Gertrude and the Revenant

by Brett Rutherford

     A Heathen tale of the Danes
         made Christian, but just barely.

First and fairest — virgin maid —
in all the realms of Charlemagne,
to her from far and near the plea
came, Help us, saint and prophetess!

Godfather but newly dead, left
to Gertrude alone his towers.
Red the banners boldly blazoned,

but in time there came a count,
envious-eyed with armed minions
to spoil and waste the land about,

until the proud tower, prey
to malice and treason, fell.
By secret way and cavern, she

alone escaped their ravages.
Of all her silks and jewels, none
were left to her. One staff and book

was all she took upon her pilgrim
way, not to the Emperor, not
to some neighbor lord for succor,

but to the graveyard cold and drear,
where, striking her staff inside the tomb
and opening her book of elder lore,

she read a chapter to open the way,
another more for the summoning,
a third to name the awakened dead.

Loud she read, the wind her clamor,
the thunder her drum, the owl
her oboe shrill and quickening

until the dead man heard her song.
With moan as deep as mountain
echo, up rose the shaggèd head

of one she knew but all too well
(in horror she averted eye
from the rotted sockets' glare).

"Who dares with ancient lore
and cursed magic to summon me?"
the rotting thing now roared.

Upon her knees she fell, a-tremble.
"Refuse me not, 't is I, Gertrude,
god-daughter and heir, 't is I

"who kneeling implore your ghost,
for none alive can aid me.
To a count unknown to me

"the gates were thrown, the walls
fell undefended, tower to cellar
looted, the women ravished.

"The peasants groan, their corn,
not even a seed for planting,
has been carried off by one

"who honors neither law nor custom,
but takes whatever his arm
can seize. The monks are fled,

"the village bells are silent. Soon
snow will come, and all will starve.
Help me, god-father dear!"

And hearing this, the stone
above the corpse was pushed aside.
The walls of the vault exploded.

Stood he on his long legs strong,
flesh-rot returned to sinew,
godly grew his arms and shoulders.

Went they the maid and skeleton
back to the tower by line of sight,
trees sundered, tombs toppled,

streams forded whether or no
the waters favored, on they went,
until the towers' doors he rent.

The living courtiers crept away,
the traitorous followers fled,
even the bartered ill-used wives.

Gone they were like dew of dawn.
Only the Count stood firm.
He laughed at Gertrude and the shade.

"You, Revenant, I fear you not,"
he said, not putting down his cup.
"I am a warrior proven strong

"and you are only a skeleton.
Come forth and match me
hand for hand, and here I stand

"swordless and defy you.
This tower and all its fiefs
are mine now, stone to straw."

Slow he moved with dead man's gait,
dead heart pulsing in vacant
rib-cage, and then the skeleton

Was upon him, "One!" he said,
as bony hands gripped
the warrior's belt and tunic.

"For this tower is mine!"
Arms wrapped a waist
more fit for feast than fighting

and raised him a-high. A snap

and a cry, and his spine was twain.
"Two! For the scoured land!"

Thrust up again, the rag-doll

ruffian was seized at knees,
and both snapped as saplings

give way to the broad axe.

"Three! For thou hast offended
a woman not only of grace

and beauty, but witching ways!

Beware the woman with rod
and book, who keens the wind

"and raises the angry dead

to avenge her." That said,
the skeleton collapsed

and never more spoke, nor

walked of its own accord, nay,

not even a whisper uttered.

That eve, the bones took up
she into a burlap sack,
and Gertrude, shunning all,

carried her burden sore
to the sundered tomb, and laid
bone by bone into his bed

the beloved godfather,
then from a rose bloomed
out of season, she plucked

three petals, and knelt

and prayed to whatever
it was she believed in.

And the earth closed up,

and the tomb walls righted,
and the toppled cross

returned to its place
above the doorway.
She built a great church.

The grateful folk filed in
to see its gilded roof
and hear the chastened monks

sing Te Deum laudaumus,
over the silent bones.
Gertrude, silent, smiled.