Growing Up in the Middle Ages

This was my first paper upon return to educational endeavors. It is from a class taught by the author and phenomenal teacher, Mort Castle. The assignment was to write a factual account of something wonderful we had done prior to the age of 12. With permission, I snuck in an even from when I was 13. This account would be the basis for a historical fiction we would write a week later...

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HISTORICAL FICTION
September 11, 2007
First Draft

SOMETHING WONDERFUL


I grew up in the Middle Ages. Not any particular year, nor even century, just the general era known as the Medieval Period. Or, at least, a version of the Medieval Period.

Now, I could wax poetic about the Society of Creative Anachronism for no small span of time, but herein, suffice it to say that the SCA is a world-wide group which recreates the Middle Ages. Not in a historical manner, such as Civil War re-enactments, but, as the name suggests, an anachronistic version of the Middle Ages. Some gatherings are small, with only local people coming to them, and other events are grand affairs with thousands of participants coming from great distances to attend. One such event is called the Pennsic War, and it is a battle involving at least three kingdoms and hundreds of fighters. When I was eleven, I journeyed from the Shire of the Osprey, in the Kingdom of Meridies (known in Mundania as Mobile, Alabama) to the battlefield in Æthelmearc, in the Kingdom of the Midrealm (commonly called Coopers Lake Campground, in the hills of Pennsylvania).

Pennsic War began eight or nine years before that time by a certain King of the Midrealm who, finding peace in his kingdom to be dull, declared war upon the bordering Kingdom of the East (the loser of which would be forced to take possession of Pittsburgh). The East did not respond to such a fearsome declaration, and the matter was mostly ignored. When, after some passage of time, the King who declared war relocated his household, taking up residence and soon becoming King of the realm of the East, he formally responded to the almost-forgotten declaration, saying, "Let's fight." Thusly, he became the first King in history to declare war upon himself, and lose.

I must also preface this tale (in ostentatious heraldic manner) by relating the fact that in the SCA at that time, I was a lowly page who had just been taken from one household to another. Not an unusual circumstance for a page, but in my case, the claiming household was one headed by a squire to one of the most powerful knights in all the kingdoms. The squire's name (for the purposes of this tale) is unimportant, but his knight was a legendary figure in the SCA, a giant who stood at least five-foot-five tall, and almost that in girth, who was known as Duke Sir John the Bearkiller.

During the two days of driving, I was informed that Duke Sir John was going to be my liege for the duration of the war, and, unless given leave to do so, must be ready at all times to be of service to Duke John.

More than a week into the 17-day event, the fighters of Meridies (mercenaries fighting on the side of the Midrealm Kingdom) had done little to show their bravado and talent at shedding the blood of their enemies. The morning dawned on which would be held the notorious Bridge Melee, and the fighters of Meridies were gathering their weapons and being fitted with their armour to march down to their all-but-certain deaths on at the skirmish awaiting them on the Bridge. Alas, the exchange was not likely to change the tide of battles already weighing against our once-great kingdom of legendary warriors. They were ill-equipped to offer much more than target practice to the skilled swordsmen of the enemy East Kingdom.

But such was about to change.

It was a little thing, really. And, by a certain viewpoint, I was only performing my duties as a page to my lord, the Duke John called the Bearkiller. By another viewpoint, it could be easily seen as well, that I was being insolent and making a barbed and witty commentary upon the less-than-mythical performance and stature of my knight and master. I had recently purchased the raw materials to make several weapons with which I would begin learning the art of warfare and fighting, which, in terms of the Mundane world, was an eighteen foot length of rattan (a type of wood similar to bamboo, but not hollow, and much heavier). On that morning of the Bridge Melee, I gazed down the hill still shrouded with clinging wisps of fog, and thought I would take the initiative and do something to stir the emotions of my lord, be it for good or ill. I quickly set about forging a roughly-hewn weapon of oddly-conceived proportions. In simplest description, this would be grabbing a wad of foam and a roll of duct tape--along with rattan, these are the essentials for making weapons in the SCA--and I quickly fashioned a long spear. If I had had a way of cutting the length of rattan shorter, I would have done so, but if that had been the case, the end result would have be vastly different. As it was, half-an-hour later, I ran as best as I could carrying such a disproportionate weapon, to where my lord was armouring himself and offered him the hastily prepared long spear.

After a great many laughs from the gathering fighters, Duke John took the weapon from me and swung it about. Adding a counterweight to the other end of the spear, he showed it to the knights-marshall for approval to take it onto the battlefield.

In the final minutes before the melee began on the bridge, the warriors from the Kingdom of Meridies altered their plan of action. At the start of fighting, they would form a shield wall and Duke John, with unbelievably long spear in hand, would do what he could to take down their foes at the other end of the bridge. It was a ridiculous and risky scheme, but one that would ultimately change the tide of the war.

Fighting commenced and thus began a battle that would live on for years to come in story and song, and only serve to increase the mythical tales told of Duke Sir John the Bearkiller.

He slew twenty-three fighters from the Kingdom of the East that day, before falling to the suicidal onslaught of the enemy.

It was his deeds at the Bridge of which are sung in saga, but as he told me that evening at the feast (for even warriors who fall on the field of battle by day, live again in the dining halls at night), it was my sarcastic offering of such an unlikely weapon--an eighteen-foot long spear--which enabled him to take down the number of opposing fighters that he did. It was a wonderful gift, from page to knight, which enabled the legendary deed. But, he noted to me with crooked grin which was just outside the realm of drunken plains, my insolence in doing the same had not escaped his notice.

It was the beginning of a great era for me, having then been brought into the Household of the Bearkiller, and marked my coming to maturity, in the Middle Ages.

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