Bwrs blew out face cheeks, reflective,
replaced tablets inside satchel, stood
in contemplative silence.
Gwair gently took the courier load:
‘I’ll get these back to Cai then, boss?’
Bwrs nodded, distance stared, Gwair
accelerated to catch up sprint.
Elbow pigling wriggle: ‘Isn’t it nice!
I saw all the happy signal returns!
Now everything is nice and normal!’
‘Porchell bach, you presume too fast.
Means maintenance of network normal:
but we have the last act to action. Come.’
Bwrs returned to determined stride.
‘Do I get to have a choice in this?’
‘Not really, bach, not really.’
Gwair followed sound of Cai’s complaint:
‘…the other night you were lookout again
while I did all the heavy lifting!’
Pole party’d reached outcrop’s base,
started rock ascension around
another groups’ encampments.
Gwair smiled, slapped Bedwyr’s back:
‘Stop shanking Cai, you scoundrel.’
Bedwyr return winked: ‘Yeah,
I should set a harder challenge.’
‘Cai – you’ve done excellent;
lifting, running, all good work,
now it’s back to courier duty.’
Cai passed pole, took satchel,
borne black bag reappeared;
‘Thanks, Gwair, we’ve been all
incredibly busy. What’s the plan?’
‘You carry on as normal, now
I see your next stop waiting.’
‘Arcani*, always arriving late…’
Called the legendary general,
Cunedda of the Gododdin;
grizzled grey bearded grief-giver;
dream-ender from Din Eidyn. [Edinburgh]
Gwair shouldered pole, ‘Long
time no see, now, general.’
‘Not since after Summers Eve. Huh.
And what a night that was…’
‘Brought the Beltane belter, eh?
Cunedda, distant, nodded, remembered…
The start of summer festival atop
the fortress mount of Dinas Eidyn.
Main hall rammed, celebrations;
Cunedda gave the start speech then
removed foul mood from the room –
shock news induced need to brood –
let other people have their party,
replaced rampart patrol leader.
Stopped at soft rustle of the loft, listened
to the constant sound from the North
across crisp clear night scape.
The Picts advanced: string, pipe and drum.
Wall of sound moved across Manaw,
ever present strummed distant hum.
He’d ordered welcome, no resistance,
thought: Angharad wasn’t happy. Still,
when did I ever make her happy?
Meditative rampart tread repeating:
I cannot mourn you yet Custennin, man:
Because I can’t make myself accept it.
Light sparked bright in southern sky
instinctive eyelid shut, free hands
clamped to follow. Crenelation crew
blinked, beams subsided, distant
south south west horizon glow.
Sentries clustered into huddle,
comments rose as bubbles –
‘Clearly natural phenomenon!’
‘If it is, I ain’t seen one!’
Cunedda interrupted, ‘Return to
station, in case it is distraction,
then all of you chalk a bearing.’
Sixteen minutes after the flash
surfed in warped sound wave smash.
Piercing shriek, soul shrinker;
sac-shrivel stone cold terror: –
bone froze those who heard it.
Cunedda clamped hands to ears,
tightened cleft, bit down retch,
years practice bit down panic.
Silence echoed in after wash, then
from hall sound of massive kick off.
Cunedda restored calm in voice,
called panicked sentries into order.
Strode into hall with aural force
restored calm around the Dinas.
Dawn. A troop of horse departing.
Cunedda’s children watched him
wind through concentric layers
of Dinas land defences.
‘I know Dad’s gone away,
Mum’s not here for two days.
Still don’t want to par-tay.’
The Gododdin troop rode out
at the start of summer.
The Gododdin rode, banners furled;
They rode to Vindolanda.
*Understanding of the late Roman military in Britain had gotten a little jazzy.
The Miles Arcani band pushed beyond the known frontiers in a unique way, most notably with their breakthrough record ‘162 Tabs’ and their disastrous gig of 367.
The Miles Areani band is a much later continental covers band, exhibiting far more the influence of Monk; tends to be preferred by those who don’t dig the live scene.