Head in hands, Gildas mused on eerie dreams,

Echoes of prophecy and fire profane,

As outside rabble pushed past the tent seams.

‘Girdle thyself, Gildas. ‘Tis not thee slain.’

Armed and armoured, he left. Against the grain

Of a rowdy mob, in hysterics crazed,

Marching Lowenna, galled with torches raised!

‘Come now, strumpet! What secrets shall we learn?’

‘Prick ‘er skin for the mark o’ serpent seed!’

‘From Sumortūn I ‘eard!’ ‘Let’s see ‘er burn!’

While binded to the stake, she did not plead,

Yet when their eyes did meet, he felt her need.

Within this crowd, were two lit souls alone,

Such tender passion, only they had known.

Above the chants, Boniface gave sermon,

Her sable gown and hair in the gale blew.

‘Be she demonspawn? Let flame determine!’

Gildas’ thumbs pricked with brooding thoughts anew,

‘Mercy, Father, I know not what I do!

Be this thy sacred bull or my witless fault?’

He stumbled out, ‘By God I bid thee halt!’

A heavy silence fell over the scene,

‘Well ‘ark at ‘ee! The boychap be in lust!’

Forth came the bishop dismayed, stood between.

‘Ye err in this, she’s innocent, I trust!

But only pixie-led!’ yelled o’er the gust.

‘Tis not scrumping, lad, but devilry afoot!

Watch! Her blackened blood will bare in the soot!’

The pyre was set ablaze in gorging heat,

She sought repose but cried out at the licks

Of roaring flames, thrashed up against her feet.

Gildas ashen, could only watch there fixed.

‘Coward am I, unless I come betwixt,

Protect the weak– In this, mine oath I keep!’

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He charged forwards and leapt atop the heap!

His men drew their sharpened swords gleaming,

He made to cut her loose; panic hastened

With mere inferno below him screaming,

They hurled away ere by the fire chastened!

With malice, hither came Boniface and

His once fellows, ‘What madness afflicts thee?’

Gildas stood over as she cowered alee.

‘Son, rank and honour, thou standeth to lose.’

‘I’ll afford her no harm. That heart is kind,

She may repent whatever sins accused!’

Boniface, his grave face with sorrow lined,

‘Alas, thou art bewitched. With heavy mind,

I name thee traitor to thy god and realm,

By Ine our king, and cross upon thy helm.’

The men rushed at her and weapons arose,

His arm sprang loose and let his lance afly,

Ugly force! With a seax he parried blows.

At once Lowenna conjured an evil eye,

‘A curse o’ thy scions!’ dark’ning the sky.

With witchcraft hovered in the filthy air!

He sunk his blade, drove firm his spear in prayer.

They cried, as ancient spells loosened from her lips,

Their crosses beamed gold in hallowed accord.

Torrents of gloom surged from her fingertips,

Boniface marked her, raising high his sword!

Gildas affray, threw out his arm in ward,

Ice and fire! He howled to his knees in pain,

To the joint, t’was cleaved swiftly in twain.

He led her forth, bleeding and stumbling blind,

‘Let them flee!’ The old man stood gaunt and grim.

Gildas gave her reins and slumped down behind,

As they rode away, he glanced before him–

A fearsome stalker, he believed were game.

And he, bereft his place, neutered and lame.