Now at these words Warenne gave groan,
And stamped his thwarted feet,
And going puce began to moan,
With growing anger in his bones,
His longed for vengeance now postponed,
In light of this defeat.

‘If your master were in my hands,
I promise he’d taste death,
But know I’ll chase him through this land,
Until my final breath!

His curse was met with laughter by
Our Hereward who reached out,
And took his bow and drew its string,
An arrow true and sharp gave wing,
The Earl upon his breast did sting,
Causing his men great doubt.

Although it glided from his chest
Without a mortal wound,
His men, alarmed, ran up to him,
Most frantic at the clanging din,
And how the impact did fling him,
Down to the wretched ground.

Will Warenne ever get his man? Not for now at least…
(13.09.36)

© Ben Quant 2026
Photo by Alireza Sahebi on Unsplash