The Minstrel

The Minstrel

Nestled close to Ironwood forest,

illuminated by candle light,

the Puffin Inn was warm but dreary,

on the coldest and darkest of nights.

Howling winds put a nip in the air,

hearth fires from the Inn could be seen,

while the snows of the north were blowing,

the wendigo played in between.

Suddenly then, at the tavern door,

a dark shadow came into the light,

his winter cloths spoke of his lore,

as he requested a room for the night.

The stranger drew all eyes attention,

as they followed him across the room,

he made for the furthest most table,

away from the murmuring gloom.

With sobering Calm and Caburus smile,

the bard threw off his lute and cloak,

the candle flickered at his table,

as he motioned for drink and smoke.

He sat down there on a wooden stool,

a tobacco pipe in his left hand,

the maid approached with jug of ale,

crop of leaf from a box on the stand.

“Will you sing us some of your tales,

and tell us of your travel’s good sir,

we’ll gladly pay for all of your time,

and the food is whatever preferred.”

The Minstrel looked up, then smiled back,

through the smoke and embers of his pipe,

he then swung his lute across his chest,

and gave the old frets a wipe.

Silver coins appeared in front of him,

as townsfolk gathered at his table,

for tonight they’d hear a few stories,

a little news if he was able.

He put the coins in a leather pouch,

nodded and began strumming a tune,

a hush was heard, the Inn fell quiet,

save his lute in an attentive room.

“Have you ever heard, the tyrant king,

the tax collector of lower land?

the famine, the food, the missing coins,

and their punishment for sleight of hand?”

The excitement built around the room,

as the bard described the ancient king,

his words flowed true and rhythmically,

and with a smile, he began to sing.

“A town rebellion was in the air,

from the heavy burden on them all,

when the people rose, and spoke as one,

their sly king and guard did fall.”

“For who could claim to be so thoughtless,

of the domination one does hold,

and you must be ever attentive,

to those you entrusted with your gold.”

The tavern burst out in merriment,

very happy with the traveler’s song,

their faces brimming acknowledgement,

all agreeing that the king was wrong.

Of news and runes of fallen empires,

wild songs of laughter unfold,

he played well into the early hours,

until all of his songs were retold.

For five long nights, he stayed at the Inn,

but now it was time to go,

he packed up his things, gathered his gifts,

and slung his fine lute in tow.

“I’m much obliged for your service sir,

with smiling nod, the innkeeper said,

they were the best nights we’ve ever had,

there’ll be no charge for the room and bed.”

The Minstrel smiled and nodded his head,

tipped his hat in reply to his host,

he then made his way outside the Inn,

where the wind swept away with his ghost.

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*Notes:

Caburus (Gaius Valerius Caburus) was the leader of the “Helvii” who were a small Celtic polity west of the Rhône river on the northern border of Gallia Narbonensis.

The Wendigo is a mythological creature or evil spirit which originates from the folklore of First Nations based in and around the East Coast forests of Canada.

The Minstrel (Bard) in this poem is “Wisakedjak” (Wee-sa-ked-jak) a Native American Spirit who is usually portrayed as a staunch friend of humankind, and never has a dangerous or destructive being.

Also: The Minstrel was a medieval musician who traveled across Europe performing story filled songs and tales that often brought news from distant places. People of the town would gather at an Inn where the Minstrel stayed and would take care of his stay in exchange for his craft. In the days before the printing press, they would often relay news from parts of the world that they traveled, and of course it was to the enthusiasm of many an ear…