Bard Billot on the twice-sacked goneburger Rob Campbell The Last Stand of Robbo the Red
Robbo the Red came from the hills,
swinging his pole axe,
a mercenary strolling out of the misty days of yore.
He had served many Lords.
He had served the decrepit tribes
of organised serfdom.
He had served the cunning usurers,
and the pirate merchants of antiquity.
Now he came, scarred with the years,
to take his place at the Royal Banquet
with the Lords and the Ladies,
miscellaneous gender diverse aristocrats,
and well-mannered and impeccably neutral Chief Executives.
Hostilities had ceased between all factions
for a night of stuffed grouse, amber mead
and the chortling of those who know they sit
at the High Table, on whatever side.
Red Robbo elbows his way through
and slams his mug on the table.
Silence descends like a heavy curtain on the guests.
The Boy King in his High Chair trembles in fear.
“O Robbo,” he quavers,
“Wouldst thou serve thy King as … er …
as Grand Archimandrite of Te Whatu Ora?”
“No probs Guv,” replies the burly headbanger
with a hearty belch.
Robbo’s eyes narrow and he stabs his finger
at the House of Blue seated on the right.
“Oi, Luxo! What was you saying
about that Nineteen Waters then?
I like meself a bit of co-governance!”
Baron Luxon turns a pallid grey
and retires to his chambers
with a bad case of vapours.
The Acting Marshal of the Rebel Armies,
Toad of Seymour, whips out a poisoned penknife
from beneath his fine pigskin leggings.
“Red Robbo must pay for his insolence!”
he squawks while skedaddling for the exit.
“He must pay!” chant the Chief Executives,
stamping the floor in a chorus of doom.
Grand Mistress Ayesha sighs, and calls for her box
of pincers, whips and gruesome extraction devices
authorised under the Crown Entities Act.
A platoon of the King’s Men step forward,
and Red Robbo is dragged away
to a grim fate, laughing uproariously:
“I’d rather die on me feet
than live on me knees!”, he bellows,
before his voice is cut off
by the slamming of the great iron doors. Victor Billot has previously felt moved to compose Odes for such luminaries as Bishop Brian, Clarke Gayford, Mike Hosking, and Garrick Tremain.
