The Chalice of Greatness
Far away in the dark lost lands
grows the grim wood.
In the grim wood, the muddy trail
leads to the haunted house.
The haunted house echoes
with the cries of the forgotten,
the moans of the doomed.
In the house there is a room,
a room of webs, of cold,
of dank and gloom.
And in the room
there is a table.
At the table sit the four.
Lady Oravida.
Baron Luxon.
Simon the Unfortunate.
And Dr Shane Reti.
In the middle sits the golden chalice,
brim-fill’d with dark liquor
that bubbleth with gruesome vigour.
Lady Oravida speaks first.
I will drink from the Chalice of Greatness,
she proclaims with a contemptuous curl
of her eyebrow, for I am fearless and invincible.
She swigs a mouthful and smacks her lips.
Absolutely fine! I am destined for glory,
she proclaims.
There is a bang like a Christmas cracker,
and with a puff of green smoke,
the Lady vanisheth.
Simon the Unfortunate sits at the table,
his lopped head held comfortably
under his armpit.
In turn, he reaches for the chalice,
but his disembodied head won’t stop talking.
Lo, and though his body desperately tries
to muffle Simon’s head in a cloak,
his penetrating voice keeps cutting through.
Did you hear the one about the actress and the bishop,
guffaws the head of Simon,
then falls to the stone floor
and rolls down the stairs,
cackling gleefully, chased by his lopped body.
Dr Shane Reti picks up the golden cup.
I will hold this chalice for as long as required,
he says, then immediately passes it to Baron Luxon,
before blowing on his burned fingers.
The Baron stares at the chalice;
he reaches for it, yet draws back;
on his bald pate a fine sweat gathers.
From the shadowed corner comes
the jangling of a jester’s bell,
as Baron Luxon’s trembling hands
slowly raise the mighty chalice,
the Chalice of Greatness, to his lips.
Victor Billot has previously been moved to write Odes for such New Zealand luminaries as Judith Collins, Jacinda Ardern, Brian Tamaki, Willis and Rawnsley, Dr Siouxsie Wiles, Duncan Garner, and Garrick Tremain.
