They set upon him fearlessly
Encircling our man,
With hungry blades and thirsting eyes,
They inwards stepped with violent cries,
And sought with force to take their prize,
With murder as their plan.

They did not care for chivalry,
Nor how he stood alone,
They only cared for their success,
With hatred rising in their chests,
And boiling blood, feelings intense,
And anger in their bones.

They went to take him where he stood,
To cleave him heart from soul,
But just as all was surely lost,
A number of them turned because,
Their conscience made them count the cost,
Of killing one so bold.

They faced their brothers of the sword
And ordered them away,
‘It is an act of cowardice,
To kill a man this way!’

Some ran at once their faces grim,
Whilst others did delay,
Until a comrade of the Wake
Did through their circle urgent break,
To leave them standing jaws agape,
As he spirited him away.

And so, escaped with heart and soul,
His saviours Hereward praised,
Both he who on his horse broke through,
And those who turned, the chivalrous few,
Who bought him time, despite the seven he slew,
To fight another day.

This bright report soon quickly spread
Across both camps with speed,
The honour of his tale’s account,
The generosity his foes espoused,
Compassion showed from grace’s fount,
To the man they once all feared.

And with same speed his fame soon spread,
And peace broke out with joy,
And gifts were poured on our great lord,
The best of gifts they could afford,
Sourced here at home and far abroad,
By former foes now joined.

I left Hereward in a precarious position a few days ago, a classic cliffhanger. Does he escape? And how?
(07.07.26)

© Ben Quant 2026
Photo by Mikhail Mamaev on Unsplash