JEZ PUNTER is based in London. His poetry has appeared in First Time, Popshot, Bunbury, Eunoia, Snakeskin, Riggwelter, Dream Catcher, theCRANK and on the Society of Classical Poets website. He is currently writing a commentary on Shakespeare’s Sonnets. This is Part II of his long poem, ‘Violenta’s Revenge’; Part I may be found here

After wooing her, Lord Didaco jilts his lowborn wife Violenta in favour of someone else.

Violenta exacts her revenge. Based on a story from Matteo Bandello’s Novelle (1554)

My faithful maid leaned close to hear my plan.

‘I keep five hundred coins with certain jewels,’

I said to her, ‘by which that beast began

his odious seducing, fash’ning fools                            

from this impov’rished house while buckling rules.

Now this same money shall be all your fruit

if what I plan you help me execute.

‘Yet come of it what will, this hate I harbour

soon shall manifest itself in deed,

if not by accident then by a murder;

for vengeance will not stop until its feed,

until it gains what nature has decreed.’

My maid, aware of my determined nature,

promised then to aid me in my venture.

‘First of all,’ she did instruct, ‘you must

dissemble totally your burning grief,

contrive to show not one bit of mistrust

of him, our knight, his new nuptials. In brief,

you must applaud them well, show your belief

that he and his new wife are meet and right;

that rather than offence you cheer the sight.

‘And then to him a letter you must pen,

well-scripted by your own person, thereby

to let him understand just how and when

great pain you suffer, how you should surely die

if not another visit he might try

to you; for you, you’ll write, “still love him so”,

and are “with horror filled to let him go”.

‘Our rich deceiver shall be quite beguiled

by thinking to have you at his command.

He’ll come to lie with you; he’ll see his child;

he’ll act as he did previously, demand

you do his want and will. But you’ll be damned

if this restarts a circumstance of strife.

For unbeknownst to him, he’ll lose his life.’

So to begin the enterprise: I prayed

Janique to for a time withdraw herself

because, although indebted to her aid,

to write I needed to be by myself.

I hence did lift some parchment from my shelf

and with renewed and fresh audacity

inscribed as follows with capacity:

Señor Didaco, I’m persuaded now

that if you will vouchsafe to read, peruse

these characters within, you might allow

by your compassion ease of my agues

and griefs that so assault and so confuse.

Dear Sir, these pages penned are of a soul

by heat lost now transformed to cindered coal.

Behold now here the image of my life:

A wench with child forsaken and forlorn,

quite stupefied by gloom which, like a knife,

dissevers, tears apart what was reborn

when you appeared as like some wished-for dawn.

Our coalition was secure, I thought.

But how your breach of pledge left me distraught!

Only my maid (God bless her charity)

has had the wherewithal to save this soul

so brutally condemned eternally.

Evicting me from an engulfing hole

she set my thinking mind then on a goal.

No longer did I feel Death did conspire

but hoped that you – whom did my offspring sire –

might read these words and know of my appeal.

Alas, how many hundred-thousand times

of late have I longed to, in helpless zeal,

descry the sound of Death’s foreboding chimes

and wish he would enclose me for my crimes.

I have not recognised, for all my sins,

where blissful sleep has ends and doom begins.

And yet the journey of my thoughts within

is further torment – swollen vexing visions,  

mutilating worlds of voices, sin,

unhappiness, regret for my decisions,

where neighbours’ accusations are incisions!

My self is stolen from me, set adrift

by subtleties of claw so sharp, so swift.

Come hither to me, cruellest man, I say.       

See in what lean and ugly state I’m left.

Perhaps rejoice in how I’ve split away –

a mind that married, now a mind bereft;

a mind and soul inside their body cleft. 

Behold an aging, broken, piteous dam,

fragile of frame yet once a noble lamb.

Thus as my tears did make my words dry up

I suffered not my pen to issue more.

I wet my tongue with water from my cup

and called out for my maid to do this chore:

‘Gentle Janique, go forward from my door

and carry unto him these letters written.

With hope upon receipt we shan’t be bitten.

The residence was of his pa-in-law.

When welcomed in she asked if she might speak

to Lord Didaco. The servant went before

her, querying after he whom she did seek

while she then waited for what seemed a week.

At last a face – broad and framed with beard.

’Twas he, she knew. And though she was afeared

she feigned a smile and duly spoke her duty:

‘Renowned Señor, I stand before you here

as one who neither reads nor knows the beauty

of good literature, but yet I dare

to say all’s true in these here leaves. I swear.

Madame Violenta sends them unto you

and begs you give them all attention due.’

Janique then handed forth my written letter,

which he read reclining in his chair.

She watched his facial muscles get the better

of him, scanning it hard, revealing bare

the thoughts my words incited in his care.

It was as if he’d been withholding breath

when he exhaled; it shocked her half to death!

‘Janique, dear friend!’ (he started as he spoke),

‘the tenor of these words that bite my eyes

does such a sudden passion now provoke

within, I catch myself hence by surprise.

It is as if a cloud in me does rise

but yet contains many a contrary gust –

much pity, hatred, love, disdain . . . and lust!

‘My heart is vexed, yet yearns to now do battle;

the window of my soul is freed from blinds.

Janique, dear friend, assist these thoughts to settle.

Tell Violenta still a feeling binds.

So yes I’ll visit her – if this she finds

appropriate. And say unto your mistress

too: I’ll duly make amends, redress

‘for my neglect and every ounce of sorrow

caused. But mark: my call must be at nine

o’clock P.M. No more then shall she furrow

her brow in aimless anguish and consign

my name to mud. I’ll love her ’cause she’s mine.

I’ll come tomorrow early ’mongst the gloom

so may a reconciliation bloom.’

On hearing what the man had thus imparted

I replied, ‘Janique, God bless you for

your service. I’ve not slept here since you started

out for worry, but now you’ve prised the door

to our proceedings I can act the more.

I have devised that we’ll provide a rope

secured unto my bed. Its end will droop

‘over the edge. Didaco will soon nap,

and when he does I’ll cast the end to you

so you may thenceforth take it up and wrap

it round your arms most tight and pull it true

across the bed trapping the sleeper who,

before knows what’s occurring, will then float

in dreams of death – for I’ll have cut his throat!

‘Therefore a knife must you prepare – nay, two

in fact; of but the finest steel, no matter

the cost. Didaco’s soul shall thereby rue

the day he sent to me his first love letter,

and I shall laugh to see his lifeblood spatter!

But pray, Janique, allow me this one thing:

leave me alone when those knives start to swing.’

At home inside his pa-in-law’s that night

Didaco at an early hour did break

away from dinner saying he must make flight

to go and map his land – of hill and lake,

a survey was he ‘now required to make’.

His wife asked why he’d not done this before.

He had ‘forgot’, he said. But it was ‘law’.

‘And love,’ he added as he stood and dressed,

‘I won’t be back until next day is dawning,

since I’ve some chief affairs to be assessed.

His wife acknowledged him with sleepy yawning,

muttering, ‘Farewell. Till next day’s morning.’

Didaco’s groom then brought forward a steed

and off he cantered to perform his deed.

The clock was nine o’the evening when I let            

my door swing fro and was confronted by

the fiend. He kissed my hand. I was well met.

Directly then a shrewd, facinorous lie:

My scripted words, he claimed, had made him cry!

I listened patiently to this announcer,

saw him sat, and then began my answer:

‘Señor Didaco, you bid me good morrow,

yet you in deed have quite annihilated

she whom you abandoned. So much sorrow

I’ve borne, so many imaginings vacated,

hopes and aspirations amputated

from a mind receded into air.

Now here observe my state, my dire welfare!’         

Didaco hence, observing my affliction,

fearing from my mouth some more alarms,

was moved to sympathy, was moved to action:

he collected me up in his arms!

He complimented me upon my charms

before vouchsafing his new marriage ill!

In to it he’d been ‘handled’ ’gainst his will

so on, so forth. A second then I thought

he might be speaking true. Howbeit

I then recalled the reason I had brought

him here so did regain myself and hit

him with a contrived smile; and then with grit

embarked upon my speech: ‘Señor Didaco,

although you left me in a state of woe,

‘and though I’ve no foundation to believe

your present words, the love I hold for you

is rooted deep within. I can’t conceive

your fault to be so great that I’d imbue

myself with warring hate till turning blue.

And so my offer’s this: You and I

shall twice a week within my bed here lie.

‘For I suspect that if I might at times

enjoy your company I could remain

within your grace and favour, and the climbs

of love again grow strong, then the domain

of mutual warmth once more become germane.

By God in Heaven’s will we shall grow old –

together in love, content in all the world.’

Attending well to this the man agreed

to all that I proposed. (Of course he did,

his blood was up, he prepared to breed.)

But first of all at supper was he bid

to sit. Janique had made a meal, varied

in meats and bread – and pudding rather stodgy.

Then wine, and thus our guest became sleepy.   

Suggesting we both rest a couple of hours,

I said, ‘As you’re aware, a restful sleep

is something I’ve not known in months. It sours

the appetite for love. But you shall keep,

my love, I know. You don’t wish me to weep.

And fear you not, when I no longer tire

accommodate I shall your great desire.’        

This rankled with the man but yet before

too long my foe – former husband – yielded,

laid beside me still, beginning to snore.

And then I spied (although the curtain shielded)

Jan, my maid, and recognised she wielded  

in her hand the aforementioned rope.

Then she moved and I was filled with hope.

Conveying the cord across his sluggish body

Janique then passed the end of it to me

and I to her beneath the bed, thus ready

to fast ensnare our hated enemy

as we’d devised. I was now fully free

to act the thing that we had so arranged.

Now was the moment I would be avenged.   

I quickly snatched the first great knife from off

my stool and sought the perfect point of skin

for entrance in. He gave a kind of cough

as I advanced upon his throat. His sin

of treating me like naught would mean no win

was he to ever see. Thus in a flash

I plunged that blade into his cheating flesh.

The body jerked beneath me where it lay

as I, becoming now enchanted, rose

up on my knees and, as though at play,

began to hack with blinded fury those

few features that were eyes and mouth and nose.

I was Medea filled with fuel and fury,

no more the victim suffering injury.

I angled neat my weapon’s dripping point

and then like oysters shucked his eyeballs clear,

the salty fluid bubbling to anoint

my raging hands, impelling me to sneer,

‘Farewell! No longer can you interfere

with my emotions, wretched plunderers!

Now it is known you were but harbingers

‘of doom!’ And then his lying tongue I took.

I seized and fast removed it at the root.

‘Abominable perjured thing! Villain and crook

of truth, deforming words just to recruit

a foolish girl! Say, am I still as cute?’

I flung that member on the floor to lie;

no longer would it make a maiden cry!

And then into his useless gut I tore,

creating holes without insight or taste.

My blades, now whirling windmill branches, bore

like mining tools, mashed organs down to paste,

all juice and red stuff happily displaced.

The warm wet pleasure galvanised my heart

and made me howl with laughter at my art.

‘You’ve breathed your last, your very, very last!’

I sang. Then, out of breath, I sought my maid.

She was still there, wrapped in the rope we’d cast

with all the strength of thousands. She had stayed

until the end. But now as she surveyed

the aftermath of all my frenzied work

she was struck mute. The sight did try and irk

her eyes. ‘Janique,’ I said, ‘fear not, the end

of all our woeful darkness has arrived.

Each prick of pain that once did fast distend

has been dispelled, and we are left, survived.

A better outcome could not be contrived.

I now do feel myself so eased of pain

when Death appears for me. I know I’ll gain

‘an even greater rest – eternal peace.’

Janique, although wide-eyed at all she’d seen,

regained herself enough to help release

the rope and then assess the poor has-been.

‘These sheets,’ she quipped, ‘will be hell-fire to clean.’

‘Hush, hush,’ I said. ‘Just help me move this louse,

expel these wrecked leftovers from our house.’

We listened once we’d thrown and heard a thump.

We looked and spied it half upon the pavement.

Next, on top of it, I dropped the pump

that was his lying, cankered heart. It’s movement

spoilt for all eternity; enslavement

of girls a thing no longer to take place.

The trial was over, mine the winning case.

But I yet had instructions for my maid:

‘Janique, this casket here is full of money,

that which I promised you. So be well paid

for all your service, easing the agony

I did inherit. You have been my nanny,

nurse and maid, plus more than you can know.

I’m full of gratitude. But now, do go.

‘Go to the nearest port and find a ship.

Thence sail at once to Africa and there

be safe. Use well your earnings and equip

yourself with anonymity. Prepare

yourself a brand new life. You’ve been so fair

to me, now please, accept this extra pay

and make some haste. God bless you on your way.’ 

And so with mutual tears we said farewell.

My serving maid of ages went away

while I in out-and-out exhaustion fell

onto the floor and slept. For many a day

I’d not so much as dozed without the play

and pull of fretting thought, but now . . . peace.

I slept, emphatically. I found . . . release.

It was the noise that woke me up – the shouts

and cries of outrage from the street below.

And under this a general murmur, bouts

of talk as crowds were drawn to see the show.

I watched them in the morning’s early glow

and heard that none of them could recognise

the victim in his disfigured disguise.

And so I shouted from on high: ‘Good sirs

and ladies of the streets, you all contend

upon this issue like a pack of curs

but shan’t know how this quarry met its end

unless to my account your ears you lend!’

The crowd, intrigued, did lift upwards their heads

and asked, ‘You know why he was torn to shreds?’

‘I do,’ I cried. ‘So hear my testimony!

Know this: the form that once did stride as Lord

Didaco here without great difficulty

lost his life. He was by my hands gored

and hacked to death – because he was deplored

by me in every way. Then down he plunged,

and thereby I was mercifully avenged!’

Perhaps it was my hellish look of eye

that meant the throng accepted what I said;

or that my forearms glistened with red dye

and many curdled splats adorned my head.

I laughed at them. I knew that I was dead.

They whispered it was ‘known a well-dressed knight

did keep the girl; ’twas sure he was her blight.’

However, the deed was done; I was a brute.

The sergeants, officers of law were called,

and, with my brethren and my mother mute

on learning what had chanced, all too appalled

to speak, henceforth to prison was I hauled.

I wondered at what speed I’d meet my fate.

They told me that was for the magistrate.

The sun had barely nudged the mist next morn

when I was mauled and wrenched into the air.

The brows of all the officers wore scorn

or else gestured they’d reason none to care.

Thus to the palace was I taken, there

to meet, as well as the judiciary

determining my fate, near everybody

of the town within which I had grown.

Didaco’s pa-in-law, his widowed wife

and all their kin did seek to view the ‘crone’

who stole from their loved one his ‘blameless life’.

My brothers twain were there, addled with strife;

but mother? No. Too mentally harassed.

I wept. And then the magistrates amassed.

Before them all, the greatest of the town,

I was instructed to relate my tale.

They wished to know how I had been brought down

so low by this well-dressed, well-valued male.

Thus I embarked upon a new travail:

I told them how the demon had pursued me,

had said for months on end I was his, ‘truly’,

how he had had us married in the night,

the nuptials solemnised by priest unknown;

of how we’d lived together out of sight

for near a year until one day alone

I found myself. ‘He’d chosen to disown

me,’ I relayed, ‘like some old ragged doll,

condemning me to stare and blankly loll.

I then divulged how all had thus emerged

the previous night, how he whom was a wolf

was by my maid Janique held fast and purged

of all his worldly essence by myself,

but then how all the horror did engulf

Janique and, fearing similar mania,

she’d jumped into the Rio Turia.

From wall to wall inside the palace court

light lukewarm tears did fall from doleful eyes.

Many lamented the misfortune brought

upon my pitiful soul, the hardship, lies

of one who eagerly did optimise

his carnal pleasure playing with his power,

whom now had fixed it so my life was over.

The chief justice began: ‘A woeful crime

is this that’s been your harsh and ruthless deed.

Therefore it is decided that your time

upon this earth is ended. You did bleed

yourself through sorrow and through anguished need,

but this excuses not defying the law

for your own means. Your actions we deplore,

‘and so do sentence you to be beheaded

by the axe within our public square.

Not only was your plan well executed,

so excessive was your want to tear

your prey to pieces little can compare. 

Your mother and your brethren can go free.

May God have mercy on them, and on thee.’

Now here I am, dear reader, in my cell,

awaiting patiently my devilish fate.

The day on which I am to enter hell

has been postponed until a later date

whereon a certain duke can celebrate

my end amongst all of Valencia.

He comes from Italy, Calabria,

and undertakes a fair old trek. No matter,

I’ve had additional time in which to write

my tale, recalling how, one day, a letter

did arrive for me from one young wight,

a boy who laughed and danced and made a sight

beneath my rickety agèd chamber window.

‘Real love’ was his, he claimed. His name? ‘Didaco’.

Was it just merely youth that killed us both,

condemning two to death by cutting blade?

We each had barely but begun our growth,

and now a poem’s tragic end is made;

herein are my last thoughts before I fade.

The ink is smudging underneath my tears,

and yet I’m smiling now – I’ve no more fears.


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