A Christmas Game

Prince Woltan Çaid he’d be here at dawn

But never appeared.
Cerdig, Chief of the Saxons came inÌead.

Arthur, King of the Britons,
Always Çaid

Cerdig reminded him of Rupert Davies in Maigret.

He arrived like a peal of bells

When heavy Çnow
Has Ìranded the congregation in a church with no eleÀricity.

Cerdig Çaid when he was aÇked, “There’s always truth,

And behind it lurks
Another Çomehow more elusive truth”—

Like Jack the Ripper waiting for the Salvation Army band

To finiÇh Silent Night

Before he goes to add a little quiet to the evening.

Had Prince Woltan appointed Cerdig to appear

On his behalf,

Or had Cerdig Çeen to it that Woltan would never more

Come to Camelot at ChriÌmas time,

Nor e’er Çee the bright day break

Like a blessing o’er the Tomb of Gwaelod Gar?

His dagger was like a melting icicle

And he Çeemed as one

Who had drunk the fine ale of immortality.

“Thou art the lord of equivocation!”

Quoth Yorath,

Margrave of the Jutes-in-exile. “Sea-horses fear thee

More than men, la!” InÌead of Çilence,

Clear birdÇong

And the bleat of diÌant lambs Çeeped in

As from an older world that knew not men.

“It’s ChriÌmas,”

Whispered Cerdig. “I forgive all wrongs

Within my power to forgive—ay, Yorath,

E’en thine!”

Fate that day hung like a Ìring of indeciÇive pearls

On the throat of hiÌory—or nooÇe around

The neck of time.

The rising miÌ, the falling Çnow, the brazen Çmiles,

The rumpled Çheets, the blazing Çword, the hiÇÇ

Of resin flaring in the great hearth, 

The pealing bell, the broken limb, the healing kiÇÇ.