Behind Hornsby Walls

The Duke of Hornsby prattled on as if anyone would care,
inane drivel from drunken lips spewed from him in his chair.
Royal larders filled to bursting his people starving and poor,
babbling witless in his cups as his doom gathered on the moor.
The long ships arrived at nightfall met by those hungry and bitter,
their lordship tipsy and unaware they were guiding the Norsemen hither.

Drawbridge down for the merriment gatekeepers drunk at their posts,
blind and deaf to the marching of the mercenary Viking hosts.
The great hall doors burst open by a flood of savage men,
where victory that evening belonged to only them.
The believers in only the one God were put to the pagan sword,
those sober enough to request it pleas of mercy were ignored.

The Duke was held for ransom from the Saxon king in the south,
whose impotence at the outrage left a sour tasted in his mouth.
His dukedom reduced to the dudgeon his serfs now a spider and rat,
a new master ruled in the castle and he took fear at that.
The Danes spoke a foreign language but there was no need for words
to understand their mission: they came for the farms and herds.

Crops had failed in their homeland so they went in search of a meal,
bought with the blade of a battle ax leaving wounds that didn't heal.
Sir Geoffrey muttered in his gruel growing thin there in his chains,
wondering if the king would think he was worth the price to the Danes.
For his stewardship lacked civility being terribly greedy and cruel,
but his people were at least being fed under this chieftain's rule.

They had to eat to plow and plant so young Breakspear treated them well,
even though he had killed the priest and of Odin he would tell.
No more talk of Christian heaven to Valhalla they should aspire,
boys all trained with sword and spear new skills he did require.
The seasons changed as did the times now a farmer could get fat,
and the Duke was paraded out to see, at him the people all spat.

No ransom was paid for Hornsby the king would rather trade,
crops were sold for iron and gold with Breakspear the deal was made.
Their apples brewed a tasty cider and honey fermented to mead,
bread and mutton and comely girls satisfied their every need.
New ships came with hungry Danes to clear more land and plow,
axes hewed oak trees not men as the locals showed them how.

The Duke's corpse provided a gruesome feast for the birds,
villagers stared with silent prayers offered without words.
Hung from the walls it rotted for weeks much to their dismay
glad as they were that he was gone it still just wasn't their way.
The new peace and plenty was fully enjoyed in Christian hearts
but brutal savagery frightened them as did the pagan arts.

Word trickled out to reach the south's royal court of the realm
the word of God was being lost where the Norsemen overwhelm.
Bishops pressed the king to act so he began to recruit and tax
furious that churches were being destroyed by the battle ax.
Many that flocked to his banner had only killed chickens at home
now facing blooded veterans leaving death wherever they roam.

Then Breakspear surveyed his village and weighed the cost of war
the farms were paying off handsomely but he envisioned much more.
The English still prayed to their God secretly making new crosses
more fighting would be destructive and he wanted no additional losses.
He opened negotiations to bargain for time with the Saxon King
while sending a message back to Jutland to see what it would bring.

The Saxon King and his Bishops wanted churches to be rebuilt
and Godfred the King in Denmark bid Breakspear to go full tilt.
The only demand was Danegeld, or tribute paid by the south
monks reappeared to ring bells as Psalms flowed from each mouth.
So the English farmers stayed Christian as more Pagans arrived each year
mingling in culture and marriage with little or nothing to fear.


by Robert Quinn
all rights reserved