The Saxon Bride

Lord Tremayne of the barren plain

Held his land in fief to the King,

The wily William Rufus, who

Ruled over everything,

But his lords were left to their own devise

And they wielded total power,

Over the land and the peasants

From the height of a wooden tower.

 

He rode abroad in the country and

He hunted deer and men,

Leading a band of Norman Knights

Who’d pillage and rape and burn,

To them, the country was just good sport

And they took more than they gave,

Taxing the poorest peasants from

The cradle, clear to the grave.

 

Their Castle was known as Hell’s Despite

And it slowly rose in stone,

Built on the backs of the peasants who

Were imprisoned, far from home,

It slowly replaced the wooden tower

Its battlements raised in awe,

Towering over the countryside,

With a moat, and a bridge to draw.

 

But Lord Tremayne was a lonely man

And he longed for a virgin wife,

A woman to share his fireplace,

Give meaning to his life,

So he roamed abroad through the villages

In his search for a winsome bride,

And he took time from his pillages,

Lined up the women outside.

 

The girls were Anglo-Saxons with

The coarseness of their race,

Their features dull and Germanic, so

He longed for a pretty face,

‘Is there not one in this countryside

To make this Lord’s heart glad?’

His soldiers pulled out a pretty one,

Her name was Aethelflaed.

 

She came from a line of Saxon Kings

The Normans had dispossessed,

She lived in a genteel poverty,

In a village, like the rest,

Her hair the colour of golden corn

Her eyes like a blue sapphire,

He said, ‘You’re coming along with us,’

But her eyes were flashing fire.

 

‘I’ll not have truck with a Norman pig,

You will have to do your worst,

Your soldiers may overpower me

But you’ll have to kill me first!’

They bound her wrists and he dragged her back

Stumbling after his horse,

Up to the gates of Hell’s Despite

And over the watercourse.

 

‘You’ll never leave Hell’s Despite again

Unless you’re married to me.’

She answered, short in her temper then,

‘No thanks, I’d rather be free!’

‘You’ll do as I have commanded,

There’s no woman that I can’t tame…’

‘I’d sooner be dead in a midden,

Rather than add to our Saxon shame!’

 

For weeks he tried to persuade her

But she held to her single cry,

Rather than marry a Norman lord

She would rather lie down, and die.

He sent to the spinners of Bruges

For a suitable wedding gown,

Lavishing gifts of silver plate,

Only to see her frown.

 

He finally settled the wedding date

And he had her dressed in lace,

‘You will be a Norman Baroness,

I’ll raise you above your race.’

She wandered moodily down the aisle,

A soldier at each side,

Then lifted a potion to her lips,

Fell at his feet, and died.

 

Tremayne cursed long in his native tongue,

And he raved about the nave,

‘I’ll not be denied this saxon b***h

After all the gifts I gave.’

The soldiers lifted her to her feet

And the service went ahead,

And when they asked if she’d marry him,

A soldier nodded her head.

 

They took her up to her chambers

Sat her up in a high-backed chair,

Then held the wedding reception

Though in truth, she wasn’t there.

Tremayne then toasted his baroness

And the knights all stood in line,

Raising each glass to Aethelflaed

Who looked on with a glassy eye.

 

She sat and she mouldered, year on year

‘Til a skull was all you could see,

Tremayne would sit and he’d talk to her

And ask, ‘What’s wrong with me?

I gave you everything I could give

But you just lay down and died…’

He never could understand, it was

A question of Saxon pride.

 

David Lewis Paget

Reviews

[TL Boehm]

Ah those Norman Pigs! I recently have studied my family genealogy too - going back to Alfred the great - supposedly he is a 32nd grandfather, and King Edward, Aethelflaed's brother, my 31st. I know that the farther you go the more the lines blur however, as one of my family line's goes back to Fjornjot the Giant. (oops) A wonderful tale.

[TPK Stories]

Loved the story...sometimes we just don't get what we really want...

[Marie]

Good for her. Who but a proud Anglo-Saxon would not have been ured by a wdding gown and presents?

There's a story I heard about a great king who had intercourse with his dead wife until he just--couldn't, I guess...
I wouldn't touch that, but I'll betyou could make a story of it.

[spiritwind]

Another great David Lewis Paget poem! Your word choice, your rhythm, everything paints a picture of a time long ago and far away

[Jack...]

Another masterful piece of poetry to tantalize and wash our minds with days of long ago. Nice one sir.

[David Scott]

"Can't buy me love"
I feel like most poems you write came right out of the histories...
I can hear this song with the ale sloshing in my mug and the wind howling thru the gables. The song interupted by the crackling fire and the gaudy cheers.
I will enjoy this well and be thankful my hunger is well fed this day.