T’was at the court of Camelot,

They met and thus did speak,

A gamely youth, a boy in truth,

With anger flushed of cheeks,

He had ridden hard for many days,

On an old and tired steed,

Rode so hard the truth to say,

Yon horses flanks didst bleed,

Now here he stood and face to face,

With the cause of his concern,

Prepared to fight this older knight,

Else die, ne’re  to return,

This older knight of which we speak,

Respected through the land,

Yet known by all, save but a fool,

To be a ladies man,

And not too choosy rumor held,

And the tongues of gossips said,

If the lady be a maiden free,

Or a woman duly wed,

As was this young mans mother,

So fine and fair of face,

The very kind the knight would choose,

Abuse and then disgrace,

As for the young mans father,

He chose not to fight, but run,

And leave the honour of his wife,

To the vengeance of his son,

Thus is the picture painted,

Of events that lead to this,

Lust, love and dishonour,

And one mans cowardice,

The scene was set, the rivals met,

And the young mans razor tongue,

With words designed to assault the mind,

With accusations flung,

“Thou call thou self a chivalrous knight?

Thoust knows not it’s meaning sir,

More honour hast my fathers swine,

Or any rabid cur”,

The knight’s reply came just as curt,

And equally as sharp,

He played this game, time and again,

With words to pierce the heart,

“Fair maidens come, fair maidens go,

All’s fair in love and war,

Thy mother was a gamely wench,

But fun and nothing more,

So show me not thy childish rage,

Lest in doing so thou should  engage,

A knight who’s patience pales before mine own,

Take my advice young sir, retreat,

For never once, while my heart beats,

Will such as thee hear such as I atone”,

With that the youth threw down his glove,

The challenge had been made,

Both knight and youth now knew in truth,

This ended at the grave,

Each drew their sword and rushed toward,

The other at the run,

And the clang of steel would soon reveal,

That battle had begun,

A crowd began to gather,

As cut and thrust prevailed,

And “Oh No! my son, forgive me”,

A woman somewhere wailed,

Alas her cries would go unheeded,

Her pleas would come to naught,

Drowned out by the frenzied crowd,

That cheered the ones who fought,

Though the youth was far more agile,

Experience will tell,

For the knight had done this many times,

And soon the younger fell,

“Yield to me boy, Yield to me,

Yield to me, elst thou die”,

“I would rather die with honour sir,

Than yield”, was his reply,

“So be it then, so be it,

Prepare to meet thou death”,

But as he raised his sword aloft,

An arrow pierced his chest,

“What treachery is this?” he cried,

“What treachery abounds?”

As the sword slipped slowly from his grip,

And he fell toward the ground,

From whence the arrow came from,

Was impossible to say,

Though some recalled, along the wall,

A woman ran away,

And the bow they found was lightly strung,

As befits a woman’s strength,

Yet no sign was found within the grounds,

Though a search was done at length,

Some say the knight deserved his fate,

Whilst others disagree,

Though most concur, that day for sure,

Spelt the end of chivalry.

By S.E.Ralph

20-10-2006