WESLE'S TALE

by Alfred D. Byrd

	An earlier version of this work appeared in Starward Bound, 1990.

	Listen and learn,  my ladies and lords,

As I herald heroes  in a happier time,

In an age when England  still owned her freedom,

Ere the Normans' noose  had netted our necks.

Peace had appeared,  for the pitiless Vikings,

Who, raiding for rapine,  had ravaged our lands,

Had been hastened homeward  by a host of our heroes;

And feasts for our warriors,   rewarding their fierceness,

Were happily held  in our halls and homesteads.

	In that month, on the moors,  a manor was brightened

By the flare of torches  and the flames of ovens

As a warlord returned  from the tumult of weapons

Was going to be given  the guerdon of triumph:

To marry a maiden,  the manor-lord's daughter.

A priest was present  to pray for the nuptials,

And a bard had been summoned  to season the banquet

With strains he would strum  from the strings of his harp,

And a no one called Wesle --  "the Weakling," some named him --

The manor-lord's nephew,  though the knowledge was muffled,

Sat at the supper  and sighed for his cousin,

For Bryht, who would be  the battle-lord's bride.

He had gazed at the girl  of the golden braids,

With the hue of the heavens  held in her eyes,

With silent yearning  for sorrow-filled years,

For a nephew who knew  no name for his father

Could hardly hope  for the hall's chief prize.

Now even his eyes  would ache for her absence

Once, wed to the warrior,  she went from the hall.

	Then, rising, the manor-lord  raised his mead-cup:

"May God be good  to those gathered!" he shouted.

"Let's guzzle, my guests,  to the gallant Bearheart,

The worthy warrior  who has won our fair Bryht."

	  They showed their rejoicing  as they joined in sharing

The custom of wassail;  even Wesle kept it,

Though the bite of the brew  seemed as bitter as brine.

	Then Bearheart the Bold  bowed to the holder

And, smirking with smugness,  smiled at the maid.

"How goodly a gain  is this gift of my host!

I've waded through warfare  to win such a payment,

For Bryht as my bride  will brighten my glory."

	At the manor-lord's bidding,  the bard made merry

With a fitting song  for the festive supper,

So, harp in hand,  he rehashed the tale

Of the boldness of Beowulf  in battle with monsters;

And to grapple with Grendel  would have gratifed Wesle

If winning had brought him  fair Bryht as wife,

But only too early  came the end of the song,

And the priest now stood  to establish with prayer

The bonds that would bind  mighty Bearheart to Bryht.

	Wesle wept then,  wishing some wonder

Would release his love  from her lordly captor,

But the priest began  his prayers regardless

Of the woeful one's wishes.  Wild was the howling

In his hopeless heart  at the hateful devotions,

And it happened he heard  a howling outside

That answered his own:  the awful outcry

Of beasts in dismay.  The baying of mongrels,

The neighing of horses,  the honking of geese,

And the lowing of cattle  lifted the hairs

On the necks of the feasters:  the nuptials faltered.

Then a ghostly glare,  a glimmering starlight,

Shone through the windows,  shuttered for winter;

A blue-tinged blaze,  blinding in brilliance,

Sailed in unsettling  silence and slowness,

A baleful menace,  above the manor,

And seemed to settle  somewhere beyond it.

	"What magic has met us?"  the manor-lord asked.

"What is this witchfire,  and why has it come here?

Does its shining foreshadow  the shape of disaster?"

He probed the priest:  "We pray that your learning

Will give us guidance  as we go to our fate."

	Shaking his head,  the holy man shot back:

"My lord, I'm lacking  in lore that will help you,

For the books of the wise  may not bear on this working.

This deed of darkness,  I deem, means more

To our friend the harpist" --  with a frown he beheld him --

"So come earn your keep!  I call on your training

To unmantle the meaning;  magic's a bard's trade."

	The bard looked about,  battered with glances;

Then he cleared his throat.  "I claim that this threat

Is none of my sending;  I'd never deceive you.

I've little learning  in the lore of lightning.

No, my good priest,  our need is the prowess

Of a fearless fighter  to fathom this wonder:

Our hopes are held  in that hero, Bearheart!"

	The eyes of them all  then aimed their glances

At the face of the fighter;  his forehead was pale.

"A warrior's work,"  his words came back,

"Is hardly to hasten  to the howling of beasts

Or to look at lights  that alarm the dumb brutes.

A herdsman suffices  to handle their fears;

Send, then, this servant" --  he signed towards Wesle --

"To tame this tumult  and tell us its cause."

	Then Bryht arose,  unbridled her wrath,

And spoke with spirit  a speech in these words:

"How mighty the men  who make up this household!

How bold in their wielding  these walls as a buckler!

To the foe unworldly  that waits in the darkness,

They would shove out a shaveling  to show their contempt --"

	She'd have sped more spear-words  to spur them to movement,

But the term of her tongue  that told them his worth

Had stung the stableboy;  he stood, then, defiant.

"You're wrong, my fair cousin!"  he called to correct her.

"Our warlord is wise  in the words he has chosen:

Tonight we have  no need for a hero!

I'll sally to silence  the sounds of our cattle,

A work unworthy  of a warrior's notice;

Then our feast may follow  a fairer pathway."

	These words were rewarded  by Wesle's beloved

With a lilt of laughter  for her lowly kinsman,

And, fired with her favor,  he set forth with boldness.

Yet the feats he had fancied  soon faded to fear;

The proud one, in prayer,  approaching the doorway,

Regretted the grand words  he'd greeted fair Bryht with.

He urged the door open,  and outward it swung,

Smiting the wood  of the wall with a smack!

He opened his eyes  on an awesome landscape:

A moonlit moor,  mantled with mist

That wavered and burned   with beams like witchfire

That shot from a source  concealed on his left.

The boards rubbed his back  as he bore himself crabwise

To the side of the hall  that hid what he sought;

Then he snaked out an eye  like a snail's on its stalk

To cast a glance  at the cause of the glow.

It struck him speechless  as he strained his wits

To mark in his mind  the magic before him;

Then the marvel's movement  made him seek safety.

He stopped not a second  till he stood in the sight

Of the fearful feasters  he'd fared to enlighten;

And his friends were mirrors  of the fright that had moved him,

For his tongue-tied terror  told them the worst.

	"What magic met you?"  the manor-lord asked him.

"By your face's paleness,  a phantom of power!"

	"Neither spook nor spirit,"  in the speech of Bearheart,

"Was the shade that shook him,  but his shadow by moonlight,

Beheld by his dread,  drove the lad hither."

	This taunt freed his tongue;  he told what he'd seen

In words he feared  would fail to win them:

"Neither shade nor shadow,  but the shield of a giant,

Gleaming with glory,  I glimpsed with awe.

Lengthwise it lay  along the moor,

As wide as this hall,  as high as these walls,

And legs below it  lifted it upward.

The beams from its boss  bathed it with brilliance

And filled the fog  with the fire of their burning.

Yet much more mighty  was the marvel that followed:

As I waited and watched,  I witnessed a sight

That showed the shield  as a shelter for menfolk,

For a doorway gaped,  a gangplank came down,

And out of the light  that lit up the inside

Came figures of folk  whose faces were masked

By egg-shaped helmets;  their armor was silver --"

	"Your words are wild,  young Wesle!" said Bearheart.

"They call you 'the Weakling,'  but 'Witless' becomes you!"

	"My wits did not wander!"  said Wesle in anger.

"You can trust my witness;  my words are true.

If you doubt me, Bearheart,  I bid you to deeds:

Look for yourself;  you'll see I've not lied!"

	The lady's laughter  rang loud in their ears:

"It seems that your 'servant,'"  she said, "has a heart

More fit for this faring  than the fighter of Vikings."

	Bearheart the Bold  bore this taunt ill;

His face grew crimson  as he cried in fury,

"They are reckless who rant  and rail at a swordsman

Who defended their freedom  from foes in the fray;

Let them do likewise,  long in the battle,

If they list to belittle  their lives' protector!

I take no terror  from the tale this boy tells;

I feel no fear  of the phantoms he spoke of;

I'll fare, then, forth  to face the shield-ship!

Let all who have courage  come to my outing

And watch as I drive  the dream-foes away!

If, facing the foe,  I fail in the onset,

Let the woman I've won  be the wife of the man

Who bears the battle  Bearheart took wing from!"

	Awed by this outburst,  they all fell silent;

Then the bard shot back  to Bearheart's speech:

"Your words are worthy  of a warrior's will!

Now speak with your spear  as you speed from this table

To be bold in battle;  this bard will follow!"

	The priest then praised  his prowess as well;

And, to heap the praise high,  the holder hastened

To add his own,  urging bold Bearheart

To be in battle  the bane of his foes,

The fiends he would face,  whether phantom or flesh.

	The warrior welcomed  their words with a smile;

Then, bolting his mead,  he bade the maiden

Hasten to hand him  his helmet and shield,

His spear and sword.  Speechless and sullen,

She bound on his weapons;  Wesle's blood boiled.

	"May our prayers aid your prowess,"  the priest then added,

"But, before you go forth,  confession is proper --"

	"Your words are wise,"  the warrior told him,

"But I'd see my assailant  ere I say how I've sinned.

Let conflict come!  I call you to witness

The deeds of daring  I'll do by moonlight."

	He fared then forth,  and the feasters followed

In file at his feet,  their faith in the hero:

Even Bryht, Wesle saw  (his breast filled with sorrow),

Now eyed him with favor,  the fearless in onset.

He flung the door wide  that Wesle in fleeing

Had shut from his shaking;  the shining streamed in.

They stopped then and stood,  staring and trembling,

Hearing the howling,  the hideous clamor

That broke like breakers  through the breach of the doorway.

	The hero, too, halted,  held by his awe

Till Wesle spoke words  that wounded his pride:

"Behold our defender,  helpless to face

What this witless herdsman --  yes, Wesle the Hopeless! --

Saw first from this doorway,  yet dared seek further.

If he falters in fear  of forms in the mist,

He'll surely cower  from the caster of shadows!"

	Bearheart bellowed  a beastly growl

And ran from the room  towards his radiant test;

And his griever, now grinning,  grabbed fair Bryht's hand

And hauled her behind him  in the hero's wake.

With the moaning of creatures  now mingled the cries

(As Wesle had warned them)  of wonder and fear

From that shaken assembly  as they saw with their own eyes

The shining shield-thing,  showing its glory,

And its silvery sailors,  suited in armor,

Moving like men  in the mist on the moor.

Stunned by the sight,  all stood in silence

But the bard and the bookman,  who debated in whispers

The whence and the why  of what was before them.

	"A feat of the fair folk  is my faith!" said the bard.

	The priest made a protest,  but proved uncertain

Whether to say  that what they saw

Were the angels called seraphs,  descended to act out

The vision of wheels  within wheels once viewed

By the prophet in exile,  the priest Ezekiel --

Or demons who dared  try to dupe those who watched them

By hiding their hatred  with a halo of light.

	Then fear of what faced them,  the figures of silver,

Brought the fair Bryht  to embrace her cousin,

And Wesle wondered  at the wealth unlooked-for

He had gained as a gift  from  those gaudy intruders.

	The manor-lord's shout  shattered the moment:

"We're seeing no seraphs;  I'm certain of that!

What creatures of light  would crave a man's livestock?"

	Wesle, amazed,  wondered what madness

Had addled his uncle;  then his eyes saw also

The wrong that had roused  the rage of his lord:

Through the mist of the moor  the men of silver

Hastened like herdsmen  some heifers before them

Toward the shining shield,  the ship that had brought them.

	The lay-singing bard  burst into laughter:

"Stealers of cattle  come from the stars --

None alive would believe  such a lay if I sung it!"

	The manor-lord made  a maddened cry:

"No star-men shall steal  my stock unpunished --

Not while Bearheart the Bold  still bears his swift sword!"

	The hero bore ill  the eyes that beheld him:

"Though I fear no fight  with foes who are human,

I would be a fool  to battle with fairies!"

	Then Bryht unwound   from Wesle's embrace

And wielded the weapon  of words aimed to wound:

"You're a fool already,  so ride to the fairies!

We're weary of words;  let's witness your deeds!"

	The death-dealer's face  darkened with fury;

"I'll bear the battle!"  he boasted, enraged:

"I accept the summons;  now saddle my charger!"

	With a motion the manor-lord  commanded young Wesle

To see to this service;  he set off at once.

The barn was brightened  by the baleful light

That crept through the cracks  in the creaking structure;

And Wesle wondered  at the wildness of change

The brilliance had brought  as it broke its lances

On the goods and the gear  that were gathered within.

He lingered a little  as he looked in a corner

At barrels of pitch  to patch the roof with

And blocks of sulfur,  whose scent, when blazing,

Poisoned the hosts  of pests in the hall,

And the thread of a thought  ran through his mind;

Then a hale of "Hurry!"  hastened him onward.

	He stopped at the stall  where the steed was stabled --

It shook and whinnied  and showed its eyes' whites

As it battered the boards  with its body's lunges --

But with kind caresses  he calmed its raging;

Then he set the saddle  on the sorrel's back,

And, wrapping the reins  around his forearm,

He covered its eyes  and called it without.

	He blinked at the blaze  of blueness before him

As he heard his hoped-for,  beholding him, call:

"Here, our hero,  is the horse you've sent for.

The hour is upon you;  the onset awaits you;

Streak to the strife  and strike down the foe --"

	Bearheart the Bold  bore with ill patience

His promised one's promptings.  "The priest must make

A full absolution  ere I fall to the lists:

I'll make no assault  while bemired in my sins --"

	"Will you stay till the star-men  steal all our wealth

Ere you rise and ride  to rescue it for us?

Can your soul be so soiled  with sin that you'll wait

Till the foes feast in fullness  ere you face them in battle?

If aware that so wicked  a warrior sought me,

I'd have spurned your suit,  though with spite you slew me --"

	"Peace!" he bade her;  "I'll buffet the pirates;

Though it cost me my life,  I'll kill them at last."

	That mighty man  then mounted his steed

And fixed his face  to fight their assailants;

He rose in his stirrups  and roared in a strong voice:

"Radiant raiders,  your ruin draws near;

Your forms will feel  the fury of Bearheart.

My spear and my blade  will spill your life's blood

And send your souls  to sudden avenging."

Thus he challenged the star-men  to withstand his charge,

And, setting his spear,  he spurred his horse on.

	Fearing the battle,  the beast refused:

It shuddered and whirled  and, shivering, whickered,

While feast-guests and star-men  stared at its fear-dance.

Heated, the hero  hauled on the reins

And stirred his steed  to a stumbling pace:

Staring, the star-men  stood in silence

As if waiting for woe  without will to resist it.

Bryht drew her breath in  at the braveness she witnessed,

And her lover lamented:  this lordly deed

Would be the brideprice  that would bring her to Bearheart.

	Then the watchers wailed out  a warning of danger:

The beams that were bathing  the boss of the shieldship

Made a sudden shift;  the shining sought

To blind bold Bearheart  with its burning blueness.

The horse reared up,  halting the onset;

Then the blaze was joined  by a giant's blast

On a mighty horn,  howling out madness.

The horse gave a whinny  and wheeled in a gallop

That ruined its rider, who rose from the saddle

And flew through the air  in a flight that was ended

By the mud of the moor --  so mighty his downfall!

	The ones he went  to ward from danger

Beheld with horror-filled  hearts his stallion,

Racing riderless,  run into darkness;

Then, turning, they told  their terror with screams

As they stared at the star-men  in their stealthy approach

To the feet of the fallen  fighter of Vikings.

Their terror turned  to a tumult of cheers

As the staunch one, their stalwart,  staggered upright

And turned to face  the terrible foemen.

	"Strike with your sword  and seal their destruction,"

Bryht called to the hero;  "Our hope is your braveness!"

	Their hope proved hopeless,  for beholding the onset

Of his radiant rivals,  the reaper of Vikings

Turned his back on the harvest  and bade his feet hasten

In the steps of the steed  like a storm to the hall.

	Yes, home was the hero,  unhorsed by his combat;

And the words of his maid  were less mild than he wished!

"The boldness of Bearheart!  The boasts of a coward!

His tongue has a taste  to talk about battle,

But his feet have a feeling  to fare from the fray!

Mere bragging's the boldness  he'd buy a wife with!

It moves not his mind  that a maiden's dowry

Is seized in his sight  while he sits in hiding --"

	"Enough!" he shouted.  "This shield-ship, I know now,

Is a foe whose force  it's fitting to yield to.

Your livestock is lost,  unless some other

Can bear the battle  Bearheart failed in.

That one I would honor  and own him the winner

Of the hand of the bride  who brought me hither."

	"I'd be glad to give her  to so gallant a fighter;

He'd merit her marriage,"  the manor-lord added.

"But the stalwart who'll stand,  my estate's defender,

Is, woe to tell, lacking.  These wasps will linger,

Buzzing about us,  till they bear our bounty

Away in the shield-ship.  Such woe is my share!"

	They stared then in sorrow  at the star-men who sauntered,

As bold as bears,  about with their plunder,

Till, groaning, the priest said,  "These grievous oppressors

Were sent, I'm certain,  to sift us like wheat

For the great transgressions  we've grieved this world with;

With us as their prey,  why else would they prosper

And not feel the fury  of fire and brimstone?"

	These words awoke  in Wesle's mind

The sleight of slyness  that had slipped through his thoughts

When he went to the stable  for the warrior's steed:

As a vision of victory  he viewed that plan now.

"They are wasps that brimstone  will break the wings of,"

He told his companions;  "they'll pay for their terror.

For stored in the stable  is a stock of weapons

That will hasten them hence:  now hear what I've thought of."

	They listened with laughter  to the lad at first;

Then the wisdom his words held  won them over,

And they ran to the barn  to make ready for battle.

	To retell in this tale  their attack makes me tremble,

Recalling the courage  they conquered their foes with:

What fear must have filled  the face of each star-man

As he watched them advance,  wielding with vengeance

A doleful discipline  from the Day of Doom!

The hands of the household  had hastened to help

Turn Wesle's wisdom  into weapons of fire;

Now the flare of torches,  flaming with terrible

Pitch and brimstone,  broke on the pirates.

At the head was the hero,  the hapless no longer,

Wesle the Wonder,  a warrior now

Assaulting the star-ship  with the stench of sulfur;

And hard on his heels  a heroine ran,

Her golden hair streaming  as she gave out strokes.

(The others aided  the onset as well,

Not least of them Bearheart,  that lover of battle.)

The star-men scattered;  our stalwarts, unscathed,

Ran up the ramp  of the reavers' vessel.

	What wonders they witnessed  in that weirdling hold

Our tale cannot tell;  our tongue lacks the words:

They wandered a maze  of walls made of metal,

Where flightless fireflies  flickered in rows,

And bodiless voices  bellowed void words,

Till they found their livestock;  then they led them forth

And stood in triumph  while the star-men trembled.

	"Their deeds deserve death;  let their dues be paid them!"

Bearheart bellowed;  others bade likewise.

	Bryht, though, rebuked them:  "How brave it would be

To hew them while helpless!  Do heroes slaughter

Their defeated foes  when the fighting is finished?"

	Then Wesle, beholding  the havoc he'd worked,

The scorching of sulfur  on their silvery skins,

Heard her plea for their plight  and plotted their freedom:

"They've learned their lesson;  what a lay of horror

They could carry to their kin  in the keeps of the starfields!

Let us send them in sorrow  to sing in their halls

The deeds we did  when we doomed their foray;

Then, recalling our rage,  those reavers will cower

And fear to set forth  to face us again."

	"The boy has said well!"  were the words of the bard,

And the priest gave the prize  of praise to him also

In a meeting of minds  unmatched in years past.

The others applauded  the plan as apt,

So they fell back a length  to let their foes,

Hanging their heads,  hasten between them

Up the ramp to their ship,  which raised then and shut.

With hearts that were high  they beheld the shield-ship

Ascend in silence  and sail towards the sky:

They watched it wane  to a wan little star-mote;

Then the victors' vision  viewed it no more.

	Assembled in silence,  they savored the feeling

Of battles won,  till Bearheart spoke words:

"A fight to be feasted!  Let us fare to the wedding

And bring the bride  to this brave one who claims her!"

	Bryht, though, abridged him:  "The bride is not yours!

You promised all present  that the prize would be his

Who was aweless in onset;  you must honor another

As him who should have  the hand of your maiden."

	All present were speechless,  till the priest responded,

"The words of our daughter  have dealt out wisdom:

The vows we vow  in victory's vanguard

Must be kept when we conquer,  lest we call for misfortune."

	"Well reasoned, good priest;  let the promise be rendered!"

Thus the bard made bold  to bid the bride's father,

And the holder hastened  to hold the vow valid.

	Even Bearheart grumbled  agreement as bidden,

And Wesle wondered  at the words he'd heard:

The drift of these statements  seemed the stuff of dreams.

	Then the manor-lord, mirthful,  made an announcement:

"I have long shown little  of love to my nephew,

But with pride I now press  this prize upon him:

Wesle and Bryht,  as bride and her winner,

If it meets with their liking,  may mingle their lives."

	No words came to Wesle,  who was wounded with gladness

And blind with the brilliance  of Bryht's smile of bliss;

He merely could nod  to make his "Yes!" known.

	"Fine!" said the father,  "let us fare to the feast

And mark this wedding  with mead and with song."

	They hastened to hall  and held a fine feast there

As they made the marriage  with mirth and vows:

The prayers of the priest  and the praise of her father

Gave Bryht as bride  to her breathless cousin.

Even Bearheart bore  his bitterness elsewhere

As he hoped for their health  as husband and wife.

Then, to gild the gladness  of that glorious night,

This bard, your servant,  burst into song,

Giving voice in verse  to the valor of Wesle

And the praiseworthy prize  his prowess had won him;

Let us wish them well  in their wedded life!

	Long may it linger,  this lay I've sung you

To tell you a tale  of terror and wonder,

Of laurels unlooked-for  and love that was gained

On a moonlit moor  on a magical night

By the wisdom of Wesle,  the wily in warfare!