The End of the Feud

The revellers came to Castle Krag

And whirled in through the hall,

Into the lavish ballroom with

The Lord of Donegal,

He came with his wife and mistresses,

A merry, laughing crew,

To answer the call by Castle Krag

To end their ancient feud!

 

For there by the central pillars stood

The Baron, John FitzHugh,

A smile on the ravaged, bitter lips

That his enemies once knew,

He was of a mind to end it all,

The bitterness, the strife,

And even smiled at the courtesan

That he'd asked to make his wife.

 

She'd laughed, and fluttered her fan at him,

'I don't think so, my lord.

I'd rather share in the favours of

The Lord of Donegal!'

And so she had joined the mistresses

Of his neighbour, and his foe,

The family of O'Donnell with

Their feud of long ago.

 

So long ago it was lost in time,

The generations passed,

But none of the bitterness had gone,

Some things were meant to last,

The wife of the Second Baron

Had absconded in the night,

With the heir to the Lord of Donegal,

He'd not put up a fight.

 

The Seventh Baron, John FitzHugh,

Now strolled around the floor,

Intent on greeting guests as he

Had never done before,

'There's wine and ale a-plenty,

We have venison and game,

Let's make it the sort of party that

Goes down in the Hall of Fame!'

 

The orchestra struck up a tune,

The ladies whirled their fans,

And strutted with their bustles,

Tripped the floor and waved their hands,

Loosened off the stays that held

Confining every breast,

As bodices then fell apart,

Revealing all the rest.

 

The wine was flowing freely, you

Could see it in their eyes,

These revellers, who'd come to gloat,

The man they'd ostracized,

They laughed and chattered freely

Lurched and fell in revelry,

The Lord of Donegal was drunk,

And sat with Alice Leigh.

 

The Baron looked at Alice and

She stared him in the eyes,

'Is what you see acceptable, my lord,

Are you surprised?'

She placed the Lord of Donegal's

Right hand upon her breast,

As all the while the Baron stood,

Most pale, and quite distressed.

 

But out beyond the oaken doors

The masons were at work,

Building a solid wall of stone

That no-one could disturb,

While others filled the windows with

Their mortar and their lime,

And slate of seven inches thick

From Donegal's own mine.

 

By midnight John FitzHugh had gone,

Was nowhere to be seen,

The revellers were drunk as dogs

And thought to leave the scene,

Whereon the baron, he appeared

On some high balcony,

Within the ballroom's gothic dome

He called to the company.

 

'I trust you have enjoyed the fare

I've given you this night,

What's left, you'd better make it last,

There's nothing else in sight!

You may as well just party on,

There's nowhere left to go,

The ballroom, your last resting place,

Fit for my ancient foe!'

 

They rushed the doors, they found the wall,

They tried each window pane,

They looked for any exit but

Their search was quite in vain,

The ballroom was a prison with

No doors, and yet no bars,

They milled around the empty room

And stared up at the stars.

 

'And now for you, a final treat,'

The baron bellowed down,

'My Lord of Donegal, I hear

You thought to wear the crown,

I have some things to crown you with,

Suspended in this sheet...'

He tugged a cord, it opened up

And billowed at his feet.

 

The cockroaches that he had bred

In dungeons, dark and warm,

Were loosed from that suspended sheet

And fell there, in a swarm,,

A million crawling roaches that

Festooned the ladies hair,

Crawled in and out of bodices

To screams of pure despair.

 

And then the lights went down, and they

Were screaming in their need,

As all those crawling roaches found

New places they could breed,

And Baron John FitzHugh went out

And thought to come back late,

The screams he'd heard were more than

Quite enough, to feed his hate.

 

*      *      *      *      *      *      *

 

A week went by, he took an axe

And smashed that masonry,

Remorse had come upon him and

He thought of Alice Leigh,

'If only God has spared her, I'll repent,'

He prayed aloud,

But all was silent in that room,

Each corpse would need a shroud.

 

And then the slightest movement by

The pillars in the hall,

Had caught his eye, he gave a sigh

And felt that he might fall,

For Alice Leigh was propped upright

And stared and stared at him,

'I love you still,' he groaned, 'my dear,

Why did you go with him?'

 

He waited for her answer, she

Had still not made a move,

She stood there in the darkness, like

Some beauty from the Louvre,

But then her lips had parted and

His heart stopped, in despair,

As roaches poured from her eyes and mouth

And crawled all through her hair!

 

David Lewis Paget

Reviews

[Linda Marie Van Tassell]

Wow! "The End of the Feud" is absolutely amazing! I didn't realize it until the end, but I was actually holding my breath while reading the story, so engrossed was I.

This is reminiscent of the poem that you wrote about the lady and the crabs on the beach.

[Tate Morgan]

Oh so reminiscent of the days and tales of old Shelly would have loved your mind until her heart grew cold

[R J Askew]

A cracking yarn, lots of drama all expertly woven. I started out thinking I wanted to be there having a craick. But then the thought of being a drunk as a dog was a little offputting. And, ach, the bricking up was delightfully malevolent. As for the roaches, marvellous stuff! I, mischievously, segued into imagining roach balls appearing in familiar settings in day to day London life, though of course you just have to look at most of the human life-forms kicking around London for all the horror you want.

[Valentine]

Oh how I love the old time tales that you write. Being sorry too late just does not cut it ...does it..best not to have done the mean deed at all. It looks different on the outside of places and people from olden days but alas inside remains the same..You know how to tell this type story squire..love to Lyn and you Mate..God bless..Kathie

[Lena M. P.]

What a chilling story of hate, corruption, and deceit. Taking revenge usually is more a punishment on oneself than on the party it was fed. When you are consumed with it there is no room for life. You portrayed this very well.

[Mark]

Twas ever thus, that hate destroys the hater more than the hated, and jealousy the object sought, as much as who had misdirected it. Your poetry almost without fail teaches valuable moral lessons, David, to him who will hear! Great write, and thank you!

[Norma J. Jessee]

A truly harrowing tale.......superb work by a master at the top of his form.
You make chills run up and down my spine.

[Ferg]

i worked with cockroaches in lab experiments in college and one night i woke in a dreamy state and thought there were cockroaches all over my pillow.........I had just put that dream behind me and now it is back full force thanks to your epic tale ;-)

Writing is tight, rhythm is spot on, flows well, and it is utterly grisly! Nice job.

[emmajoy]

You never cease to thrill and amuse .. what a great piece of writing - how you manage to keep the meter going is a mystery to me!

Your gothic imagination really gets going in this and what a horrid, yucky ending .. makes me crawl to think of it!!! Yet, I feel the dance of your words and see the pictures you've brought to life with them.

Not sure about the meter of 7th stanza .. everywhere else the lines just romp along but there .. falters a little .. otherwise this is a superb piece of story telling in your own very special style!

[robk22]

Epic my friend, simply epic. Big thumbs up methinks :)