Poetry Train - 178 - On That Glorious Day

I'm on Day 14 of NaNoWriMo.

For the Poetry Train this week, here's a teaser from my current NaNo manuscript, currently at 23,000 words.

This is a found poem taken from my prose work-in-progress. It introduces the Lady Elysande, the noblewoman who takes the adult Scorpius - featured each Saturday in my serialized fiction - to work for her as her chamberlain when he is released from captivity along with her cousin, a hostage of a rival royal family.

The events of this poem take place in Elysande's young childhood and just as she comes into womanhood, as a youth. But it's narrated by the man in her life, Xaviero, the captain of the guard at her family's estate. For readers of my Weekend Writer's Retreat, Xaviero is a figure from Richolf's storyline.
















On That Glorious Day


His body trembled
Trembled with the knowledge that it
Was finally over

No more waiting
His beloved approached
With slow
And measured steps
Her skirts rustling as she
Crossed the stone floor

Xaviero dropped to his knees
Beseeching her with
A tormented gaze
“You don’t know what you’re asking of me.”

He'd knelt before her once before

On that glorious day
When they'd first met
“How do you know how he feels?” he'd asked
Meaning the guard he'd put to the lash

She'd shrugged

“Do you submit to me, darling one?" she asked now
She smiled at him so sweetly
She was like an angel
An angel of vengeance
Sent to make him pay

He could barely see
Past thick tears
He didn’t need to see anything
Not in this moment
Of complete surrender

“Look at me, my lady,” he'd said on that first day
In a tone
That would not tolerate
Anything
But obedience

She'd done as he'd commanded her

“I have a feeling
You’re not like most of
The other little girls. Hmm?”
He'd smiled a secret smile
One that already knew something about her
That she didn’t know herself

“It’s good to feel pain with your pleasure,” she said now.

“Yes,” he whispered

“Most of the time
You don’t feel
As if you should
Have any pleasure at all
Do you?”

“No,” he said
Twisting his face away from her
How could she know that
About him? Why
Did it feel as though she’d
Brought him before a mob
Disrobed him before a thousand condemning eyes?

He'd gazed at her
On that first day
And said, “You think I should have been kinder.”

She'd clutched her ribs
As though finding it tender to breathe
“He’s in so much pain.”

“What were you doing out there?” he'd asked

“I heard…” she'd begun, squirming
“I heard him crying out.”

“The children’s garden
Is a fair distance from
My guard house,” Xaviero had said.
“I have put other guards
To the lash before
And never once did any
Curious little girls
Come to watch.”

“It’s not right
That you should feel pleasure
When you’ve hurt people,"
Elysande said now
"Hurt them so very badly.”

Self-recrimination
Flooded his chest like
A sucker punch
He gasped

“Make no mistake, my dear one,” she said

He pulled hard
At his wrists and ankles
But cuffs held him fast
“You are going to suffer
As long as I am here to make you suffer.”

He shook his head from side to side

“And every time I make you suffer
A little more of that darkness
Is going to come to the surface
Where I can see it.”

“Please don’t,” he said
Turning away from her gaze
Which burned him

“Tell me what you’ve got buried
So deeply inside you.
You know what it is.”

A surge of rage
Coiled through him
He pulled hard
On the wrist cuffs
Raising up to look her in the face

“The proof, you mean?
The proof of my sins?
Oh, I’ve got enough of those
I’ve got enough sins rolling around in here
To keep us busy for a century.”

“Maybe they’ve heard it before
And never came close enough,”
Elysande had said on that first day

“Perhaps,” he'd said. “Perhaps.
But I don’t think so.
Most little girls
Don’t have the stomach for
Military justice.”

“I’m not like them,” she'd said.

“I didn’t think you were.”

Was it true, what she said
He wondered now
If he did as she commanded
Would some of that horror
He’d put other men through
Finally leave him be?

He was exhausted
He hummed with joy in his chest
He felt lighter in so many ways
His beloved was cracking him open
She would not be stopped
Whatever she demanded, he must
Give to her

He’d used his rage
On those people he’d tortured
Rage that was fueled
By the realization that
She’d been the wrong age
When he’d finally found her

“Perhaps
What I should be telling Nurse,"
He'd said to her on that first day
"Is that her little charge has
Cravings
For things that little girls
Shouldn’t want to see.”

Elysande had pulled herself
As tall as she could make herself
And looked him in the eye

“You may tell her anything you wish.
She wouldn’t believe you,” she'd said
In her haughtiest tone

He'd shifted his weight then
Moving smoothly from a crouch
To a kneeling position

“I know exactly
What I’m asking you to do,” she said now

He shook his head
“You don’t know what I’ve
Done to people, Elysande.”

“I’m beginning to
Get the idea.” He gasped
When she took his face
In her hands
Forced him to look
Into her eyes
With the merest tug

“You knew about me
From that very first day
In the barracks yard."

He winced
As if she’d struck him

“Well, you weren’t the only one.
I knew something about you, too.
I didn’t know what to make of it.”

He tried to shake his head, but
She wouldn’t let him
She squeezed his face harder
His eyes grew large with dread

“Nurse has already discovered things
About you, hasn’t she, my lady?”
He'd asked on that first day
He'd bowed his head
As though he were her servant
And not a man who commanded a garrison
“She once suspected
There was something about you
But it frightened her
And – dear thing – she loved you,
Didn’t she?
Didn’t want her sweet little darling
To be taken away.”

“Who would take me away?”
She'd blurted out.

“I won’t lie to you, lady.
Powerful people
Would take you away.
Have you put to death.”

Tears had welled and shimmered
In her eyes
Xaviero had reached his finger
To wipe them from her cheeks
He'd opened his arms
She'd all but leaped into them

His body now trembled
Trembled with the knowledge
That it was finally over
There was to be no more waiting

“I think it’s safest
That we keep this to ourselves,"
He'd said on that first day
Cradling her into his shoulder

“How do you know about me?”
She'd asked finally
She'd pushed back
So she could gaze into his eyes

“I’ve been different, too,” he'd said
“In my way.”

“Always?”

He'd nodded

“And now?”

Now she smiled at him
So sweetly
She was like an angel
An angel of vengeance
Sent to make him pay

He could barely see
Past thick tears
He didn’t need to see anything
Not in this moment
Of complete surrender

“The proof, you mean?
The proof of my sins?
Oh, I’ve got enough of those
I’ve got enough sins rolling around in here
To keep us busy for a century.”

© Julia Smith, Nov. 14, 2010


For more poetry, Ride the Poetry Train!

Detail from Roman Centurian, Legio XX, 1st Century AD by Chris Collingwood

Weekend Writer's Retreat - 32

Here's the latest installment of Scorpius' boyhood back story.

Scorpius is a character from my dark fantasy work in progress. For the first twelve scenes posted for the Weekend Writer's Retreat, we follow him as a seven-year-old, outgrown from the nursery where he'd been brought up with the other children of the blood. When no one from his family claimed him, Scorpius was released to serve a scarred and intimidating master.

The next twelve scenes follow Scorpius as a ten-year-old seasoned falconer's apprentice. The more he understands of his world, the more he learns to beware the nobles who come to the cottage for the hunt. The political intrigues that take the lives of its players can burn anyone who comes too close - including a falconer and his boy.

We rejoin him at age thirteen.

You can follow the progress of this story arc by clicking on the Works in Progress link just under the blog header.


Scene 32

Scorpius stood in the shadows at the forest’s edge. His poor judgment in feeding the falcons, not realizing that a hunt was imminent, had not resulted in catastrophe after all. He watched the dependable red-tail take down the game hen he’d just flushed from the bushes. A smattering of applause from the ladies’ gloved hands traveled on the breeze.

He caught sight of one of the guards a short distance away, ever vigilant. Still smarting from Richolf’s blows, Scorpius turned away from the imposing young man, the sort of fellow who would never disappoint his master. Ever.

Scorpius’ heart sank when he heard the guard approach after several moments. He was in no mood to make conversation with a golden boy. Especially one who had witnessed him receiving his first physical correction at his master’s hands.

The guard swaggered over with an appraising air, nodding once in greeting. They stood in blessed silence for a time, gazing out at the hunt, watching as the dog trotted back to Richolf with the game hen.

Dipping his hand into a pocket inside his leather jerkin, the guard retrieved a flat biscuit, snapping it in half. He offered a piece to Scorpius, who accepted the food though he was anything but hungry.

Up close, it was easy to see the faint slash scars peppering the guard’s jaw and temple, forearms and hands. Weapons practice, likely. Scorpius once sported scars from the falcons when he was younger, learning how to handle the birds. The guard’s scars somehow carried more prestige than his own faded marks from the king hawk’s talons.

“It’s a good place out here,” the young man said.

Scorpius shrugged. “Serves us well.”

“You’d think Lord Dirske would have staged one of his entertainments out here before this.”

They’d certainly never had this many nobles at one hunt before, and never had there been any noblewomen out here. Did that make it an entertainment? “Far as I know,” Scorpius said, “all of our guests have had good results here. My master ensures a successful hunt.” His skin prickled at how close he’d come to casting a blot on Richolf’s reputation.

The guard looked at him sideways, a wicked grin playing over his lips. “Well, aren’t you the sly pup.”

Scorpius felt certain the guard misunderstood him. But the young man was so delighted, all of a sudden. Gazing back out at the hunt, Scorpius waited for a signal from Richolf.

When it came, he dashed to the next course point that held the highest likelihood of sheltering game. He didn’t think again about the young guard’s words until much later, closer to sunset, after he and Richolf had roasted the game for the nobles. A small retinue of servants brought along for the event laid out a vast feast to which the fresh meat was the centerpiece.

Marveling at the amount of food, at the raucous level of celebration, Scorpius wondered if it was always like this with the nobles. Neither the guards, nor the servants, nor his master seemed to bat an eye at the noise and at the way they carried on.

As the day lengthened into evening, the arrival of yet another group caught Scorpius’ attention. He straightened, wondering how they would accommodate so many new guests. Looking to Richolf for direction, he watched his master take one look at them and turn away, his face a grimace, his head shaking.

Scorpius didn’t understand until he heard the crying.

When he looked closer, he realized this new group was made up of slaves, bound to one another and huddled in the grass near the corner of the closest mews. The young guard he’d encountered earlier was in charge of them. He bent his head low to speak to the girl in tears.

The other guards shifted their weight uneasily, one whispering heatedly, “Will you shut her up?”

Lord Dirske stood staring at them all from across the field. By the expressions on the guards’ faces, something had not gone according to plan.

Richolf joined Scorpius as the crying slave girl finally ruffled the attention of the entire hunting party. “Gods save us,” his master said, as though certain they’d already abandoned every one of them.

© Julia Smith, 2010

5 on Friday - Set 40

Travis at Trav's Thoughts invites everyone to lay down a short set of music that takes their fancies for his 5 on Friday meme.

Continuing my Remembrance Day musings, here are five songs that address the listener from the soldier's point of view, speak directly to the soldier or speak about the soldier.

1 - Pack Up Your Troubles - Reinald Werrenrath

Pack up your troubles in your old kit bag
And smile, smile, smile
While you've a lucifer to light your fag
Smile, boys,that's the style

What's the use of worrying?
It never was worthwhile, so
Pack up your troubles in your old kit bag
And smile, smile, smile

- Asaf / Powell



2 - Over the Hills and Far Away - John Tams

Here's forty shillings on the drum
For those who'll volunteer to come
To 'list and fight the foe today
Over the hills and far away

O're the hills and o'er the main
Through Flanders, Portugal and Spain
King George commands and we obey
Over the hills and far away

- John Tams after George Farquhar



3 - The Ghosts of Culloden - Isla Grant

Can you hear them?
Can you see them?
Marching proudly across the moor

Hear the wind blow
Through the drifting snow
Tell me, can you see them?
The ghosts of Culloden

Through the mist you'll hear
A lonely piper play
Listen carefully
You'll hear a mournful cry

Swords and bayonets crash
As man to man they clash
They came to fight, to live
And now they die

- Isla Grant



4 - Sgt. MacKenzie - Clann An Drumma

Lay me down in the cold, cold ground
Where before many more have gone

When they come, I will stand my ground
Stand my ground. I'll not be afraid

Thoughts of home take away my fear
Sweat and blood hide my veil of tears

Never more shall I see the sun
For I fell to a German's gun

- Joseph Kilna MacKenzie



5 - Unknown Soldier - The Doors

Unborn living. Living, dead
Bullet strikes the helmet's head

And it's all over
For the unknown soldier

Company, halt
Present arms

Make a grave for the unknown soldier
Nestled in your hollow shoulder
The unknown soldier

- Densmore / Krieger / Manzarek / Morrison

Thursday Thirteen - 183 - 13 of My Favorite Films and TV Shows That Showcase The Soldier's Experience

As many of you know, my birthday is also a national day of mourning and remembrance. For some people, that might seem like a real downer, but it never has for me.

Perhaps it's because my dad was in the army and I was delivered by a captain in an army hospital. Perhaps it's because my birthday is the day when arms were laid down and a peace treaty signed.

Inside of my heart there has always been an intense connection with soldiers of every time period, of every land. Nothing makes me cry at the drop of a hat quicker than the mention of the grave of the Unknown Soldier.

I strive to be a diplomat in my dealings with people, but in reality I've been called a hard-ass by more than one person. I do the unpleasant stuff when it has to be done. I'm approached to handle things in much the same way as a sergeant is the mediator between the officers and the ranks.

I pretty much think of myself as a living banner for that Unknown Soldier. I honor him, and her, in my heart every day of the year.

No surprise, then, that I've always been attracted to films and TV shows that feature the soldier's life. My dad and I used to spend my birthday watching old war movies on TV, when he'd tell me all sorts of fascinating historical tidbits. For today's Thursday Thirteen, here are thirteen of my favorites, including a bonus TV spot that airs in Canada at this time of year.

NOTE: All clips contain strong violence, some clips contain very strong language.

1 - 300

CLICK HERE to watch video clip














2 - Gladiator




3 - Rob Roy




4 - Horatio Hornblower




5 - The Patriot




6 - Sharpe




7 - The Lighthorsemen




8 - Passchendaele




9 - Band of Brothers




10 - Platoon




11 - Original Star Trek: The Omega Glory




12 - The Lord of the Rings: Return of the King

CLICK HERE to watch video clip










13 - Star Wars: The Phantom Menace




Bonus - Royal Canadian Mint commemorative coin commercial




Photo of Canada Bereft at the Vimy Ridge Memorial in France by Mshulist

Canada Bereft by sculptor Walter Seymour Allward

Wordless Wednesday - 174

Poetry Train Monday - 177 - Excerpt from The Sack of the Gods

As Remembrance Day approaches, here is a poem about Valhalla, where the heroic fallen are collected for the Norse god Odin by the Valkyries. There they become a fellowship of warriors known as the Einherjar, who train for the day when they will be called to fight for Odin during Ragnarok, or the Apocalypse.



















Excerpt from The Sack of the Gods


Ever 'neath high Valhalla Hall the well-tuned horns begin,
When the swords are out in the underworld, and the weary Gods come in.
Ever through high Valhalla Gate the Patient Angel goes
He opens the eyes that are blind with hate - he joins the hands of foes.

They are forgiven as they forgive all those dark wounds and deep.
Their beds are made on the Lap of Time and they lie down and sleep.
They are forgiven as they forgive all those old wounds that bleed.
They shut their eyes from their worshippers; they sleep till the world has need.

They will come back - come back again, as long as the red Earth rolls.
He never wasted a leaf or a tree. Do you think He would squander souls?

- Rudyard Kipling


For more poetry, Ride the Poetry Train!

Art work: Valhalla by Fishbot1337

Weekend Writers Retreat - 31

Here's the latest installment of Scorpius' boyhood back story.

Scorpius is a character from my dark fantasy work in progress. For the first twelve scenes posted for the Weekend Writer's Retreat, we follow him as a seven-year-old, outgrown from the nursery where he'd been brought up with the other children of the blood. When no one from his family claimed him, Scorpius was released to serve a scarred and intimidating master.

The next twelve scenes follow Scorpius as a ten-year-old seasoned falconer's apprentice. The more he understands of his world, the more he learns to beware the nobles who come to the cottage for the hunt. The political intrigues that take the lives of its players can burn anyone who comes too close - including a falconer and his boy.

We rejoin him at age thirteen.

You can follow the progress of this story arc by clicking on the Works in Progress link just under the blog header.


Scene 31

Returning from the mews, Scorpius rounded the corner of the cottage to discover a dozen mounts and several guards lounging on the grass beside them. Before he could panic, several nobles filed out of the cottage door, laughing and talking, followed by Richolf, the guards rising to their feet.

But his master moved to the side as several noblewomen swept through the door and into the sunlight. Scorpius had never heard of women being on any hunt. His body chilled in alarm.

His master caught sight of him and called him over with a nearly imperceptible jerk of his head. Obeying Richolf at a run, he skirted the line of nobles and ladies and was at his master’s side in a trice.

Richolf began to list supplies he required in a low voice meant for Scorpius alone. Interrupting his master, though his gut warned him not to do it, Scorpius said, “But I’ve fed them all.” He flicked his head toward the mews and their falcons. “I didn’t know they were coming.”

Richolf’s eyes shadowed with something worse than disappointment. A satisfied hawk made for a poor hunt. One of the nobles noticed them talking and joined them.

“Problem, falconer?” he said, his voice measured but his gaze hard.

For one moment Richolf hesitated. Then he grabbed a fistful of Scorpius’ tunic, yanked him around to face him, and slapped him twice across the face.

Scorpius gasped in shock. The look on his master’s face turned him into a complete stranger. Richolf’s mouth was a grim line as he shook Scorpius to rattle his brains.

“Ready the red-tail, the gray and the king hawk,” Richolf said, shoving Scorpius away so that he nearly sprawled on the ground before the nobles and guards.

Face burning from the blows and disgrace, Scorpius took off for the mews as fast as his legs would carry him. Why hadn’t he waited an hour longer to feed the bloody birds? There had been any number of jobs to do before getting to the falcons. He and his master had put together hunting parties more than once for nobles that showed up at any time without warning.

A hungry hawk was a precision hunter. A hungry hawk ensured a successful hunt. A successful hunt sent away happy nobles.

Bursting into the red-tailed mews, Scorpius set the falcon flapping as he rushed through his preparations. Of all the hunts to set out from a bad footing, his master didn’t need the ladies to witness a poor showing on their first time in the field.

Slamming the supplies into a leather satchel, Scorpius grabbed up the jesses and fought to settle the bird on his arm. He scurried to join the party as it ambled in high-spirited conversation along the corridor created by the mews.

Richolf waited glowering beside the noble. Rejoining his master, Scorpius extended his arm so Richolf could transfer the falcon to the noble’s gauntlet-clad arm.

Dashing away before he could meet his master’s gaze, Scorpius learned nothing from his encounter with the red-tail, sending the gray into flustered screeching with his sloppy grabbing and yanking.

By the time he’d delivered the king hawk to Richolf, Scorpius knew the strange master who had returned from those two days he’d been gone without a word would have something to say to his apprentice, once the hunt was over. He had failed Richolf by losing Ingerith's message. That mistake was sure to cost him more than a red face, once the nobles were gone.

© Julia Smith, 2010