The actual penultimate chapter (maybe), in which The Fool and The Poet (me) move closer to the throne to better observe the machinations of The Cup-Bearer and The Steward as they try to unmask the ruse concocted by The Prince and The Maid.

⚜️⚜️⚜️

I’ll let The Fool begin this bitter play,
As, as we closer crept, I heard him say,
“They seem a merry bunch, but look at he:
The rotten one; that Cup-Bearer; that flea
Upon the rump of gnats; that boneless squid,
More fluid than meat; that breath God should forbid,
Sidling up to Steward Stick-Up-His-Arse;
That manikin man; that stickler for ordered farce.
The Flea whispers a joke, clearly a flop,
As Stewy The Stalwart Steward’s in a strop,
Looking at our young prince and German squeeze
Like each of ‘em’s the source of some disease!”
Now close enough we heard the Steward say,
“Countess, are you fond of beasts that bray?”
“Of horses?” said, with Saxon lilt, The Maid,
Looking as though her species was betrayed.
“I've heard”, continued The Steward, “Some delight
So much being near them spend they all the night
In convalescence in the stable’s loft
Lying in loving arms on pillows soft.”
“I would not know,” she said now blushing red.
The Prince grew red as well but anger fed,
“You, Steward, speak of nonsense to distract
From how The Fool showed wisdom where you lacked.”
“’Tis true,” whispered the Fool to me, “although
The boy should not have let his cheeks thus glow,
For cooler tongues betray no lies we say
While hotter ones show guilt as bright as day.”
The King piped up, confused at their discourse,
“Explain to me this nonsense ‘bout a horse.”
“’Tis noth’ng my liege,” The Cup-Bearer said sweetly,
“Some evidence was found that, quite discretely,
Two lovers had been meeting for a tryst
Within the stable loft. No doubt they kissed
And did as lover’s do until discovered
They leapt, so their identities stayed covered,
Into the patch of Ivy grown outside.”
“A juicy bit,” approved the King, “But why’d
You, Steward, think this time appropriate
To broach a saucy tale that’d better wait.”
“Oh,” said the Steward, “I must have been reminded,
Of a book they found, quite thick and leather-binded,
Left by the lovers in the loft, which gave
Instructions how the Germans oft behave.”
That said, the two conspirators were done
And left the seeds they’d sown to doom the son.
Yet slow to grasp was born his kingly father
So as a coup-de-grâce The Cup-Bearer
Deployed these fatal words to guide the blow,
“Forgive me Prince and Countess, but I know
Apothecaries who can treat your rash.”
Pointing at their hands where red on ash
Glared now as bright as amber to the court
And brought The King from drunkenness to thought.
Deductions mighty cogs made turn within
His ruddy head and hand came up to chin,
Stroking his beard (for o’ course he had a beard,
As using ev’ry trope I’ve never feared.
Thus is my king like all cartoonists draw:
A caricature of Edward the Third, whose jaw
Was decked with snowy locks to better show
His wisdom, not in craft, but pike and bow).
Yet, presently, The Prince responded thus,
“’Tis nothing, have no fear to cause a fuss,
‘Twas just... the burn from ice that frosted o’er
The door that housed the Countess in the tower...”
“You lie!” the King roared, rising in his rage,
The penny having dropped after an age,
“’Tis Ivy, by my troth! ‘Tis Ivy’s lash
That causes such a red malignant rash!
Who is this harlot? Who is she that plays
This noble game imbibing German ways?”
“My liege!” The Prince cried kneeling on the floor,
“Forgive me for this lady I adore!
She's humble-birthed it’s true but noble-hearted,
And shattered would mine be if we were parted.
We knew you’d never grant our union light
So conjured we this plan in dark of night.
Yet does she not bear falsity so true?
Does not her grace prove royal blood as blue
As yours or mine? Can not we bend this rule,
Given that oft its strictures become cruel,
And let me take in marriage this fair hand.
For what we do is what love’s strings demand,
Guiding our bodies t’ward a joyous eve
When both of us may happiness conceive.
Surely you once, of love, could stake a claim
Before my mother left this Earthly plain?
Remember now it’s sweetened fiery pang
That burned within your soul until you sang:
‘O God! I see the reason for creation!’
With heart in ecstasy and mind: elation,
Caught in each others eyes until that soft
Voice of an angel bears your love aloft
And blesses both your souls with heaven’s grace.
Would you divine tradition so debase
For ours of Earthly pallor, half as great,
Just to fickle royal customs sate?
What say you father to my heart’s true plea?
Will love be crushed or left to blossom free?”
So ended th’ Prince’s speech, and all looked on
To witness how the father judged the son.