We’re coming to Leknes now,
where there’s a museum for the Vikings.
After England was lost to the Normans,
Cnut paddled up the Rhine
and down the other side,
he flowed with the Drina and the Sava,
all the way to the Porte
though the Romans
were in charge at the time.
Otto of Ivrea gave him refuge,
along with a dozen other knights.
All he had to do was lead
a little counter-insurgency
every now and then.
Most of his men did nothing
but sulk or dream of icy fjords
but Cnut was happy in the big walled farm.
He planted cabbages by the shores of the Bosphorus.
He’d never seen such fertile land before.
For all his tact and cunning,
Charles was the vizier’s twin
both had a weakness for flesh,
but Charles was more extravagant —
he had a child with his grandmother,
his step-grandmother — but still…
Germaine was a little plump, a little lame;
on her way from France to Spain she was met
at the border by the bishop of Zaragoza.
Five dukes and royals by his side,
five of his very own children.
He himself was the bastard son
of the man she was going to marry.
The nuptials were handsome,
a courtier worried that the king
will soon give his soul to God
if he does not allow his wife
to separate from him and she is not enough,
at least in his desire.
After he died, Germaine showed great affection
for her grandchild — her step-grandchild —
alike in age and temperament,
great lovers of orchards and gardens,
when she entered his chamber
he uncovered his head and kissed her hand.
He gave her presents of towns and rivers,
soon he uncovered more than his head —
when the Most Serene Isabella was born
peasants lowered their eyes and the clergy
followed in solemn procession.
These are the royals — do you like them?
The sultan carries a silk thread in his pocket.
Mister Bone Saw has a special cupboard
with special knives in Istanbul.
The vizier became a tooth-pick holder himself,
stabbed seventeen times by a Slav, a Serb,
one of his own you might say.
Or one of a kind — on his last night with Kandosia,
Bakic cried out in a language she’d never heard before;
the next day he confided to the eunuch:
I’ve been having dreams. I hate dreams.
I prefer melons and wine
but melons lose their fragrance
in the hands of the wine seller.
Laurence O’Dwyer | Effendi Billabong
Contents | Mudlark No. 75 (2023)