(The Trials Of Sir Howard)

Oh what a tale of woe but true ,

my friends I now relate to you,

of Oak and Englishmen I knew

and power most corrupt,

Perchance you may have heard my name?

Sir Howard, once of Nottingham,

though it matters little who I am,

for my death may be abrupt.

This was once a land of fun and pleasure,

with justice shared in equal measure

to any noble knight that ever

stood by Richard's side,

and many times I'd stood his side,

fought with valour and with pride

until an arrow almost left me blind

and I returned home on the tide.

On returning, to a friend I mentioned

that Prince John could pay much more attention

to Richard's men, held in detention,

I swear, that's all I said,

But it seems my friend was Prince John's lackey,

and no sooner had I turned my back, he

told Prince John, leaving out the fact, he

had agreed with what I said,

Three weeks since I've been arrested,

my innocence strongly protested,

yet still I'm beaten and molested,

my goods and chattel seized.

Towards the castle I am harried

my clothes the only goods I carry

and whipped if I should fall or tarry,

and no one to speak for me.

At the castle, where a crowd has gathered,

like a sacrificial lamb I'm tethered,

while the crowd throw rancid fruit, but never

even ask my name,

As I'm led inside someone yells "Traitor",

then comes a hail of lettuce and tomatoes,

the more vicious throwing hard potatoes,

and on the onslaught came.

Then into the dankest dungeon I am thrown

for crimes to me, as yet unknown,

on the whim of he who sits the throne,

there in his brother's stead.

My dungeon's doors fling open wide

and three hooded men step quick inside,

behind my back my hands are tied,

a hood pulled o're my head.

then further down the steps I'm taken

to the realms of those poor souls, forsaken,

for treason real or perchance mistaken,

for the sake of young Prince John.

I spake no ill against this royal,

and in no treason am I embroiled,

yet my hopes of freedom have been foiled

as the gaolers drag me on.

Towards a cell with blood-soaked floor,

where my screams of pain will be ignored

by those who will inflict much more

than any man can stand.

Hot irons pressed against my thigh,

my tormentors laugh the more I cry,

and I pray that God will let me die

as they slowly crush my hands.

These inquisitors are the very best,

and torture me till I confess

and in my pain beg them for death,

these cruel, hard-hearted men.

The Axe-man stands in jet black shroud

before a huge and hostile crowd

as before the axe-man's block I bow

prepared to meet my end.

But before the fatal blow is landed

the crowd fall silent, all astounded,

as a booming voice commanded,

"Axe-man, stay your blow".

The voice, familiar to our ears,

although unheard for many years,

the crowd and I are brought to tears,

King Richard has come home.

He remembers me, a noble knight,

that fought with honour at his right

until a wound impaired my sight,

amidst the surging throng.

Thus in his voice his anger flared,

he decreed that I'd been judged unfair,

and demanded that my life be spared,

for I had done no wrong.

Prince John conceded his request,

though reluctantly, I would suggest

after all, in truth, I had confessed,

albeit in duress.

Now safely with my family,

who dutifully tend my every need

and dress my wounds that still yet bleed

and cause us all distress.

Oft times at night, whilst I'm alone,

I pray Prince John, ne'r gains the throne,

for his forgiveness is, all but unknown

amongst King Richard's men,

and King Richard soon returns to war,

Prince John will rule this realm once more

and he I think, in fact I'm sure,

will seek a grim revenge.

By S.E.Ralph

14-4-2013