The Fair Game - An Elvin Knight Ballad
Fair dame, defender of the downtrodden, pleads her case before the Court.
A grizzled Satyr strides in upon his cloven feet.
His erect penis attired with a cravat.
The gallery stirs but is hushed by Court officers,
accustomed, as they are, to disturbances of satyrs and nymphs.
The Satyr levels his horned gaze upon her.
Stop ogling me you ridiculous old goat. You make a fool of yourself and distract the proceedings.
“Am I not attired appropriately for the occasion?”
“Attired appropriately enough for having relations with beasts, I suppose.”
“Not today. I am here much as you, to represent. Unlike you I do not represent reprobates.
My client is more lofty, the very night sky. You were once a true love of his.”
“Do not speak to me in riddles and be gone letch.”
“I shall grant you my leave, as you wish, but you must swear an oath to complete
three feats before the morrow.”
“And what if I don’t complete your feats?”
“I shall return faithfully each day to your Court, imbibe my wine, balancing my cup, as I do,
play my flute, and prance around for the benefit of the gallery. But, if you wish to be,
not so distracted, than do as I say and report back to me.”
“You are tiresome. Name then your feats then and I will swear an oath upon them.”
“You shall this evening hold a party with many guests to honor night sky. Summon a lute to play, and at the stroke of midnight you must entice night sky with a lubricious dance. Whilst you dance, your guests shall cast fine frosted cakes upon your nude form. Bedecked in morsels of cake and, yourself lightly frosted, before the eyes of your guests, you must make love to night sky. And, in union with night sky, you must balance a challis of wine upon your hindquarters, so that you he may slake his thirst from time to time during the lengthy passion.”
The following day the Satyr sat smiling widely in the gallery of the courtroom, a full terracotta mug of
wine balanced upon his staff. Fair dame strides in.
“Hah! You have not performed the feats.”
“I did.”
“Impossible. For the feats were not mere challenges to a mortal. They were sacred rites that would have wed you to Astraeus forever. So you could not have accomplished them. If it were so, you would be aloft now, waiting for the passing of the sun in order to roam free. I will share my cup with you in celebration! For as you have failed the feats, you will not be trapped by Astraeus, but by me! It gives me great pleasure to fix my eyes upon you and disrupt these formal proceedings and I shall do so from now henceforth.”
“Satyr, you have represented Astraeus well enough, for I went to him adorned as he wished. We both drew much pleasure from the events. But, you were shortsighted in coming to this Court because the court of mortal laws is not the only one in which I practice. I am well practiced in the Court of Circe, as well as her concoctive arts.”
The mug falters from aloft its drooping perch. Satyr grasps it in his hands and imbibes mournfully.
“When Astraeus quenched his thirst from my challis, balanced as it was upon my posterior, I was not bound to him, but he to me. For, the wine was mulled with tinctures and herbs that enchanted him. Tonight he shall do my bidding,… not all together different from his rites.
And now Satyr, as night sky is bound to me, you as his agent now are also. So remove thineself from this chamber, but do not scamper too far. Stay in the nearby forests so that I may call upon you to complete tasks or feats as I see fit.”