A dear friend had a fling with a lad who was the newest man-at-arms of a certain local fighter’s household. In the height of passion, she requested this. I never did get to sing it for the boy: he’s now a squire, meaning it’s no longer accurate, so I just gave him a copy. He says it’s all quite true. Please excuse all the running gags; they make sense if you know the people. The tune is Master Of The House, from Les Miserables.
[May 1994]
by Eric of Tobar Mhuire, Marijke van Leiden, Morag Freyser, Duncan MacAlpin Shieldsbane, and Loyola Juan Sanchez Mendoza
Welcome, my lass, lay yourself down
And meet the brand new legend in town.
As for the knights, all of them scum,
Wouldn’t know how if they ever got some.
Seldom do you see axemen built like me,
A gent with an intent to share a tent or three.
Newest Man at Arms, fabulously sung,
Ready with a cuddle and a roving tongue.
Makes a saucy dish – come and have a stir! –
Ladies all appreciate a bon viveur.
Glad to do a girl a favour, even do it on my head,
Ready when you need me – brother, can you lend a man a bed?
Newest Man at Arms, handy with an axe,
Even bosses learn to take some hefty whacks.
Tossing down the ale, smooth as Persian silk,
Drinkers of my calibre, we don’t need milk!
Everybody loves a hero, everybody dies to meet,
I do whatever pleases, sleazes shouldn’t bother to compete.
Newest Man at Arms, quick to catch your eye,
Never let a conscious woman pass him by.
Subtle as a Pict, brave as any Celt,
Angling intently for a nice white belt.
Everybody aims for concord, gratitude’s my middle name,
Lock up all your daughters, ought to be an interesting game.
Enter, my girl, lay down your head,
Unlace your dress and lie on the bed.
This knot’s a curse, can’t be untied,
But here my blade will help me inside.
Here the myths are made, here the rumours fly
And nothing’s too perverse if you’re game to try.
Nights beyond compare, nights beyond belief,
Mix it with a master and you’ll find relief.
Muscles of a horse, balance of a cat,
Filling up your evènings with this and that.
Ressies beds are barely ample, try to find a bed that’s wide.
Seize upon a nice one, leave its owners huddling outside.
Catch ’em when they’re out, let ’em scream and shout,
As for what we’re doing, let them have no doubt.
Here a little sigh, there a little yell,
Walls are thin as paper and the bed creaks well.
When it comes to endless noises, there are lots of folks who knows,
I do whatever pleases, never mind chemises,
Teases you the way the evening goes!
Newest Man at Arms, quick to catch your eye,
Never let a conscious woman pass him by.
Subtle as a Pict, brave as any Celt,
Angling intently for a nice white belt.
Everybody aims for concord, they know that I’m the only one.
Jealous bunch of losers, booze is all that makes them any fun.
Sung by the Lady in question:
(I used to dream that I’d consort a Prince,
But BoD almighty, have you seen what’s happened since?
Newest Man at Arms, irritates and bores,
Ready to molest you with his hairy paws.
Takes you by the throat, gives it to you right,
Thinks he’s quite a hero, but he takes all night.
What a new twist on climbing, never mind my dreams of fame,
Nothing could be sadder, sliding down the ladder, what a shame.)
Sung by the Man at Arms, with the Lady singing the parenthesised bits:
Newest Man at Arms (latest in a list!)
Ready when you need him (but he’s always pissed!)
Tossing down the ale, cider, beer and mead,
(Tankard, sword and bimbo and it’s all he’ll need!)
Everybody bless the legend, bless his bint and all her charms
Everybody shout wahoo! (no one here has got a clue!)
Everybody shout wahoo to the newest Man at Arms!