Thursday, March 22, 2018

Odo, Commanding


In which Imogene is reunited with the fair Bishop Odo.


Atop the room, enchanting up some waiting ladies there whilst perching on the throne, was Bishop Odo of Bayeux. His face was wry and puffed it just a soche. His teeth where wrought of ivory and ghostfire light a-shining. His eyes of blue were like October skies, they twinkled up so; always were they light and smiling. His nose were long and manly. His chin, clean-shaven, were it manly too, and had it an adorable scau[1] dimple in the middle of the thing. His hair was thick short, and colored like the richest earth, and had it but a little hint of curl to it. Even when beheld he of a man or child he right in the eye, he did appeareth to look up to precious Heaven with great optimism and delight. His shoulders, were they broad, and hips were narrow, and his calf was turned quite pleasingly as well.

Wore the Bishop of a simple cowl and habit, made it of the finest linen white and red; withunder, hose of white, and boots of red with silver buckle, bistered down to sable, on the mat. Wore he only two adornments: one, his simple signet ring of station, in the place a wedding band might be; and two, a large but simple wooden cross, washèd it to white, and marked with “Για τον Ιησού”[2] be writ in gold, from ancient Greek to read.  He saw his co-conspiratress, and rose away from present company. A sunbeam fell across his face, and showed his happy visage evident.

“What gentle zephyr blows it open through the gate? How fair, the Elanora’s Falcon in the summer sun, she golden under wing, from Brittany she flies to me!” He glid across the room, he holding hands clasped o’er his joyful breast, and took up in his hands her own. Drew his breath and close in to her ear, “But naught’s the nights I’ve passed, perchance to liken up belike you weres’t with me, beneath the light of fair Selene upon your milken cheek. Within mine’s mind, woulds’t harken me your voice as I recall it. It’s been so long, my passerine; my raptor of the Duke.”

Imogen were flushed right then and grinning like a hound with marrow-bone to chew. “My holy Father, Odo, has it been so arduous a fortnight since? Pray tell, lord, have your nights been filled with firm and vigorous reclasion?[3] Hath time been bleak and painful to your carriage? Dost thou melancholy up, but then to slake upon my memory? For you make betoken surely of the plainness of your hardship, hold it close and firmly, bitterly you mark your struggle up against it, ere the time we were apart.”

“The muse, she comes and goes, and she alights for momentary, and away. Away, she damns. For nary can the heart, of muse, demand. And here, she has returned and lit again upon my hand. My Imogene!”

Imogene took back and blushed again, and then reported to the Bishop of Bayeux, “For master, scabarous and some wearisome my ride to Maine and fro again. But hath this trip upon some worth, for I’ve collected up a sergeant of some prospect for our pretty war!”

Odo’s eyes befell upon the bastard girl, she chatting up the men, her marks of five, at hazard dice a-playing. “My brother said that it would be a girl.”

“Look closer, Odo, for our William spaketh true. See the turn of hip? She woman, this is true. Even now, she blooms.”

Odo squinted, made he up a show, but were he drinking up her springtime flowering anon. Nary did his hands relent in holding close to Imogen. Presently, he turned his fair reflection back to Imogen. “You’re right! That woman be! She young? Perhaps thirteen?”

“Aye, thirteen.”

“And she a sergeant fit for stripes, to run a company in valor time? Forgive me as I balk, my falconette. Besatisfy my inquisition on this matter. How?”



[1] Scau-- Miniature, small
[2] Για τον Ιησού : For Jesus
[3] Reclasion -- Remembering

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