So, the situation that Thursday beggs the administrative question, what do you do when you are arguably the best ceremonial herald on site, but you are thrown into almost literal chaos while trying to perform a quick presentation before a foreign crown?
If you’re Alexander Ravenscroft, the answer is “you improvise”, which was just about all we could do, standing on the edge of the champion's battle. Not that the battle was going yet. Not by a long shot. You see, all of the principle kings, and the allies had arrived at a meeting the night before and talked at length about the format of the Champion’s battle. Reportedly, they had departed with agreement on how things were going to take place.
So of course, the dozen or so assembled crowns who were there that morning showed up with what looked to be twenty or more different and conflicting ideas between them. There were three or four roving clusters of kings (and entourage) wandering this way and that on the battlefield in front of the castle, talking constantly at (not necessarily with) each other. While this was going on, most of the queens that I could see were sitting in their thrones, (also with entourage) watching these goings on with some unknown measure of either amusement or annoyance, I could only guess much poast that. The scene would have been more entertaining for me if there weren’t also well over two hundred others swarming around, mostly fighters, but also extended entourage, consorts, spouses and friends as well, and all waiting for some final word as to how the battle was going to take place, and when it was going to happen.
Somewhere in this, Master Alexander and I were going to make a quick, but public presentation where he formally took me as a protege. I don’t think either of us really wanted to compare notes about how bemused we respectively were at the confusion of the situation, but nonetheless we did have a mission to complete, such as it was.
At some point in this, he turned, and handed the rolled up yellow leather belt that was to be mine over to his former protege, master Mathias. “Hold this,” he said to the recently minted Pelican, and then ran off on his own mission the same type of purposeful steps I have come to expect from him.
I had known Mathias only slightly less time than I had known his now wife, Mara Palmer. The latter I had met at Gulf Wars 23, the former a year later under separate circumstances. Goofy to the core, but good spirited and hard working, he had found ourselves shoulder to shoulder one night as a makeshift set of would-be heroes tacking a small emergency. During one of the lulls as we were triaging our (deliberately ambiguous) situation, I looked over at him and said “Oh, by the way, I’m Ivo. hi.”
“Mathias” he said by way of reply. And thus, as was very much the common theme at Gulf wars for me, a friendship was formed.
Now, two years later, we had another commonbond to share.
After arriving on site late Wednesday afternoon, he had tracked me down only after finding his wife and greeting her.
As it happened, he related to me that he was one of the first of a string of calls Alexander had made before make his offer to me. Ever the diplomat, and hardly ignorant of interpersonal politics, Alexander had checked in with each member of his household and his one currently active former student to ask each of their reactions to the idea of offering me a yellow belt and by default, inviting me into the household of his friends.
For as long as I live, I’ll never forget Mathiases words when he related his answer for me.
“That’s an great idea. In fact, if you don’t offer it to him, I will!”
I had rocked back on my heels at that note. Later that night when talking with Alexander, he had confirmed the narrative word for word, and while there was open humor in the statement, the good feelings didn’t mask the fact that both men were deathly serious as well. I had gone from nobody’s student, to two friends and pelicans both willing to offer me a belt on the spot if need be.
Now, a day later, Mathias was not going to let the joke rest. As soon as Alexander had his back turned, he flipped out the yellow leather belt and jumped forward, pulling the belt across my midsection. “Here quick, before Alexander claims you!”
We both broke out laughing at the jest. “Lord, you are an ass, you know that?” I asked him between laughs.
“Always,” he confirmed in kind.
I paused my laugher for a moment. “And thanks for having that much confidence in me. It means a lot, from either one of you, let alone both.”
The other man’s laugh transitioned to a sincere smile then, and he nodded. “Always.”
Alexander returned a short while later, the same purpose in his stride. “Okay, lets do this.” he said, clearly decided that there was no better time like the present.
The first item of business was the blessing of the crown. Alexander was taking a student across kingdom lines, questions of loyalties and respects had to be answered first. He knelt before Her Majesty Ansteorra, (conicidently the same queen who had presided over the KWH&SS that I had first met Alexander at), and asked permission. Gwen, who knew he on site, smiled with dignified excitement at the idea and gladly gave her blessing to the whole arrangement. It was about as close to being ordained as the thing was going to get in the SCA.
The ceremony itself was quick, and straightforward. After a last minute dash to by a few to collected people who were both interested and available (which for the middle of the day was unfortunately not many), Alexander began in earnest while the Kings were still running around (literally) negotiating how the champion’s battle was going to run.
The first step was a announcement to the general attendees, Alexander stating simply (and loudly) that he was going to take a protege, and an audience was welcomed.
Some ten minutes later, he called to all assembled and then returned into the royal presence of HRM Ansteorra. He spoke eloquently, but briefly about the bond between people, and that bond across kingdom lines. Then, he rose, walked over and unrolled the yellow belt he had purchased for me.
A moment later it was pulled around my waste and bucked.
And with that, the deed was done. I was now officially protege to Master Alexander Ravenscroft of Meredies.
Her Majesty concluded the whole thing by stepping over and adding her blessings to the event, congratulating me, and wishing me the best of fortunes going forward.
Interestingly, I could conclude this narrative with a recounting of the congratulations, or the well wishes, or the fun talks that followed. And be assured, there were a lot of each and every one, some of them breathtaking in their words.
But perhaps the most fitting end to this story is a smaller story of its own.
It started the next morning, Friday, as dawn broke. Nature had traded its biting cold for a warming humidity that more than hinted at rain. By the time I was done with my shower, the grey skies had fully rolled in and the rain had started.
I was making my way to the Five Points, the drizzle now a steady downpour, when I ran into Master Donnavin making his way in the other direction, heralding a delay to the morning’s rapier activities. I intercepted him, told him I would finish the announcement, and then urged him to find shelter, his garb was not as weather suited as mine was just then.
As I rounded out my impromptu and wet announcement, I crossed into Last Bastion and made my way over to their kitchen tent and repeated what would be the last herald of the moment. As it turned and walked away, intent to now make it to the Five points and information point, someone called after me.
“My lord!” I looked back to see a woman jumping out from under the cover of the tent and running up behind me. “What is your name, and who is your pelican?”
The question gave me pause. While I had been asked perhaps a dozen times at gulf what my name was, in that moment, I had forgotten completely about the yellow belt on my waist just then, as well as most of the previous day. Tired, and purpose driven, my real only concern was getting my job done.
“I am His Lordship Ivo Blackhawk, out of Ansteorra. And my Pelican is Master Alexander Ravenscroft from Meredies.”
“Excellent!” the women proclaimed. “We know master Alexander! And thank you for your work here.”
And with that she ran back to cover to escape the rain.
The whole thing gave me pause, not for any ill, or good reason, but the understanding that this was, or at least might be, a new metric in my SCA career was something that I needed to process.
As we collected for the friday morning announcements. Two men walked into information point, one a chapparone, of sorts, and the other a fighter, young, healthy, eager, with an interesting story of why he was there. It seemed he wished to be a knight, and ergo sought a red belt. A knight of his kingdom had agreed, but only if he had completed a list of tasks, the last of which was he had to learn how to voice herald, and today was the last day for him to complete the trail.
Years ago, long before any of this, I had been approached by a newly made Fyrdman from Calontir who had been tasked by his countrymen to collect knowledge from each kingdom present at way. By some random chance, I had been the Ansteorra he had selected. In that encounter I had realized, only afterwards, that I was one of those steps in that man’s personal adventure, I was a page in his story.
Here, in much the say way, we were the same for this man. And while he may never remember our names or faces, in this moment it was my duty to make sure what he did recall was beneficial, and positive.
I welcomed him wholeheartedly, encouraged him, and the explained what we would be doing. I assigned him to Mathias, and sent them both to merchant’s row. Like the tired, but determined soldiers we were by then, all of us ventured out into the rain.
Hours later, the last of us, young and old, the now hardened core of the Gulf War Site heralds, as well as a few new and enthusiastic recruits from the week, gathered for the last regular cry of the week. This time, I took King’s highway, and this time, like many times before over the years, the rain was a steady downpour.
I made my way down, mostly ignoring the rain where I had to, and ducking under shelter where I could. I was not loud, but rather option to save what was left of my voice by walking up to clusters of people where I could. As I made the turn to loop back towards Calontir, I ducked under a pavilion.
On the other side, a man in black, traditional Japanese jacket, a white belt tied around his waist. And at his side, the young fighter from the morning, a red belt tied around his waist. Before I gave the announcements, I offered congratulations to the newly made squire, and a reassuring word to the Knight. “According to my volunteers, your squire here acquitted himself well. He’s welcome on any site or listfield I’m heralding.”
“That’s good to hear. Thanks for telling us,” The knight said.
“Glad to,” I replied. Then I rattled off the announcements in short, now well practiced order.
As I turned to leave, I considered then that the young man, who’s name still to this day escapes me, was stepping into the first part of what could very well be a grand adventure. And by some bit of chance, I was fortunate enough to be a page in that story.
But then it also occured to me; These people were also part of my story. These random figures, encountered by chance, were pages in my life’s narrative.
And it was up to me to make sure my story was worthy of the people in it, be they great, or small in their part.
I stepped out from under the pavilion that afternoon now more fully aware of not only the yellow belt on my hips, but so much more of what it signified.
I stepped out into the rain that afternoon, onto the turning, putted, muddy road.
It was going to be a wet, ugly, turing walk, I knew.
But I also knew in my heart of hearts, that I was going to enjoy every step of it.
The end
Part 2 (previous)
His Lordship Ivo Blackhawk
Kingdom of Ansteorra
"Long Live the King!"
No comments:
Post a Comment