The Adventures of Don Valdes

A sample

I think, more than anything else, it’s important to write what you want to. When there’s a synthesis between your own interests and the project, even in absurd flights of fancy, the result is usually much better than sticking to a set in stone outline. A few months ago, I had an idea for adding an epic poem in the last few segments of the current manuscript. At this point, what does it even matter? The damn thing is over 700 pages, so I might as well do everything I want to, right? This manuscript is a giant filtration system anyway, so it’s not like less than zero people will read it at this point. I’ve exhausted the negative marginal gains in potential readership to a comfortable nobody. It’s a pleasant position to be in. Early last year, I made the probably deranged decision to write one character’s perspective (almost) entirely in rhyming verse. Some people don’t like rhyming verse, but I don’t really care. It fits the character’s naïve and whimsical personality. I wrote five stanzas over the past few days after a flurry of research and brushing the dust off my Latin, something I’ve been meaning to do for a long time. The poem follows Don Valdes, a fictional member of the Order of the Golden Fleece. History respecters will understand why the years leading up to 1700 are significant for that order, especially in Spain. I’m not sure how long the final product will be, but I do have a general narrative arc in mind.

In Basque country, north of Vitoria,

Anno Domini sixteen ninety-eight,

And sic ordinis transit gloria,

Before the ceaseless wheels of churning fate,

In the grassy shade of Amboto’s peak,

On sprawling fields of green among his sheep,

By the throaty whispers of a bub’ling creek,

Our Don Valdes has turned his mind to sleep,

And dream of adventure, once known by kin

Who sailed the seas in search of glor’ous wealth

And who strove, the favor of kings to win,

Despite many hazards to their health.

Our hero has just cause to fantasize,

Though a humble herder of downy ewes,

Since youth, he learned from fam’ly elders wise,

That he’s not called ‘Don’ as ironic ruse.

There’s heroic blood on his mother’s side,

Of one Juan Elcano, master of waves,

Who, with Magellan, crossed the ocean wide

And returned, although most found early graves.

The brave sailor never got his reward

And even met with claims of piracy

Instead of lands and the title of lord.

He later met a fitting end at sea.

Yet, Elcano’s line was not forgotten

By all the powers at work in old Spain.

The Order of the Golden Fleece, great men,

Intervened to assuage the fam’ly pain.

They gave honorary role of Shepherd

Of the Golden Flock to that flound’ring line,

The care of a modest holding and word

On sacred honor that their fates align.

That day has come, beneath the stony ridge,

As Don Valdes, lord of wooly livestock,

Leans with a sigh beside a wooden bridge

To rest his sleepy head upon a rock.

The thud of approaching hooves wakes the Don,

Just as the dreamy fingers touch his brain.

He rises, stretching his arms with a yawn,

As a rider lopes through the field of grain.

“Hail,” The rider says, “Keeper of the flock,

You’re the one they call Valdes, are you not?”

“I am the same,” our hero replies in shock.

“How came you to locate me in this spot?

And what need has one for Valdes the Don,

To seek him in the fields of greenery,

And not by his happy hearth, whereupon,

We might enjoy a proper revelry?”

“Pretium laborum non vile,” friend,

The rider says, revealing fellowship.

And the shepherd’s confusion doth amend,

With a knowing nod at the Latin quip.

Valdes rises and says, “Non aliud.

I’ve kept my duty to the order, sir,

By grand Amboto where the grass is good,

Through times both tumultuous and demure.

What desires have those holy men at arms

Beyond my role as keeper of the sheep?

I will risk all and face down any harms.

The promises of Valdes are not cheap.