wit––
A fire of fictions, quickly lit.
"A shadow-free life? ‘Tis the best!
Why, costs half as much to get dressed!
Where is it, all that food you eat?
You feeds your shadow through your feet!
‘Tis true! ‘Tis true! Few men know this.
‘Tis . . . collapsible. Shade's abyss
Is where all shadows have their birth.
Why, being rid of them, well, ‘tis worth
Time in these stocks, right Goodpelf friend?
"Yes, yes, it is. In fact, the end
Of our fine stay is nearly due."
"You're right! A moment more or two . . ."
"And anyone might have our place."
At this, delight lit up the face
The simpleton shared with the world,
As if a banner had unfurled.
"Collapse me not! We spy it true!
Take it! Take it! That we'll do!"
And that he did, releasing pins
That held those two, so soaked with sins,
Who paid him final courtesy
By locking him quite gleefully
Into the stocks amidst the slops
As pointed shadows from the tops
Of buildings near that village square
Grew longer in the dusky air
Until they, too, like dreams, faded
Into night, where all is shaded.
Continue to Canto IX →
Wherein Gudrunlod and her father Harcto ride their oxcart north toward the sea, and we learn that Harcto was once a powerful, demon-leashing Water Mage.
I love to close-read the text of each installment, first, slowly, to savor the words, and then listen and enjoy the audio performance bring it to life!