A cutter oared by muffled men,
Made fast towards the sand,
Its bow was shortly on the beach,
As did the Vikings land.
And in particular one man,
Did terrible appear,
With heavy bulk and fearsome beard,
And eyes with hated glare.
He cursed at Peene for taking time,
To tally with the tide,
Thus risking capture or much worse,
With dangers multiplied.
For this was Viking, Torsten Cree,
With glistening ring in ear,
A red bandanna round his head,
His waist, with bandolier.
But at that moment did appear,
A creature so malign,
A man of much malevolence,
Staid dark and saturnine.
From top to toe, all dressed in black,
An apparition vile;
As tall as thin, with back half bent,
With not the slightest smile.
His pallid gaze suspicious stared,
At d’Arcy’s startled face,
A sneering scowl, and stony glare,
A terrible dogface.
His red rimmed eyes showed sleepless nights,
His yellowed teeth most gone,
A parchment skin, skeletal thin,
Its colour, pale and wan.
There was about the man himself,
A venom, scarce contained,
An ominous malevolence,
That barely was restrained.
He introduced himself as Kreep,
A Courtier of Neill,
At mention of whose awesome name,
Did d’Arcy tremors feel.
The last thing d’Arcy could afford,
Was stark discovery;
So slipping from his lover’s arms,
He decamped, stealthily.
“My maid is cleaning, over there,”
Said Orla, with a clue,
And at her hurried remonstrance,
Bared d’Arcy took his cue.
For luckily he found a dress,
Of delicate chiffon,
Which ripped a bit and burst its seams,
As quick he pulled it on.
But Cathal was too ill to see,
This unconvincing sight,
As d’Arcy Peene slipped from the scene,
To Orla’s mixed delight.
Then stooping through a lowly door,
He found himself inside,
A darkened cabin, quite discreet,
A perfect place to hide.
But as his eyes accustomed came,
To lantern, dimly lit,
He spied two maids upon a bunk,
Their bodies closely knit.
So hiding in a recessed space,
He recognised the pair,
As Sophie and the other maid,
Young Elsie, slim and fair.
The moment next his jaw did drop,
As unbelieving eyes,
Did witness the amazing sight,
That both maids did devise.
In unison, they held their swords,
Then raised their weapons straight,
With d’Arcy’s steady as a rock,
Though Odhram’s did vibrate.
The Priest stood in-between the pair,
His handkerchief held out,
In readiness to drop the cloth,
And start the deadly bout.
Peene briefly looked at Bishop Knell,
Who stood as referee,
And waited for the Cleric's sign,
To strike at liberty.
But short before the signal came,
To let them thrust away,
A mighty wave did rock the ship,
That moved both men to sway.
The Surgeon knew he had to find,
The dagger, where it lay;
And then remove it steadily,
To take it safe away.
Yet as he probed, he briefly looked,
At Odhram’s pallid face,
Full knowing he had little time,
As shown by Claw’s grimace.
At last the dagger’s edge was found,
To d’Arcy’s keen delight,
As instantly, he knew he had,
The weapon’s buried site.
Full knowing that the smallest slip,
Could seal poor Odhram’s fate,
He gently pulled the dagger out,
Though dared not vacillate.
Reserved relief attended Peene,
As taking out the blade,
With little in the way of blood,
His fears were thus allayed.
From where he hid Sir d’Arcy saw
That danger lay ahead,
As desperate hands search roundabout,
Beneath the hiding bed.
He touched upon a china bowl,
A solid, chamber pot,
Which holding firm, he moved out from,
His previous hiding spot.
And then before the drunken Claw,
Could turn to see him clear,
He brought the chamber pot straight down,
On Odhram’s rounded sphere.
The Boatswain fell unconscious on,
The wooden cabin floor,
But next a sound was softly heard,
An opened, cabin door.
But there was not the slightest sign,
Of Bishop Doncha Knell.
"So where's that wretched Man of God?”
Cursed Conall, with a yell.
When suddenly a sailor cried,
And with a pointed arm,
Picked out a figure, climbing up,
The Irish ship’s yardarm.
They all looked up, towards the sky,
And to a man, aghast,
Could clearly see the priestly Knell,
Ascending up the mast.
Then suddenly, the swaying Knell,
Stopped climbing and looked back;
And all could see the man now was,
A raving maniac.
At which, the Surgeon looked at Knell,
Dumbfounded, as he stared,
And saw a sight, for which he was,
Completely unprepared.
As upwards gazed two deadly eyes,
From Bishop Knell’s white face,
Which lay contorted, pale against,
The blood-stained pillowcase.
An evil death was not in doubt,
As his wide severed throat,
Had clearly been occasioned by,
Some form of sharp garrotte.
Close on the floor, the Surgeon saw,
A cast off, blood-stained blade,
And then became transmogrified,
As Captain Quenn inveighed –
It was the early light of dawn,
When shackled Peene was led,
Along the deck, to where a noose,
Swung loose above his head.
He looked across the sea towards,
The land rimmed by its bay,
The hopeful sight of which left him,
With sadness and dismay.
He glanced about the deck and saw,
The full ship’s company,
Assembled there to watch him hang,
And die in misery.