College of Rencester

Inspriation

From: Caitlin. Greetings good gentles all...

As I prepare to unpack from the event I am drawn to a small book with gold and green decoration and a simple gold tassel. The book, the one procured for His Grace Duke Jade, so that he and the fighters he faced Sunday on that field of such great honor, could inscribe their words of honor to a very special lady. . .

By way of setting the story let me offer this first - with sad heart I searched for a way to honor a lady who had touched the lives of so many people and who was not long for this mortal coil. Having asked Their Majesty's counsel on a suitable way to honor her They suggested His Grace, as he was fighting the Bye's for the tournament. I approached him in his camp after dark to beg this boon. Without second thought he asked where she was, how far away she was, and if he could see her.

We traveled the short distance to the hospital where her family and friends were gathering. I shall never forget this incredibly noble man as he approached her bedside, took her hand in his and swore to swing his blade in her name upon An Tir's Honor's field the next day. He made promise to her to fight 100 fights in her honor. And while the lady could not respond to him or his words I knew in my heart that she could hear him.

We returned to the site, a quiet drive, where he apologized for being so quiet. I didn't know how to respond, still being struck by the noble virtue of this man. He explained that he was looking within himself, being "thankful" for this opportunity of reminder about what it was to be a Knight. I didn't know what to say.

Serena passed in the early morning hours. When His Grace came to my camp to collect the book and a favor to wear upon the field I shared the news with him. He steeled himself to the task at hand.

It will be a long time before any of us gathered up the field forget the emotion or spirit that swept through those gathered as he read these words:

"Oh noble lady, only once did we meet,
Yet the love in your heart did well me greet,
As I held your hand, in your bed did you lie,
Giving peace through your serenity, yet did I cry.

For no reason we mortals may discern,
The fates have chosen this time for you to depart,
So those of us who remain for your spirit shall yearn,
And hope that we may follow the noble course you did chart.

Yet before this day comes to it's end,
The promise I made you shall be fulfilled,
To your soul I promise a song I would send,
A hymn of honor with my voice, my blade and shield.

So know that our deeds of honor this day,
Shall be in thy name and shall speed thy flight,
For I know your path is along the rainbow way,
And that your spirit will watch over us this very night.

So a chooser of the slain in Valhalla you shall be,
And my noble lady, when it is my time I hope you'll come for me."

I watched throughout the course of the day as His Grace fought each of his fights for the lady he'd only once met, each time offering silent gesture to the sky before his blade sang its song. In the evening we met again, to turn over the book (which shall be given to the lady's family).

I will long remember his joy in reporting that he'd not fought 100 fights that day but instead nearly 120.

I knew Serena as friend, as a member of my House (the Great Fire Goddess) and as a member of the September Crown autocrat team (she was instrumental in the making of the site tokens.) Her loss will be hard felt but her spirit will live forever in the memory of this most incredible gesture by a very valorous man. A final note I add, an observation made by my lord husband as we prepared for the tasks at hand Sunday morning; "How much the irony that there could be no fires at the event where our fire-goddess could not be."

Most respectfully, Catelin.

Thurs, 21 Sept 2000 07:25:30 PDT. From: "Margarette Rose"

Make-A-Wish (A Day of Magic)

Long ago in a kingdom on the West Coast, there was a small tourney. This tourney was the first "Make-a-wish" tourney that I ever attended. The foundation had brought a, small eight year old boy in a wheel chair, to the event. It was his "hearts desire" that he should be "King for a Day." As with all who qualify for this foundation, he was dying. He had cancer of the brain and the doctors had given him, 2-3 months more to live. He was wheelchair bound, and on medication, but much more alert than most expected. His cute brown hair and big eyes seemed to eat up everything he saw!

The day was beautiful, not overly hot, and the skies were clear. The populace had crafted a crown, a scepter, and a cloak for "His Majesty". As we stood and bowed as he was brought down the center isle for opening court, the wind picked up and sent the banners snapping in the breeze. Two knights, attended His Majesty, as well as his Mother, who walked behind. Her eyes were misty as she watched total strangers giving her son his dying wish.

During opening court, the combatants for the day came forward and pledged their fights to His Majesty's honor. Without prompting, He smiled, thanked them, and wished them well. He was so grown up in his manners and speech. Everyone's heart caught in their throats.

Towards the end of the day, "His Majesties" attendants requested an audience with the Knights council and the King (ours). At the council meeting, one of the knights requested, that as this small child had through out the day shown bravery, honor, chivalry, and courtesy, he should be knighted, by our King for real. This knight offered his own belt for the lad, another came forward and offered his chain, still another offered his spurs and finally the last knight who came forward offered his "dagger" to serve as a sword for the new knight. There was one of the older knights who objected, saying that "they couldn't possibly knight this boy, who first was not a member of the society and who secondly wasn't even a fighter!" But as Our King pointed out, the child was dying and wouldn't live to gown up to be a fighter, but that he had been fighting this disease all of his life and had been able to be courteous through it all! The older knight, sat down. Also the King continued, saying, that he himself, had also watched the lad and indeed he could attest to his bravery, for he never should any discomfort, to anyone. At closing court His Majesty was knighted! Those attending court cried, those knights who gave up their own items cried and the day ended.

But this is not the end of the story. Nine or ten months later, his Mother came to an event. She wanted first to "thank us.", for making her sons last days so happy and to let us know that the doctors had credited the Society and its actions with prolonging the child's life. She also said that when things got really bad, he never cried, because, he said, "Real, knights had to be brave and since he was a real knight now, he had to be brave too." Also she wanted us to know that, he died with his belt, chain, and spurs on, holding his sword. She had buried him with the sword, belt and chain, but wanted to return the spurs to the Knight who had donated them. The knight in question, rose, and knelt before this lady, "It was an honor, My Lady, to count your son, as one of us." He told her. "Your son has taught us all the true meaning of bravery. Please keep the spurs as a remembrance of him and the honor he did us all." Many years have come and gone since this Make-a-wish tourney, but I still remember the generosity of the SCA and its ability to touch the every day world.

Mags

From the Tavern Yard.... From: "Bill McNutt" The Blow Which Did Not Fall

It was not so long ago, at the Coronet Tournament of the Principality of the Mists. The Prince, like all mortal men, felt the cold hand of fate, and knew that his days were numbered. Lacking an heir, and mindful of his duty to his people, he had word spread throughout the land that all worthy Knights and warriors should gather at a certain time and in a certain place, that they might, though trial by combat, select one from among their number to be the Heir Apparent, in the event that the Prince be struck down.

Not all worthy warriors can serve as Prince, though, and that they might participate in the trial of arms that day, the Mists also sponsors a grand Tournament of Roses (no relation). This tourney is fought in the style of Sir William the Marshal. Each participant enters the list with a single rose. When he loses, he presents the rose to the winner. At the end of the day, the warrior is the Champion of Roses, and his lady has a lovely bouquet.

Now it came to pass in that Tournament of Roses, that one Baron Gunar Merielsson did meet Sir Andrew Shae Forestborne. Gunar is an experienced warrior, and know for his honorable behavior and his strict adherence to the Rules of the List. But his is a full-bore competitor. He is there to win. Win within the rules, win with honor, but win. Now Gunar had but recently won the Southern Shores Warlord tournament some weeks ago. It is the privilege of the Warlord of the Southern Shores to wear a splendid surcoat, made of find quality cloth, white, and lined with cloth-of-silver. The surcoat is cut to resemble the wings of a gull, with dags that hang all the way to the ground. In announces for all to see that the wearer is the Warlord of the Southern Shores. Remember the surcoat. It's going to be important later.

The sky was a brilliant blue, and brave banners waved in a stiffening breeze as the two warriors entered the lists to face one another. Gunar, owning a baron's rank, and years of experience, a stirring sight in his surcoat, and his shinin' silver maille. The very picture of a Knight in Shining Armor. Sir Andrew, a full-belted knight, though young. They advanced to the center of the list warily, in the manner of warriors unfamiliar with one-another. Then young Andrew threw a blow at Gunar's helm, and they were at it, hammer-and-tongs. The sound of the blunted weapons of the tourney-field rang out from the lists for some moments, then each man stepped back, to consider the measure of the other. Once again, Andrew took the aggressor's role, this time reaching for an exposed arm. But Gunar's shield was suddenly there to meet the blow, and the dance began anew. The contest proceeded thus for some minutes, the participants clearly well-matched.

Then Sir Andrew made an error. It was a small one, but it was enough. He extended his arm just a little too far in throwing a blow, and was just a little too slow in recovering. It left a hole in Andrew's defense half as wide as Cooper's Lake. Gunar was on it like a starving wolf-hound on a pork chop. From a low defense he threw a rising snap blow at Andrew's unguarded ribs. And in the process, Gunnar threw the dags of his own surcoat over his faceplate. His own shot a clean miss, Gunar desperately clawed at his helm, trying to free his vision, all the while bracing himself for the head-shot that was sure to come. Long moments passed before the sea of white and silver fabric at last parted, to reveal his opponent, Sir Andrew, standing gently out of range, his sword point dangling toward the ground, his shield at rest. Seeing his opponent had regained his vision, Andrew courteously saluted his opponent and returned to guard.

"What manner of man is this I see before me," thought Gunar, "to so yield up an advantage granted by his opponents own vanity. To pass on an easy victory. What manner of man, indeed." And in the silence of his soul, Gunar knew the answer. There was a crash and clatter as Gunar's shield and weapon hit the ground. "Hold!" cried the marshals. Gunar's helm and gauntlets joined the other fallen gear. He motioned for a Page. Accepting the rose from the boy, he walked over to Andrew's lady, and laid it at her feet.

"Milady," said he, "It was not Sir Andrew's sword that won this rose for you this day, but in fact, his honor that struck the killing blow. My lord Marshall, you will have the Herald announce that I yield to the better man."

Thus is the tale of Baron Gunar Merielsson and Sir Andrew Shae Forestborne. And if ye seek word-fame, understand this. I do not know the name of the Prince who sat astride the throne to witness this. Nor do I know who won the Coronet List. I don't even know who went on to win the Tournament of Roses that day. But I know the name of the honorable Baron Gunar, and Sir Andrew Shae Forestborne, the better man to whom he yielded.

The Honorable Lord William McNaughton

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