You may have to bear with me for a while, here goes my foray into the wide world of blogging.
Recently, at the Barony of Southron Gaards premier event, Canterbury Faire I realised that it was about 21 years since I established the Mangy Mongol Tavern at Pen Gwynne War. It seemed appropriate to bring out a poem I'd written a few years ago, part of a larger body called, in truly plagiaristic bombast, The Canterbury Faire Tales.
Some folks asked me to make the work available so I present The Mongols Tale which is presented in the larger work by the narrator
THE MONGOLS TALE
The willingness of my chums
in the bar
Had set my heart a glowing
like a star
The game I knew it was as good
as won
The talent shone like
dewdrops in the sun
And though it seemed a bit
of overkill
We’d show these lads the
measure of our skill
And any way as those who
know me say
I love a beer if I don’t
have to pay
Much better than if I should
have to dip
Into my purse for liquor or
for tip
If whiskey’s free and wine
and porter too
You will find that I will
lead the queue
Horilka, sherry, if they’re
free as well
Will give to me a thirst I
wouldn’t sell
The thought of it just made
my throat so dry
It’s now or never so I’ll
have to try
To win the bet and so
without ado
I will impart the Mongols
tale to you.
The Mangy Mongol
Tavern is the place
in which this tale’s
originally set,
and why the banner bears the
Mongol’s face
is quite the most amazing
story yet.
A score of years have fled
on past
since I returned back home
at last
from fighting in a foreign
land.
The broadsword in my strong
right hand,
my trusty dagger and my
lance
were not my sole
deliverance.
I owe my life to a little
man,
a drifter, unknown by his
clan.
We went to war as many do
for lack of better things to
do.
Thinking naught of death or
woe
but just how far man could
go,
if he could be a captain grand,
with troops aplenty to
command,
a pile of riches at his feet
and all the beef a man could
eat
and plates of apricots and curds
and lasses hanging on his
words.
It seemed to be a fine
vocation,
who knew our final
destination
could be a shallow pit of
doom,
a lonely death in a lonely
room?
A man joined us, as we marched away,
a man from a place they call
Cathay.
A more scrofulous man you’d
never meet,
with bloodshot eyes and
stinking feet.
A reeking man with a wispy
beard,
your nostrils twitched whene’er
you neared.
Yaks lard and Koumiss were
his diet,
I don’t suggest a dog would
try it.
He’d a robe of sorts, a
tatty rag,
his armour and a saddle bag,
an old, old sword and rusty
knife
and that was all he had in
life.
His knife looked wicked in
poor light,
at night or in a tavern
fight
but in the vivid light of
day
‘twould scare the shades of
hell away.
For on the blade from tip to
guard,
stretching nearly half a yard,
was a fearsome blend of muck
and rust,
quite sure to give you
tetanus
or septicemia’s wracking
pains
and gangrene creeping
through your veins.
Yes, just a prick from that
foul knife
would guarantee a shortened
life
and you’d be lucky not to
catch
some nasty cankers fit to
match
the ones upon the Mongols
bum.
You’d surely pray for death
to come.
He followed us from war to
war
and served as well as many
more.
He ground the foemen in the
dust,
his eyes aflame with battle
lust
yes he was fearsome in the
fight
but in the quiet peace of
night
he’d send his little pouch
of pay
to a family far away.
It seemed he had to leave
his home
and as a soldier forced to
roam
for slighting some or other
chap
in some lost corner of a
map.
For a score of years of
soldiering,
in service of this or that
King,
we knew no more of the
Mongol man
or of his part in god’s
great plan.
We’d crossed the land from
end to end
and we could really call him
friend.
Now by this time I’d played
my hand
and risen upwards to command
a company in the army’s van,
where life has but a
shortened span
but the pay was good if
you’d survive
and come on through the
smoke alive.
But in our current fight a
wall
that we’d besieged had made
us stall
and sheer brute force was
not the way
to take the tow’r and seize
the day.
Treachery was the thing we
needed
and so our council was
preceded
by a search for men who
spoke the lingo
to sneak on in and then, by
jingo
open up the sally port
so like a torrent of some
sort,
we’d sweep into the baileys
walls
and grab those beggars in
their halls
and so the greater share of
treasure
would be the well-deserved
measure
of any man who had the juice
to put his head inside the
noose
of our well known opposing
lord
a man, it’s said, when he
was bored
would have his own subjects
done in
for some imaginary sin,
for looking sideways at a
cat,
wearing an overly wide hat,
for not laughing at his
puerile wit
that was the very least of
it.
He’d find the most
delightful ways
to end his hapless subjects
days.
Their heads were hung about
the place
a snarling rictus on each
face.
To remind each fellow in our
crew
that this was not a fellow
who’d
show kindness to a failed
spy
but rather let the beggar
die
in many varied nasty ways
that all took at least
sev’ral days.
So when the call went out
for men
to sneak into the keep and
then
to open up that sally port
we found the queue was
rather short.
Consisting of a single man
who had the skills to work
the plan.
The little Mongol there did
stand
his nasty cleaver in his
hand,
a nasty grin upon his face,
he said “I’ll open up the
place”
“but I must have your full
support,
‘cos you all know if I am
caught,
my poor old bottom it will
settle
roasting in a boiling
kettle.
My lads, I don’t know if I’m
brave
enough to carry to the grave
the details of your cunning
plan
if tortured by that nasty
man.
So when I call you come on
quick
and we’ll garrote them ,
that’s the trick.”
I thought as he left “He’s a
fool
or else exceptionally cool
but either way I’m glad that
he
wants the other fellow dead
not me.”
So off into the dragons maw
he wandered and we heard no
more
for two days then a piercing
shout
gave word a fight had broken
out
and high up on the
battlement
a crowd approached with bad
intent
the Mongol man who quickly
slayed
a sergeant with his filthy
blade,
then threw out well behind
the moat
a half brick wrapped up in a
note.
Before the weight of numbers
told
eight men stretched out
before him cold.
But one mans never quite
enough
though he may have the
hero’s stuff
and so the scrummage bore
him down
and with it died the battle
sound.
We read the note. Its tone
was terse,
with little time for flow’ry
verse.
It said, if I recall it
right,
that some time at the fall
of night.
The northwest towers sally
port
had had it’s guards and
sentries bought
by silver from the cunning
Mong,
A castle bought for but a
song,
but “strike tonight without
delay”
the Mongols note went on to
say,
“for how long can the guards
stay bought
now that their paymasters
caught?”
The Captains feared to make
the charge
for with the Mongol not at
large
if he talked ere we stormed
the place
an ambush we would surely
face
and be cut down like scythed
wheat.
A gruesome fate we’d surely
meet.
I spoke up for my comp’nys
man
“he won’t reveal our cunning
plan,
but if he does we’ll pay the fee,
The first man through the
door is me
and if my men can take the
gate
you’ll know you need no
longer wait
but charge on in and seize
the day
and make that ruthless
villain pay.”
So with a horrid trepidation
fit to cure constipation
I led my men as night did
fall
up to the darkened castle walls
and prised ope the little
gate
that sealed the wicked
tyrant’s fate.
We took the gatehouse and
its crew
and let our army march on
through.
Our opponents quickly found
themselves caught napping
and the sound
of “Quarter, quarter” filled
the air
as men threw down their
weapons there
and begged for mercy on
their knees.
We took the castle at our
ease.
Some of our men had stormed
a door
and seized the tyrant and
what’s more,
had strung him up by his
scrawny throat
and slung his corpse into
the moat,
but I went looking in the
cellar
to find the little Mongol
fellow
who’d held his tongue and
saved us all.
I found him chained up to a
wall
but done for, it was plain
to see,
they’d butchered him most
terribly.
He looked at me and slowly
said
“I hope that rotten beggars
dead!”
I nodded “Yes, I saw him
croak”
the Mongol smiled as if a
joke
had brushed his pain from
off his face
and sent it to some other
place.
He said “Now I can happy
die,
I swore that I’d outlive
that guy
and not this afternoon you
know
but more than thirty years
ago.
When I was forced to leave
my clan
for falling foul of that
wicked man.
When I was young I cut the
dash
and though I was a little
rash,
It’s not as if I even knew
that ‘twas his lovely
daughter who
I’d dallied with one
afternoon
but she was radiant as the
moon
and so in love with her was
I,
I thought without her that
I’d die
But her old man had made it
plain
a lonely grave was all I’d
gain.
If ever I stood in his sight
he’d kill us both from pure
spite.
So I made an abrupt ‘bout
turn
and left there never to
return.
But I had sworn I’d see him
snuff
and though you thought you’d
offer’d enough
gold to buy my bravery ,
I would have done the job
for free.
For thirty long, long years
I’ve waited,
now my vengeance has been
sated.
I’ll shuffle of this mortal
coil
and go and watch the coffee
boil
in that great tavern in the
sky,
where mongols go whene’er
they die.
My one regret is I’ve not
known
a family life and lived
alone.
With no real chance to lay
my head
in what I’d truly call my
bed
but life’s too short for
those “what ifs”
I’ll leave them for some
other stiffs
and anyway this final smile
has made the living worth
the while.”
So with those words he went
away
“Goodbye old son.” All I
could say.
We took him out and built a
pyre
raked his ashes from the
fire
and put them in a little
chest
and wondered where he’d like
them best.
Before our army’s next
campaign
I said “I’ve seen enough of
pain
and death.” It seems to me
that it
has come the time for me to
quit
and end a life of soldiering
.”
So with a smile from a
grateful king
I took my pay and booty too,
a bag of gems of crimson
hue,
an emerald looted from a
priest,
a pig or too on which to
feast,
some feathered hats and
silks of course,
a stolen cart and stolen
horse.
All this I loaded up on top
but something made me turn
and stop
before I homeward strolled
along
I thought about my mate the
Mong
I grabbed his box and said
“Old mate,
I know a place for you
that’s great.
When I got home I stopped to
sup
at a tavern near where I
grew up
I showed the man who tapped
the keg
A ruby like a pigeons egg
and said that “There’s
another three
if you will sell your pub to
me.”
The barman gulped and
thought a while,
I gave the man a manic smile
that I had practiced in the
field,
it had caused many men to
yield.
The barkeep took my subtle
hint
and by a very cunning dint
of bargaining extracted not
just four rubies but also
got
my to horse and cart to take
away
but I was happy, I could
stay.
At last a place to call my
own,
a thing my chum had never
known.
So now he sits behind the
bar,
observing folk from near and
far
and so I hope he’s happy
here
surrounded by the smell of
beer.
So I have put his bold
visage
as our pub signs central
charge,
and named the tavern for his
name
and hope the everlasting
fame
will seem to him a winning
jest
(he liked unsubtle humour
best).
Two great things he taught
me
that ev’ry man should know.
If he would into foreign
countries
soldiering go.
If looking for a sudden
strike
to make a battle end,
always pick a gutsy man
who won’t betray a friend.
And also that there’s one
thing
Even Tyrants cannot budge
And that’s a little Mongol
with a thirty year old
grudge.
All this I carved into the wood using a combination of knife and a little bit of chisel work. The knife was the obvious choice of tool for carving runes and made short work of them. I finished the carving with a coat of light oil to give it a bit of pop and to protect it.
