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For months the wooden halls bustled with frenzied activity and slowly [[The Feast|the feast]] that was to become one of the largest weddings [[Hillfort]] had seen took form. Lord Morien had made it clear that even though the lands were troubled and struggling his beloved daughter would have the wedding he had promised her, with [[Maelgwyn]] following in suit. He didn’t want to anger his new bride or her family and he would rather overspend than risk the ire of Sir Dynbals prickled pride. So it was that even though the winter winds howled and the snow lay heavy on the thatched roof of [[Chillmark]] a grand feast was prepared: cart after cart of wine and beer was heaved into the overflowing cellars, butchers and bakers worked until their hands were numb and nimble messengers plowed through the snow to deliver invitations and orders. ‘’A bear perhaps?’’ [[Maelgwyn]] furrowed his brow and gazed inquiringly at his young Chaplain. [[Uriens]] son lacked the fierceness of his father and in times like these, when [[Maelgwyn]] yearned for wise and direct counsel, the young man seemed desperately inept. ‘’Are you suggesting we have a bear baiting in the great hall… next to the noble ladies and lord Morien?’’ Meical squirmed away his lord’s gaze and started stuttering as his cheeks turned crimson. ‘’Perhaps not… I was… It was… The entertainment…’’ With a heavy sight [[Maelgwyn]] remembered his oath to count [[Roderick]], binding his tongue and sparing his words. ‘’For another feast it’s a splendid idea.’’ Meical blinked and uncurled his back, like a dog expecting a firm kick but realizing that it had nothing to fear from its new master. They both fell silent and contemplated their entertainment conundrum. They had already procured a skilled harpist and a beggar boy who some said could make any man roar with laughter using only grimaces and burps but for the high table nobler performances was in order; at least until the wine had done its duty. ‘’Perhaps Monmouth?’’ The name rang unfamiliar with [[Maelgwyn]] and with a raised eyebrow he begged his chaplain to continue. ‘’He’s a poet my lord. Residing in Sarum at the moment… he was sometimes brought to the cloister as a teacher when brothers fell ill.’’ Meical studied the lord’s face as he contemplated the advice and as Maelgwyn’s thin lips spread into a warm smile he dared himself to smile back. ‘’That’s an excellent idea Meical! An homage to my beloved wife and both our families would be in apt order for the wedding, send for him.’’ Meical scampered to his quarters to looking for ink and quill; satisfied that he had helped his lord but also that he would, hopefully, soon see Monmouth busty daughter again. == The Poem == As fires roared and toasts rang across the crowded hall the high tables attention rested on Monmouth. He was by all account not a beautiful man, his face like a narrow pale egg on which his features seemed to have fought an uneven battle against each other for room. His ears were laughably large, his teeth crooked and his nose seemed to have been pinched by the encroaching eyes. But as he spoke a deep voice rung across the hall; a serene yet lugubrious sound that captured the hearts and minds of the seated nobles. Never was a face so belied by its voice. The poet recited newly written verses and stanzas as well as the old hero legends of ancient Greece and Rome; feeding the pride of the Tarren’s and assuring the Morien’s that only good could come from this costly union. Those nobles with baser sense of humor or those more afflicted by the pleasures of wine had excused themselves so that they could instead watch the beggar boy burp out his crude rhymes while some others simply sought company less enthralled. ‘’The last piece I have prepared is one I have not completed. Embarking upon the road of poetry is a perilous affair, at time plagued by uneven footing or dreary stretches with nothing of note. Only at the end does one know if the first step was worth it. But I felt compelled to present this piece to Lord Tarren this night; for I feel that it might let him relive the [[glory]] of a recent victory. For now it has no name but one will come to me eventually, such is the thing with great deeds: they are hard to fathom and even harder to pen down.’’ [[Maelgwyn]] looked over at his, by now, quite inebriated bodyguard. They had become close friends in the last months, sharing a bond only those who have fought together know. Cynsten raised his mug and smiled towards his lord, [[Maelgwyn]] returning the gesture. Cynsten had emerged suddenly into Maelgwyns world but in that brief time he had cemented his position as the lords close companion. A marriage to one of the Tarren cousins had elevated the lowborn [[warrior]] into a comfortable life with luxuries he had seldom dreamt of. Could he really be blamed for enjoying the food and wine he had thirsted for his entire life? Monmouth cleared his thin throat and spoke: ‘’It begins in the darkness of the night, as King [[Uther]] speaks to his weary knights: <poem>The King of Brittons in a loud voice has called: ‘Barons and Counts, good vassals are ye all, Ye in the field have fought so great combats; See the pagans; they’re felons and cowards, No pennyworth is there in all their laws. Though they’ve great hosts, my lords, what matters that? Let him go hence, who’ld fail me in the attack." Next with both spurs he’s gored his horse’s flanks, And his mighty steed has made four bounds thereat. Then say the Knights: ‘This King’s a good vassal. Canter, brave lord, for none of us holds back.’ Clear is the night, and the moon radiant; The hosts are fair, the companies are grand. The first columns are come now hand to hand. The count [[Eldol]] and the count [[Roderick]] Let fall the reins on their swift horses’ backs, Spurring in haste; then on rush all the Brittons, And go to strike, each with his trenchant lance.’’</poem> The poet’s voice fell and rose like the mighty waves of the open sea and soon the entire hall had fallen quiet harkening to words unknown to most of them yet still heavy with meaning. The poet spared no time, even though he excused the rapid pace of the poem several times, arriving at the battle. Those well-versed in poetry nodded and recognized the techniques and tropes but were all equally amazed at the finesse and potency the words carried. The thundering of the hooves, the screams of the routing [[Saxons]]; everything retold with such emotion that even hardened veterans gasped. <poem>‘’A great [[warrior]] was Cynsten, of [[Chillmark]] But the pagan lords no fear nor caution knew. Those [[swords]] they had, bare from their sheaths they drew; Many great blows on ’s [[shield]] each gave and took; The leather pierced, and doubled core of wood; Down fell the nails, the buckles brake in two; Still they struck on, bare in their sarks they stood. From their bright helms the light shone forth anew. Finish nor fail that battle never could But one of them must in the wrong be proved.’’</poem> And then silence, for the poem is yet to be finished. == Too much for one night == The cool air filled Maelgwyns lungs as he stumbled out of the crowded hall, pressed on each side by smiling well-wishers and drunken congratulations. Briskly he walked through the wet grass and dirt, avoiding those seated outside the warm hall. Too many. Just too many. By the far northern rampart [[Maelgwyn]] finally found peace, and as he sat down he overlooked the smell of urine and vomit that reeked from the outhouses. He just wanted to be alone. Out here, in the starry night, the clamor and shouts of the great hall could clearly be heard but it felt eerily distant. Like a dream half remembered. ‘’Had too much to drink my lord? Can’t rightly blame you, this wine is treacherous!’’ Cynsten emerged from the twilight, wineskin in hand and a happy smile on his face. [[Maelgwyn]] grabbed the wineskin and drank deeply before answering. ‘’It’s not the wine Cynsten… I just wanted to be alone.’’ ‘’Well then it’s too bad you made me swear those oaths my lord… The whole ‘follow like a shadow’ bit might have sounded nice but it doesn’t give room for much privacy.’’ The large man seated himself next to [[Maelgwyn]] and grabbed the wineskin. As he drank Maelgwyns loneliness grew. His bodyguard was a good man but not his equal, and as he gazed up into the firmament he felt even smaller. ‘’I thought this would make me happy Cynsten. But it didn’t. I still miss him.’’ Cynsten followed his lord’s gaze into the incalculable night knowing his lord was, for now, beyond his reach. ‘’People can’t make you happy my lord. I’ve lost one wives and two children to the winter cold and yet I feel happy.’’ The older man was smiling faintly, remembering laughter and the smell of freshly baked bread. ‘’People can help you get happier, sure, but you gotta want it yerself. If you surround yerself with people who won’t make you happy you have yerself to blame… with all due respect my lord.’’ Cynsten had led a simple life, a life far removed from the troubles of lords but with its unique and unknown woes. Every human seemed to have its own definition of what it meant to suffer. For [[Maelgwyn]] the suffering came from some sort of wanting, that he knew. A want to be loved and respected, to be surrounded by companions yet alone and unbothered. At times like this, when the halls bustled with life and the very woodwork shook with merriment he wanted nothing more than solitude but when solitude came he longed for nothing more than the closeness of others. ’’And if you’re not happy… then there’s always more wine.’’ [[Maelgwyn]] smiled meekly and got to his feet. ‘’And some well written verses.’’ ‘’Aye it was good. Couldn’t make sense of half of it but that man got a voice that could make stones cry.’’ [[Maelgwyn]] put his arm around his bodyguard and started to walk towards [[The Feast|the feast]]. With a friend, and wine, by his side he would endure this feast and anticipate the tranquility of the coming months. Little did he know what rumors were spread about a lord that enjoyed wine, poetry and the company of men.
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