That bright blue day they came to fight for Ansteorra’s crown,
Few dreamed the name of who would wear the Blackstar upon brow.
A duke and duchess came to claim the prize by right of arms;
Each swore to reign beside the other, should one survive unharmed.
Great Hector took the field like a reaper to a row
He smote with brand on left and right; none stood before his blows.
Fierce Rowan unleashed her might upon the worthies of the land
Her blade struck like a shaft of fire, and all fell to her hand.
When Inman and the Moor had fallen they stood there, man and wife,
Each sworn to glorify the other, each sworn to take their life.
Last of the list, they left the field - their shadows strode before -
To seek some worthy counsel e’er that they would venture more.
Would Rowan give the bards a chance to tell a novel tale,
Or would her lord give up his sword, or would their spirits fail?
At last the valiant pair returned, rearmed, retook the field;
The people cheered to see their choice — to fight, and not to yield.
The first to take two out of three would gain the diadem
“Salute the one whom you would make your subject”
Giovanni charged them.
When Rowan struck the first true blow the maids let loose a roar
(’Twas not that they loved Hector less — they loved the lady more).
The second bout was Hector’s, with a blow most passing fierce;
The tension mounted then as all guessed who would fare the worse.
Each eye fixated by the dance of strike and counterstroke,
The only sound the ragged breath that snarled in their throats,
Sir Rowan shattered leg and helm to astonish all the host.
We subjects cheered to see her wear the crown, most fitting jewel
Upon the brow of she by right of arms most fit to rule;
And our brave Master Hector stood by the new sovreign’s side
As the hand that laid him low became the hand that raised him high.
A strong new trunk for Ansteorra, strong limbs that will not fade,
For our great land cannot but prosper in the rowan’s shade.
SwordMaiden.com
A Resource for Women Fighters in the SCA
