Bastard Of Edenborough Pines For Hand Of Lady Arkwright Of Essex Despite Her Betrothal To Sir Edmund Blackbourne

medieval

Lo! 1642 years after the incarnation of our lord on the eve of harvest, all of England and her territories recoil as the Bastard of Edenborough announces his quest for the hand of Lady Arkwright of Essex in direct contradiction to her recent betrothal to the fair Sir Edmond Blackbourne of Berkshire. He who claims our fair lady stands to inherit the Wessex whaling fortune accrued by her Uncle departed, the Count of Northumbria.

Son of whore and lord, the bastard seeketh the favor of our lady through feats most heroic and poetry most sublime. Multitudes pitcheth claims of insincerity and opportunism at the Bastard. Most notable among pitchers, the gallant Sir Edmond Blackbourne of Berkshire, recently returned from campaign in Burgundy and presently promised to our lady.

Sir Blackbourne speweth flames of indignity upon the Bastard: “Doth he have title and land to harbor my fair bride? Doth noble blood flow through those reptilian veins? God hath set forth this union, shouldst thou controvert our lord? A half breed such as he is fit for no more than to bow before his betters and speak softly, lest I remind where the lord of heaven hath placed him.”

So speaketh the Bastard: “Though I be a halfblood, hath not I a heart to seek the love of a woman so fair, so unrivalled amongst the maidens of the land? My only fear be I stricken blind by her radiance, and the jewels of the world be rendered dull against her immaculate beauty. Forsooth, as John professes the coming of the lamb, so too will I proclaim my admiration and desire for Lady Arkwright!”

Hark! Claims of the Bastard’s tricksy dealings with farmland further taint his reputation, so testifies the haggard old widow Abigail Barnaby: “How quickly my land was gobbled up by the fiend half noble half whore, he seeketh the benefit of himself above all else. I would rather Lucifer rise up from the depths to claim her hand.”

Above the flurry and scurry of the populace, our lady Arkwright alights upon the branch of wisdom to deliver her response:

“To see the truth mine eyes doth fail and strain,
from me both stand to love, both stand to gain.
So how am I to choose who is the best,
‘cept through the means of fairly played contest.
Our lord tis fair, our lord is true to tell,
who shall join me beneath the wedding bell.”

mm
About Nathan Grovhoug 20 Articles
Nathan is an exquisite writer and talented author. His writing is good too. He raised horses on the Iberian peninsula for 14 years, until a fallen nun named Rosina stole his herd, and his heart. They tried to reconcile during a chance meeting in Rotterdam 7 years later, but their love had been cast away, just like waking memories of a bitter autumn.