Lord Ignacio Sings at Midnight!

[Lost poetic verse from the Middle Ages; depicting the siege of Spain. Written by Geraldo de la Torre in 1340 (nearing death); translated by Martin Alvarez in 1922]

I.

The ancient city 

Seeps in red

Red liquid 

Liquor 

Blood. 

They are cheering 

The enemy 

Is defeated 

….

We are the enemy 

They the victorious 

Invaders. 

What is there to say? 

Our people vanquished 

Suffering and falling 

To despair. 

The stone walls 

Rumble 

As I sit in this

Cage. 

Water bowl 

To my left 

Food bowl 

To my right

Me

In the middle 

….

In the middle 

Of hell. 

I’m wearing rags 

Clothes once 

Elegant 

With bright purples 

Luminescent golds

Now 

They’re muddy 

Bloody 

And torn. 

The era is that of terror 

The Crusades 

Have passed us by 

We had hope

We had hope

We had hope!

What does that mean 

Anymore? 

“Hope”

How does it feel 

Anymore? 

“Hope” 

That word rings in 

My ears but shrieks 

Rattling 

Like a snake. 

I am Adam 

Without 

An Eve 

I recant

… 

There is an

Eve 

The Eve 

Of mortality 

Breaking 

A new dawn 

A new 

Law 

&

Order

A new land 

Coming 

Feasting 

Foraging 

And 

Beating 

Its way forward. 

II. 

It’s nightfall 

The day is gone 

Just like my city 

My kingdom 

My people. 

I hear 

The pillaging 

Below

As water 

Drips

Drips 

And drips.

My mind drifting 

Into madness! 

Who’s footsteps 

Approach!?

Who!?

“It is I,” said 

Richard Montague III

“You know my voice.”

“I know thy stench,” 

I said. 

“What is it you want? 

You’ve won. I know it. 

The people know it. 

Must you be so

Insufferable?” 

“I could be much worse,”

He said, holding hot soup. 

“Oh, much worse. Here,” 

He said placing the soup

Just out of reach. 

“I’m not hungry.”

“You will be.”

“Maybe so.” 

“I’ve come by 

For more than 

Just pleasure 

And pain.”

“Speak fast,” 

I said, “I haven’t 

Got all night.”

“Keep up with 

The jest for as 

Long as you can,”

He said, going 

To a table, grabbing 

A chalice of wine.

“Since, I am in a 

Good mood, I offer

A choice.”

“Oh?” I say, looking 

Scanning my squalor.

“I choose here.” 

“You haven’t even

Heard my acquisition.

Your mouth and

Rabid emotions. 

Are why you are 

Here now.” 

“Go on, then.”

“You love thy people 

Or at least, you do a

Good job at pretending.”

“I — love — my people.”

“Sure. 

And the second, 

You love thy 

Wife.” 

“Where is this going?”

“And I know, you love 

Thyself ….”

“Two out of three 

Are correct.”

“Oh really? 

Then why didn’t 

You fight alongside 

Thy men? Why were 

You above the clouds?”

I remained silent.

Coward

Coward 

Coward!

“That’s what I thought 

‘Lover of the 

People’

Now, as I was saying, 

I feel like offering you 

A chance of 

Retribution.

Thy wife 

The queen 

Is alive

Untouched 

I promise. 

Thy people 

Who’ve fought back 

Are imprisoned. 

And you, 

Are here. 

I offer this: 

You can save 

Thy wife & you, 

Thy wife & people 

& not thyself.

…

And lastly, 

You can save 

Thy people & you

But not thy wife.

… 

Or, if you choose 

Vainly, you can 

Choose only thyself.

I don’t expect you 

To answer now. 

You have till midnight. 

Montague left. Not before 

Kicking over the soup as 

He did. “Oh, foolish me….”

III.

This is the worst of hours

Alive 

Alive and imprisoned 

No life wholly offered 

In these choices

Montague is morbid 

Cruel 

And should be

The jester 

Not the king 

Not the winner! 

…

But he is. 

And I 

The loser 

What is a king 

To do? 

With these

 “Choices.”

1st

I will suffer 

2nd 

I will find peace 

3rd

I will choose 

IV.

The drilling 

Drawing 

The blinking 

Plopping 

Of large drops 

Of water 

Of blood. 

A soldier hangs 

Upside down

With me 

In my cage

One of my men 

My best men 

My second in charge 

He had a wife 

A child… 

Nevermore. 

I want to see my Wife 

But 

Is it what I deserve? 

Is it what I need? 

Do I need death?

Do I deserve death? 

Yes. 

Yes I do. 

But is it what I want? 

No. 

Does it matter what 

I want? 

No. 

Or does it? 

Greed is just around 

The corner. 

Are my choices like 

The soup? 

Are they even really 

For me to choose? 

To have?

Or is it just more 

Prolonged torture? 

Montague 

You bastard. 

V. 

I’ve finally fallen 

Asleep.

There isn’t much 

Time 

But I will surely

Be awoken 

I must find rest 

For if I to “choose” 

…

Rightly. 

Dreams are our 

Feelings

Desires

And 

Hatred.

I dreamed 

Of all. 

I saw the 

Rushing army 

From afar 

Coming close. 

I saw the fear 

In the women 

Children 

And men. 

The scattering of 

Forces 

Strong men 

Strong wills 

Strong hearts 

Ready to die 

For their land 

Their families 

Their lives! 

Then 

I saw myself 

Putting on armor 

Readying my blade 

My shield 

My crowned helmet.

But 

I never left the keep 

Not even my room 

And so I watched 

Watched!

As a coward

Sitting next to my 

Wife

Without an heir 

That I promised 

That I wanted 

Yet

He or she 

Never came 

Birth was stunted 

I blamed her 

… 

I don’t deserve her.

I’ll cast myself away

Like a coward should 

Like a coward does

By God! 

I must make the right

Choice!

The dream turns 

Into a haunt 

It beckons me 

To reconcile 

To kill the past 

But how?

Is that possible?

Probably not. 

A king 

Is not supposed

To feel

But how can 

We not? 

How can 

Suppress 

Such natural 

Occurrences?

We cannot. 

Even the greatest 

Of Kings

Fail to do so. 

They are only 

Stone 

Because they’ve 

Failed 

At immortality 

They are all dead

I am stone 

Now

Cold

Hard 

Crumbling. 

I rest my eyes 

More 

Hoping for all 

This 

To be a dream

A misunderstanding 

Between God 

Between Heaven 

And Earth. 

Hell 

However

Has found me

Took me in 

Left me unfed 

Eternally in pain 

Lost in refrain 

Shattered 

Broken 

Defeated. 

I am ready 

To choose. 

VI.

Trumpets

Pound 

In my ears. 

The song of 

Peace. 

The song of 

Resolve. 

“King! King! King!”

I hear someone 

Shouting. 

“Quiet, Montague!” 

I yell. “Why do you 

Mock me so!”

“King! King! King!”

They shout again. 

“Enough, Montague!” 

I shout. “Enough!”

In a twirling spin, 

The world transforms

Revealing in a flash

As I open my eyes:

My quarters

My wife beside me

Free air 

Nighttime 

I rise from my bed

Spritely 

Look out the window 

Stone walls still intact.

“Sire…,” a messenger 

Knight says, “it is but 

Midnight… you wanted 

Me to wake you…. You 

Said, you had to sign or 

Not sign the treaty with 

Montague.”

Ah yes! 

Ah yes! 

Ah yes! 

“Indeed,” I say, 

Going over to my 

Wife to brush her 

Cheek. 

“Dear!” I say, 

But she does 

Not wake. 

“Dear!” I say 

Again. 

Still, she does 

Not wake. 

Then

She

The bed

The Knight

Turn into ashes. 

I fall to my knees

Knowing my fate. 

I am kicked awake 

Montague….

Then a splash of 

Water. 

Goddamn….

That bastard

Montague….

I look up

His eyes fixed 

On me 

Mine 

Still struggling 

To open

Struggling 

To grapple 

With reality. 

“So….” He said.

“What do you 

Choose?”

“Every King,

Should…

But never does

Know when 

To pass off their 

Crown.

Even when an 

Heir 

Is present…

We cradle it 

Longer than 

The child…

Power is our true 

Heir

Not love

Not family 

Nor virtue

Only 

Vanity

…

Vanity 

And 

Power.

This choice 

Has been 

A long time 

Coming.

I did not need

Till midnight 

My greed did

… 

Not me.

The greed of 

Importance 

The greed of 

A king. 

My heart 

Decided when 

You gave me 

The choice.

But hope 

Coupled 

With fear

Wished I 

Didn’t have to 

Choose

But I do.”

“So,

What will it be, 

King?” 

“I choose….

To save my 

Wife 

And the people.

I choose to die 

On my own accord 

And that is now.” 

“What if I choose 

You to be my 

Prisoner?” 

“So be it. 

So be it.”

“Such

A brave king. 

Brave

At the wrong 

Time.”

“We are brave 

In the time 

We deserve. 

Time 

Is not chosen.”

“I’d say, you’ve 

Chosen

Cowardice again,” 

Montague said, 

Fixing his mustache.

“You could have 

Restarted, risen 

From the ashes. 

Instead 

You choose 

To run away from 

That fate. 

I pity you.”

“And I pity no one,

But know, a king’s 

Life 

Is never forever. 

Best to learn that 

Now

While pitying me.

You’ve witnessed 

A living lesson

A lesson 

That will either 

Raise 

Or 

Demolish 

Legions. 

My game is over 

But thy game 

Doesn’t have 

Much longer

…

Yet

It may seem so.”

“You choose wisdom 

As thy time on this 

Earth 

Is nigh complete?”

“Wisdom is all I have.” 

“I will remember thy 

‘Wisdom’

As thy head rolls,” 

Montague said, 

Turning.

“Guards! 

Take him away.” 

And like that 

The life of a king 

Gone

Deserted 

Destined 

For death 

Which 

Always was. 

Epilogue

Let us now 

Summarize by

Swallowing

The earth below us 

And 

Watching 

the sky above us. 

For, this chronicler 

Has lived out their 

Life. 

Seeing 

Many 

Kings 

&

Queens 

Rise and fall. 

Even Montague 

Who

Battled tuberculosis 

Died 

Painfully.

Then the queen 

Who’s king he killed 

Married off to a son

Became queen 

Of his kingdom

Watched him die

And 

Watched his son die 

Too

Finding reign 

Once again. 

Yet

This scholar 

Chronicler of royalty 

Hasn’t seen any 

Truly impervious 

Wholly good 

Wholly evil 

Wholly right 

None

Are

Legendary 

Or 

Immortal. 

They are imprisoned 

By servitude 

Captured 

By power 

Chained 

By suspicion 

Products 

Not 

People 

Stone 

Cold 

And 

Corse 

In the wee hours 

Of the night 

When all is silent 

The song 

Of Lord Ignacio 

Wails 

Like howling wind 

Screaming 

Like a banshee 

Crying 

Inside 

Knowing 

They must die.