Richard the FearlessA Poem by Scott Free An epic style poem--old style of writing. Sorry about the weirdish spacing, I pasted this off Word. Don't like the text editor.
Richard the Fearless
First Fit
It has been full fifty years
Since Rollo took the main;
And e’er since his descendants,
Have ruled without abstain.
Rollo’s child William,
And his son, Richard,
Have all been loyal vassals
Of the king of hoist petard.
That Louis IV of Paris,
The dastard of the land,
Will receive more than he bargains for,
And withdraw his reaching hand.
For his father Charles the Simple,
Was threatened by Vikings strong.
Rollo the Dane besieged Paris,
With a hardy Norseman throng.
Charles did not pay tribute,
In gold or silver bright,
But the hardy shores near Brittany,
That beauteous Rouen Bight.
So Rollo took up the duchy,
And called it Normandy,
Filled it’s towns with Danish sons,
And loved its beaches sandy.
And always independent ,
Has been the Norman race,
Though they be France’s vassals,
They will never be part of that place.
William, Rollo’s eldest son,
Gained for himself the hate,
Of every man in Frankish land,
And the king of that pow’rful state.
And then the assassination call,
Giv’n by the Duke of Flanders.
Has William lying in his grave,
Sleeping with the salamanders.
Now Hugh the Duke of Burgundy,
And Louis King of France,
Conspire to take this land of ours,
By threat, by sword, by lance.
‘I’ll have this land my father gave,
To those ungrateful Danes,
I’ll spew the spawn of Rollo’s blood,
Upon the Norman lanes!’
Louis vies that he will try,
To detain William’s son,
Young Richard, but ten years of age,
Who’s rule has yet begun.
Louis marches to Rouen,
To take proud Normandy,
Whilst to Bayeux now travels Hugh,
The Duke of Burgundy.
And when the French to Rouen’s hall,
March in battle attire,
Young Richard’s face is red and hot,
He is full of Norman ire.
Says Richard; ‘You may take me now,
Bind me with chains of steel,
And lock me up in some old tower,
But I will ne’er yield.
Know Louis, that the day shall come,
When riding I will be,
At the head of eighteen thousand,
A veritable army.’
‘And run from my sword shall you and Hugh,
When we ride to take Normandy back,
With eighteen thousand Norman men,
To chase you and your pack.’
Louis sat straight in the saddle,
As if struck by a slap in the rear,
--Was overcome with awe and wonder,
At this boy who showed no fear.
‘Take this boy out of my sight,
Lock him up in Lâon Tower.
See how he acts with cold stone on his back,
As for Normandy—it’s ours.’
He wheeled his horse and looked upon,
Young Richard of Normandy,
Who had no fear as he was led away,
To Lâon in Picardie.
To Lâon in Picardie duchy,
Went the young duke and his guards.
The perilous journey of this youth,
Is sung by no minstrels or bards.
And through the rain and snow of France,
Richard kept him warm,
With the smoldering vengeance in his heart,
Hidden as a concealed storm.
To Lâon he was taken,
And locked up in the tower,
And five guards stood right at the door,
For every waking hour.
Three years the young boy waited,
And bided all his time,
And looked out on the countryside,
As bright and green as lime.
Meanwhile Louis battled
With the Norsemen of the land,
Trying to break their strong morale,
And crush them with his hand.
For three long years he battled,
The Black Hugh at his side,
For three years they ravaged the land,
And burned it far and wide.
The duchy fought all hardily,
To hold the enemy,
But the French numbers soon overcame,
The brave Norsemen army.
And now a council is convened,
To see what we should do,
To fight off the Franks and thin their ranks,
Ere we find us in a stew.
At the head of yon council,
Is Bernard, Denmark’s son,
To his right is Anslech de Bricquebec,
At his left, Raoul Taisson.
These gallant three make up what we
Call ‘Guardians of Normandy’,
Their forces are what saved us,
From the scourge of Louis.
Bernard addresses the barons,
His beard is carrot red,
His clothes are of rough reindeer skin,
As is the cap upon his head.
‘My friends and fellow Normans,
Who fought under Rollo,
And did his son, the Longsword,
Most loyally follow,
‘What, in this dark hour,
Shall we do to save Rouen?
And send this Louis on his way,
As quickly as we can?
For this war is a weary one,
For I, and all of you.
I ask for anyone who knows,
What can we, should we, do?’
Then stood a tall young warrior,
Young Taisson—also called Raoul,
Who was loved by all the subjects,
That his old father did rule.
‘I would kill a thousand giants,
Slay a hundred venomous snakes,
Do anything for this young duke of ours,
Who now, in Picardie, waits.
I will travel, now, to save him,
If ye will give me leave,
For if he is not brought back to us,
We will all have cause to grieve.’
Bernard the Dane was quite amazed,
At this young youth’s audacity,
He said; ‘I’ll give you leave, my son,
But what of your father, will he?’
Raoul Taisson was not a man,
To bandy terminology.
He remained in his chair, but looked on his son,
With pride and no apology.
His head it slowly nodded,
His silver mane it waved,
And forth from there went young Raoul,
The youth who was so brave.
With only fifty followers,
He rode from Normandy,
Out across the Seine he went,
And on to Picardie.
Second Fit
When they reached the peaceful
Little city of Lâon,
They camped in the forest
And no longer would go on.
Morale was low, they did not know,
How they could save their lord.
For it was clear they had no men,
To take the town by sword.
Ten days the Normans waited,
And spirits faltered low,
But on the tenth Raoul stood up,
Said; ‘Verily, I know!’
‘This night I shall take with me,
Rope and hook to the wall,
And whilst I climb it, you will fight,
The enemy, the Gaul.’
They gave a cheer for all to hear,
For they now had a plan.
And rested up their horses,
To aid them when they ran.
Night fell and all the Normans,
Met at the forest bound’ries.
All their Norman spears at hand,
Made in the Norman foundries.
And then they gave a cry—‘Huzzah!
Let’s clove them to the teeth!
And send those brutes where they belong,
To Hades, far beneath.’
To see the soldiers faces
As the Danes rushed at the wall!
For every Frank’s eyes opened wide,
Up went an alarming call.
The Frankish garrison came out,
To engage the boist’rous foe,
Whilst Raoul made way up the tower,
Little did they know.
The droning sound of steel on steel
Echoed through the night.
And every Frank found on that eve,
How a Norman axe could bite.
The two opposing sides attack,
Splinter, crash, crack and bash,
The arrow cuts into the bone;
The broadsword and the shield clash.
Young Richard, he was sleeping,
When the sounds of battle came,
And up he rose when on his ears
Fell the sound of his name.
‘Who is there?’ he asked quietly,
‘Answer right this moment!’
The answer came quiet in the night,
‘Milord, do not the guard foment!’
‘Raoul Taisson?’ ‘It is I’
‘You come to set me free?’
‘I would never desert you, my young lord.
Now quickly, come to me.’
Up from in the cot he rose,
And strode right to the casement,
Gladly met he and friend Raoul,
Who’s father had been his replacement.
But the guarding Frank had heard the clank,
When hook caught on the stone,
And he was by Richard’s chamber,
When he began to stir and moan.
Listened to the words being spoke,
‘Tween servant and young lord,
And came he into the chamber,
Brandishing his sword.
‘Stop, ye Norman varlets! Stop, ye sons of Thor!
Stop right now, or by my trow,
Alive ye’ll be no more!’
Young Raoul turned upon the Gaul,
And he unsheathed his sword.
‘Run, my good young master,
Run, my gracious lord!’
Richard stopped a moment,
And looked back at his friend,
To the window his feet went; Raoul,
To spell the Frenchmen’s end.
The Frank looked at his younger foe,
Not a day over eighteen,
He sneered and snickered, and he said;
‘I’ll split you from spout to spleen!’
Raoul was not frightened,
Nor did he show a mite of fear.
Quickly, he leapt forward,
And slashed the Frenchman’s ear.
The sound of clashing in the night
Resounded from the tower,
As Richard hied him down the wall
For nearly half an hour.
Many times he slipped and thought
That he would lose his hold.
But clutch on to the rope he would
And go forth, ever bold.
Raoul in gaol-room fought the foe,
Sent three to Death’s dark door.
However, the fourth came with a spear,
And struck him to the floor.
And there he lay; all spilling blood,
Across the stony ground,
At last he uttered; ‘God protect!
Young Richard, safe and sound.’
Finally, toes touching soft earth,
Richard laid his foot on down,
Then running, fast as he could go,
To the skirts of Lâon town.
The Normans saw that brave young lad,
Running toward with hastening feet,
They gave up a cry and a happy sigh;
Their young lord they did greet.
Third Fit
Away from Lâon town they rode,
And back to Normandy,
They went to meet Louis of France,
And Hugh of Burgundy.
To raise the Rouen siege they went,
(The town had been taken back,
By the fighting Normans unwav’ring,
To save it from the sack.)
The battle was hard and bloody,
As battles always are,
The Norman morale was lowering,
And help was very far.
Richard rallied his soldiery,
In a field, miles from Rouen,
Viking and Dane came to aid,
The cause of their Norman friends.
The numbers have been counted,
The Norse cover the field,
And every man can lift a spear,
And all men have a shield.
But Richard frowned, stared at the ground,
The number was not enough, quite;
For he had promised that he would attack
With eighteen thousand in the fight.
And there is only fifteen,
With which to fight Louis.
And send him from his coveted land,
The beauteous Normandy.
‘But look, my lord!’ cries someone,
‘There rides Bernard the Dane!
And with him nigh three thousand men,
With which to aid your train.’
And this young boy looked up with joy,
To see his liegeman coming,
With a good three thousand Normans,
To finish up the summing.
Bernard bowed low for Richard,
And wept great tears of joy,
Though he was old, it made him bold,
To see his duke’s young boy.
The old Raoul was with him,
He scanned the ranks for his child,
But seeing not the young Raoul,
He lowered his head, ever mild.
‘Your son gave up his life for me,’
Said Richard, the Young,
‘And a greater gift he could not give,
His tale will be rightly sung.’
‘Now let us not forget him,
As we fight in this hour.
To save all in our Normandy,
Raoul is in Valhalla.’
And Richard now raised up his blade
And looked upon the host,
And saw that it was wonderful,
A great army of which to boast.
They marched off, singing songs of yore,
And of old Denmark’s gods,
They marched through field and forest,
They marched ‘cross Norman sods.
Louis at Rouen he fought
And his men took the walls,
And now many a Frank is slain,
Now many a Norman falls.
And Louis smiles craftily,
Seeing the ladders swarming with French,
Though always his nostrils are filled
With the deathly, deadly stench.
When he is about to shout ‘Ha ha!’
‘We have won, by God’s grace!’
Then, on a sound, he turns around,
And fear fills his face.
For there at the top of yonder hill,
Is the vengeful son of the Longsword,
And behind his back is an army;
They have already crossed the ford.
‘Full eighteen thousand have I brought,
Son of Charles the Simple,
Now prepare to meet Norse reckoning!’
Louis burst at the temples.
With a shout Richard gives the call
To attack, and drive away,
And the Norse on their horses thunder down,
Like angels on Judgment Day.
And every Frenchman feels the chill,
Of defeat rush through his blood.
The wounded are thrown onto the ground,
And wallow in the mud.
Richard makes a beeline for Louis,
The two begin to fight,
Richard’s blood is red, and hotter,
Than a wildfire in the night.
He strikes and slashes at Louis the king,
Sends him reeling off his steed.
And then right off his mount he climbs,
To fight, and prove his meed.
Richard, with great strokes of pride,
Knocks Louis’ sword from his hand,
Louis scurries back, ere he is killed,
By this young firebrand.
But Richard does not go forward,
To cut off Louis’ head.
He puts his sword back in its sheath;
‘I’ll let you leave, undead.
But know this, Louis, King of France,
Ere you enter my demesne,
I’ll not hesitate to cut off your head,
And end your greedy reign.’
And Louis now is beaten;
The French march off in defeat,
And Louis the overreaching king,
Is staring at his feet.
Not only is he humbled by,
This young duke’s lack of fear,
But by this act of mercy,
That saved his kingly rear.
And now he shall ne’er again,
Bother the Norman men,
But hopes that he may raise his son,
To attack Normandy again.
And Richard was hailed in Rouen,
As saver of Normandy,
(Bernard had defeated that scoundrel,
Hugh of Burgundy)
And now to this day the brave men say,
How this young boy of power,
Did come to succor Normandy,
In its most perilous hour.
And they cast a bronze statue of him,
That stands now in Falaise,
One of the great Six Dukes of yore,
For testament, if I lie.
And God truly had his hand,
In this whole huge affair,
For Richard Normandy baptized;
He went to Paradise fair.
And his son was Richard the Second,
And his, Richard the Third,
His son was Robert, and his William,
Called the Conqueror (of him you’ve heard).
Till he died, he reigned in justice,
He ruled bravely and well,
And they call him ‘Richard, the Fearless’,
Because of the tale I tell.
© 2008 Scott FreeAuthor's Note
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6 Reviews  Last Updated on December 10, 2008 Previous Versions Author
Scott FreeCaught a wave--am currently sitting on top of the world, CAAboutWhoo! New year, new site...time for a new biography. I am not like any person you have ever met, for the simple reason that if you are reading this chances are you have never met me and probably ne.. more..Writing
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