Bride to Be (part twelve)

Bride to Be (part twelve)

Yet with my crafty uncle the field was never taken

For thus had his stronghold been devised

Ringed fences narrowing passage like a maze

A lone stone knob on which, from times bards tell of

in their lays

Sons of the House of Barangalen

Behind their walls like the bear in her den

Could not be taken by the head, nor full awake, surprised

I saw no means to it, or only a bloody one

And my men to storm by force too few

But they have women within, my lady asked

A poor exile, with child, might beg refuge

I was ignorant, knowing not how women knew these things

A child… And once inside…

I have a potent draught that mimics death

I dare surmise it may be halved, and halved

But first to spin my tale among the dames

Poor things. If they are not, at hands of warriors

Frightened and spoilt, ill-used and scorned

I am not of my sex and know not men

There is a way, my Alderic, to open doors

Bride to Be

Bride to Be (part thirteen)

Apprehensively

(2021, Stephanie Foster)