The Brave Maiden

The Brave Maiden is the story of a young woman who – in a quest for revenge – prevails against greed, treachery and brutality in medieval England. She is destined to bring peace and justice to the country; but first, she must discover her inner strength and nurture the qualities required of a leader.




(13th  Century)



England, fairest England, cowered in fear;

Doom was forecast by each prophet and seer.

Grim death and hunger roamed all through the land.

Drowned merchants’ corpses washed up on the sand

As wild pirates plied their odious trade

And seldom, if ever, were good laws made.

Greed and rank lust begat crimes everywhere;

Taxes were more than poor peasants could bear.

Arrogant knights weak villages plundered;

From their sacred oaths, their swords were sundered.


Earls and dukes, now a perfidious breed,

Their vassals and liegemen they chose to bleed,

Who, in turn, fastened fat reeves like leeches

On farms and fields, leaving naught but breeches

To humble serfs they were sworn to protect.

This corruption the Church did soon infect.

No longer for victims sanctuaries,

Chapels amassed gilded reliquaries.

Freebooting knights violated the Mass,

Looting pockets in a manner most crass.


Even poor wayfarers feared for their lives;

And many fell to brigands’ cruel knives.

They would cut you for two pence or a pound

And leave your throat gushing blood on the ground.

For a fever that of its own accord

Would have soon vanished like the Golden Horde,

A barber would bleed you with rusted knife,

Then impound your farm including your wife

If you refused to pay his cutthroat fee,

To which in dire panic you did agree.


Justice might be found in the rich squire’s court,

Of course with a bribe with which to resort.

Honor and valor were in short supply;

For the slightest reason, a man could die.

King John sat atop this foul heap of dung,

A villain but wanting his praises sung;

And so he pretends to great piety

While stealing with all due propriety.

Followed by a cadre of scant regard;

The vilest was a count known as Gerard.


A knight who murdered for gold and pleasure,

His coffers flowing with jeweled treasure.

He confiscates lands without a writ

As the King’s right-hand man and favorite.

Peasants huddled in fear when he rode by;

His heart stone though he hear a baby cry

From hunger because the year’s crops had failed.

Next to Gerard, even the devil paled!

His skin mottled, his mouth drawn and thin,

He had a scar that ran from cheek to chin.