Although still shaken, with a lightening speed,
Peene rushed in haste straight through a windowed gap,
Thence clambered down the ivyed castle wall,
Thus quickly fleeing from the King’s entrap.
Thus on into the welcome starlit night,
The Surgeon-Knave, with much relief, did ride,
His Dwarf close followed on a mangy mule,
With smirking face he could but barely hide.
The maid moved quick towards the pot filled sinks,
And with a backward hand did firmly grasp,
A leaden ladle of impressive weight,
To raise it with a threatened cautioning.
Yet still the drunken Steward forwards came,
Determined on his lusty heart’s desire,
To lunge again towards the hapless girl,
When in the instant of her frank distress,
She drove the ladle downwards on his head.
The thudding noise of metal on his skull,
Did dull reverberate about the place,
Short followed by another massive sound,
As heavily his bulky body fell,
Upon the gory and strewn bloodied floor.
King Arthur and his court of noble knights,
Sat bored about their Table’s rounded edge,
The kingly fingers drumming jadedly,
Whilst sleeping Knights collapsed upon their swords,
As all were wearied to the point of death.
For all their battles had been fought and won,
With every kingdom conquered far and near,
Distresséd damsels were there none to find,
The season of the tournaments was passed,
And all the deadly dragons duly slain.
Yet worst of all the weather was severe,
Inclement for both knightly man and horse,
The wild and squally rain beat, pouring down,
To make the ground a quagmired, muddy bog,
Unsuitable for any hunting sport.
There was a cry from one who windows stood,
That there approach a troupe of gallant dames,
And at their head there rode majestic proud -
A figurine, exuding beauteous charms.
Thus soon this company of Amazons,
Was striding forceful in the Castle’s Hall,
Towards the rounded table where there sat,
The kingly Arthur and his Noble Knights.
Their jaws dropped full upon this marvelled sight,
For never had they seen such mademoiselles,
As one particularly caught their eyes,
Who seemed to lead the pack with dignity,
To where the King, with bulging eyes, did sit.
She curtsied low allowing regal view,
Of all she had to show beneath her dress,
While Arthur gasped a Royal welcoming,
And bade the lady state her reasoned case.
Thus short they came upon a wooded glade,
That bordered on a dark and looming lake,
Where on the shore there stood the group of six,
Who had about their captive’s slender neck,
Attached a noose to which was added stone.
At once did Peene charge straight towards the group,
And with his spear swift ran the first thief through,
Then swinging deftly with his sharpened sword,
Took off the heads of two more miscreants,
As off the other three did briefly flee.
In hot pursuit the blooded Peene rode on,
Until he cornered them upon a ledge,
Precipitating each and every one,
To distant death upon the rocks below,
To lie forever in perpetual shame.
Thus following the Steward on his way,
They came across a blackened castle grim,
That stood upon a blackened ledge of slate,
Surrounded by a blackened grove of trees.
Within, the blackened hall was inky dark,
Two blackened dogs aside the fire did growl,
A meagre flame within the blackened grate,
Did barely light that amphitheatre’s space.
Then sudden from the shadows did appear,
A figure dressed in black from stem to toe,
The widowed wife, though less the mourning grief,
Yet with a face that grimaced ancient death.
Before she could reply to make her point,
There came upon them, unexpectedly,
A Knight, undressed in garish, greenish garb,
Upon a harnessed horse, itself all green.
“Well met,” he shouted from his far off place,
“Is that my brother Knight who rides with thee?”
Yet as they closed upon each other’s path,
He did not recognise the other man.
“Nay, nay,” she did reply with sharp retort,
“This Surgeon-Knave has slain your brother Knight,
Though how this came about quite vexes me,
That such a common, vulgar Swain as he,
Could bring about the death of such a man.”
The Green Knight’s wife could not this mood abide,
So leading Arcy to the bathing room,
Did gentle take the clothing from his limbs,
To tender wash the blood from whitened skin.
Revival was not long before it came,
As soothing hands his body did caress,
Until such time as he was fully dried,
And rested up against the steaming tub.
Her sylphlike figure roamed about the room,
Delicious, outlined by a white silk robe,
That clung above curvaceous, willing thighs,
Inviting illegality afresh.
Her shapely figure begged for stimulus,
Of such a nature, that would fruitful bring,
Sensation to the purest form of love,
That in her eyes, requited tears of lust,
Brim full upon her lower, wetted lids,
Entreatied in a gaze of frank request.
Robust and strapping was her body’s form,
Her muscled mass, a milk-maid’s perfect shape,
As wiry invitation of her thighs,
Benignly opened with encouragement,
To join with her in gambolled pirouette,
Upon the dance that led to decadence.
Her irides of purest, turquoised blue,
Were strikingly alert with living need,
For consummation of a total kind,
That only loving bodies can bestow,
Upon the heated moment of accord,
Between a coupled meeting of desire.