http://www.mbouchard.com/misc/The-Minstrel-and-the-King.mp3
Above is a basic recording of this piece.
Said the king unto the minstrel
Late last year your kind came here
filling heads with dreams of glory
absent of a war’s true fear
Heard these tales my sweeting son did
Sang them as he learned to lead
and spoke of war as if a lover
and warriors though a dying breed
He has training of a soldier
like all men of noble birth.
His sword and harness ancient make
Their owner deep within the earth.
My best commander sent his herald
Running into my last court
With news that foes were now spreading;
a full-on war we’d not abort.
I would take the heart of that minstrel
in my hand until it ceased
I would drink his blood until my cup ran clear.
Every crow sounds like his singing
each steeple bell that jongleur’s ringing
I would drain my coffers to have silence near
And cease the sound of clapping in my ear….
My graceful son was in the corner
polishing his armor old.
I called his name he did not answer
and the door was down in winter cold.
He took with him his five best men,
though two of them are barely grown.
I cannot bear the thought of them
riding to a death I’ll own.
I would take the heart of that minstrel
in my hand until it ceased
I would drink his blood until my cup ran clear.
Every crow sounds like his singing
each steeple bell that jongleur’s ringing
I would drain my coffers to have silence near
And cease the sound of clapping in my ear….
You’ve one last breath to tell a tale
that will outlive you in this strife
to honor my boy’s love of story –
though it will not spare your life.
For tales and songs did take my lad
each one was truth, so thought my son
which led our youth to take up arms
and ride where they will be undone.
I would take the heart of that minstrel
in my hand until it ceased
I would drink his blood until my cup ran clear.
Every crow sounds like his singing
each steeple bell that jongleur’s ringing
I would drain my coffers to have silence near
And cease the sound of clapping in my ear….
The minstrel looked at captor King
and saw the grieving in his eyes,
“This may my final story be,
I swear to you it holds no lies.”
As I came past the foreign borders
I saw five lads on horses tall.
one of them spoke like a king
commanding over one and all
A hero from another time –
as though a legend had took flesh
behind marched weary retinue
with eyes a-shining and refreshed.
Seeing that this way I came
the commander said these words to me:
“Tell our King his son turned the tide –
all hearing him have sworn to keep us free.”
Would you still take the heart of that minstrel
in your hand until it ceased?
Would you drink his blood until your cup ran clear?
Every crow sounds like his singing
each steeple bell that jongleur’s ringing
Would you drain your coffers to have silence near?
And miss the sound of clapping in your ear?
And miss your people clapping in your ear?
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This song was written after returning from Pennsic XLI, as a sort of reaction to my own questions about what bards do, and what their role is in the SCA. It’s a bit about both camps of people who appreciate and don’t appreciate the form, and also it’s an homage to the fighting field – where I often long to be…perhaps because I am inspired to tell tales like this one after I’ve been there.