Friday, November 03, 2006

Sir Galonors Writes Home Yet Again

To the Lady Irance Galonors of Woodford Manor in Salisbury, Logres be this letter take.

In the Year of Our Lord, Jesu Christi, Five Hundred Nine and Twenty.

To mine well-beloved mother I greet you well and knowe that bothe of your sons are in goode health and spyrite. It has been longe synce I have sent a message to you and much has transpyred in this tyme. Know that I did not fynd glorye defendynge the Fisher Cynge, fore I did not reache the battle in tyme. My dishonour is grayte and so is my shayme. I have synce rode Southe to London Towne to see to the Cnichtynge of your beloved son Dafyd.

Honoured I am to tell the tayle of how your son and mine brother, Dafyd, was Cnichted by Our Lord Arthur, Rex Imperator of Britaine, France, and Rome. He was Cnichted with manye other goodly cnichts in London itself, by the hand of our Our Moste Glorye Be and Hallowed King, Arthur. While Honour be to Dafyd, he didst not honur our family by leaping the horse at the ende of the ceremonye and fall he did on his posteriore. Chided him with goode humour did I and manye swifte kicks in the posteriore didst I give him for his dishonourable leap.

A grayte wonder did we behold in London soon after the cnichting ceremonye. Arthur didst uncover the heade of one giant once then named Bran of olde tymes. A grayte storm didst brew upon the uncoverynge but the power of our Lord Jesu Christi abayed the storm and, yea, did the Lyte of Christi shyne upon us all.

Soon after the myracle didst we learn that the Fowl Saxons wert arrived on the Estre shores again in force grayte, wyth their allyes the Wilde Men of the Northe, and the Erin Men on the Gales Shores. Know then mine mother that I go to Anglia to defend our Lande and that Dafyd gost Northe to garte the borders there.

I know not when my brother Dafyd or myself shall returne to Woodford and I ask that you praye thrice-a-day til our returne and that we arrive safe of lymbe and sownde of heade. Give felicytations to my wife, Allys.

Written in haste at Londone Towne.

By your son Guisedern Galonors

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