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.

Ghosts of Yule

By Colyne Stewart, Dec AS XXXVII

Based on Charles Dickin’s “A Christmas Carol”

Once there lived on the Cliffs of Ardchreag a miserable old miser. He was a twisted husk of a man, with long wispy hair and a hawkish nose whose lined face had not known a smile for many, many years. Originally from Italy he still wore his courtier’s garb, but it was neglected and holes were worn through it in many places. For a home he had a grand manor, though he refused to staff it or maintain it. The grounds were over run with dark trees and choking bushes. The house was dimly lit, the fireplace, when lit, belching thick greasy smoke. No one knew what had made this man, called Barbus, behave this way. He had been so as far back as any of the cliff dwellers could remember. All year round he was arrogant, mean and foul tempered. At Yule he was at his worst, for the joy and delight others felt at that time of year only seemed to stoke the fires of his anger and loathing.

Barbus owned the local flourmill, and employed several of the poorer members of the populace. Poorer, as Barbus was a stingy and greedy employer who hated to part with a single penny. A mangy donkey was also often employed to turn the wheel whenever the human workers took their all too infrequent breaks. Barbus had heard of using a windmill to turn the wheel, but refused to pay to have one installed. If he did not love money more than he hated Yule he would have closed up shop in December. Most of the flour he ground was used to bake treats in Yulish celebrations, an act he abhorred. Still, money was money.

On the day before the winter solstice, Barbus was paid a visit by Brandt das Lederwerker, the local castellan. Brandt, as part of his duties, had come to invite the old miser to a Yule party to be held at the canton’s grand keep. As was his wont in year’s past, Barbus declined, going so far as to throw a piece of coal at the good castellan. Brandt, being a chivalrous fellow, ignored this show of ill temper, wished Barbus a prosperous Yule and left. Thankful the irksome castellan was gone, Barbus began to yell at his workers, whom he considered lazy, when there was another knock at the mill’s door.

This time the opened portal revealed Her Grace, Duchess Eanor of Amberhall. Barbus quickly sketched a perfunctory bow as the Duchess told him she was collecting items to distribute to those less fortunate members of the populace. As she went on she noticed Barbus’ face getting darker and darker until finally she stammered to a halt. Very slowly, Barbus closed the door in her face.

“Gods!” he railed, “Why am I to suffer the attentions of fools!” He kicked at his donkey for a moment, and felt better for it.

When the day was done, and Barbus finally let his workers leave, he shuffled through the snow towards his own abode. When he arrived he climbed up the stairs and sat before a fireplace, which contained just enough fuel to burn lowly and not a twig more. As he sat he nibbled on some crumbly cheese and sipped a cup of tepid tea. Soon his head began to nod and he was almost asleep when he heard a strange noise. Rousing, he stood and glanced about the shadowed room.

“Who is there?” he called, picking up a cane. “Come out or so help me you will receive a thrashing as you have never had before.”

Slowly a figure appeared in the darkness by the window, advancing upon him. Barbus squinted as he thrust a candle forward, trying to perceive the stranger’s face. The candle’s light illuminated a tall man dressed in rags, and the wall behind him, for the light passed through his body as if he was not there at all.

“Greetings,” said the specter. “Greetings, Barbus.”

“Who are you?” stammered the old man. “What do you want here?”

“I have come bearing a warning,” said the spirit, smiling to reveal rotted teeth. “A warning from beyond, to change your ways before you end up as I.”

“And who may you be, sir?” Barbus asked quietly.

“I am known to all and sundry who dwell on the High Cliffs. My name is Ruprecht, called the Cockentrice.”

Barbus gasped. Here before him stood the most vile and despicable man to ever call the cliffs home. The Cockentrice, named after a pork and fowl food dish, had been a rich merchant who was renowned for his cruelty and violent nature. He was greedy, as a pig, and as foul as a bird. When he had died none had mourned and his body had been tossed in a bog.

Ruprecht told Barbus of the horrors he had suffered after death, of the toil and pain inflicted upon him by those some call devils, and other valkeries. Pointing a wormy finger, the Cockentrice told Barbus that those tormenting creatures had been discussing his own soul as of late. If he did not change his ways he too would end up as a plaything for the horned and winged ones.

The miser was not inclined to believe such nonsense, and told Ruprecht to be off. With a small smile the Cockentrice told him that he would be visited by three spirits that night, who would come in guises of those known to him. With a final leering grin the specter suddenly vanished.

Finding himself alone, Barbus began to disbelieve what he had just seen. The Cockentrice was long dead; he could not have just been in his room.

A small laugh made Barbus swing around. Standing by the fireplace stood a young woman dressed in white. She held a broom in one hand and a fiery glow surrounded her head like a nimbus.

“Katerina du nord?” said Barbus, naming one of the Cliffs newest members.

Smiling she walked towards him saying, “Nay, though I have appeared in her image. I am the Ghost of Yules Past. I have come to show you yours.” So saying she took hold of his hand and they floated through his closed window and up into the night sky. As they flew Barbus watched the ground slip past beneath them. His eyes boggled as he saw houses slowly unbuild themselves, fields grow over with tall trees and bridges shrink to nothing. Soon the cliffs looked much as they had when he had been a lad, just arrived from Italy. In those days Ardchreag had not existed as its own entity yet, but were lands claimed by the far off citie of Eoforwic. Still, many had lived along the bluffs and it was to these wild lands that Barbus had come as a young man.

The ghostly Katerina took him to a port, where several ships bobbed in icy waters. Upon reaching a large warehouse, she instructed him to look inside. Doing so he saw a great party underway. People danced and sang and caroused; the walls were hung with torches, evergreen and red berries. Tables were laden with food and minstrels pranced through the dancing crowd, plucking at instruments and singing. Dragging him through the wall, Katerina pointed out a solitary figure in a corner patching a fishing net. Barbus recognized the young man as himself. Whenever someone came over to the young Barbus and asked him to dance, or tried to engage him in conversation or a game, he would sneer at them and drive them off.

“You were a lonely boy,” said the ghost.

“Yes,” acknowledged Barbus. “No one else really liked me.”

“What I see is a boy afraid to like anyone else, in the fear that upon knowing him, they may not like him.” Katerina looked into Barbus’ bleak eyes. “You were alone because you wanted to be alone.”

Before Barbus could refute her statement, a young woman came and sat beside his younger self.

“Alone except for her,” continued Katerina. “The one who loved you, whom you drove away.”

The scene about them changed as the two young people embraced and aged. Soon they were standing along the edge of the cliffs, hand in hand, now not a young man and woman, but a man and a woman. As Barbus and the ghost watched the woman and the past Barbus had an argument over money, for Barbus refused to pay for a wedding. Their voices raised and finally the woman stalked off, crying, and Barbus choked as he remembered that Yule, so long ago, when he had lost his only love through his passion for coin. The past Barbus took a sprig of holly off his breast and threw it from the cliff.

Crying now himself, Barbus turned to Katerina to find himself standing once again in his room. He wiped his face with the sash of his dressing gown when he again heard a laugh. This one came from downstairs and was deep and resounding. Cautiously, he walked down the stairs and found a fire lit in the main fireplace. The room was hung with decorations and a pile of food and toys lay on the floor. Sitting atop this treasure was Wulfgang Donnerfaust, dressed in a green robe trimmed with white fur. He held a burning torch and wore an evergreen crown adorned with candles on his head. Barbus knew this was not really Wulfgang, but the second ghost.

“I am the Ghost of Yule Present,” said the spirit, confirming the old man’s thoughts. “I have come to show you what you miss.” Standing up the giant man strode towards the manor’s doors and flung them wide. With a large hand he waved Barbus outside.

Stepping out into the night, Barbus followed Wulfgang down the streets of Ardchreag’s main settlement until they reached the Middlefield Keep. Banging open the door, Wulfgang ushered Barbus inside where a grand party was underway. Candles and fires flared, food lay everywhere and the sounds of merriment filled the air. Barbus saw almost all the populace of the canton crammed within the keep’s walls. There was Iolanda de Albornoz, quaffing great quantities of fermented milk; and there was Thorfinna gra’feldr and Mahault van der Eych laughing as they tossed axes at targets on the wall. Colyne Stewart and Eirik Andersen were bent over a game board while behind them Wat of Sarum and Lina Carville were dancing a jig. William the Younger flourished a new sword, Siegfried Brandbeorn and Isotta Giangfliazzi led others in black nag, Vlad and Brandt discussed armour, Rosalinde strode bearing trays of steaming hot cookies. Everywhere the populace was engaged in activities that brought them merriment.

“You could be here,” said Wulfgang, “instead of home alone.”

“They would not want me here,” muttered Barbus. “I am despised.”

“Not true,” responded the ghost. “If you were not wanted here, would you have been personally invited to attend? Listen, even now they talk of you.”

In a corner Piero di Paxiti da Vincenza and Marian of Heatherdale were indeed speaking of Barbus, wishing that he had come and spent the season among friends instead of alone.

“Among friends?” whispered Barbus.

“Indeed,” said Wulfgang. “Do not be so quick to assume that you are disliked. Now come, we have another party to see this night.”

Once again the ghost led Barbus through the streets until they reached an orphanage. Inside, Eanor of Amberhall and several others were distributing toys and clothes to the children. A creeping feeling of guilt assailed Barbus as he saw their little faces light up as each received a small gift.

“So little makes them so happy,” he said. “And I who have so much am so unhappy. With my money I could have given them much, much more.”

The ghost said nothing, placing a heavy hand on Barbus’ shoulder. When the old man reached up to touch it, it felt chill. Looking at his shoulder he saw naught but a small pile of snow. Spinning around he again found himself in his rooms.

“This has been a very odd night,” he said. “I suppose soon I will see the final spirit.”

As if his words had summoned it, an armour clad figure, visor obscuring its face, spring from the gloom. A white hooded tabard rustled as it approached.

“You would be the Ghost of Yules Yet to Come?” asked Barbus. He was answered by a silent nod. “You have come to show me my future?” Again there was a nod. “Then led on, spirit, for I am not afraid.”

Fog began to pour from the holes in the figure’s visor and soon the room was wrapped in it. When it finally blew clear Barbus found himself standing before the Middlefield Keep. No music could be heard, nor laughter. A half burnt log lay in the snow by the doors.

“What is this?” he asked. “What manner of Yule has no singing, no music?” The armoured ghost pointed at the doors, which blew open. Hesitantly, Barbus crept inside.

Within he found the keep in disarray. Tables were over turned and chairs were choked by cobwebs. Standing looking over the mess were two figures Barbus did not recognize.

“A shame,” said the first, who wore a golden crown. “It was such a good canton.”

“These thing happen, Excellency,” said the second, who wore a kingdom badge.

“Damn,” said the Baron. “If only that miser had not bled the lands dry. The populace could have stayed…”

“As it is the populace does not want to stay. There are too many bad memories.”

Sighing, the Baron said, “Let’s get this over with. Burn it down.”

Barbus retreated outside, cringing and close to tears. He clutched at the ghost’s tabard and rasped, “It cannot be! Say it is not so! I cannot be responsible for the death of Ardchreag! It was my first home here!”

Ignoring his entreaties, the ghost took his elbow and dragged him back into the fog. When they emerged once more they stood before the orphanage, its doors barred. The point made the ghost forceabaly shoved Barbus into the fog again, this time to emerge on the edge of a bog.

Standing knee deep in water Barbus looked up into the ghost’s unseen face. “Why are we here? Here, of all places?”

Silently, the ghost pointed at the dark slimy water by Barbus’s feet. Something was floating on the surface. Reaching out with a tentative hand, Barbus pulled up the edge of a black burlap sack. The sack was heavy, its load pulling it underwater.

“No,” whispered Barbus.

The ghost nodded.

“No,” he repeated. The ghost placed a cold gauntleted hand on the back of his neck, and, crying, Barbus pulled open the sack. Inside he saw a body, one that wore his face.

With a strangling cry Barbus stumbled backwards and fell into the freezing water. He felt hands grabbing at his ankles, pulling him down and he struggled and splashed until he found himself sitting up in his bath at home. He felt himself all over, then jumped up and ran to the window throwing it open.

Down in the street a boy dressed in heavy woolen tunics was passing.

“Boy!” called Barbus. “What day is this?”

The boy looked frightened at being addressed by someone with Barbus’ reputation but said, “The winter solstice, sir.”

“I did not miss it,” whispered Barbus. “And I can change.” To the boy he said, “Take this purse, and buy me food and toys and clothes. Meet me back here and there’s more in it for you.”

As he caught the tossed purse in his hand the boy, emboldened, asked, “What is it all for, sir?”

“For those less fortunate than you or I, my lad,” was the answer.

Tying the pouch to his belt the boy said, “Then I’ll do it for nothing, sir.” And off he ran.

Barbus quickly groomed himself, and finding that all his clothes were in a sorry state, ran straight off to a tailor’s. Within an hour he had returned wearing bright new garb in greens and reds and whites. He found the boy, and many more besides, standing in his yard holding many packages. More lay in wagons.

“That was quite the purse, sir,” said the boy. “I had to get some of the lads to help me carry it all.”

“Good thinking, my boy,’ said Barbus. “We shall need the help to distribute it all. This way.” So saying Barbus led the strange parade down the streets towards the orphanage where he found Her Grace handing out toys. She seemed dumbfounded when Barbus arrived with his gifts, but cheerfully accepted them. Smiling, she, Barbus and his lads gave all the orphans gifts. Then, Barbus had them all travel with him to the Middlefield Keep where they found Brandt, Wulfgang and others preparing for the Yule. More gifts were handed out, and Barbus had food brought in for the feast. The word spread of the old miser’s change of heart and the entire populace gathered that night to celebrate.

From that day forward Barbus was a changed man. He was kind, gentle and generous and made it a point to travel each Yule upon his donkey to deliver toys and clothes to the underprivileged of the land. As time passed he became stout, growing a beard and wearing the green and white of the Ghost of Yule Present. To this day the legend of Barbus is still told, though often in different ways.

A Happy Yule to All.