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"The wanton lust of men is the enemy"
were her words to me;
but unheard she was,
for all my thoughts were for the kill.
"A treasure beyond all else
is my womb,
for from it shall come
the very vigour of the land."
I had no mind for a woman's riddles;
my thoughts were a scattered flight
of crows that day.
The heat was upon me,
in my sword and my loins.
A spender of spears I was,
a wheel to the enemy.
"Be my own pillar in the battle,"
she bade me.
Still, my heart was the deep
stone heart of a mountain,
and in her breast was solace.
But how I bit her,
and spat (upon) her face.
When first I felt that touch
of iron in my heart,
never so deeply was I struck.
Igraine's voice was a call to me (then).
Midst the mourning mists of Annwn,
how my tongue challenged my teeth.
A spender of spears I was,
a wheel to confront the enemy in battle,
but Igraine's cloak
was fastened torn on my shield.
He that was clad
in the skin of a dragon
came to her that eve,
while my body lay
midst a wreck of spears.
In life beyond me
to ehr was born a son;
the vital King of Kings.
For him, Lord above All,
I would cut off the hands
that rose against him
a pile of biers to make
of those vengeful sons.
But for this accursed wailing...
A spender of spears I was,
a pillar in battle,
a wheel to confront the enemy.

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