Sir Russ, Joan of Arc & May

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“Thorny Side Up: Get Off My Lawn of Roses” 

by Russ Lockwood  (A report on a War of Roses miniature game)

“Sir Russ, otherwise known as Lord Fauconberg, gazed with aristocratic disdain upon the seething assembly of Yorkist troops. "So many commoners these days," he muttered. "A consequence of a weak kingdom and no shortage of pretenders." 

His icy reproof of the chaos clouded his better judgement that he would be far better off carousing in a bedchamber with a flagon of ale and a fiery wench. 

Still, his loyalty to the House of York demanded his presence against the array of Lancastrian louts. How it would turn out was anyone's guess, for the forces were even with four great battles to a side. Sir Russ gave his side the edge, for the Lancalouts -- Sir Chris, Sir Phil, and Sir Mike -- had resorted to using a mercenary force from over the sea: some Danish lout named Michael the Bald whose force looked as dangerous as a pastry. 

As for the rightful lords of England, Sir Jay, Sir Dave, Sir Rich, and himself, all stalwart and true examples of nobility in the finest traditions of chivalry, three ached for the clash of steel and the fourth for that middlin lager. Providence assured victory ... if only they could keep their knights in line. 

As Sir Russ shoved his troops into line of battle, he could not help feeling this was a most unruly a gathering of knights as if the sun had disappeared. He watched the interplay of several knights. 

As one knight called his squire a donkey for forgetting to tighten a strap, another nearby misheard the comment, downed his goblet of wine, and took offense. "Hey! You talkin' to me? I said, you talkin' to me?" 

"Certainly not, you befouled ragamuffin."
"What? You got a beef with me, Sir Loin?"
"You drink too much, Sir Rosis."

A third knight intervened in an attempt to prevent words escalating to deeds. "Good and brave knights. Wonders under the heavens occur with the benediction of kind words and fair actions, such that contentment enwraps all who aspire to engage in victorious harmony of mind, body, and soul upon this dawn of righteous bellicosity. Lo, let us embrace the brotherhood of a divine cause enacted on such fields of endeavor as blessed by Heaven." 

A fourth knight leaned over to whisper in the speaker's ear. "Get to the point, Sir Quetus." 

Sir Quetus glared. "If you can't discern the intended message, you're not so smart, Sir Rebrum." Sir Quetus turned and stalked off in a huff. 

A fifth knight sidled up. "Burn. Oh, burn! If I were you, I wouldn't take that. I'd grab him by the throat with one hand and tweak his big pink tomato nose with the other!" 

Sir Rebrum took a step towards the insolent knight. "Maybe I should grab you by the throat and shake you like a terrier shakes a rat." 

"My pardon, Sir Rebrum," the knight blurted and scuttled away. 

"I thought not, you big old bag of hot air, Sir Rocco!" Sir Rebrum shouted. "Besides, Sir Rosis has the big, bigger, biggest red nose of all." 

"Hey! You talkin' to me?" challenged Sir Rosis. 

Sir Russ had enough of this foolishness. "Cease thine prattle. See to your preparations for battle. If you survive, you can joust or melee or batter your heads in all you want. Until then, we fight the Lancalouts, not each other." 

"As Lord Fauconberg commands," Sir Rebrum stated, and bowed.” The other knights bowed as the commander meandered to the other units.” 

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On April 29, 1429, Joan of Arc enters the city of Orleans, France which was besieged by the English. The siege was broken on May 8 and the English. Joan was 17 years old.

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The End Of May

The fragrant air is full of down,

Of floating, fleecy things

From some forgotten fairy town

Where all the folk wear wings.

Or else the snowflakes, soft arrayed

In dainty suits of lace,

Have ventured back in masquerade,

Spring's festival to grace.

Or these, perchance, are fleets of fluff,

Laden with rainbow seeds,

That count their cargo rich enough

Though all its wealth be weeds.

Or come they from the golden trees,

Where dancing blossoms were,

That now are drifting on the breeze,

Sweet ghosts of gossamer?

by Katharine Lee Bates

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“Every man has his secret sorrows which the world knows not; and often times we call a man cold when he is only sad.” 

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

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It’s Friday and the sun is shinning.

Thank you Lord for this beautiful day and thank you that I am here to enjoy it.

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The Animals - “House of the Rising Sun” (1964)

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Go over to "This Ain't the Lyceum," where Kelly is hosting more takes.