Called the Captain

A song for Cedric of Armorica and the Eastern Unbelted Champions of Pennsic XL.
To listen or download, go here:  http://mbouchard.com/misc/Called-the-Captain.mp3

Go, go, go – came the call from the captain
Go, go, go – take our land back, he cried.
We will go, go, go as we are commanded
And our rivals will go to a man or will die.

Thirty-five men marched into the sunlight;
Thirty-five men shouted their battle cry;
Thirty-five men knew that they had a story,
That they would be victors no man would deny.

Many years passed since this field had been theirs,
Now held by the dragon for many a day.
They to a man swore they would take it or perish
And write with their own blood the end of this play.

Go, go, go – came the call from the captain
Go, go, go – take our land back, he cried.
We will go, go, go as we are commanded
And our rivals will go to a man or will die.

Over the wintering they practiced and plotted.
One with a spear would fight one with a sword.
The pole met the axe, shattering both in darkness;
Weapons and men were thus stronger reforged.

Some were the fire and others the water.
Cedric did hammer, Feral stoked the flame.
Folded with each blow were patterns of tigers,
When summer emerged they were ready for fame.

Go, go, go – came the call from the captain
Go, go, go – take our land back, he cried.
We will go, go, go as we are commanded
And our rivals will go to a man or will die.

To the field brothers, came clarion call,
Into the dragon-men girded with red.
They stood but a heartbeat then took up the charge
And in less than one minute the dragons were dead.

A moment of silence – no sound but the birds…
Men fell to their knees and raised fists to the sky,
Then all pulled together with full understanding
That this battle was theirs indeed none could deny.

Go, go, go – came the call from the captain
Go, go, go – take our land back, he cried.
We will go, go, go as we are commanded
And our rivals will go to a man or will die.

Go, go, go – came the call from the captain
Go, go, go – take our land back, he cried.
We will go, go, go as we are commanded
And our rivals have gone to a man or have died.

 

**  **  **  **  **  **  **  ** **  **  **  **

I will confess to being kind of…fond, we’ll say, of the Pennsic XL Eastern Ubelted Champions. I will also admit that the battle at Pennsic XL was one of the most fantastic things I’ve witnessed on a field. Swift and brutal, it and the men who warred in it, were an inspiration. Cedric of Armorica was the Captain of this team, and this is a song about him and the team he led to victory. (And for Karl, I made sure it wasn’t too slow!)

The Links of Virtue

The Links of Virtue

To listen to a learning version of this song, click here: http://www.mbouchard.com/misc/Links-of-Virtue.mp3

As the chain holds many links
So the Knight holds many virtues
Let them be strong as your arm
Let them be tempered as your love.
For it is not the chain you wear
Or the spurs or cloth of white
But the one beneath these things
Who all have seen,
and rightly called thee Knight.

Upon your arms wear loyalty
for you have sworn to king and country.
A helm of hope set on your brow
that all shall see it in the fight.
Guarding your knees, humility
for where you kneel, all will be watching.
About your waist wear honor proud
that all may see your values glow.

As the chain holds many links…

Wear your faith around your neck
for no gorget better protects you.
Mercy’s gauntlet upon each hand
that brighter shine with actions kind.
Bind your courage against your breast
that bravado find no purchase.
Nail to each sole, obedience
that you may walk where you are asked.

As the chain holds many links….

Endurance buckle to each leg
for there will be some marches long.
Wear prowess strapped across your back
to push you when the need is dire.
Your heart leave open, behind no shield –
It will be guarded by your brothers
For it is there that Chivalry
Is the chain about us all.

As the chain holds many links
So the Knight holds many virtues
Let them be strong as your arm
Let them be tempered as your love.
For it is not the chain you wear
Or the spurs or cloth of white
But the one beneath these things
Who all have seen,
and rightly called thee Knight.

For it is not the chain you wear
Or the spurs or cloth of white
But the one beneath these things
Who all have seen,
and rightly called thee Knight.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

This song was inspired by those members of the Order of Chivalry who to me truly embody the graces that a Knight ought to have. I see such people armored with the many chivalric virtues not merely when they are “playing” in the SCA, but who never remove those virtues, regardless of event, circumstance, life in general – some of those people are close to me and I am honored to know them and be graced with their friendship.  This is a song for those men and women.

There are also many I know who hold these virtues but who have not been (yet) recognized as members of the Order of Chivalry, but who are, to me, certainly very worthy. I am confident that they know who they are.

And it is, finally, dedicated to Sir Ivar Volosatoi, who, before he was Sir Ivar, asked me during Pennsic XL if I could sing during his Knighting ceremony a song I had written for the Eastern Unbelted Champions team. I could not be at the event, John Barleycorn, but wished to send something in my stead. It was delivered by some of the most lovely voices in the East, who learned it from listening to a recording and sang it to him on September 10, AS 46.

 Enormous thanks to the lovely ladies Sabine de Kerbriant, Suba Al-Hadid, Marion Quyn, and Ysmay dle Lynn and Judith Fitzhenry for bearing this gift with their beautiful voices.  Their performance can be seen in this video of the first part of Sir Ivar’s Knighting ceremony.



I Am Eastern

A song for the East. Conceived by Countess Svava, Count Thorson, Sir Antonio Patrasso (and me) around the breakfast table after spring Crown Tourney, AS46. Suitable for all fighters, and can even be sung in a round!

I am Eastern, I am Eastern

So are you, So are you

Let’s go beat the midrealm, Let’s go beat the midrealm

With a stick, With a stick

 

Sung to the honorable tune, Frere Jaques.

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Laurel Scroll for Lord Tristan de Worrell

Laurel Scroll written for Lord Tristan de Worrell, presented at East Kingdom Court at the Pennsic War 40, AS46

Beneath the bright aurora’s light
A wise man with his cart here stands,
St. Eligius’ student greets the night
with kindly eyes and worthy hands.

Within his cheery wooden cart
are cheeses soft, or wrapped in rind,
and wines so sweet, and wines so tart,
and sausages his hands did grind.

In Boxes fine of carv-ed wood
Pierced-work and repoussé do shine.
By Champlevé* so bright and good
Are roundels of ancient design.

His curve-ed spoons shine like the sun;
His tents give shelter from its rays;
His baskets from the trees are spun;
His Songbird’s song echoes for days.

Love Conquers All, the words do read,
His Truth is carved upon wood arms.
Other good things that one might need,
And time, he gives free as small charms.

This man, Lord Tristan de Worrell
By works of beauty fine and rare
Is now bedeck’d with sweet laurel
And garners thus his treatment fair.

Take this man now into your fold
And give him leaves of shining green
That all may freely now behold
This Laurel of such gentle mien.

Arms are granted, fully able
to display in etch-ed copper
Or, two boars combattant sable
base a wooden barrel proper.

Now Forty-six, the year we mark
Forty years of the Pennsic War
Here ten days into Augusts’ arc
Tristan takes all Eastern rapport.

Thus in the Mighty Eastern Court
By King Lucan this writ is signed,
In full with Jana Queen’s support
That Tristan now is Laurel-kind.

**(shomp leevay)

The Sad Thistle

Once a to a thistle came a bee
which upon his stem alighted
to consort with blossoms sweet;
the thistle was delighted.

Said the thistle to the bee,
You fear not my greeny thorn,
It is plain that we could love
better than all others born.

I see you have a thorn yourself,
A maiden so protected
Could nestle in my filmy down
By prickles unaffected.

The bee she drank his nectar fine
Buzzing her wings in gentle song
Dancing her dance upon his leaves
Kissing blossoms the day long.

Swooning in the highland wind
The thistle felt his joy ignited
But as his petals slowly drained,
His love, alas, was unrequited.

With golden pollen now bedecked
the merry bee flew to her hive.
The thistle wept a milky tear
bereft of love and now deprived.

Young men and maids hear this tale
Love not those who do briefly tarry
Be not the longing thistle here
who too quick loves and is not wary.

Like flighty bee you should eschew
Who samples each and every flower
Armed with stinger near and sharp
to first seduce and then devour.

But in all loves be tempered true
For love will find you where you are.
Think of the thistle and the bee
E’re you set your heart too far.

 

A poem for no other reason than that it seemed that two common, prickly things which were not afraid of each other might fall in love, and that it might work beautifully. That was how this started in my head, but the poem decided that it would be, alas, a cautionary tale instead…