THE ROWAN CANTICLES - Canto XIII - A Tavern Fight
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 XIII
A TAVERN FIGHT
“Fear and love make a bitter blend.
Love is attraction, fear its end.
To drink them both in the same draught
Turns loving dead and wisdom daft.
Still, most men fear the gods they praise,
Crude rudiments of childhood's days.
Like dogs, they cringe beneath life's fist,
Yet lick it in unwholesome tryst.”
So thought Devlin, as from the dunes
He heard the townsfolk's solemn tunes
Arising from the streets below.
"Another pompish, priestly show.
What fools are these? Where do they go?
To that great temple on the rocks?
Ah yes, seems so, fish folk in flocks.
A fine parade along the quay.
And priests in blue . . . tithes for the sea?
What kingdom this one, I wonder?
Swollen fat, I'd say, with plunder.
At least no Rowans grow in sand.
Just this dune weed that cuts the hand.
Well, best find lodging and some board."
With that, Devlin felt for his hoard
Of gold in pouches at his waist,
Then shook his head, feeling disgraced.
Yes, Devlin missed his Rowan Hills,
Their tumbling streams and tidy mills
Where meadows' wheat was turned to flour,
His uncle's towers tolled the hour,
And all was as a home should be,
Safe for companions, young and free.
The hubbub at the quay had died,
He noticed, as he stepped inside
A fishy inn where tables stood
Beneath beams of some unknown wood.
The squawks of barmaids bit his ears,
Then faded in the hoots and cheers
Of sailors trading lies and lore,
Their hearts at sea, their girls ashore.
His thoughts upon Gudrunlod dwelt.
The tarts in here all gabbed and smelt.
Where was she now? Oh well, why bother?
Cooking goose for her old father.
Foul old wizard, his mat rotting,
Fooling churls, his wax skin spotting
With thin old blood. More, she deserved.
Past Devlin a huge sailor swerved
And knocked his shoulder and his drink.
"Move off, oaf! Damn your fishman's stink!"
Devlin shot back, annoyed and loud.
A silence smote the burly crowd.
All eyes upon the stranger turned.
The woe of lives in those eyes burned.
Cruel injury was daily etched
Upon those faces, lined and stretched.
Outlandish insults passed not here.
The blow struck Devlin on the ear.
He hit the floor, his head thumping.
Youth's first fights, like babies bumping,
Cause hurt tears seldom cannot mend.
It’s easy others to offend,
The effect of proximity
And lack of equanimity.
Our childhood's battles are but brief
And grant a simple, sad relief
To anger's bumptious, awkward plight,
The dissonance of wrong and right.
For Devlin, then, how passing strange
His fury's thoughts to rearrange;
For, as some blood dripped from his ear,
He burst to laughter, loud and clear.
The sea town men sat still, mouths wide,
Confused, unable to decide
Whether their man had won or lost
As Devlin, grinning, legs crisscrossed,
Raised up his flagon to the host
And cheerfully put forth a toast:
"A goodly blow! And well deserved!
Most stinging, aye, and quickly served!
Forgive me, please, my unt'ward oath.
Such accidents might kill us both
And what would be the good of that?"
Then, quick upspringing like a cat,
With sword point flashing through the air,
He plucked the wool cap off the hair
Belonging to the drunken sailor
Who, at that, turned three shades paler.
"Your tuke, stonefist, with health returned.
A fight refused is won, I've learned,
At least when over paltry things.
Look. See? The wench, two ales she brings.
There's one for you, here's one for me.
So, here's to sailors, stink and sea!"
Sometimes the best of friends are made
When blows, not smiles, at first they trade.
If weakness neither can detect,
The draw that's called yields up respect.
In this way, Devlin met Big Gald,
For thusly was the sailor called.
Soon the balm of admiration
Soothed the sting of altercation.
"Rowans? Don’t know. Bitter magic?
A good friend's death? Aye, that's tragic.
An herb-clad girl who drugged your tea?
Crone’s Head? Fie, that be news to me.
Outside, ye seen the Ones in Blue?
They captain Demons. Aye, 'tis true.
The Gates of Warog. Demonrealm.
No thanks. Better a dead man's helm
Upon an angry, checkered sea,
Than truck with that fell company.
Move winds and currents 'cross the tide
They can. Make a big storm subside;
Turn it to a quiet zephyr.
Ho, Snorra lass! Be you deaf? Her
Ears, for a barmaid, are well-plugged.
More ales! Aye! Now, you say, when drugged,
You saw things wasn't even there?
How does one that? Do it compare
With reelin' walls and spinnin' head?
They say the Mages' eyes bleed red."
So spoke Gald between Devlin's smiles.
His thoughts had drifted many miles
Into a room, with herbs festooned,
Where sat his heart, by fate marooned,
As if it now outside him beat,
Its rhythm halting, incomplete.
Continue to Canto XIV →
Camped on the dunes above Peloon, Gudrunlod and Harcto can see the Temple where, unbeknownst to her, he once was a powerful Water Mage. Haunted in her dreams by her nameless mother’s ghost, Gudrunlod senses that the truth is here, in this place.
It's time once again to sit around the fire
and listen to the Bard
who sings of lives lived, fights fought,
and loves won hard.
Hear now the music behind it
hear now the bard's voice
hear now the Canto thirteen
and in it, the contained choices.