I
As a new and noble knight,
some fearsome fiend I sought to fight.
To uphold pure-hearted pride,
I push my horse, and pounding, ride.
"A ruthless rogue", the poor folk wrote,
"Sacked and stole, and cruelly smote"
"and many men he happ'ly met,
did well with blood his weapon wet".
With this I travel on through thorns,
past brambles, briers, burnt bulls' horns.
Such pagan practice proves this path
the rightful road to ride in wrath.
Long and far, but fast, I flew,
to soon stop before a solemn slew.
Of grieves and greatswords, broken blades,
old bones to fill a hundred graves.
Thus, all astrewn, discarded arms,
truly chilled me - loosed alarms.
From out his den, a killer's drone,
the scraping sound of sharp'ning stone.
A sword held firm, a fight to wage,
approaching reckless, dripping rage.
He stops the stone. He stands and strides.
We quickly clash. No cut collides
That defending, dodging, ducking, dance,
At slits of mail give a glance.
Valiantly, I hew a gap,
t'wards places plates don't overlap.
One-way through, I take my chance,
half-sword hold and trust my lance.
To pierce naught but empty air,
my sword in his stout plate ensnared.
His next blow fell much more square,
and then my life were taken there.
Imagine now, my horror when,
my fate's to haunt the armour's den.
II
The forest's chill seeps through my soul,
death's cold embrace itself extolled.
My limbs are caught in steel embrace,
shattered arms adorn this place.
A pile of skulls rolls 'round my boots,
too great to count. Above, the roots-
of mighty oaks writhe through the stone.
I needn't ask who were these bones.
There! The bodies betray a glint,
four feet in length, and keen as flint.
The swirling iron now I grasp,
I know my doom. I know my task.
Then out! Through briar, field and fen,
though I shall never taste again.
The piercing winds upon my face,
into the town do now I race.
No hearth unturned. No home unspoiled.
No necks are spared my iron's coils.
My only warmth is splattered red,
my only joy a rolling head.
Now back! To that infernal cave,
so many souls' untimely grave.
So many bones' last resting place,
I once again await the chase.
Through rattling airs, there comes to me-
a worthy foe. His sword is free,
His eyes accede an ice-blue wrath,
what fortune should entwine our paths.
Around me, through my blows he weaves,
how swift, how nimble, now he cleaves.
A mighty blow towards my helm -
I stumble back, near overwhelmed.
He comes again. I meet his charge.
I splinter his beleaguered targe,
yet in that act my fate is sealed,
he lunges forth. The armour yields.