Inside his blood began to boil,
The blinding weight of grief,
But with great effort he kept calm,
His certainty became a balm,
In the superiority of his arms,
A victory of belief.
Deeper into the building they crept
Until they found the fire,
Around it legless lords reclined,
On laps of ladies intertwined,
Watching a jester most unkind,
Provoking his hot ire.
Upon the lyre the jester played,
Singing a song most crude.
Before him danced another man,
In mockery of our green fair land,
He jerked and jumped and wildly span,
His imitation rude.
At last the jester did complete
His dire dirge and dance,
And boldly beckoned the grim chief man
Seeking a fee from his very hand,
A treasure, something precious, grand,
From the dead lord perchance.
At this one girl did shrilly cry,
‘You are a reckless fool!
If Hereward were to return,
Your act would be his fuel!’
‘His recklessness is world renown,
In strength he has no match,
I have no doubt he’d draw his sword,
And swiftly you dispatch!’
‘That man’s a scoundrel nothing more’,
The chief man did retort,
‘His wealth he stole, in fame a fraud,
In honour he falls short!’
His words had barely left his lips
When Hereward sprung forth,
No more could he hold back his hate,
At these harsh words his teeth did grate,
This bigoted fool he did berate,
His sword gave song to his complaint,
And struck the lord upon his pate,
And cleft him to the floor.
But not content at this outcome,
The rest he did dispatch,
These drunkards could not find their feet,
All fourteen did their fate there meet,
And so revenge was wrought complete,
In death they met their match.
Hereward enacts revenge upon his brother’s killers.
(19.06.26)
© Ben Quant 2026
Photo by Rachel on Unsplash
Ode for the Day 
