The Soldier Part 4

A thing where I only write every second piece. Sorry it took so long to get back round to it.

A.P. (I am sure he has a name but for the purposes of this we shall go with A.P.) asked me if I fancied some sort of collaboration thing when he writes a piece then I follow.

I was asked to do this before and I wanted to and then I realised I have less time than I would like to really make an effort so I didn’t do it.  Nothing has changed but this time I said yes and so A.P. goes and makes a quite eloquent and intriguing post and I figured I better get it done as it would be frightfully rude not to so I seem to have written the follow up piece below.

There weren’t really any rules other than he does a piece then I do.


The soldier part 4

Part 1
Part 2

Part 3

The amber district is many things to many people, but not one those who call it home choose to do so.  If it were a wife then it would be a stooped old crone with less sense than teeth, though possessing very little of both by most acceptable standards.  Were it a friend then it would surely be the duplicitous wife stealer of a compadre with a taste for the warm wet crone mouth.  Were it a husband then it would surely be the never home and whore addled…well you get the idea.

It was a most unpleasant place indeed and not somewhere that you would choose to spend your holiday or even a long weekend.

With no idea of where she ought to be Tes pulled the cowl of her cloak around her ears and with eyes downcast walked through the tall stone archway that lead to the main market.  Unfamiliar smells assaulted her nostrils and made her eyes water and the buzz and bustle of the market filled her ears.

“Hey Darlin’” came a voice over the hubbub.  “You after something special then?” Somehow she knew it was aimed at her and she couldn’t help but look over. “What can I get for you?”

He was dressed in the usual mix of rags and dirt of most of the people down here, his face worn and wrinkled.  A broad smile met her as she looked up at him.

“No thank you “ she said nervously and turned away.

“Oh come on” he continued.  “Whatever you need I can get for you.  You after a young boy maybe?”

Tes shook her head.

“Girl?”

She turned slowly to face him again.

“I need neither thank you kindly and I would suggest that perhaps…”

“Oh blimey, I know you” he said raising a finger in her direction.  “You really better be careful down here sweetheart there are those that might well not take kindly to you being here.”

Tes looked about worried, pulling her hood further over her face.  He could see her nervousness and lowered his finger and spoke more quietly.

“You might want to come with me” he said his broad smile now gone from his face.  “I think there’s someone you might want to see.”

 

The Soldier Part 2

A thing where I only write every second piece

A.P. (I am sure he has a name but for the purposes of this we shall go with A.P.) asked me if I fancied some sort of collaboration thing when he writes a piece then I follow.

I was asked to do this before and I wanted to and then I realised I have less time than I would like to really make an effort so I didn’t do it.  Nothing has changed but this time I said yes and so A.P. goes and makes a quite eloquent and intriguing post and I figured I better get it done as it would be frightfully rude not to so I seem to have written the follow up piece below.

There weren’t really any rules other than he does a piece then I do.

Oh well this is what I managed today between going to the tip, taking the boys to rugby, making dinner and then watching a film…

This is Part 1


The King sat and waited with a patience that he seldom enjoyed.  Things in the palace were often so frightfully dull and for once there was cause for some excitement.

“Is it done” he asked as Bentwhistle laboured back through the room, the guards following closely behind.  It wasn’t every day your sworn enemy met his doom so it was something to be savoured.

“Yes my Lord, he is banished.” Bentwhistle replied bowing ever so slightly and wringing his hands.  “He will trouble you no more your majesty.”  As much as he was a fool he was also still the King, and if he was to maintain any sway over the kingdom he needed to ensure that he kept his ear and protected his position.

The King’s face brightened measurably.  “Oh that is good” he said clapping his hands like a young child.  “So very good indeed, he really was quite the trouble maker you know.  He did have me worried Bentwhistle, most troubled for sure.”

“He shall trouble you no more my liege, from this day forth he will know only the pain of an existence beyond this plain and for eternity the separation that a traitor deserves.”  Bentwhistle smiled as he said this showing off blackened teeth in his dark red mouth.  “

“And there’s no way back you say?” The King asked, still somewhat wary of anything that would challenge his throne.  “Mother would not be happy if he was to return, you know how she is.”

“He is gone my Lord, there is no return from the Beyond.”

“Oh how excellent, Mother will be most pleased.” He said excitedly, his overly large head wobbling on a neck that seemed to struggle to keep the body and the head connected in anything other than a haphazard fashion.

The King reached for his cup.  “A toast” he shouted loudly raising his cup into the air, wine sloshing from it onto the bounty of food laid out before him.  The gathered court sat at long tables before him raised their glasses as they stood to their feet.

“To me” the King cried with great excitement and it echoed back.

“To King Luther” the court cried with little excitement over the banishment but considerably more gusto given the wine was now likely to flow all night.  They raised their cups to the king and drank deep.

As the gathered dignitaries and officials tucked into the feast before them Bentwhistle backed slowly away from the king and slipped away through a side door behind the dais upon which the throne sat.  There were things to be arranged and with everyone otherwise engaged this was the perfect opportunity.

Sir Brian of the Small Hands

Its not really all it seems

Its a tale, old and true, through the ages to you

a man good, brave and noble quite grand

he’s from stories of old, and songs sung and yarns told

stout of heart but alas such small hands

 

From when he was a lad, he would say to his dad

One day I,  will for sure, be a knight

But alas his dad feared and he scratched his long beard

Not convinced that in fact his son might

 

For his hands so quite small, even though he was tall

And a sword he could surely not hold

It would fall from his grip, to the ground it would slip

Left defenceless alone in the cold

 

“Perhaps it’s not for you” , said his dad, his heart blue

“Maybe you should consider your trade

Jesters are in demand and with your tiny hands

You would surely have your fortune made

 

You can dance, perform tricks, they will laugh, give you tips

You can jape, as they point at your fingers

Dressed as harlequin king, telling jokes then you sing

Of the Celts cross the sea, all such gingers

 

Okay so I will stop there.  Ever start a post and persist and persist and then realise you’re wasting your time?  Well this was one of those.  For some reason I got into my head that a poem about a knight with small hands called Brian would be a good idea.  I like to think I am pretty creative but beyond the title that is all I had.  I started to write and got a few nicely rhymed bits done and then kind of backed myself into a corner.

Instead of stopping what I did was keep going which was a bad idea because beyond King, knight and jester I wasn’t wholly convinced of what other jobs you’d have in medieval times.  Priest?  Blacksmith?  Boil Lancer?  Pot Emptier?  So another bad idea there obviously.

I did toy with the ridiculous and there will forever be remembered the missing verse where I discussed just how much bigger things seem when held in small hands.  I thought for a while that it was funny then realised it sounded like it involved a child’s hands and a grown mans…well you know.  I quickly deleted it.

I was then going to try and make it some sort of political commentary on Donald Trump which just made me think that I should perhaps shut the hell up because there are limits to weirdness and an allegorical tale about Donald Trump through the medium of a small handed knight is just stupid.

So this is it.  A lesson in knowing when to say enough is enough because as much as you might like your title and the noble looking photo you found on pixabay sometimes there just aren’t enough words to rhyme with hands…