The Song of Edward

Sir Edward Senestre
Victorious in Spring Crown Tourney, A.S. XLII

The Song of Edward

In the style of a Chanson de Geste

I
Edric the King, Right Lord of Caid’s Crown,
A worthy Heir he sought, and looking round
He came to spy upon the Tourney field
A host of nobles wielding sword and shield.
Dread Lords and Ladies of the Battle plain
Would fight until there did but one remain.

II
Sir Edward, crafty leader, stalwart foe
Did wish to win the Crown for Mora so
He waded straight into the teeming mass
And here records what then did come to pass…

III
First Ciar, her Ladyship, went forth to fight,
She matched her elder’s pace with martial might
Yet felled she was by Edward’s deathly stroke.
‘O Blaine, I am undone’ was all she spoke.
Good Blaine unsheathed his sword, his echoed cry
Split helms and chain apart as Tempest’s sky.
Unfazed was Edward, being rather deaf,
And smote he Blaine, who took his final breath.

IV
And all about the melee Edward stalked
First one side, then the other seemed to balk.
For battles to and fro so often go,
Until an army renders final blow,
He looked up and espied the Mighty Count;
Great Sven Orfhendur leading his own rout.
Their fight was sinister, as “lefty” blades
Rained down, around, averted and relayed.
Edward did then knock back the Count Sir Sven,
Who vanished shouting, “I’ll see you again!”

V
No time to rest, for Lorccan leapt ahead
Seeking, he was, the Crown on his own head.
“Another foe,” cried Edward, filled with glee,
And drove he Lorccan to a bended knee.
Next came a knight that blocked out light and sun,
The Noble Mansur, azure Saracen.
“Much thanks,” said Ed, “My debt must be repaid!”
“How comforting to battle in the shade!”
He smote the taller man, then sat a spell
And thought he’d earned the rest; yes, earned it well.

VI
But rest was not to be for Ed this day,
A Western Lioness entered the fray,
Said she, “Methinks ye shouldst not sit alone,”
“Come dance in honor of The Crescent Throne!”
“So circle, spin, riposte; attack, defend.”
“As with thyself, so must thy Kingdom tend.”
As quickly as she’d come, she disappeared.
And somehow, left a rose in Edward’s beard.

VII
So few remained to vie for Caid’s Crown…
So few remained to seek the great renown…
Yet those that wanted still were fierce indeed
None fiercer than the crafty Jarl Francesc!
The bull and boar did circle, horn and tusk;
The iron hooves lit sparks in Caid’s dusk
Their battle raged with prowess and with skill
Yet at the end, ‘twas Edward standing still.

VIII
Sir Edward drove himself through every foe.
His sword was dull and bent from every blow.
His shield was warped and cracked from every block.
He threw them down, and quickly taking stock
Of scattered arms and armor ‘cross the earth,
He found a pair of blades of goodly worth.
And as Sir Edward looked across the land,
He saw that one more did against him stand.

IX
The Sloth of Power waited there for him,
Wielding swords and looking fierce and grim.
The two did clash and made a deaf’ning din,
And strongest steel was shredded just like tin.
Then Count Sir Sven did knock Good Edward down,
For justly was his warrior’s renown.
Sir Edward grasped a wayward fallen pike,
Count Sven a polearm with a wicked spike.
They circled, struck, and bashed with all their strength
This bout was epic, both in scale and length,
This second match was Edward’s right and true,
And now both knights knew what they had to do.
The sword and shield would choose who would be King.
So now the “off-hand” chance was a sure thing!
Count Sven and Baron Edward fought their best,
It truly was a wonderful contest.
But Edward struck the final ringing shot,
So Edward would be King and Sven would not.

X
Sir Edward knelt with Mora at his side,
And swore his Oath as best he could to guide
Caid, our land, Their land, the Crescent Place,
By Edward’s might and Mora’s wondrous grace.

— Beorn of the Northern Sea

... is a 13th century Hiberno-Nordman bard and warrior in service to The Bruce. He honors his Irish Mother and Norse Father by boasting, drinking, fighting, eating, and generally making the lives of King Edward’s knights (the English one, not the Caidan one) as miserable as possible.

Copyright

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