Friday Haiku - Any At All

The Haiku Mistress,
Is driving and on the way
To an interview.

A meeting with her,
looked for, anticipated,
will be realized.

And tomorrow, Cat,
We'll meet at a restaurant,
A party of three.

How lucky I am,
to be able to meet up,
with any at all.

One Knight's Story - Part 4

Sweat glistened on his body as he danced his well rehearsed routine with the Falcata, jabbing and slicing, parry and thrust, whirling about, taking on imaginary enemies in a never ending, never slowing ballet of deadly maneuvers. He wore woolen trouser legs belted over a loincloth and nothing else - no shirt and nothing clad his feet.

Squire knew this routine by heart. Every day that they weren't on the move, the morning hours would be spent in this practice - indoors when it was practical, but these days, in this strange and foreign place, outdoors, in the sun and the heat and the dust.

"Need you water, M'Lord?"

"Yes, Squire, but when I stop, please? Wait until I stop."

"Aye, M'Lord, but perhaps you should pause in your labors? I grow concerned for your well being."

"My well being is what motivates me, Squire. Do you see the scars on my body? Do you see their number?"

"Yes, M'Lord."

"Each of them is a reminder, Good Squire, of a time when I was too slow, or too weak, or unable to anticipate and someone was able to get close. Too close. The greater the strength of this arm, the greater the endurance in these legs, the more I can exercise and keep my wind, the fewer of my enemies that will get close enough to cut me, the less the chance my enemy will out think me."

"But the Sun, M'Lord, grows hot, and higher in the sky. The cool of the morning is past and the heat will make you faint."

"Fine. I will pause, but only long enough to take water. Besides, it's time, I think, to exercise the other arm. Fetch me my long sword, Squire, the while I slake my thirst."

The Knight handed his Falcata to the squire and accepted the jug of water proffered. The squire walked over to the pile of gear under the tree where he had been sitting and placed the Falcata in its sheath, and pulled the long sword from the belt which held it. Not for the first time, he wondered at the marvelous balance of the sword.

"How is it, M'Lord, that the much shorter Roman sword is the same weight as this, a much longer sword?"

"The Falcata, Squire, is made of bronze, which is mainly copper and tin. But copper is a very heavy metal, and, in bronze, is not lightened much by the presence of tin. It is made thick in its parts because it is not strong enough to make as thin as the long sword. Now, the long sword you hold in your hand is made of steel, and not just any steel, Squire, but Damascus steel, the lightest and strongest steel sword in the world. It is the best, Squire, and I will have no less than that. My life, after all, depends on it."

And Squire thought to himself, "As does mine, M'Lord. As does mine."

Ndinombethe.

Travel Lessons and Part 3

First of all, I made mention that I had learned a few things during our trip to Trinidad. And that I wasn't quite sure what those things were, but that they would come to me. Well, some of them have done just that - come to me.

Try to travel to places where you know someone - or, at least, where you have SOME kind of connection to someone who lives there. Hopefully, that person will help you participate in the local culture, as opposed to just being a 'tourist', and skimming the surface. It is much more rewarding to be places where you can be WITH people, as opposed to OBSERVING people from a distance.

Don't travel on Friday, Saturday or Sunday. That's when everyone else travels. Travel on Thursday. Flights are less crowded. It's easier to get through Customs. And it leads to the next lesson -

Be there on the weekend. Don't GET there on the weekend. If you're there for the start of the weekend, it will allow your host/guide/friend the most time to show you their 'place' - where they live - and what's great about it.

One Knight's Story - Continues

In the year 1190, it was dangerous for a lone Knight to travel the roads of the Middle East. Even though the Christian forces had returned in large numbers to face Saladin, to wrest Jerusalem from his grasp, and even though Acre had fallen and was once again under their control, there were still incursions into Christian Territory by small bands of Moslems who would attack lone travelers and kill them, or extort money. In that day and time, kidnapping and extortion were popular means of funding one's lifestyle, and was practiced by almost all men of station, both East AND West.

"Habeeb!! More wine." The Knight and his squire sat at the long, rough table which occupied one half of the room. Habeeb sat on a low stool, next to the hearth in one corner of the room, stirring the stew which simmered in the great pot which hung over the fire.

He rose and filled a serving pot from the large goatskin which hung in a rickety wooden frame, under a round wooden cover, standing next to him. He splashed a little water over the outside of the goatskin.

As he poured wine into the tankards the two men were drinking from, he spoke. "You speak Arabic, Sire. Rare for a man of the West."

"As a young man I lived in Constantinople. My father was a trader in spices and we did much business with the men of Mecca. My father spoke the language of the Mongol and the Turk, I spoke the languages of the Middle East. This knowledge has served me well."

He reached into the small purse at his belt and pulled out a gold coin.

"No, no, Sire. No payment required."

"Thank you, Habeeb. You are most kind and generous. But why?"

"The woman, Sire, she tells me she saw you bury those men who attacked you on the road. The woman says you buried them facing Mecca. It is rare to find such respect for an enemy in a man of the West."

The Knight looked long into the eyes of Habeeb, and Habeeb could see, in those clear blue eyes, that the memory of the day's business was painful.

"In shallah, this fighting will come to an end and we can live in peace. In shallah."

"As you say, Sire. In shallah. God willing."

Habeeb returned the serving pot to the high shelf over the goatskin, and again, splashed a little water over the outside of the skin. He returned to his station, next to the pot simmering over the low fire.

"M'Lord, the only thing I have understood in all that you have said to each other is the last two words that heathen spoke - 'God Willing'. Do you suppose you might limit yourself to the King's English?"

"Good Squire, I would not bandy the word 'heathen' about too freely. Habeeb is as conversant in the King's English, as you call it, as he is in Arabic. He might choose to run you through."

"With what, M'Lord? A wooden serving spoon?"

"There is a scimitar leaning against the wall behind the wineskin. Did you not see it? No, you did not. I can see it in your face. How, in the name of the King, have you managed to live this long?"

The squire ignored the insult.

"M'Lord, why does he splash water on that skin?"

"Taste your wine, Squire and tell me; is it not cool on the tongue?"

The squire raised his tankard and drank nearly half.

"Aye, M'Lord, now that you make mention of it, it IS cool!! But how?"

"I know not the science of it, Squire, but the Arabs have always known that as water dries on the outside of a skin it will cool what is inside. These 'heathens', as you call them, have sciences and arts of which we have no knowledge."

"As may be, M'Lord, but it is a good thing, I think, that they fight no better than they do."

"Oh, they fight well enough, Squire. It's the tactics they used today that defeated them, not their fighting ability. They came at me singly, or in pairs, and they weren't prepared for my second sword, my Falcata. The Roman short sword is excellent for close in work, especially when the enemy works in under my long sword. Two swords are better than one, Squire, and forget you not that admonition. In spite of all of that, good Squire, if they had tried to kill me, really tried, they would have done. But their attack was uncoordinated and they intended a kidnap for ransom, not a murder, and that was their undoing. You, they would have killed, I think, but me, they would have taken for ransom."

"Oh, well then, it's as I said, M'Lord. It's a good thing they fought no better than they did.

For me, anyway."

Ndinombethe.