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Sir Osmund Rus
Victorious in Spring Crown Tourney, A.S. L
(Chaucerian Stanza)
What is it holds this curious, costumed crowd
In rapt attention to the tourney field?
The locals heard the Heralds cry aloud
This Rus knight, oft, to arm and take the field;
He calmly stood, now armed with sword and shield.
One boy had left behind his childish play
Transfixed, he waited outcome of the day.
One visitor inquired of the lad
What made this fighter so assured to win?
Was he so bold that others, in fact, had
Less the chance they needed to beat him?
It seems that task, for many, was quite grim.
To wrest the win, one must be best in fight
A crafty victor, sharp and swift in might.
The boy replied, that’s true, at least in part
Some days you win and others, you do not.
It does take skill acquiring this art
But more to stand beside those you have fought
And share the victory with those who lost.
Each has a chance to win or lose the day
What makes one win, no one can truly say.
I’ve learned the belt he wears he had to earn
‘Tis true?, he asked the boy, with chivalry?
When others see it worn, they can discern
That he, above the common man can be
The one to serve His kingdom nobly.
The crowd’s Huzzahs! are evidence, it’s clear
Your future King was proven the best here.
The boy explained we’re all of noble birth
And who will rule us, only time will tell.
It’s true, today, this fighter came in first
As squire and knights, in turn, before him fell.
But, all who fought today encountered well.
We love each other, and we want to be
Not only friends, but one big family.
The boy then asked this new friend to return
Come to the park when you can spend the day
We’ve many to befriend you as you learn
About this joyful game that we all play.
I’ll introduce you to the Court that day.
I am sure this King will make the people glad
Because, I know him well; He is my dad!
–Bannthegn Beathog nic Dhonnchaidh
. . . is a 14th century bard who can often be seen traveling far from her home in the Highlands with her lord husband and muse. If a good tale crosses her path, she will sing a song about it, pull out its hair and spin it, or throw it in a pot and cook it up.