As he walks through the darkest forest
searching for a place to rest,
Sir Gawain hears a howling resonates trough the woods.
A desperate, frightened, helpless voice is waiting to be heard
by a brave and fearless knight
who will come to save the captured lady fearing her early death.
Sir Gawain seized by his code of honour and searching for his courtly love
does not struggle with himself,
but his way to reach the lovely voice's origin.
What do his eyes see on a clearing far away? A haunting beauty
dressed in finest silk cloth
with a captivating charisma tied up in a dirty cage.
A dozen wild men, unkempt and behaving in a vulgar manner
armed with axes and machetes
are surrounding and starring at their newest achievement, planning a despising act.
Sir Gawain, being of the weakest build, begins to brood
about a quick harmless way
to save the feminine splendor without falling in a discouraging fight.
He forms an idea of playing a trick with the brute,
a trick that requires expertise
to faign a state for the drinking, dens pack lazing on the ground.
He is creeping around the mob, looking for a space to hide
his horse and arms
and magnificent uniform to bath himself in mud and dirt to equal the revolting figures.
With loud steps he is tramping towards the beasts and pretending
to be of like minds with them
seeing the captured beauty and insulting her with heavy heard.
The gentlewoman cannot stop crying, fearing the worst
that now her time has come
while the horde admits him forthwith to their booze-up at the fire.
"Who is the leader of your people?" he speaks out loud
reminding himself at last Christmastide
when this whole adventure began when he tried to be...