The Tale of the Badger Broccan1

Colyne Stewart, February AS XXXVI (2002)

Once long ago, when the animals of Septentria could still speak, there lived a badger called Broccan². This badger was often ridiculed by the other animals because of his small size, for when he was a pup he was no bigger than a mouse. For the first years of his life, Broccan would only emerge from the family den to forage for food, for he feared the taunts of the other beasts.

Then one May’s Eve a stranger came to the land. It looked like a great black bear but with the grace and agility of a cat. This, everyone soon learned, was Brindle, the Garbear. He came from lands even farther to the north, beyond even where the Skraeling³ lived. Some whispered he was actually an evil spirit, and not mortal at all, while others said he was a demon. Whether he was spirit, demon or mortal all could agree that he was cruel. For Brindle began to encroach on the territory of the other animals. Some he chased off, some he enslaved, and some he devoured.

Utenka⁴ the Great Wolf, king of the animals of the north, marched on Brindle. The wolf’s forces, consisting of many brave animals, such as the northern hare, the southern ram, and the great white bear⁵, were very intimidating. Brindle, however, called upon his dark allies, and many answered his call. Against garwolves, tygres, dragons and drakes the animals of Septentria did not prevail. They fought with bravery and courage but sometimes that is not enough⁶. Using savagery and cunning, and sheer force of numbers, Brindle’s evil army crushed all resistance, locking away Utenka and his lieutenants in cages of bone.

No one had noticed, but Broccan had marched with his country folk. When he had learned of Brindle’s cruelty he crept out of his hole and marched with his cousin the fox⁷. The fighting had been thick near him, and Broccan had killed a few weirdlings on the enemy’s side, but the tide rose against him. His cousin had been sorely wounded, and Broccan stopped to pull him from the field, hiding him in the roots of an oak tree. By the time he had returned the battle was over. He watched as the three rams of the south were locked together in a small cage. He watched as the great white bear was finally taken down by trolls enlisted to Brindle’s aid. And he watched as Utenka fell to a poisoned dragon claw⁸.

Upon his victory, Brindle had the Great Wolf’s court converted to his own. Tapestries were torn down, shrines were desecrated, heirlooms destroyed. Broccan watched it all, impotent with rage. What could one small animal do, where so many other larger animals had failed.

So Broccan watched the twisted courts of Brindle as he passed sentence on the ‘traitors’ who had fought against him. He watched as they let loose their base desires. He watched as Brindle and his allies gorged themselves on food. Then, one day, while watching Brindle eat, Broccan conceived a plan. He had now seen Brindle eat a thousand times, and had noticed how he rarely chewed his food. So greedy was the garbear that he swallowed his food whole⁹.

Going to his cousin, who had now recovered from his wounds, Broccan told him his plan. Reynard, who himself was a cunning beast, was impressed with the plan and agreed to help.

So it was that the next day Reynard presented himself at Brindle’s court as a supplicant. He was thrown at the garbear’s paws, who loomed over him like a black wave. When the usurper king demanded to know Reynard’s business the fox began to flatter the garbear. He told him how impressed he was by Brindle’s prowess on the field, and that he wanted to bind himself to the garbear’s service. Brindle drank in all the flattery happily. Then, when Reynard offered him a cloved orange as a gift, Brindle greedily popped it into his mouth and swallowed it whole.

Smiling, Reynard then told the conqueror that all of Septentria’s animals were his, from the largest to the smallest. But he warned him that eternal vigilance would be needed to keep so strong and brave a people under his heel. Eternal vigilance that had already lapsed.

Brindle looked at the fox quizzically, then howled in pain. His allies watched on in horrified amazement as blood began to flow from his mouth. The garbear lurched about, trying to catch Reynard, but the fox kept slipping from his grasp. And all the time the blood flowed until finally, Broccan, who had hidden himself in the orange, came clawing out of the garbear’s throat in an explosion of gore. Brindle fell dead to the ground, and his allies, terrified, fled.

The badger and fox then freed their country folk. A great feast was held in Broccan’s honour, and Utenka declared that the name of Broccan would live long in Septentrian lore. Anyone, he said, would be proud to bear the name and display the attributes of Broccan. For though he was the smallest animal in stature, he was the largest in heart and courage¹⁰.

1. This tale is written in the tradition of the animal epics of the Middle ages, primarily using the Reynard the Fox tales as its inspiration. While they were usually written in verse, I have chosen to write in prose.
2. Broccan is based on the Old English word Brocc, which means badger.
3. When the Norse first arrived in North America, they encountered natives, likely Inuit, whom they called the Skrealing. The Barony of Skrealing Althing combined this with Althing (Iceland’s parliament) to create their name.
4. Yes, I know. Utenka is actually a North American Native term for Wolf. However, since we’re kind of overlapping the European Middle Ages on North America in the SCA over here, I have decided to keep this name.
5. The animals of Skraeling Althing, Ramshaven and Septentria respectively. (Like you didn’t know.)
6. In almost all Medieval tales, the hero wins because he fights bravely. Nothing else often matters.
7. In the Reynard tales, the fox and badger are indeed cousins.
8. You’re free to read whatever you want into that one.
9. Oh-oh. Everyone should know that Greed is one of those seven deadly sins that’ll do you in.
10. This tale is, obviously, inspired by Theign Cynred Broccan 4^th Baron of Septentria. Cynred, small in stature (and often called the Gnome Baron) is nevertheless a brave and courageous fighter. He is chivalrous and kind, a giver of compassion in times of need, a warrior and a poet. Long may he reign with Gaerwen, Baroness of Septentria.

The Spirits Choose a Baroness

Colyne Stewart, April AS XXXVI (2003)

Once, not so long ago, the spirits of Ealdormere met to discuss the heritage of Septentria. For though the Baron and Baroness had ruled the land wisely and justly for many years, they aged, and soon the land would need new protectors.

The animal spirits put forward the Badger to be Baron, and this was agreed to readily enough, as the Badger was loyal, courteous, fierce and strong. But who was to be Baroness?

For days they argued, putting forth one candidate after another. They discussed Duchesses, Countesses, Viscountesses, Dames, Mistresses, Ladies and untitled women. None, however, was satisfactory to them all. So they talked and talked and talked.

Then the sky spirit looked down and saw a mortal woman walking through a field of flowers. Her face was flushed with a smile, her head turned up to the sun, and she sang as she walked. When she came to an animal she stopped to regard it and it came up to her and begged to be petted.

And when she came across a person she would stop and converse with them. The spirits watched as her infectious good nature would creep into the other person’s countenance, changing a surly frown into a laughing smile.

When she came to the hungry she gave them food, when she came to the poor she gave them coin, when she came to the friendless she became a friend.

The spirits of Ealdormere looked at each other and found themselves smiling with the woman’s smile.

And so they made her the Baroness of Septentria, she of the laughing face, patron of good will, our beloved Gaerwen of Trafford.

Septentria’s Perfect Day

Colyne Stewart, June AS XXXVII (2003)

The sun shone though the clouds threatened rain as the armed might of Septentria gathered on the field. The call had gone out for fighters and the fighters had responded.

From the Isengesitha came Tormod, Seonag, Angus, Brandt, Thorfinna and myself. With us were Brother Henrik, Robert the Blue, Father Will and Ragnarr. Under the spear of Thegn Cynred we took the field in name of the bear.

We met the charge of many foe-friends that day: Rozakii, Hrogn, Marines, Ramshaven, Galbraith, Ben Dunfirth, Ealdormere, Trinovantia Nova. Each charge bleeds into each in my memory, as my wardoor smashed into their lines. At times I pushed; at times I was pushed. Once I was thrown against a fallen comrade, turned, twisted and knocked to the ground, wrenching my knee. I sat one battle, the reentered the shieldwall.

Septentria fought bravely, Septentria fought well. Septentria emerged with a perfect score.

We lost every battle.

When it was over there was no bitterness, no recrimination. Everyone laughed, shook hands, clasped shoulders and praised each other’s skills.

Cynred told us that though we lost we had done Septentria proud. We had fought as one, we had fought for the Bear, and we had had fun.

Our Thegn is wise. As our non-Isen friends were awarded tokens we Gesitha cheered.

It was a good day to be Septentrian.

Septentria and the Green Man

Colyne Stewart, AS XXXVII

Based on the medieval Christmas tale, Sir Gawain and the Green Knight.

Dedicated to Berend van der Eych, Domhnail Galbraith and Gunnar Truthsinger.

I. The Green Man

The fire in the hearth flared, throwing shadows upon the walls of the grand hall. At one end sat the mighty thegn, resplendent in crimson tunic and fur cape. At his side sat a woman with whom he had ruled his lands for many passings of the moon. Together they had opened their hall to all in their lands to celebrate the Yule. Boughs of evergreen hung from the walls, and the jul log burned in the hearth.

Sitting at long tables arranged about the hall sat men and women from all the cantons of the thegn’s lands. Artisans, warriors, bards, chroniclers, scribes, and more were the folk of Septentria. He looked at them with pride while they laughed, ate and drank.

The door at the end of the hall blew open, admitting a blast of chill air and a flurry of snow. Through the portal strode a tall man dressed in chain mail and fur. His face was obscured behind the ornately decorated visor of his helm, though his bristly brown beard was plain to see. The tunic under his mail was bright green, and he wore sprigs of holly on his belt.

The thegn’s castellan sprang to his feet and approached the stranger, wishing him welcome. The man pushed the castellan aside and strode towards the head table. The thegn drained his horn and set it down on the tabletop as the green-clad stranger approached.

“A good Yule to you,” said the thegn, rising. The stranger ignored his words and turned to address those assembled in the hall.

“I have come to challenge those of the bear lands to duel,” he bellowed.

Enraged at this lack of respect towards the thegn, Gunnarr, called the Truthsinger, sprang to his feet. “How dare you insult the thegn so!” he cried.

“Hold your tongue, skald,” responded the green man. “Or you shall loose it.”

Gunnarr made to loosen the axe from his belt but a wave of the thegn’s hand halted him.

“I have heard much of the courage of those who dwell in these lands,” continued the stranger, “and I would pit myself against three of you in a contest. Who amongst you is brave enough to challenge me?”

The courts of the thegn were filled with brave fighters, but many found their courage lessened when looking at the giant stranger with his bulging arms, thick legs and broad back.

Finally, Gunnarr said, “I would be one of those three.” So saying he clambered around a table to stand before the stranger.

“As will I,” said Berend van der Eych, knife maker and some times executioner. He came and stood by the bard’s side.

“I will be the third,” said Domhnail Galbraith, fighter and artisan. She stood between the two taller men, the raven on her tunic black as the night.

“You three?” laughed the giant. “I had come looking for a challenge! But very well, if these are the best your lands can offer, I will gladly best you all.”

Rankling at the stranger’s taunts, Gunnarr said, “What manner is this challenge?”

“Why, to kill me,” laughed the green man. “I offer each of you a free stroke of your blades. If I still survive then in one year’s time you must all seek me out and allow me a free stroke of my blade against each of you. Do you accept this challenge? If so you must all give oath that you will follow its conditions.”

The three thought the rules odd, but agreed to the contest.

“Very well,” rumbled the giant, spreading his arms and legs, “do your worst.”

The three looked at each other and Gunnarr stepped to the fore gripping his axe. With a well-placed throw he cleaved the giant’s arm from his body.

“Oh, very good,” said the stranger. “Next.”

Pulling her sword, Domhnail strode forward and lopped the giant’s right leg off.

Still standing, the green man nodded towards Berend. Obliging, Berend swung his sax and the stranger’s head hit the floor. A hush fell over the room as everyone waited for the body to topple. However, it remained on its feet and laughter began to issue from the decapitated head. Leaning forward, the giant collected its body parts and stuck them back on.

He walked to the door, paused, and turned.

“Remember, keep your oaths. One year.”

With that he walked outside and was lost in the snow.

The rest of the evening was subdued, and guests quietly slipped away until the three were left alone with the thegn. Gunnarr, Berend and Domhnail all dropped to their knee and pledged that they would find the green man and finish the contest. The thegn was saddened, for he knew that none of them would survive a sword blow from the giant, but he bide them good luck and left the hall.

“So,” said Berend, “what shall we do now?”

“I suggest we three go off in different directions in search of this rogue,” answered Domhnail. “We will learn all we can and meet in the fall. Hopefully we will have learned of the green man’s location and we can meet him together next Yule.”

To this plan the others agreed. Quickly packing traveling bags they set out: Berend to the north, Domhnail to the west and Gunnar to the east.

II. Mumming

For months Berend wandered through the farthest reaches of Ealdormere, past Flaming Sky, past the ruins of Owlshaven. In the wide expanses of forest he encountered only the occasional hill man until finally one day he came across a small cabin of rough-hewn stone. He approached, in the hopes of begging shelter for the night, and found there were no doors or windows. Instead there was a small ledge under a thin gap being no more then a hand span in height. As he got closer he noticed a wooden tray on the ground under the opening and some spoiled food.

There was movement inside the structure and a voice called, “Who is there?”

“My name is Lord Berend van der Eych,” he said coming closer. “And I am on a quest to find a man of green. Who may you be?”

“I am Helysoune, the anchoress, my Lord,” she replied. “I am living in isolation to contemplate the universe and my place within it.”

“A worthy matter on which to dwell,” said Berend, “but pray, how do you live? On what do you eat?”

“There is a woodsman who lives nearby,” answered Helysoune, “who agreed to bring me food and haul my night soil away. However, when last he came he was taken by strange men in masks, I know not where.”

“I cannot leave you trapped in that building with no means to feed yourself, but nor can I quit my quest. I will find this woodsman and free him from his captors so he may care for you again.”

“Good Lord I thank thee,” said Helysoune.

With that Berend looked for tracks in the mud, for it was now the spring thaw in the northlands. He found many animal tracks, but only a few made by men. They all lead towards a small hill to the east. Eagerly he followed them.

Shortly he found himself atop the hill facing a strange scene. A large box sat on the ground, upon which perched a man dressed in tattered clothes wearing a feathered mask. Behind him stood a tall man dressed in a military uniform with a large drooping moustache. Beside him lounged a woman wearing a dragon mask and dressed in bright green clothes. Berend thought he could hear faint sounds of movement within the box and guessed the woodsman was being kept within it.

“My Lords, my Lady,” he said, bowing, “Pray tell, I am in search of a local woodsman, and was wondering if you had seen such an individual.”

The man in the feathered mask nodded.

“Can you tell me where he may be?”

This time the man shook his head.

“I see,” said Berend. “And may I see what is within that box upon which you sit?”

The mustached man placed himself between Berend and the box.

“My Lords,” said Berend, “If you do not let the woodsman go, the anchoress Helysoune will starve.”

In answer the man pulled free a curved sword. These images, the strange clothes and masks, the sword, the moustache, suddenly called something to Berend’s mind. He had once seen mummers performing at Yule, and these three looked like characters from that play. In fact, the man before him resembled the Turkish Knight, he who must be defeated for spring to return.

Grimly, Berend drew his own blade. “It seems we must join in battle. Let us then be about it.”

With a clash of steel they met. Their swords flashed as they danced about the box, the other two mummers silently observing. The battle was fierce, and Berend found the Turkish Knight to be a most worthy foe. Finally he struck a telling blow and the Knight fell to the ground.

The feathered man and the dragon-woman came to the Knight’s side and raised him from the mud. Without a word they all turned and walked away.

Opening the wooden box, Berend did indeed find the woodsman. Helping the fellow to his feet, Berend took him back to Helysoune. The anchoress was most pleased with Berend, and told him she had heard of his quest for the green man, and knew where he could be found.

“He will actually seek you out, back in the hall of your thegn,” she said. “There he will strike you with his blade, but if your heart is full of compassion, the blow will be as from a twig and you will be spared.”

Thanking the anchoress, Berend set off for home.

III. Mother Holle

Long had Domhnail searched in vain for signs of the green man in the lands of the Ram. No one there had heard of him, and she was close to despair. Finally she met a dwarf who told her of a wise woman who dwelled deep in the woods who was known as Mother Holle. The dwarf felt sure that Holle would know of this green man.

Setting out immediately, Domhnail searched through the wood and eventually came across a strange abode. Below a large oak tree there was a small hut of wood, with a grass roof. Beside the hut there was a large kennel, and dogs lounged about. A sled sat to one side.

Approaching, Domhnail kept her eyes on the dogs, but the beasts only regarded her lazily. As she neared the door, an old woman wearing a green robe stepped outside. She appraised the small woman who stood before her, sword and horn at her hips. Finally, the old woman said, “You then are Domhnail Galbraith, come for word of the green man?”

“I am, good woman,” responded Domhnail. “Are you the one known as Mother Holle?”

“Indeed,” was the answer. “It is true that I have the knowledge you require, that you know you need, and that which you do not know you need.”

“Will you share it with me?”

Holle pursed her lips. “Perhaps. First I must know, that horn you wear, did you craft it?”

“I did.” Domhnail unslung it and held it up for Holle to see. “Many hours went into its construction. The figures carved upon it are a history of my house.”

Mother Holle was openly impressed. “It is a magnificent piece,” she said, her eyes flicking from emerald to ruby to topaz where they glinted on the horn. “It must be worth a great deal, both in monetary worth and in personal worth.”

“Yes,” agreed Domhnail. “It was a labour of love.”

“Well, said Holle straightening, “I will tell you what you need to know if you will trade me your horn for it.”

For a moment Domhnail stood dumbfounded and seemed ready to refuse. Then she thought of Gunnar and Berend. If they did not find out the giant’s whereabouts, and she had refused to pay for that knowledge, it was probable that all three of them would die. Was the horn worth the lives of those two gentles?

“Very well,” she said, handing over the horn, “I will give it to you.”

Taking the horn, Holle said, “My thanks, raven daughter. My own horn has a hole, and I will use this one well. Know then that the green man will seek for you at the thegn’s hall this Yule. Face him there. When he strikes you, if your heart is full of generosity, you will prevail.”

After thanking the woman and patting the dogs on the head, Domhnail began the long trek back.

IV. The Sun Boar

In Ben Dunfirth, Gunnarr spent months seeking clues as to the giant’s whereabouts. His travels eventually led him to a bridge spanning a wide brook. As he set foot upon it a boar, one of the legendary great boars, stepped out of the woods on the far side. The boar was of immense size, looking big enough for a full-grown man to ride it as he would a horse. Its hair was red and orange and its tusks seemed to have a golden glow.

As it sat where the bridge met the land, it spoke. “Greetings, quester. Come you to my lands seeking knowledge or gain?”

“Knowledge,” said Gunnarr. “Though sometimes knowledge is gain.”

The boar nodded. “Very true. My name is Gulli-burstan, and I may have the knowledge you seek. Tell me what you need to know.”

“I seek the location of a giant green man, who I and two others must face by year’s end.”

“Ah, I know of him,” said Gulli-burstan. “I can tell you where he can be found.” Looking at the axe on Gunnarr’s belt he asked, “Are you skilled with that weapon?”

“I have some skill, yes,” replied Gunnar.

“Then I propose a contest. Look you at this tree behind me. Do you see the large crabapple on its bough?”

Gunnarr nodded.

“Then if you can hit that apple within three seconds of my calling for you to throw, I will tell you what you need to know. If you miss you will die. Do you accept?”

“I agree to your terms,” said Gunnarr freeing his axe.

“Then…throw!” bellowed the boar as it suddenly charged across the bridge. Gunnarr had less than a second to let his axe fly before the boar was upon him. He threw himself to one side, narrowly avoiding the pounding hooves of the great beast. He came to his feet to find the boar sitting calmly in the grass regarding him. Looking over at the tree he saw that his strike had been true, and the apple lay cleaved in twain.

“Very good,” said Gulli-burstan. “Return home and the green man will find you in your thegn’s hall at Yule. Know also that if your heart is full of courage when the blow lands, you will survive.” Hefting his bulk, Gulli-burstan trotted off into the woods.

V. Completion of the Contest

The three companions met again that autumn and told each other of what had befallen them. Until the snow began to fall they prepared themselves to face the giant’s blade.

Upon the appointed day the populace of Septentria gathered to see the contest concluded. The thegn and the baroness stood at the side of Gunnarr, Berend and Domhnail while those three worthy gentles were wished well by all in attendance. Finally, the doors swung open and the giant entered the hall. He smiled when he saw the three standing at the head of the hall.

“Very good,” he said, “so you knew I would come to you here. Come then, let us finish our game.”

Silently, Berend, Domhnail and Gunnar lined up before him. The giant pulled a large sword from a sheath strapped to his back and raised it over his head. Those watching held their breath as he brought it crashing down upon Berend’s exposed neck. At the last second the sword’s momentum stopped, the blade resting on Berend’s skin.

“You are a compassionate man,” said the giant. “You did stop to help another with no thought to reward. I am loath to harm such a man as you.”

So saying, the green man moved to Domhnail. He brought his sword flashing down but again the blade did not bite flesh.

“And you are a generous soul,” he said. “Giving away that which you did labour over long. I could not bring myself to harm a woman such as you.”

He then moved to Gunnarr and the act was repeated for a third time. With the sword sitting on Gunnar’s neck, the green man said, “And you do have great courage, to face down Gulli-burstan’s charge and still hit your target. I can not harm such a one as you either.”

Turning to face the thegn and the baroness, the giant said, “When I did enter this hall this Yule past, I did say that these three were no challenge to me, but know that they have bested me! Blessed is this land to produce sons and daughters such as these!”

The giant then kneeled before the thegn and baroness and they received his fealty. For the rest of that Yule Berend, Domhnail and Gunnar were treated as royalty, for they were all truly noble of heart and spirit.

Duke Sir Bjornsson and the Ring

By Colyne Stewart, Dec. AS XXXVI (2001)

For Thorfinna gra’felder, Christmas AS XXXVI (2001)

In days of old a great hero walked our land, the knight-errant Duke Sir Hefni Bjornsson. Bjornsson was a huge man, standing ten feet tall, with a shock of blond hair and the strength of four men. His armour had been made especially for him by the Dwarf smith Verundel, who lived in the middle of a remote forest. His steed, Falfinor, had been a gift from the King of Drachenwald, and was the colour of a raging fire.

Bjornsson had been born in the far north, in the land now known as Flaming Sky, and has spent his youth in the court of the Prince of Septentria, which was then a Principality of the Middle Kingdom. He had advanced through the ranks quickly and had been made a knight on his nineteenth birthday. In times of war he served the Prince as his personal guardian and adviser, while in times of peace he wandered the land enforcing the Prince’s law.

During the course of one of his forays, Bjornsson met a knight called Vertigen. Vertigen came from a land far to the south. He had travelled north, he said, in search of one who could beat him in a contest of arms.

Upon hearing this, Bjornsson challenged Vertigen to appear before the Prince of Septentria at the coming Yule and he himself would meet him in the Lists.

To this Vertigen consented, and the two knights parted company.

Bjornsson then continued on his way until he met a Scotsman, dressed in white and blue plaid, who was sitting on a snowy hillock, juggling boulders.

Much impressed, Bjornsson stopped to converse with the Scot. The man, whose name was Macfee, said he juggled boulders as he could find no one brave enough to test his strength.

Bjornsson then challenged Macfee to a contest of strength at Yule in the palace of the Prince. Both men then went happily on their ways.

Still later, Bjornsson pulled Falfinor to a stop at the edge of a frozen river. There he met Aileen O’Donohue, an Irish lass descended, so she said, from the Fair race. She was wrestling with a great tygre because she could find no man brave enough to fight her.

At this Bjornsson challenged her to a match to be had in front of the Prince at Yule. To this Aileen merrily agreed and Bjornsson continued on his way.

Before long his guardian, the Dwarf smith Verundel, appeared at his side and admonished him. In his eagerness to engage in manly contests and prove his skill he had just accepted three separate challenges, al to be met on the same day.

At the Dwarf’s words Bjornsson felt ashamed. In his haste he had doomed himself to certain failure; for while he felt sure he could defeat any one of his opponents he knew that he stood no chance against all three.

There was only one option, said Verundel. If Bjornsson sought out the great white bear of Septentria and defeated him, he would be granted a magic ring that would ensure his victory at Yule.

So Bjornsson rode Falfinor to the great bear’s cave and challenged it to battle. Though Bjornsson was a giant, the bear stood twice his height. Still, the hero showed no fear and met the lance-like claws and sword-like teeth in combat. For two days and nights they fought, until finally they both fell to the ground exhausted. Bjornsson slept, and when he awoke he found the bear waiting for him. Again they fought for two days until exhaustion claimed them again. For two weeks they battled thus, until the bear finally bowed its head to Bjornsson and honoured his courage and strength by awarding him the magic ring.

Bjornsson rode triumphantly back to the court of his liege, just in time for the Yule celebrations. He found Vertigen, Macfee and Aileen awaiting him and they made ready to meet him on the morrow.

The battle that began the next morn lasted for a fortnight. For though the power of the ring made Bjornsson unbeatable, his opponents were so formidable he found himself hard pressed to defeat them.

When finally he had beaten them, he removed the ring and exposed the scheme to all. The ring he gave to the Prince, and to his opponents he gave gifts of gold, silver and jewels.

The three, pleased with the gifts, and eager to meet Bjornsson in the Lists again, stayed at court and eventually all became knights of Septentria.

As for the ring, it is still in the hands of our Royal family. As the Kingdom of Ealdormere grew up around and out of Septentria, the ring passed to the King and Queen, and they hold it to this day, making the armies of Ealdormere unbeatable in battle.

A Champion for Septentria

Colyne Stewart, March AS XXXVI (2002)

When my Lady and I joined the SCA just over a year ago we knew we wanted to fight. We talked with the fighters in our canton and traveled to Skeldergate as well. We found many brave fighters willing to talk to us and to teach us. But we wondered, were there no female fighters? For we had only met one female fighter, and did not see her again for a very long time.

Then we met Lady Seonag nicThomais. She was small in stature (looking even smaller standing next to her friend Streonwold) but we could tell right away she was large of heart. For a year we have listened to her teachings and we have watched her fight.

At Murder Melee I remember standing under the Septentrian sun shade and seeing her there, not with Streonwold as I had come to expect. It was then I learned she was Isengesitha, a member of the army of Septentria, and she did herself and her Baron proud that day.

At Pennsic too she fought for us, though I could see her only briefly in the sea of spears and shields. It was at War that I learned of her sense of humour, as she came to visit the Ardchreag encampment with Myrgwyn the serpent.

And when the Baron and the Baroness called for a new Baronial Champion, this good gentle was one of those who answered the call. She fought long, she fought hard, she fought against all those who came to the field.

When the battles were over she went to the Baron and Baroness and expounded on the virtues of her opponents, which included a young lad who had authorized that very day.

At court she and the others were summoned to stand in a line before the Thrones. The Baron stood behind each in turn, placing his hands on their shoulders, and praised their skill, spirit and integrity. The choice, he said, had been difficult, but in the end they chose Lady Seonag. Rhys ap Bledri, the former Champion, removed the Champion’s Collar from about his neck and placed it around hers.

When the Baron then called for those who wished to renew their vow to the Isengesitha, or those wishing to swear for the first time, my Lady and I had the privilege to do so with Seonag. We knelt, one to either side of her, while we three swore ourselves to Septentria’s defense.

Truly, Septentria is honoured to have Lady Seonag nicThomais as its Champion.

Wassail Septentria!

Wassail Seonag!

May you make the Bear proud.