This is a noble story

Sir Mons von Goarshausen
fallen in Fall Crown Tourney A.S. XLIII

This is a noble story / of a battle brave and bold,
A hero seeking glory, / equal to knights of old,
Of victory and struggle, / of his beloved’s fears,
Of deadly swords a-juggle, / this tale flies to please all your ears.

There is a maid in our Caid / of beauty, charm and grace.
Men know her name, Arianna, / and vie to behold her face,
An artist with a needle and cloth, / she dances light as feather,
A smile to melt a winter’s frost, / to thaw it as would sunny weather.

There also dwells in our Caid / a knight of noble bearing,
By Guillaume and Felinah / raised to the chain he’s wearing.
His name is Mons, and many / do say it with great acclaim,
For he is well known here / for his prowess at arms and good aim.

To fair Arianna were given / Sir Mons’ heart and his sword,
And he has her favor, winning / where failed many a noble lord.
For her he’d charge into battle / striking with all his might,
Burning with noble fire / to succeed, to prevail in each skirmish or fight.

His second quest for the crown, / to inherit from Edward Rex,
Came in the heat of summer, / when sun its great damage wreaks.
He thought, “Should I not be worthy, / for if I were to win this day,
The crown would grace my brow, / and my lofty pursuit thus it would allay.

The weight would be rather heavy, / the duties would be manifold,
But next to my Arianna / I am certain that I would hold.”
And so with his squire and his lady / he readied to march to the field,
To fight with all of his mettle, / to fall if he must but not ever to yield.

Ciar ingen Daire for Gareth / fought bravely, but could not prevail.
Sir Mons then Jimena Montoya’s / hopes melted as sun melts hail.
And so undefeated, he ventured / to face Frances, a former king,
Two warriors clashed in a battle / of which bards would be wise yet to sing.

Still winning, Mons faced Sir Ragnar / who stood as a castle stands strong.
The two were well matched as brothers, / so a battle to praise in our songs
Ranged fiercely across the hot eric / till victory fell to deserving Sir Mons,
Who bowed, exhausted, to Ragnar / and assembled knights, ladies, lords, dons…

And then came Jarl Drogo to battle, / whose head still remembered the crown.
Would he get it all back in this round, / would he raise his Ithuna’s renown?
The destiny was against him / for it still with Sir Mons had to play.
Though still undefeated, our hero / was starting to tire this thundering day.

He fell to the Hertzog Dietrich, / a poet, a ruler, a fighter.
Today of all days, he could see it,/ was not a good day to falter.
So close that he could touch it, / the beacon of the royal fame
Is there today for the taking, / and oh, how bright is its gloried flame!

To see but not grasp is painful, / as Mons was to learn that day.
Sven was not to be stopped by any / who tried his return delay.
Mons was brave, he was strong and nimble, / but none of that was enough
When Sven took the field to show / that today he did not come to bluff.

Now future will only show / what may befall our hero,
For he is the one for glory / though it failed to claim him here.
While Arianna is watching, / he is on an upwards slope —
And thus is my story ending, / but not yet Sir Mons’s bright hope.

— Liudmila

...is a daughter of a Moscow boyar, of blessed memory, who lost most of his estate and his life in the early reign of Our Father the Tsar Ivan Vasilievich. Married to a foreign merchant, she is allowed to keep to her ways and does not have to wear unseemly Western garb or do unseemly Western things (occasional ventures into Western or Eastern poetry excluded).

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