WESLE'S TALE
Alfred D. Byrd
Copyright 2011 Alfred D. Byrd
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ACKNOWLEDGEMENT
An earlier version of "Wesle's Tale" appeared in Starward Bound, 1990
WESLE'S TALE
An Epic of UFO's in Anglo-Saxon Times
LISTEN and learn,
my ladies and lords,
As I herald heroes in a happier time,
In
an age when England still owned her freedom,
Ere the Normans'
noose had netted our necks.
Peace had appeared, for the pitiless
Vikings,
Who, raiding for rapine, had ravaged our lands,
Had
been hastened homeward by a host of our heroes;
And feasts for
our warriors, rewarding their fierceness,
Were happily held in
our halls and homesteads.
In that month, on
the moors, a manor was brightened
By the flare of torches and
the flames of ovens
As a warlord returned from the tumult of
weapons
Was going to be given the guerdon of triumph:
To marry
a maiden, the manor-lord's daughter.
A priest was present
to pray for the nuptials,
And a bard had been summoned to season
the banquet
With the strains that he strummed from the strings of
his harp,
And a no one named Wesle -- "the Weakling, some
named him --
The manor-lord's nephew, though the knowledge was
muffled,
Sat at the supper and sighed for his cousin,
For
Bright, who would be the battle-lord's bride.
Wesle was wan while
wassail went on.
He'd gazed at the girl of golden braids,
With
the hue of the heavens held in her eyes,
With silent yearning
for sorrow-filled years,
For a nephew who knew no name for his
father
Could hardly hope for the hall's chief prize.
Now, even
his eyes would ache for her absence
Once, wed to the warrior,
she went from the hall
Rising, the
manor-lord raised his mead-cup.
"May God be good to those
gathered!" he shouted.
"Let's guzzle, my guests, to the
gallant Bearheart,
The worthy warrior who's won our fair Bright."
They howled their
rejoicing as they joined in sharing
The custom of wassail; even
Wesle kept it,
Though the bite of the brew seemed as bitter as
brine;
Then Bearheart the Bold bowed to the holder
And,
smirking with smugness, smiled at the maid.
"How goodly a
gain is this gift of my host!
I've waded through warfare to win
such a payment,
For Bright as my bride will brighten my glory."
At the manor-lord's
bidding, the bard made merry
With a fitting song for the festive
supper.
Harp in his hands, he rehashed the tale
Of Beowulf's
boldness in battle with monsters.
To grapple with Grendel would
have gratified Wesle
If winning had brought him fair Bright as
wife,
But only too early came the end of the song,
When the
priest would stand to establish with prayer
The bonds that would
bind mighty Bearheart to Bright.
Wesle was weeping,
wanting some wonder
To release his love from her lordly
captor,
But the priest began his prayer regardless
Of the
woeful one' wishes. Wild was the howling
In his hopeless heart
at the hateful devotions,
And he happened to hear a howling
outdoors
That answered his own: the awful outcry
Of beasts in
dismay. The baying of mongrels,
The neighing of horses, the
honking of geese,
And the lowing of cattle lifted the hairs
On
the necks of feasters. The nuptials faltered.
A ghostly glare, a
glimmering starlight,
Shone through the windows, shuttered for
winter.
A blue-tinged blaze, blinding in brilliance,
Sailed in
unsettling silence and slowness,
A baleful menace, above the
manor,
And seemed to settle somewhere beyond it.
"What magic has
met us?" the manor-lord asked.
"What is this witchfire,
and why has it come here?
Does its shining foreshadow the shape
of disaster?"
He looked at the priest. "We pray that
your learning
Will give us guidance as we go to our fate."
Shaking his head,
the holy man shot back,
"My lord, I'm lacking in lore that
will help you.
The books of the wise may not bear on this
working.
This deed of darkness, I deem, means more
To our
friend the harpist" -- with a frown, he beheld him --
"So
come! Earn your keep! I call on your training
To draw mist from
the meaning. Magic's a bard's trade!"
The bard looked
about, battered with glances;
Then he cleared his throat. "I
claim that this threat
Is none of my sending. I'd never deceive
you.
I've little learning in the lore of lightning.
No, my
good priest, our need is for prowess
Of a fearless fighter to
fathom this wonder.
We must hold to hope in that hero,
Bearheart."
The eyes of all
aimed their glances
At the face of the fighter. His forehead was
pale.
"A warrior's work," he warily said,
"Is
hardly to hasten to howling of beasts
Or to look at lights that
alarm the dumb brutes.
Send out this servant" -- he signed at
Wesle --
"To tame this tumult and tell us its cause."
Bright was rising,
unbridling her wrath.
She spoke with spirit a speech in sharp
words.
"How mighty the men who make up this household!
How
bold their wielding these walls as their buckler!
To the woe
unworldly that waits in the dark,
They'd shove out a shaveling
to show their contempt."
She'd have sped more
words to spur them to movement,
But the term from her tongue
that told them his worth
Had stung the stableboy. He stood,
defiant.
"You're wrong,
my fair cousin!" he called to correct her.
"Our warlord
is wise in the words he's chosen.
Tonight, we have no need for a
hero.
I'll sally to silence the sounds of our cattle,
A work
unworthy of a warrior's notice;
Then our feast may follow a
fairer path.
These words were
rewarded by Wesle's beloved
With a lilt of laughter for her
lowly kinsman.
Fired by her favor, he fared with boldness,
Yet
the feats he'd fancied faded to fear
As his pride sought prayer
on approach to the doorway.
Regretting grand words he'd greeted
Bright with,
He urged the door open. Outward, it swung,
Smiting
the wood of the wall with a smack.
He opened his eyes
on an awesome landscape:
A moonlit moor, mantled with mist
That
wavered and burned with beams like witchfire
That shot from a
source concealed on his left.
Boards rubbed his back as he bore
himself crabwise
To the side of the hall that hid what he
sought;
Then he snaked out an eye like a snail's on its stalk
To
cast a glance at the cause of the glow.
It struck him
speechless as he strained his wits
To mark in his mind the magic
before him;
Then the marvel's movement made him seek safety.
He
stopped not a second till he stood in the sight
Of the fearful
feasters he'd fared to enlighten.
His friends were mirrors of
the fright that had moved him.
His tongue-tied terror told them
the worst.
"What magic met
you?" the manor-lord asked him.
By your face's paleness, a
phantom of power!"
"Neither spook
nor spirit," responded Bearheart,
"Was the shade that
shook him. His shadow by moonlight,
Beheld by his dread, drove
the lad hither."
The taunt freed his
tongue. He told what he'd seen
In words he feared would fail to
convince.
"Neither shade nor shadow, but the shield of a
giant,
Gleaming with glory, I glimpsed with awe.
Lengthwise,
it lay along the moor,
As wide as this hall, as high as these
walls,
And legs below it lifted it up.
The beams from its boss
bathed it in brilliance
And filled the fog with the fire of
their burning,
Yet much more mighty was the marvel that
followed.
As I watched and waited, I witnessed a sight
That
showed the shield as a shelter for menfolk.
A doorway gaped, a
gangplank came down,
And out of the light that lit up the
inside
Came figures of folk whose faces were masked
By
egg-shaped helmets. Their armor was silver --"
"Your words are
wild, young Wesle," said Bearheart.
"Men call you 'the
Weakling,' but 'Witless' becomes you."
"My wits didn't
wander," said Wesle in anger.
"You can trust my
witness; my words are true.
If you doubt me, Bearheart, I bid
you to deeds.
Look for yourself! You'll see I've not lied."
The lady's laughter
rang loud in men's ears.
"It seems the 'servant,': she said,
"has a heart
More fit for this faring than the fighter of
Vikings."
Bearheart the Bold
bore her taunt ill.
His face grew crimson as he cried in
fury,
"They're reckless who rant and rail at a swordsman
Who
defended their freedom from foes in the fray.
Let them do
likewise, long in the battle,
If they list to belittle their
lives' protector!
I take no terror from the tale this boy
tells;
I feel no fear of the phantoms he spoke of.
I'll fare,
then, forth to face the shield-ship.
Let all who have courage
come to my outing
And watch as I drive the dream-foes away!
If,
facing the foe, I fail in the onset,
Let the woman I've won be
the wife of the man
Who bears the battle Bearheart took wing
from!"
Awed by his
outburst, all fell silent
Till the bard shot back at Bearheart's
speech.
"Your words are worthy of a warrior's will.
Now,
speak with your spear as you speed from the table
To be bold in
battle! This bard will follow."
The priest gave
praise to his prowess as well,
And, to heap the praise high, the
holder hastened
To add his own, urging bold Bearheart
To be in
battle the bane of his foes,
The fiends he'd face, whether
phantom or flesh.
The warrior welcomed
their words with a smile.
Bolting his mead, he bade the
maiden
Hasten to hand him his helmet and shield,
His spear and
sword. Speechless and sullen,
She bound on his weapons. Wesle's
blood boiled.
"May our
prayers aid your prowess," the priest interjected.
"Before
you go forth, confession is proper --"
"Your words are
wise," the warrior told him,
"But I'd see my assailant
ere I say how I've sinned.
Let conflict come! I call you to
witness
The deeds of daring I'll do by moonlight."
Forth, Bearheart
fared. The feasters followed
In file at his feet, their faith in
the hero.
Even Bright, Wesle saw, his breast filled with
sorrow,
Now eyed him with favor, the fearless in onset.
He
flung the door wide that Wesle, in fleeing,
Had shut from his
shaking. The shining streamed in.
All stopped and stood, staring
and trembling,
Hearing the howling, the hideous clamor
That
broke like breakers through the breach of the doorway.
The hero,
too, halted, held by his awe
Till Wesle spoke words that wounded
his pride.
"Behold
our.defender, helpless to face
What this witless herdsman --
yes, Wesle the Hopeless! --
Saw first from this doorway, yet
dared seek further.
If he falters in fear of forms in the
mist,
He'll surely cower from the caster of shadows."
Bearheart bellowed
a beastly growl
And ran from the room towards his radiant
test.
His griever, now grinning, grabbed fair Bright's hand
And
haled her behind him in the hero's wake.
With the groaning of
creatures now mingled the cries
(As Wesle had warned them) of
wonder and fear
From that shaken assembly as all saw with their
own eyes
The shining shield-thing, showing its glory,
And its
silvery sailors, suited in armor,
Moving like men in the mist on
the moor.
Stunned by the sight, all stood in silence
But the
bard and the bookman, who debated in whispers
The whence and the
why of what was before them.
"A feat of the fair folk is my faith," said the bard.
The priest made a
protest, but proved uncertain
Whether to say that what they
saw
Were the angels called seraphs, descended to act out
The
vision of wheels within wheels once viewed
By a prophet in exile,
the priest Ezekiel,
Or demons who dared try to dupe those who
watched them
By hiding their hatred with halos of light.
Fear of what faced
her, the figures of silver,
Brought the fair Bright to embrace
her cousin.
Wesle wondered at wealth unlooked-for
He'd gained
as a gift from the gaudy intruders.
The manor-lord's
shout shattered the moment.
"We're seeing no seraphs. I'm
certain of that!
What creatures of light would crave a man's
livestock?"
Wesle, amazed,
wondered what madness
Had addled his uncle; then his eyes saw,
too,
The wrong that had roused the rage of his lord.
Through
the mist of the moor, the men of silver
Hastened like herdsmen
some heifers before them
Towards the shining shield, the ship
that had brought them.
The lay-singing bard
burst into laughter.
"Stealers of cattle come from the
stars!
None alive would believe such a lay if I sung it."
The manor-lord made
a maddened cry.
"No star-men shall steal my stock unpunished
--
Not while Bearheart the Bold still bears his swift sword!"
The hero bore ill
the eyes that beheld him.
"I fear no fight with foes who are
human,
But I'd be a fool to battle with fairies."
Bright, unwinding
from Wesle's embrace,
Wielded the weapon of words aimed to
wound.
"You're a fool already, so ride to the fairies!
We're
weary of words. Let's witness your deeds!"
The death-dealer's
face darkened with fury.
"I'll bear the battle," he
boasted, enraged.
"I accept the summons. Now, saddle my
charger!"
With a motion, the
manor-lord commanded Wesle
To see to the service. He set off at
once.
The barn was
brightened by the baleful light
That crept through cracks in the
creaking structure.
Wesle wondered at the wildness of change
The
brilliance had brought as it broke its lances
On goods and gear
gathered within.
He lingered a little
as he looked in a corner
At barrels of pitch to patch the roof
with
And at blocks of sulfur, whose scent, when blazing,
Poisoned
the hosts of pests in the hall.
The thread of a thought ran
through his mind;
Then, a hale of "Hurry!" hastened him
on.
He stopped at the
stall where the steed was stabled.
It shook and whinnied and
showed its eyes' whites
As it battered the boards with its body's
lunges,
But, with kind caresses, he calmed its raging.
He set
the saddle on the sorrel's back,
And, wrapping the reins around
his forearm,
He covered its eyes and called it outside.
He blinked at the
blaze of blueness before him
As he heard his hoped-for,
beholding him, call:
"Here, our hero, is the horse you've
sent for.
The hour is upon you; the onset awaits you.
Streak
to the strife and strike down the foe!"
Bearheart the Bold
bore with ill patience
His promised one's promptings. "The
priest must make
A full absolution ere I fall to the lists.
I'll
make no assault while bemired in my sins."
"Will you stay
till the star-men steal all our wealth
Ere you rise and ride to
rescue it for us?
Can your soul be so soiled with sin that you'll
wait
Till the foes feast in fullness ere you face them in
battle?
If aware that so wicked a warrior sought me,
I'd have spurned your suit, though, with spite, you slew me --"
"Peace!"
he bade her. "I'll buffet the pirates.
Though it cost me my
life, I'll kill them at last."
The mighty man
mounted his steed
And fixed his face to fight the assailants.
He
rose in his stirrups and roared in a strong voice,
"Radiant
raiders, your ruin draws near.
Your forms will feel the fury of
Bearheart.
My spear and my blade will spill your life's blood
And
send your souls to sudden avenging."
Having challenged
the star-men to withstand his charge,
He set his spear and
spurred the horse on.
Fearing the battle, the beast refused.
It
shuddered and whirled, and, shivering, whickered
While
feast-guests and star-men stared at the fear-dance.
Heated, the
hero hauled on the reins
And stirred his steed to a stumbling
pace.
Staring, the
star-men stood in silence
As if waiting for woe without will to
resist it.
Bright drew her breath in at the braveness she
witnessed.
Her lover lamented. The lordly deed
Would be the
brideprice that would bring her to Bearheart.
Now, the watchers
wailed out a warning of danger.
The beams that were bathing the
boss of the shield-ship
Made a sudden shift. The shining
sought
To blind bold Bearheart with its burning blueness.
The
horse reared up, halting the onset.
The blaze was joined
by a giant's blast
On a mighty horn, howling out madness.
The
horse gave a whinny and wheeled in a gallop
That ruined its
rider, who rose from the saddle
And flew through the air in a
flight that ended
In the mud of the moor. Mighty, the downfall!
The ones he went to
ward from danger
Beheld with horror-filled hearts his
stallion,
Racing riderless, run into darkness.
Turning, they
told their terror with screams
As they stared at the star-men
in a stealthy approach
To the feet of the fallen fighter of
Vikings.
Their terror turned
into tumult of cheers
As the staunch one, their stalwart,
staggered upright
And turned to face his terrible foes.
"Strike
with your sword and seal their destruction!"
Bright called
to the hero. "Our hope is your braveness."
Their hope proved
hopeless. Beholding the onset
Of his radiant rivals, the reaper
of Vikings
Turned his back on the harvest and bade his feet
hasten
In the steps of the steed like a storm to the hall.
Home
was the hero, unhorsed by combat.
The words of his maid were
less mild than he wished.
"The boldness
of Bearheart! The boasts of a coward!
His tongue has a taste to
talk of battle,
But his feet have a feeling to fare from the
fray.
Mere bragging's the boldness he'd buy a bride with.
It
moves not his mind that a maiden's dowry
Is seized in his sight
while he sits in hiding --"
"Enough!"
he shouted. "The shield-ship, I know now,
Is a foe whose
force it's fitting to yield to.
Your livestock is lost, unless
some other
Can bear the battle Bearheart failed in.
That one,
I'd honor. I'd own him the winner
Of the hand of the bride who
brought me hither."
"I'd gladly
give her to so gallant a fighter.
He'd merit her marriage,"
the manor-lord added,
"But the stalwart who'll stand, my
estate's defender,
Is, woe to tell, lacking. These wasps will
linger,
Buzzing about us, till they bear our bounty
Away in
the shield-ship. Such woe is my share!"
All stared in sorrow
at the star-men who sauntered
As bold as bears about with their
plunder,
Till, groaning, the priest said, "These grievous
oppressors
Were sent, I'm certain, to sift us like wheat
For
the great transgressions we've grieved the world with.
With us as
their prey, why else would they prosper
And feel not the fury of
fire and brimstone?"
His words awoke in
Wesle's mind
The sleight of slyness that had slipped through his
thoughts
When he went to the stable for the warrior's steed.
As
a vision of victory, he viewed that plan now.
"They're wasps
that brimstone will break the wings of,"
He told his
companions. "They'll pay for their terror.
Stored in the
stable is a stock of weapons
That'll hasten them hence. Now,
hear what I've thought of!"
All listened with
laughter to the lad at first;
Then the wisdom his words held won
them over.
They ran to the barn to make ready for battle.
To retell in this
tale their attack makes me tremble,
Recalling the courage they
conquered their foes with.
What fear must have filled the face of
each star-man
As he watched them advance, wielding with
vengeance
A doleful discipline from the Day of Doom!
The hands of the
household had hastened to help
Turn Wesle's wisdom into weapons
of fire.
Now, the flare of torches, flaming with terrible
Pitch
and brimstone, broke on the pirates.
At the head was a
hero, hapless no longer,
Wesle the Wonder, a warrior
now
Assaulting the star-ship with the stench of sulfur.
Hard
on his heels, a heroine ran,
Golden hair streaming as she gave
out strokes.
The others aided the onset as well,
Not least of
them Bearheart, the lover of battle.
The star-men
scattered. Our stalwarts, unscathed,
Ran up the ramp of the
reivers' vessel.
What wonders they witnessed in that weirdling
hold,
Our tale cannot tell. Our tongue lacks the words.
They
wandered a maze of walls made of metal
Where flightless fireflies
flickered in rows,
And where bodiless voices bellowed void
words,
Till they found their livestock. They led it forth
And
stood in triumph while the star-men trembled.
"Their deeds
deserve death. Let their dues be paid them!"
Bearheart
bellowed. Others bade likewise.
Bright, though,
rebuked them. "How brave it would be
To hew them while
helpless! Do heroes slaughter
Their defeated foes when fighting
is finished?"
Wesle, beholding the
havoc. he'd wrought,
Scorching of sulfur on silvery skins,
Heard
her plea for their plight and plotted their freedom.
"They've
learned their lesson. What a lay of horror
They could carry to
kin in the keeps of the star-fields!
Let's send them in sorrow
to sing in their halls
The deeds we did when we doomed their
foray!
Recalling our rage, these reavers will cower
And fear
to set forth to face us again."
"The boy has
said well," were the words of the bard.
The priest gave the
prize of praise to him also
In a meeting of minds unmatched in
years past.
The others applauded
the plan as apt,
So they fell back a length to let their
foes,
Hanging their heads, hasten between them
Up the ramp to
their ship, which raised and shut.
With hearts that were high,
all beheld the shield-ship
Ascend in silence and sail towards the
sky.
They watched the ship wane to a wan little star-mote;
Then
the victors' vision viewed it no more.
Assembled in
silence, they savored the feeling
Of battles won till Bearheart
spoke up.
"A fight to be feasted! Let's fare to the
wedding
And bring the bride to this brave one, who claims her.!"
Bright, though,
abridged him. "The bride isn't yours.
You promised all
present that the prize would be his
Who was aweless in onset.
You must honor another
As him who should have the hand of your
maiden."
All present were
speechless till the priest responded.
"The words of our
daughter have dealt out wisdom.
The vows we vow in victory's
vanguard
Must be kept when we conquer, lest we court misfortune."
"Well reasoned, good priest! Let the promise be rendered!"
Thus, the bard made
bold to bid the bride's father,
And the holder hastened to hold
the vow valid.
Even Bearheart grumbled agreement as bidden.
Wesle
wondered at the words he'd heard.
The drift of these statements
seemed the stuff of dreams.
The manor-lord,
mirthful, made an announcement.
"I've long shown little of
love to my nephew,
But, with pride, I now press this prize upon
him:
Wesle and Bright, as bride and her winner,
If it meets
with their liking, may mingle their lives.
No words came to
Wesle, wounded with gladness
And blind with the brilliance of
Bright's smile of bliss.
He merely could nod to make his "Yes!"
known.
"Fine!"
said the father. "Let's fare to the feast
And mark this
wedding with mead and with song!"
All hastened to hall
and held a fine feast there
As they made the marriage with mirth
and with vows.
The prayers of the priest and the praise of her
father
Gave Bright as bride to her breathless husband.
Even
Bearheart bore his bitterness elsewhere
As he hoped for their
health as husband and wife
To gild the gladness
of that glorious night,
This bard, your servant, burst into
song,
Giving voice in verse to the valor of Wesle
And the
praiseworthy prize his prowess had won him.
Let's wish them well
in their wedded life!
Long may it linger,
this lay I've sung you
To tell you a tale of terror and
wonder,
Of laurels unlooked-for and love that was gained
On a
moonlit moor on a magical night
By the wisdom of Wesle, the wily
in warfare!
###
Bonus
Poem
THE GOLD'S DRAGON
IN THE CAVE both
cold and dark that it calls its home,
A serpent, seething with
flame, is set on its gold.
It has won the wealth it guards by
way of slaughter,
Has lived for love of its gleam, its light like
the sun's,
But fears its loss through the force of a foe's
assault.
Hearing its hall's invasion, a hollow footfall,
It
sees the sign of combat, a sword's refulgence,
And hardens its
heart for strife to hold what is dear.
Guarding the gold of its
hoard, the god of its life,
The worm in its lair awaits the
warrior's approach.
The rivals, ready
for strife, arrive at combat;
A fire unfolds in the cave, but
fails to conquer;
The sword now seeks its target and severs a
life.
The hero beholds the blood from a heart now
pierced,
Gathers the gold he has won, the goal of his quest,
And
heads for the home he left in hope of fame.
Grateful, his people
greet him, their gracious savior,
And hail him, with hymns of
praise, their highest ruler.
The gold he gained through courage
now gives him honor:
He weds the woman all prize as worthy of
love;
He wields the warlord's scepter; his will is supreme.
To hold the worth he
has won, the wealth of his gold,
Becomes the care of his heart,
the killing of joy.
Each hollow footfall heralds his hall's
invasion;
Each sword reveals to his sight the signs of
combat;
Through fear of a foe's assault, he is filled with
loss.
The wealth he has won for himself by way of slaughter
Is
now his light and his love, and limits his world.
Guarding the
gold of his hoard, the god of his life,
The worm in his lair
awaits a warrior's approach.
###
About the Author
If you liked Wesle's Tale, you can read more of my work at:
"Christian
Writings by Alfred D. Byrd,"
http://www.geocities.com/byrdthistledown
I’m also the author of the following books, available from all major on-line booksellers:
Thistledown
Through
the Gate of Horn: The First Thread of the Dhitha Tapestry
The
Ghost of Pelfrey's Bend
On the Wings of Dream: The Second Thread
of the Dhitha Tapestry
Trinity, Canon, and Constantine: Clear
Light on the Early Church
Kabbalah for Evangelical Christians
and of the following books available from Lulu.com.
Asenath’s
Tale
At the Brink of War: The Fourth Thread of the Dhitha
Tapestry
Between Two Fires
A Convergence at Shiloh: An Epic of
the American Civil War
In the Fire of Dawn: The Third Thread of
the Dhitha Tapestry
The Light
Perryville: An Epic of the
American Civil War in Kentucky
The Road to Bull Run: An Epic of
the American Civil War
A Song of the One
The Stars Bow Down
To
Dream Atlantis
To the Throne of God: The Fifth Thread of the
Dhitha Tapestry