
In June, I traveled from Caid to Ealdormere, to attend the Known World Heraldic Symposium. As I had just stepped up as Crescent Principal Herald, I asked Their Majesties Caid if they wanted me to carry a message or a gift to the Queen of Ealdormere, who was to hold a court at the event. Yesterday, at Festival of the Rose, I presented the following poem explaining how it went.
| Song of Sigri∂r | this now must I sing, | 
| who longed to Li∂r | to send laud and love. | 
| Take heed and hearken, | hear how both these Queens | 
| well-matched in merit | in memory should live. | 
| Fresh crowned, Caid’s Queen | called forth Her herald. | 
| Both herald and bard | oath-bound to serve Her. | 
| To Her he came quick | heard clear Her command: | 
| “Gifts must be given | when gone to the North. | 
| “For in Ealdormere | abides royal kin | 
| Long Line of the North | leads now to Li∂r. | 
| For cousins We care, | Convey now to Her | 
| what wealth is best shared | with wolf, wild, and will. | 
| “Thus this We give you | with this you are tasked, | 
| Chosen and charged | to choose a good gift. | 
| But as bard you are | be sure to bear too, | 
| with what you bring Her | bring worthy words, too.” | 
| With this writ ringing | with Her wish spoken | 
| Her herald went forth | Her will then to do. | 
| Such is Sigri∂r | to serve Her is sweet. | 
| This work not weighty | but willingly borne. | 
| But what gift to give? | Gilt-silver or gold? | 
| Though this burden light | the bard lost in thought. | 
| So, haughty herald | went humbly hunting. | 
| All Caid’s corners | he combed in his quest. | 
| Carreg Wen’s white rocks | washed by the blue sea, | 
| Gyldenholt’s green groves | in golden fruit garbed, | 
| Dun Or’s desert plain | dappled red and brown, | 
| Starkhafn’s stillness | night strung with silver. | 
| And then thinks the bard | this desperate thought: | 
| “Is not Ealdormere | always snow-covered? | 
| Blanketed and bathed | beneath white frost bound? | 
| Caidan colors | these they must crave.” | 
| With haste picked and packed | the pigments were found. | 
| From Venice, Verona, | rich earth red and vert. | 
| Lapis lazuli | and lead-tin yellow. | 
| Mighty vermillion | malachite and more. | 
| As each was arranged | he was elated. | 
| East to Ealdormere | he eagerly went, | 
| Thinking his Queen’s quest | quickly completed, | 
| Bringing back honor | with boast-worthy work. | 
| But boast not before | bold deeds are well done. | 
| Upon arriving | in fair Ealdormere | 
| Our haughty herald | beheld no white snow. | 
| All Caid’s colors | the North calls its own. | 
| At this his thoughts raced: | “How could this be so? | 
| What wound will this deal? | What close bonds unwind? | 
| Surely I must shield | my Queen from this shame. | 
| Failing at foresight | the fault is mine own.” | 
| Before Li∂r led | his life seeming lost | 
| For his faults, he thought, | herald’s head forfeit. | 
| His doom, his downfall | he felt it draw nigh. | 
| But high hope returned | when Her face he saw. | 
| In Ealdormere’s Queen | in eyes and in mien | 
| Vibrance and virtue | verses inspiring. | 
| The same as he saw | in Queen Sigri∂r. | 
| Both must be most wise | and merciful, too. | 
| Indeed, true insight | from ignorance born. | 
| By fortune favored | was this foolish bard. | 
| Painter of pages | Proud Ealdormere’s queen. | 
| Despite his design | his deed was well done. | 
| Requested this queen | of quick-witted bard | 
| to Her true cousin | Her token to bear | 
| to give Her great thanks | for gifts well-given. | 
| And for worthy words | the bard was well-paid. | 
| Forget then the faults | of foolish heralds. | 
| Rather remember | these royal cousins. | 
| Let scribes with their skills | on scrolls deftly paint | 
| kinship’s true colors, | both kingdoms grow close. | 
| Song of Sigri∂r | this now have I sung, | 
| who longed to Li∂r | to send laud and love. | 
| Heeded and hearkened | heard how both these Queens | 
| well-matched in merit | in memory will live. | 
Notes:
- The poem is written in alliterative málahátrr, an Old Norse poetic meter found in the Poetic Edda. Each hemistich (“half-stave”) has five syllables. Two syllables in the first half-stave of a line start with the same consonant sound; that sound repeats at least once in second half-stave of the line. These alliterating syllables are given stress when the poem is read aloud.
- When I presented the pigments and the poem to Queen Li∂r, I had not yet written the fourth- and third-from-the last stanzas. (Starting with “Indeed, true insight” and ending with “the bard was well-paid.”) I had no idea what her reaction was going to be, so I emphasized her positive qualities (“and merciful, too”) and then moved on (“Forget then the faults”). When I reported back to Queen Sigri∂r, I added those two stanzas to explain how it turned out.
- Unbeknownst to me, Queen Li∂r is an avid scribe, so when we presented the box of a dozen period pigments (selected by Master Martin FitzJames), she was overjoyed. Sometimes it is better to be lucky than good, I guess.
- Queen Li∂r asked to take one of her pewter tokens back to Caid to give to Queen Sigri∂r in thanks for gift (which I did at Festival of the Rose). The one pictured at the top is the one she gave me as thanks for my verses.