The Adventures of Don Valdes Continued

End of pt 1 and all of pt 2

I decided to post the rest of what I have written of the poem that comes near the end of the manuscript. Like everything I do, it’s expanding into an absurdly long segment within the larger project. At this point, I think it will be around seven sections. Each section is twelve stanzas. So, that leaves a good deal left to write. I’m stepping away from social media as much as possible until I wrap up the manuscript. I find that I don’t really enjoy spending time on the internet much anymore. The attention economy tends to attract the deranged more than anyone else. While I can be monomaniacal about things, I try to divert it into productive energy. If you haven’t read the first five stanzas I posted, I recommend you check those out first. Otherwise, this segment begins rather abruptly.

They can be found here:

Anyway, on to the continuation:

The visitor smiles at our hero’s words,

And dismounts for a proper greeting.

“I come directly from those noble lords,

Who wished to arrange an urgent meeting.

I am Domingo of once grand León,

Serving the Duke of Escalona,

And traveling these roads from dusk ‘til dawn,

Dispatched from my station in Pamplona.

Please take me to your humble home to rest,

And tend my weary steed with oats and drink,

Then I’ll reveal the purpose of my quest,

And how our order teeters on the brink.

The Don calls to Felix, his young helper,

To watch over the flock while he is gone,

As he and Domingo seek shelter

At the simple stone house with sprawling lawn.

All his life, Valdes has made his living

Tending the Marino, Spain’s prized creature,

A beast both resilient and forgiving,

But the soft wool is their finest feature.

It’s a higher calling than simple trade,

Although bravery is rarely needed,

Unless a pack of wolves moves to invade

And must have their hungry path impeded.

The visitor’s horse goes to the stable,

And the two pass through the modest courtyard,

As Valdes commands a furnished table,

Sheep’s milk cheese and polvorones of lard.

The traveler takes his meal with red wine,

As he lets out an avalanche of praise.

With renewed strength, he straightens up his spine

And gives his news with flow’ry turns of phrase.

He tells Don Valdes that the king is ill.

The leader of the order’s never hale,

And there is word he moves to change his will,

So the crown’s succession is bound to fail.

“King Charles is under the spell of the Archbishop

Of Toledo. In his frailty, he can be turned,

He may hand the right of role to Philip

Of Anjou, a young duke whose claim is earned

By relation to the French in Versailles.

Yet, the Austrians are sure to protest,

A tangle much too complex to untie

In the short time that I will be your guest.

What’s important is that the knights are sure

There will be war in Spain once Charles dies,

And our holy order, noble and pure,

Might suffer from an untimely demise.”

At this, Valdes nearly falls from his chair.

This news is far beyond his shepherd’s life,

His worries are of weather, foul and fair,

And how a sheepman’s meant to find a wife.

“But why’ve you come to me with this?” he asks.

“I’m of The Golden Fleece out of pity,

Not fit for undertaking knightly tasks!

It’s been years since I entered a city!

I’m home in the wilderness, grassy leagues,

Protecting ewes from hungry pack and whelp,

I’ve no mind for political intrigues.

I’m not certain how I would be of help.”

Domingo says, “Your blood is the answer.

Although not noble, your veins hold courage.

Tell me, does your heart feel the ocean’s lure?

The call to overcome the storms that rage?

Your ancestor proved that our Earth is round,

And braved the mighty seas so merciless.

His boots left and returned to Spanish ground,

With nerves of steel and maritime finesse.

The order begs you take this glor’ous quest,

To bring the Golden Flock to distant lands,

The emerald valleys nestled in the West,

Those never touched by European hands.”

Valdes is stunned, his eyes widened in shock.

He only knows of boats from peaceful dreams,

On sunny afternoons out with the flock,

By the lisping murmur of gushing streams.

But he does not refuse the Golden Fleece,

The patrons of his happy existence,

Who’ve given him this life of modest peace.

It would prove a crime to show resistance.

“I am at your command,” replies the shepherd.

“Though my heart is filled with trembling and fear.

I will go where you wish. Just say the word.

My path is set to whither thou will steer.”

II: The Wolf’s Curse

Once given his mission by Domingo,

Our hero’s first task is to drive the sheep

North up the fingers of Nervion’s flow,

Toward Bilbao along limestone mountains steep.

He packs up all that’s precious in the home,

And with his servant Felix says goodbye

To all who dwell upon his childhood loam.

Though duty calls, he heaves a mournful sigh.

Our Don Valdes turns his sad eyes away,

And starts his journey with the bleating crew

To lands unknown, beyond the ocean’s spray

And his worries mingled with hopes anew.

In the valley folds on the winding way,

Young Felix turns to the shepherd to speak.

He’s curious what future part he’ll play,

Once they’ve left the view of Amboto’s peak.

“Master,” he says, “What news am I to glean

Of my task beyond our northerly course?

Shall I turn back upon the urban scene

To the country that is my vital source?

I heard rumors pass among the servants,

Those eavesdropping women list’ning at doors,

With slithering words sneaking like serpents,

That you’re bound forever to distant shores.

“God forbid my secrets remain hidden,”

Says the Don, although he’s not surprised.

“It’s not even one full day we’ve ridden,

And the nature of my quest’s been surmised.”

Take an oath, my boy, to protect my words,

Swear upon your honor and family name.

I’ll tell you plainly why we move the herds,

And reveal the truth of the larger game.”

Felix spoke the grave words as requested,

And perked his ears to his master’s telling,

His youthful attention full arrested,

The conspiracy’s allure indwelling.

“I am bound to a misty, unknown shore,

And I doubt that I shall ever return.

They wish that I escape a Spain at war,

And make a claim in lands more taciturn.

Now the question becomes, my young peasant,

If you’ll join me on this courageous test.

I’m sure the long voyage won’t be pleasant.

As they say, ‘Alea iacta est.’”

“I do not know the Latin tongue, my lord,”

Says Felix, turning a shade of crimson.

I’ll consider if I will come aboard

And set out upon your holy mission.

“You will have more time to make up your mind,”

Replies Valdes with a fatherly grin.

“Once we’re in Bilbao, much must be aligned

Before my ocean journey will begin.

For now, keep your eyes on the stony path,

And ears upon the murmuring livestock,

Lest we fall prey to beasts of lupine wrath,

Or split our heads upon a jagged rock.”

The two fall into a mediation

As the sun arcs westward toward the smooth peaks,

And each follows their imagination,

As the wooly sheep bleat and neither speaks.

The sky turns the orange of evening,

And a sudden eerie stillness descends.

Don Valdes hears an ominous keening,

A howling drifting down the valley bends.

Young Felix grips his staff in trembling hands,

And casts a nervous eye to his master.

“Good sir, we should not linger in these lands.

If possible, I beg that we move faster!”

Valdes says, “We’ve got no cause for alarm,

As of now, those wolf calls are far away.

It’s possible they mean to do us harm,

But they’ll wait until after light of day.”

“Even worse!” says the boy. “I'll get no sleep,

While huddled by the crackling fire tonight,

When those wild beasts are hungry for the sheep.

I shan’t close my eyes if they mean to fight.”

The Don replies, “We will clash if we must,

For the order demands our bravery.

In almighty God we will place our trust.

To be driven by fear is slavery.”

They carry on through the dwindling sunset,

Until, in a hollow, the journey halts.

The continued howls their worries abet,

As they stoke the flames ‘neath the starry vaults.

Near midnight, the lambs give a piercing cry.

A tumult grows among the sleepy ewes.

The Don leaps up to see what he can spy,

Determined not a single one to lose.

Dark forms bolt like arrows from the shadows,

With ravenous snarls let from gleaming fangs,

Only the the yellow glint of the eyes shows

As they move to assuage their hunger pangs.

With a bold shout, The Don takes up his lance.

The weapon’s steely tip longs for gore.

He mounts his steed who gives a nervous prance,

Then charges down the nearest carnivore.

“I’ve killed many of your kind!” Valdes cries,

“And harbor no fear for your bark nor bite.

I’ll not relent until ev’ry wolf dies.

Your pack’s made a grievous error tonight!”

He rides to and fro with vigorous thrusts,

Drawing blood and yelps from the attackers.

He drives them back, his breath now heated gusts,

And shouts, “Begone from here, you loathsome curs!”

The beasts will not be so easily sway’d.

The leader of their pack is strong and proud.

They retreat into the nocturnal shade,

And move to flank beneath the floral shroud.

“Felix, stay close to the lambs with your stave,”

The shepherd calls, patrolling ‘round the flock.

“They’ll come at us again, but be brave.

Stand firm and give their monstrous heads a knock!”

Then the great silver wolf leaps from the brush,

Pulling Don Valdes out of his saddle,

With a growl and clench from strong jaws that crush.

They tumble onto dirt to make battle.

The lance is no good in the close tussle.

Our hero drops it and draws his dagger,

Preparing to flaunt his low-born muscle,

Turning to the beast with manly swagger.

They lock in combat, blade ‘gainst tooth and claw.

The wolf is even larger than the Don.

Felix stands at the ready and in awe

At his master’s show of courage and brawn.

Though the beast draws blood, Valdes does not yield.

WIth fangs piercing his arm, he stabs the heart

And vanquishes his foe upon the field.

The mortal wound makes the wild creature start,

And with eyes glowing still above hot breath,

The infernal being speaks in human tongue,

Imparting a dire message ‘fore his death,

With words blown out from an alien lung.

“Whither thou run, Shepherd, there I will be,

To devour your lambs and to make you bleed.

Although thou will trek far beyond the sea,

There I will be waiting, ready to feed.

I am but the ghost of the truest beast,

Shade of what lives in lands undiscovered.

Crawl into my mouth and become my feast,

In formless worlds where the spirit hovered,

In the space before earth to kiss men’s feet.

I hunger, awaiting my destined meal,

And since your birth, thou art but growing meat,

Marching blindly to break the final seal.”