Hornbook-art - 10/31/96
Mikal the Ram's book of stories.
NOTE: See also these files: story-sources-msg, storytelling-art, storytelling2-art, p-stories-msg, bardic-msg, Bardic-Guide-art.
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NOTICE -
This article was submitted to me by the author for inclusion in this set of files, called Stefan's Florilegium.
These files are available on the Internet at: http://www.florilegium.org
Copyright to the contents of this file remains with the author or translator.
While the author will likely give permission for this work to be reprinted in SCA type publications, please check with the author first or check for any permissions granted at the end of this file.
Thank you,
Mark S. Harris...AKA:..Stefan li Rous
stefan at florilegium.org
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THE TALES IN THIS COLLECTION
BARONY TALES
THE QUEST FOR THE MISSING BARONESS...............PAGE 2
A BARDIC APOLOGY..................................... 5
THE ARMOR RANSOM..................................... 7
MIKAL'S HEAD RANSOM..................................10
MIKAL'S TALES
A BOGIE'S LAMENT.....................................13
A TALE OF THREE MIRACLES.............................17
SOLUTION TO THE IRISH................................20
THE PRICE OF A PORK PIE..............................24
THE BAWDY TALES
THE SHOES OF THE MISER...............................28
THE INADEQUATE HUSBAND...............................30
THE TALE OF TWO PERFECT GEESE........................32
TRADITIONAL TALES
A WISE MULLAH........................................36
THE CHAMPION OF SCOTLAND.............................38
THE WICKED BLACKSMITH................................30
THE THEFT OF THOR'S HAMMER...........................46
THE POEMS IN THIS COLLECTION
I CANNOT GO TO WAR TODAY...........................49
IN CALONTIR WE RUST......................................51
THE ONE WISH.............................................52
GATHER YE PIPERS.........................................53
WHERE GO THE MAIDS?......................................54
THE HELMSMAN.............................................55
THE SONG OF THE SLOW HOUND...............................56
THE STRONG AND THE STOUT.................................59
HAVE YOU SEEN THE ARMY?.................................60
THEY'RE HANGING HIM FOR PAYING HIS TAXES.................61
AN ANNOYING EPILOGUE BY AN EGOTISTICAL AUTHOR......64
THE BARONY TALES
THE QUEST FOR THE MISSING BARONESS
(THIS TALE WAS WRITTEN AS AN ENTRY INTO THE BARDIC COMPETITION AT THE WARLORD TOURNEY. AT THE KRIS KINDER EVENT BEFORE THEN, THE BARON DAVARO AND BARONESS ELWYN, THEN CORONET OF FORGOTTEN SEA HAD MOVED, AND IN THE MOVE MISPLACED THE BARON'S CORONET. ALSO THAT DAY ELWYN WAS OVERDUE AT THE AIRPORT FROM A MUNDANE TRIP. TO EXPLAIN THE FACT THAT HE WAS FORCED TO HOLD COURT WITHOUT HIS BRASS OR HIS BARONESS, DAVARO PROCLAIMED A BARDIC COMPETITION TO BE HELD IN THE FUTURE ABOUT THE QUEST TO FIND THEM. I KNEW VERY LITTLE ABOUT THEM AT THAT TIME, SO I ELECTED TO TELL THIS TALE. IT IS A DISTANT RELATIVE TO THE EARLY PERIOD NORSE TALES OF VALOR AGAINST THE TROLLS.)
LEND AN EAR good gentles to the tale that I tell. Well do I know it for it was I who suffered these things. And you know me for an honest man, and that every word must be true!
T'was on the eve of Kris Kinder that the good Baron Davaro did come before his people. And the tale that he told chilled me to the marrow of my bones. "My lady Elwyn is gone," he said. "And my coronet is not to be found."
Oh my good gentles, the tremor of his voice brought tears to the most hardened eye. To see his naked head, t'was more than I could bear!
"Summon the bravest," he spoke twixt his tears. "Call out the nobles whose deeds are most daring. Seek out," my Baron proclaimed, " seek my missing Baroness, restore my errant coronet."
Many were the Knights who called to their squires to fetch horse, armor, and sword. Many were the fair ladies that tied favors to their lords. Off they scattered into every point of the world, each pledging to the Baron to find the errant lady and lid. Many would be the tales of their ventures.
I, being a bard in the Barony of Forgotten Sea, was not set among the brightest and best in the court of my Baron. But hidden behind the rest I heard the sad lament of my Baron. Oh, how could I not wish to ease his anguish? I swore on thatvery hour to seek the Baroness myself; to find the dire fiend that would strike so atthe heart of our honor. I would search for the honor of our Barony, seeking to add luster to the tales of Calontir, (and perhaps get a goodly reward as well...)
Full of the importance of my quest, I repaired to my stead, planning to armmyself for the journey. I selected my second best cloak, a bottle of spirits for the road, a stout staff, my heaviest boots, a skin of red wine, a goodly belt, a blanket, agallon of beer, a warm tunic, a hogshead of brandy, a tun of mead, a barrel of stout ale, a brace of bottles of small mead, two carbouys of cider, a cask or two ofbrandywine, a few dozen bottles of dark beer, a barrel of sack, and a handful ofdried apples should I become hungry along the way.
At this time my lady Aurore did come home, and seeing my preparations, realized my intentions to take up the quest. In her fine and dulcet tones she did inquire:
"WHAT THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING?"
I explained my intentions, and good gentles you should have seen the tears well up in her eyes as she perceived the nobility of my quest. She did well to hide it with feigned laughter, though I felt the rolling about the floor a bit overdone. She was so taken with my desires she would not have anything but that she help me pack. I could not bear to turn away her offer, for she was so determined. (Besides which she enforced her request with a rolling pin.) Thus, more lightly burdened I pursued my quest.
I began by thoroughly searching the local tavern, and insinuating myself with the townsfolk by drinking with each of them in turn. But with all my work, none of them had information as to the disposition of the Baroness or the coronet. So I proceeded to the next inn to continue my search. In this manner I traveled the length of the King's highways. But to no avail.
At length I found myself over-tired for some mysterious reason, and sought to lay myself down in a grassy knoll beside the road. After falling face first into the sod, (but it was a graceful, noble fall,) I passed into a strange and deep slumber.
It was here, my fellow nobles, where I experienced a most amazing dream, for I sensed the earth did move beneath me, and the very turf below me opened up and swallowed me into the very bowels of the earth.
I awoke in a strange and darkling chamber, with walls of packed earth. Above the roof was beamed with the roots of great trees, and within the walls worms and all manner of foul things did crawl each upon the other.
A strange and baleful l;light did come from the far end of the howe, and there I found a great pile of ruined weapons and foul bones thrown randomly. There must have been some great battle here, I thought. What bane of warriors must dwell in this place? What evil troll must have slain these doughty men?
Then I did feel my bowels move within me, for I perceived the owner of this place stood right behind me!
I whipped around and faced my tormentor. He was two fathoms tall and as wide as well. His skin was rough and green in most places, with varied patches of yellow flaccid hide. He bore an antler upon his head of five points, and two mismatched eyes of pus-yellow that glared most threateningly. His mighty paunch was girdled round with the hides of men held up by a belt of live vipers tied heads to tails.
"Ah," he cried in a most horrible voice. "Here is another to play my game!"
"Game?" quoth I. "I am most skilled at gaming. Would you be interested in a match of knuckle-bones, or a play of chess perhaps?"
He laughed most evilly. "My game is not so tame, manling. All those who come to this place must fight me or die!"
"And should I lose?" I asked?
"I eat you."
Now my lords and ladies you know me. I am not skilled in the arts of war. I am far more likely to harm myself with an axe as an opponent. I feared for my very life. Yet I remembered if I am nothing else, I am a bard! And the most potent weapon of any bard is his tounge! I thought up a most potent and effective lie on the spot.
"Very well," I told him. "But t'will hardly be a fair contest."
"True," he bellowed. "But you may serve me some small sport before I eat you."
"Eat me?" I laughed, "You have little hope of that! You have no chance 'gainst me. I am sure to lay you low!"
"What! How so?" he cried.
I pointed towards his feet. "Tis a simple matter of toes. You have too few, and must lose. Look; you have but four on the right and as few as three upon the dexter."
The monster sought to look where I pointed, but he suffered from a most distressing problem, and one that I see many here also relate too. You see his girth had grown to such noble proportions that he had not seen his feet in some time. Nor could he while in an upright position. He struggled and grunted, but could not gain a single glimpse of them.
"Bend farther," I counseled. "Lower...Lower..." And at that point when he was bent near double I fetched him up such a clout behind his ear with my staff that I laid him out cold!
Now my lords and ladies you can see that I returned unharmed from that lair, and others did find the Baroness and coronet. I cannot claim that singular honor. But instead I offer the defeat of this monster as a favor to the king and my Baron as proof of my singular quest.
And to those few who might doubt my prowess, or lay some scorn upon my honesty I offer as proof to my tale this staff. The very staff that did lay out that troll cold! Lay your hand upon it at your peril, for it still rings with the force of that mighty blow!
A BARDIC APOLOGY
(THIS TALE WAS WRITTEN TO HONOR COUNT SYR VALENS OF FLATROCK,
PATRON OF MINE. HE WAS KNOWN FOR HIS DEER HIDE ARMOUR AND HIS
RUST COLORED HELM, AS WELL AS FOR HIS SKILL IN BATTLE. IT WAS
RESENTED AT CROWN TOURNEY AT LOST MOOR, WHEN TOMEKEE WON THE
ROWN.)
HAVE MERCY UPON me, oh dread King. For no doubt you have heard the tales of late. I come to admit my guilt and to seek the mercy you are so richly known for. The common folk have brought to you wild tales of a haired warrior dressed in animal hides that assaults helpless women upon the highways of late. Spare the good Count Syr Valens your anger, for as you shall see he is not totally to blame.
I have always admired the good Count, and wished dearly to emulate my hero. It came to me that if I, a common bard of no great standing, could win some small honor by pretending his greatness, I could then begin to garner rewards of my own by unmasking myself. Knowing the honor with which he is regarded, I felt it would take a week or two to gain such renown. With this masterful plan, I set about to make myself the very image of the dashing Valens.
First I set out to find a helm like my idol's. I searched every armory and fair and at length found one rusting in the midden heap outside an abandoned castle. It was close to his, but needed a month or two in the moat to achieve the very colorful appearance of his own.
Then I set out to find the deer with which to model armor like his. I was told he hunted the stags himself, and I intended to remake myself in his very image. So I ventured into the forest to slay a beast.
Much to my surprise I happened upon one of the deer immediately. Oh, such a struggle it was, my king! I fought long and hard and took many a grievous wound from the monster. Imagine my surprise to find the creature did not in the least resemble what I had been told. True it was grey, but it was possessed of no antlers at all! Perhaps it was the wrong season for such displays. But even though it possessed a small white tail, it also possessed huge feet in the rear and long ears upon it's head that gave it a comical appearance, not at all in agreement with the description I had heard. This I decided was a case of misinformation perpetrated by the Heralds to make the beast more suited to the presentation as a device for shields.
What was worse, it was hardly possessing enough skin to make a goodly glove, let alone armor such as the Count doth wear. I was forced to slay twenty of the beasts to create a suitable covering. The good Count Syr Valens must surely have depopulated whole forests to thus clothe himself over the years.
Seeing the thinness of the hides I realized that tanning them would render them useless as armor. So I sewed them together raw. The drying of the hides in the sun made them give off a most marvelous odor, and I began to see just how tough Valens must be. If he could withstand the air of this armor it is little wonder that his opponents flee the field at his approach!
I then looked to my Count's hair. My own short, curly head could not match the long and full locks of my idol, yet I hit upon a plan. Finding two pale horses on a field, I availed myself of their tails. Knotting these upon my head and donning the armor and helm, and possessing myself of a goodly stout stick, I seemed the very model of Syr Valens! Now, I thought, I am ready to seek adventure!
My plan, my Liege, was to place myself upon the highway and to challenge any and all knights that passed by to combat. This I felt would best get the legend of the wild haired warrior to the Royal ear, without endangering my secret being found out. But as you know, the Barony has a reputation to be wet and stormy in this season. For days I stood in the mud of the roadway waiting for a passing combat. Oh how the skies poured scorn upon my endeavors. The armor I had made grew stiff and gained a rank even greater than the station I hoped to acquire. The locks I had donned hung low upon my face, and I felt a loss of purpose come overee. You must imagine my sorrow at this sorry condition I found myself in. Surely, I consoled myself, my hero had suffered this as well in his early years.
I had almost given up, when I perceived a figure wrapped in a cloak approaching. Here, I thought, is my chance to begin the long and hard journey to greatness. I stepped out to confront the foe, shouting my battle cry. Imagine my embarrassment when I perceived it was no warrior I faced, but a grandmother, hunched over her stick and plodding slowly in the rain. I was horrified at my mistake! How could anyone in their right mind take advantage of a grandmother by offering her battle? I made up my mind to aid her by escorting her to the nearest inn. From such humble good deeds much honor may come.
But as I approached she cried out. "Away varlet," she shouted. "You'll not ravish me!" And she began to lay about her with the stick most skillfully. I was sore beset, my King. Never was a noble more humbled. A hundred, nay a thousand blows I received 'ere she ceased her tirade.
When at length she was satisfied, she then berated me. "Tell the rest of your Huscarl friends I will give them the same!" And so off she went.
Your Majesty, I am sure that this tale has come to your ear by now. I wish to throw myself on your mercy. I did not mean to terrify the helpless old women of the kingdom. But above all I wish to clear the name of the Count Syr Valens. You may have heard he was terrorizing the ladies of the kingdom, and I wish to tell you that this time, it was not his fault!
THE ARMOUR RANSOM
(EVERY YEAR THE RENASCENCE FESTIVAL COMES TO KANSAS CITY. WE IN
HE BARONY OF FORGOTTEN SEA USE THE FESTIVAL AS A DEMO OPPORTUNITY.
I FOUND THE SCA THROUGH THE RENFEST, EVEN THOUGH I HAD SEARCHED FOR IT FOR YEARS BEFORE.
EVERY YEAR FIGHTERS COME FROM ALL OVER THE KINGDOM TO FIGHT IN
THE ERIC THERE. AND EVERY YEAR, THEY LEAVE ARMOUR, WEAPONS OR
UNK BEHIND. SOMETIMES IT'S HARD TO TELL THE DIFFERENCE.
THIS TALE IS WRITTEN IN THE FORM OF A LEGAL ARGUMENT. THERE IS
PRECEDENT FOR THIS IN NEARLY ALL CULTURES. BESIDES, IT WAS TOO MUCH
FUN NOT TO DO!)
MY BARON AND BARONESS, GOOD gentles all; I wish to put a tale of a legal nature before you. It is a sad and woeful tale I offer to you, and it is a cautionary tale as well, for it tells of loss, and of tragedy, and to the falling into the hands of a wholly just man! Pay heed, for a tale such as this is a lesson to us all!
Not long ago there was a Barony bright and fair, built upon the shores of a long Forgotten Sea. It was populated by a gentle folk, and possessed of various and sundry talented artisans, craftsmen, and a few long winded bards.
These happy lands were overseen by a gracious Baroness of rare beauty and charm, and a fair-haired Baron who distributed gifts, administered justice, and dealt fairly with all. But alas, good nobles, he was but mortal, and bound by those temptations that come to us all.
It was in this time that a great fair was held, about the time of Michaelmas. And as was the custom, entertainments were held to the delight of the villages around. Among those entertainments was the fighting of many of the Chivalry an many of the noble warriors in a tourney.
Now my lords and ladies, you know the habits of warriors at such fairs. By day they did glorious battle, and by night they did feast. And it is my own observation that no matter how hard fought the war, a fighter will oft feast and drink with more fervor than he will swing an axe!
There came then an end to the fair and many of the nobles made ready to depart. Whether due to the sweetness of mead or the sweetness of maid, many of those brave warriors did leave some bit of armor or some valued weapon behind. Such a wealth of steel did remain, that should thieves come the Barony could be beggared by the loss of it. Now as I did mention earlier, it was fortunate that this Barony did have so fair and noble a Baron and Baroness. For no sooner than they had spied this amassed wealth they took it upon themselves to collect these errant tools of war, and transported them to a safe place.
But I must remind you my lords and ladies, that this Baron was still only a man after all! And the Baroness was not possessed with the soul of a deity!
So we are faced with a problem of some subtlety. In the spirit in justice, I offer three possible outcomes to this tale. I beg your assistance in resolving this case, by giving judgment on each of the three resolutions and thus we may decide of how such a fair, noble, and just Baron might decide this problem:
First let us consider the nobility of the Baron. Perhaps the generosity of his heart might overcome the fairness of his spirit. After all, it could well be that wine, women, and song did woo his warriors into a sense of false security. So each of his noble fighting men could come before him and he might say, "I forgive your carelessness. I know that in these times of peace the accouterments of war are little remembered. Come, take those weapons and armor you forgot."
Humbled by the generosity of their Baron each noble would then gather his arms, never to leave them unguarded again. and the peoples of the Barony would be so inspired by this show of nobility and honor that they would live in peace and chivalric deeds for all time.
What say you good gentles? is this the ending you would prefer?
Well then, secondly we should look to the human nature of the Baron and Baroness. Perhaps they did look at that pile of war-harness and say, "Warriors abroad without weapons are how dragons get fat! There will be fewer warriors abroad next season, and all those easy victims will gather ogres and trolls and all manner of vile creatures."
And so, looking toward the safety of their peoples, these paragons of wisdom might gather their Barony and sell each item at auction. By arming their people they would gain new warriors to replace those who forgot their arms, (as well as using the coin from such sale to enrich the Barony and themselves.) Of course many of those who left their arms might try to by them back. But most would have spent all their coin on the wine, women, and song that caused them to forget them in the first place. So they would not be able to return to their former glory, and be forced to see humble people parading about in the steel they lost. And they may become so despondent that they give up battle forever and take up embroidery!
In this way the Barony would raise up new defenders to guard it's people, thanks to the wisdom, (and the greed,) of it's lawful governors.
What say you to this resolution, good gentles? Does this seem fair?
Well, there is but one more possibility: The noble pair, holding all those weapons and armor, could consider all that they might do. If the Baron gave back all the found items and forgave all the noble's carelessness, the noble warriors might not be humbled by his nobility, and succumb once more to the temptations of wine, women and so forth, forgetting their armaments once again.
And knowing their wisdom, it would be hard to believe that they should distribute such wealth to the gentry at random, since peace is such a fragile thing. The defense of the Barony should rest with experienced fighters. (Besides, I've seen their embroidery!)
So in their wisdom, the lawful Baron and Baroness could lay quests, duties, and foul geas on each member of their forgetful army, forcing them to be embarrassed by their lack of weapons. Thus, being chastised heavily, (or in some cases having bribed heavily,) the warriors could be given back their war harness.
It is hardly fair for me, a humble bard, to decide this. So I put it to yummy Baron and Baroness, for I am sure you, as just, and as noble, and as fair as you are, will put yourselves in the place of these forlorn fighters. What then shall be your decision?
MIKAL'S HEAD RANSOM
(THERE IS A LITTLE LITERARY NOTE TO THIS. IN THE HISTORY OF NORSE SKALDS, OR MASTER POETS, THERE WAS A PARTICULAR SKALD WHO ANGERED A KING. THE NAME OF THE POET WAS LOST IN TIME, BUT SOME AUTHORS SAY HE WAS ERIC, OTHERS SAY IT WAS EGIL. IN ANY CASE, HIS HEAD WAS ON THE LINE, SO HE COMPOSED A POEM TO BRIBE THE KING INTO NOT EXECUTING HIM.
THIS POEM WAS COMPOSED TO COMPLETE MY OWN ADVANCEMENT TO OLAVE IN THE COLLEGE OF BARDS. SEVERAL OF MY CIRCLE SWORE TO DO GREAT PHYSICAL HARM IF I DID NOT PASS. THE WORST PART OF IT FOR ME WAS TO MEMORIZE THE REQUIRED HISTORY OF CALONTIR IN SUCH A WAY THAT IT MADE SENSE. THIS IS WHAT RESULTED.)
A BARD, OR so they tell me, should know a few good tales,
poem or two, perhaps a song, and perform them without fail.
It's not enough," they tell me, "You should know some history.
ou live and work in Calontir, can you name it's Baronies?"
There's THREE RIVERS, I can think of, and the famous COER D' ENNUI,
ATAVIA, and LONELY TOWER, and my home FORGOTTEN SEA.
But they're makin' me to memorize the Kings of Calontir!
nd the reasons that they give me are not so very clear;
he list's too long, there is no song, I'm bound to fail I fear,
here's no good way to memorize the Kings of Calontir!
So they smile and tell me, "You must think you're quite a bard,
o name us all the warlords, unless it seems to hard!"
There's BRUMBAR, he was first,
hen TERNON took the band,
RUMBAR again, (we miss him!),
hen CHEPE held the land.
UMPK was our final warlord,
Or was he WILLIAM yet?)
nd wasn't CHRISTOPHER in there,
r did we just forget?
But they're makin' me to memorize the Kings of Calontir!
nd the reasons that they give me are not so very clear;
he list's too long, there is no song, I'm bound to fail I fear,
here's no good way to memorize the Kings of Calontir!
Then they smiled and tell me, "Tis a pleasure to behold,
bard who has such knowledge of the golden days of old.
ut can you name the princes, or would you be so bold?"
TERNON and GHLEANA were the first to hold the crown,
hen HUMPK and MAMMARA had their first go around.
RUMBAR and VALMAI, (we miss the bear some more),
nce more HUMPK and MAMMARA, just as we said before.
IRE and ELISABETH, they round out our list.
lease tell me is that all is there anyone I missed?
So they smiled and nodded. "We've a proper File' here.
o make yourself an Olave, name the Kings of Calontir!
They're makin' me to memorize the Kings of Calontir!
nd the reasons that they give me are now so very clear;
he list's too long, there is no song, I'm bound to fail I fear,
here's no good way to memorize the Kings of Calontir!
There must be a way to do it, now I think I see;
f there is no tune, then do it mnemonically!
CASE WMEE AMGH WMVS (Case with me am guy William verses)
BLZ SAVI TFGH RBCC (Tables savvy toughguy ribbyk)
M (Rum!)
There was:
HEPE and ARWYN, SHADAN and ERZEBET,
ILLIAM and MAMMARA, EDWARD and ELIZABETH,
SGEIR and MERRIAM, GABRIEL and HYWELA,
ILLIAM and MAMMARA once more take the crowna,
hen pass it ona, to VALENS and SUSANNA,
HORVALD and BRANWYN, LORELL and ZENOBIA,
HADAN and ALIX, THEN VOLKMAR and ISADORA,
OMEEKE and FIONA,
ABRIEL and HYWELA,
ODERICK and BRADEN, CONN and CADFAEL, (ah,)
nd RORICK and MORGANA.
Sure, it sounds impressive,
nd I won't admit you're wrong.
ut it's always getting longer,
nd it won't fit any song.
lease help us with this problem,
nd keep the bards in mind;
rom here on in Crown Tourney,
ake sure the winners rhyme!
For they're makin' us to memorize the Kings of Calontir!
nd the reasons that they give us are not so very clear;
he list's too long, there is no song, we're bound to fail I fear,
here's no damn way to memorize the Kings of Calontir!
MIKAL'S TALES
EVERY BARD IS ENTITLED TO A LITTLE SELF AGRANDIZING!
BOGIES' LAMENT
(THIS LITTLE PIECE OF BARDIC PROPAGANDA WAS WRITTEN IN A HUFF
BOUT THREE YEARS AGO, WHEN I HAD BEEN ASKED TO THE THIRTIETH
EAST THAT YEAR TO PERFORM, AND OH, BY THE WAY IT COSTS SEVEN
OLLARS! (OKAY, SO IT MIGHT HAVE BEEN THE TENTH FEAST, A YEAR
ARLIER.) MY LONG SUFFERING COMPANION AND DEAR FRIEND BARON LORD CORMAC MAC CUMAIL, COUNSELED ME NOT TO PERFORM THIS PARTICULAR
TALE AT THE FEAST. IT WOULDN'T BE POLITIC.
WELL, I'M NOT POLITIC. BUT I'M NOT DUMB, EITHER! THIS HAS ONLY BEEN
PERFORMED TWICE; ONCE FOR ROYALTY IN A PRIVATE SETTING, AND ONCE
FOR BARDS IN A CIRCLE AT THE LILIES WAR. (THE ROYALTY WASN'T OURS,
S I SAID; I'M NOT DUMB!)
THIS DOES HAVE A BIT OF REAL HISTORY THOUGH. SUCH IRONIC TALES
ERE COMMON WHEN BARDS WISHED TO GET THE POINT ACROSS AND NOT
ET THEIR HEADS LOPPED OFF. ALSO, A BOGIE IS A CREATURE OF CELTIC MYTHOLOGY, AND THE TALES THEY REFER TO ARE REAL STORIES.)
GOOD GENTLES, IT has ever been my way to tell the truth in any situation, regardless of damage it might do to my own reputation. True, my heroic exploits, my grand feats of bravery, my truly awesome life history has proven daunting to some
and inspired a host of imitators and detractors.
But I do not wish to deceive any of you. However fantastical and wonderful my life may seem to be, it is not without those evils that plague the simplest of souls. In all humility, I cannot say otherwise!
Long have I dwelt on this "Emerald Isle", and in all this time I have been unable to reconcile the attitudes and activities of the Irish with those of a rational man. Truly, if any peoples of this known world may be reckoned mad, the Celtic races are among the first. One need only look to their choices of food and drink to see the truth in this!
One day I was summoned to share bread and ale with a noble of one of your finer houses. I felt honored and somewhat bound to go, as the noble in question had recognized my superior intellect and breeding. True, few tales are told of my exploits in this land, but I account that sheer ignorance, and therefore something to be overlooked in less civilized peoples. What I had not counted on was the depths of savagery the Irish were capable of.
Imagine my horror when my good host proposed to serve me entrails and other innards as a main dish! Likewise he offered beef soaked in brine to act as an appetizer! If Odin had intended for good beef to be served in salted waters, then cattle would have gills and swim with the dolphins and hipogriffs! I
scarce had recovered from the recitation of the repast when my host put forth a cup to pour some libation, perhaps to soften the impact it so obviously had on me.
I wondered at the small size of the cup, hardly one that could quench the thirst of a true son of the north like myself, but the eager attitude of my host prompted me to drink anyway. Perhaps he had no better offering.
The cup was filled with some form of liquid Irish fire! Yes, ''tis true good gentles! It choked and burned each inch of my gullet, decided to make a return trip, changed it's mind halfway, changed it again, and finally settled for roaming up and down my windpipe in the hopes of finding the most unpleasant place to reside. I knew I was poisoned!
I had not even cleared the tears from my eyes and prepared myself to meet my patron god, when he poured yet another cup for me. This I knew was the true spirit of these Irish. He had recognized me for the hero I am,and to make my death less painful and lingering, he poured more poison to kill me quicker! How could I refuse him? It was an act of true respect. Thus I drank five full cups of the noxious brew, to insure my speedy demise. It had it's salutary effect, for the room spun about me and I fell into darkness.
I was not, as you can see, done to death by this potent drink. For it seems that by some strange magic I had been transported outside of the house, and was laying face downwards in the dewy grasses. My belongings were all present, save some gold I had placed in my pouch. It is well known that gold is a sacred metal and therefore resistant to magics. Whatever mystic spell that had transported me could hardly have done so to the golden coins as well.
Thanking my gods for their protection, I began to gather myself to go when I heard a strange sound coming from the now dark woods to my right. It sounded like the strangulation of some great cat, attended by huge flies.All during this there was the weird chanting accompanied by some form of bowstring sounds from a cracked set of hunter's bows.
My lords and ladies, you know me. A puzzle such as this could not but draw my attention. Perhaps some giant fly assassins were murdering a huge religious cat who was praying for help! Anxious to see this wonderment I betook myself to the source of this cacophony.
You may well imagine the state of my mind when I saw two brown men, not two foot in height each, plucking wildly on a harp and chanting, while a similar small greenish wight blew into a set of pipes not unlike those so prized by these Irish and Scots. Of the harping, I may state that the bogies were poorly schooled and coarsely trained. Of the pipes I cannot rightly say, for even the best of players sounds to the civilized ear to be scraping live lion cubs against a rooftree in a high wind.
All around these minstrels whirled a multitude of spirits. Some were of the same height, some far smaller, like a doll one might give to a child, and one of their number was full ten feet tall.
I was astounded by the vulgarities and variations of the host around me. So much so that I did not notice when the largest one caught me by the collar until he had lifted me a good three feet off the ground.
"A human," he growled. "I've caught meself a human!" This was hardly the welcome I might have cherished, particularly when the chorus of "Manflesh, manflesh, we want manflesh!" began among the more toothy of my captors.
Perhaps there are those among you who know of my exploits and wonder as how a giant of merely ten feet could capture and intend to eat a hero such as myself. I must here admit; I was still suffering from the effects of the poison and my mystical transportation and was therefore not as heroic as I might have been under the circumstances.
I know it is hard to believe, but I began to feel the faint stirring of fear. Only the slightest fear. A mild nothing, you understand.
Once they had taken their fingers from their ears, where they had placed them to shut out my screams of terror,(but they were manly screams of terror), a very wrinkled gnome drug me aside, slapping me violently at every step.
"Ay now, you've nowt to do that fer," he told me. "Don't ye go a'wailin agin, aye?"
What could I do, save to answer in the affirmative. I was in the hands of foul creatures beyond the ken of man. Any second could be my last!
I was dragged before what I took to be the king of these monsters; a smallish, green wight of great age and impressive paunch. "Why d' ye come here?" he asked me. "No human has spied upon our revels in many a season. D' ye come t' take our gold? Answer quick, man, for we've time afore dawn t' boil ye for stew!"
Now it was certain, I must find some clever way to free myself. These beasts meant to eat me! In times such as these I find my most potent skill is that of my tounge, the prime weapon of the bard.
"I was lonely," quoth I, "being the most rejected of all peoples upon the earth. Your music brought me hither, in search of companions. Eat me if you must, but know that you do me a great service by ending a life so wretched."
This amazed the old king. "Y'are a man!" he said. "Long have I wandered, and longer still I've lived an' I've not seen a man so wretched as to wish me t' eat him!"
"Nay, you are wrong," I lied, as skillfully as I could. I am no man, but rather a bard, a most sorrowful creature, for we are misunderstood, shunned and unrecognized."
The mass of the monsters began to mumble amongst themselves. "No one can be more misunderstood or put upon than we!" cried the king. "We are the Bogies, the put-outs of the elven kingdom! No one wants us! I've a mind to eat you just for claiming to be more wretched than us!"
"Aye!" cried