The Ballad of The Bard
September 13, 2008
The king of The Land was holding a banquet at his palace on a lovely evening in the spring. The village people and their dogs were busy with life but in the castle above the king of The Land was having a feast! All the twenty-four lords and twenty-four ladies of The Land had been invited. All but the fourteenth lord and fourteenth lady arrived because the fourteenth lord’s and fourteenth lady’s village had been ransacked, pillaged, slaughtered, and burned to the ground.
The King of The Land finished nibbling the last of his chicken bones clean and, setting it on his rather large pile, he patted his rather large stomach and laughed. “My, my, what a lovely meal! Would you not agree, my Dear Wife?” Dear Wife jumped at being so abruptly awakened from her day dreamed and nodded vigorously. “Yes, King, yes it was very good.” She replied shyly. All the twenty-four lords and twenty-four ladies of The Land also nodded and smiled and complimented the king of The Land’s apatite and pudgy fingers. All but the fourteenth lord and fourteenth lady because, the fourteenth lord’s and fourteenth lady’s village had been ransacked, pillaged, slaughtered, and burned to the ground.
“Thank you, thank you, my servants.” He laughed again. “Now to show my thanks, let us have a my bard tell a story!” The jester leapt up from his cushion with a wry grin on his lips, harp in hand and grand spring in his step. He was clad in bright colors of turquoise and violet and he wore a seven-pointed star cap with small bells at the ends that jingled and jangled as the poet turned sparkling eyes from one of the twenty-four lords and twenty-four ladies of The Land to the other. All but the fourteenth lord and fourteenth lady because, the fourteenth lord’s and fourteenth lady’s village had been ransacked, pillaged, slaughtered, and burned to the ground.
“What would you like to hear, my crown?” The gleeman said flourishing his lustrous cape. He was so very pleased to be performing in front of so many spectators. It was in fact, forty-eight observers with their eyes keen on the balladeer. It would have been fifty but the fourteenth lord’s and fourteenth lady’s village had been ransacked, pillaged, slaughtered, and burned to the ground.
“Tell us all,” The king of The Land said joyously, “a romantic tale of love! Make it original.” There were agreeable murmurs all over the large room but the troubadour’s visage was crestfallen. “Your majesty," He began sadly, plucking a few mournful strings on his harp. "I can tell of victorious battles that would make your blood race in your veins for the want to pick up a halberd and charge to the battlefield.” He paced from one side of the glorious chamber to the other mournfully his finger strokes on the tight strings quickened. “I can make your heart ache with the pain of a sorrowful ballad of good verses evil but no. No, no, I say nay.” The lyrist strode up before the king of The Land’s table and gazed at him forlornly, his tune forgotten next to the plates. “My king, I can recount to you of love at first sight, love at two-hundredth sight and many of those non too friendly. I can tell of a couple made between a peasant of the dirt and a royal child of the place, of life long friends who found their love for each other at the end. I could cite to you a touching tale of haters becoming lovers, of arranged marriages that fate had prepared for ones to discover their soul mate. I could sing a heart filled song sung for generations and one sung for a week but no and no again!” The sober sonneteer removed his outlandish hat and held it in both hand. “My dear, dear king of The Land, there is no novel romantic love story I may apprise you.”
There were whispers and frightening looks past between all the twenty-four lords and twenty-four ladies of The Land. All but, of course, but the fourteenth lord and fourteenth lady who’s village had been ransacked, pillaged, slaughtered, and burned to the ground. The reason for the morbid atmosphere was the fact that, the King of The Land was not laughing.
“Very well then.” Said the livid leader leaning forward with a dirty smile twisting his lips. “You shall be dispatched!”
As soon as the last word was out of the king of The Land’s mouth four guards came and grabbed the versifier by every limb and hauled him down the forty-two staircases and four hundred and ninety steps deep into the dismal dungeon and tortured him for many an hour. After many unwholesome tortures far too immoral to tell the guards took him limply up the forty-two staircases and four hundred and ninety steps and on up upon the highest heights of the castle and cast him into the mote below.
Some say he was ripped apart by the many beast of the water and when his bones washed ashore they were given to puppies to nibble on after meals. Others think he still had the strength to swim to land and left quickly to travel the world with his stories and to tell his ballad of the bard and the Unoriginal Romantic Love Tale.
I believe, the latter is but wishful thinking.
