The King's Sword, Part 1/5 Poem by Flying Lemming

As told in hushed tones by some old bloke in a medieval tavern.

We meet like this, as you will see
So we can maintain secrecy
And you must also promise to tell no one
It involves two armies with two kings
And war and death and other things
And in the battle's where it all begun

You see the king of the first lot
Held a sword that he had got
Covered in countless jewels and gold
And like a bull (just twice as large)
Into the battle he would charge
With his sword, or so his lot was told

'Cos of the stuff upon the sword
For a lot, it was insured
And he didn't want to get it bent or scratched
So as a back up he held by
A stack of fake swords two foot high
And into battle these were then dispatched

And when the fray had reached its end
The fighting king would then pretend
That his rich sword had served the final blow
Truth being that the sword of jewels
Was left behind out of these duels
Hidden in a barrel down below

Buried in a pit beneath
The kings tent out on the heath
Where it was left safely 'til the end
But it was know that the swords guard
Found staying sober very hard
A thing that was exploited by my friend

My friend I say, I'd met him twice
And I soon saw he wasn't nice
Always going after easy money
His name was Thomas Claude Duval
His job description was black mail
He found exploiting people very funny

Well he came up with this plan
To make himself a very rich man
By using for his gain the good kings weakness
The sword, which was gold and handsome
He would steal and hold to ransom
This was Claude using all his sneakiness

He gave the guard a bottle of rum
And he had only just begun
Soon following were a scotch and whiskey
Two shots of vodka one of gin
The guard was soon out of his skin
Which made the swords removal far less risky

The pickled guard he tiptoed past
And with some digging he at last
Got the barrel out of the ground
Then checking no one was in sight
Pushed it hard with all his might
And sneaked away without a single sound

The battle won the fake sword shown
And the army all marched home
The king returned and flew into a rage
The guard was down on hand and knee
Being sick quite violently
Having reached the drinks revisit stage

The king pushed past the retching man
Into the tent he quickly ran
To be greeted by a gapping hole
He charged back out and kicked the drunk
Then down into his knees he sunk
Despair ripping at his very soul