The breath of their mounts plumes in the morning air,
Like the breath of ancient dragons,
They are the Knights of Normandy,
Amassing behind the wagons.
Farewells were hastily said,
There was no time for more,
'God goes with us men!' their leader said,
As they left the drizzle became a downpour.
They had among them a captured Saxon by the name of Vivian,
A beautiful young healer known throughout the land,
She was bought to heal Duke William,
Who'd eventually be King of England and it's lands.
They travelled for days regardless of the rain,
Only stopping to rest at night,
Rorke Fitzwarren the leader of these men,
Was good to her and tried hard to make the wrong a right.
All to soon they arrived at the Normandy camp,
Obviously there had been a mighty battle,
Rorke quickly escorted Vivian to Williams's tent,
Where they heard his shallow breaths rattle.
She knelt by the cot and looked with pity at the great man who lay there,
Shruken by fever and loss of blood,
'Hold the lamp close!' she said,
'For I must see what can be done.'
'I must have more light and it must be warmer in here!' she said,
She knew that if she failed in this task,
That she too would soon be dead.
'I'll also need more blankets, hot water, bandages and a sharp knife!'
She opened her medicines bag,
And sprinkled crushed leaves over a simmering basin,
The fire now stoked high and with clean rags,
She cleansed the smaller wounds and abrasions.
THIS IS GROWING THIS POEM SO I SHALL MAKE IT AN EPIC.. SO STAY TUNED FOR PART 2.
A hero is a man who does what he can.
(The Fragile Rose)