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Jeaneleda’s Bardic Championship Rules

Instructions for the EK Bardic Championship, AS 46. In limerick for King Gregor.

 

Their Majesties each need a bard
To accomplish this should not be hard
We have set this day
For this noisy play
With the things you have writ on your card.

We now give the rules of the thing
You may recite, tell tales or sing
No punching or hitting
Nor swearing or spitting
Or we shall makes you compete into spring.

There may be a piece you abhor
Which you feel maketh your innards sore
If you’re rude lords and ladies
You’ll be sent straight to hades
Where its Neil diamond filk evermore.

The first round is period all
About each piece we’ll tell the hall
We need documentation
For each presentation
And it’s fine with us though if it’s small..

In the second round we shall favor
A piece the bard’s chosen for flavor
You’ve one six of an hour
To put us in your power
As your fine bardic skills we do savor.

Round three is their Majesties pick
To the things on your card they should stick
But if the crown wishes
That you sing and do dishes,
you’ll learn what makes your bold liege tick.

Ere we start, may we briefly advise,
The bard’s life is full of surprise
But we can already tell
You would do the job well
And to any challenge would rise.

The bard ought be on at all times
To amuse songs, stories, or rhymes
We must confess
That “your majesty, yes”
Is the very best of bardic lines.

And so as we exit our play
We wish all you well on this day
As you each compete
Before our crown sweet
Now enjoy it all well as you may!

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AoA – Eoin An Doire

When shall a good man find his rest?  When boars fly over oaken tree.
When shall he work at our behest?  As long as blossoms love the bee.

In the Eastern realm there is a land where women and men are strong as tides. Among this people lives a man – as Eoin an Dore he is known.

Dependable in every way, good Eoin sets to tasks diverse. He gladly does repair the keep and build the tavern for our sport. He goes as called, on field and off, to battle mighty foes or tournament scores. He maketh cider sweet, but not so sweet as his own disposition.  Unassumingle he dons the armor bright and stands the field in tabard gold, sword in hand, to defend his king, his land, his lady.

Steadily he lands the blow, then can heal the wound. His words calm with knowledge of physic’s humors true. Tending with care to all in need, his steady hand eschews the leech, applies the salve, the poultice, the linen. These selfsame hands hold a steady bow, and strike the target right. To defend, or hunt, or sport does Eoin play, but never boasts, for he is a shining example of what a man ought be.

And so it is right and good, to bring him to the court this day at King and Queen’s Bardic Championship in Endewearde’s frozen lands, on the fifth of February, anno sociatatis XLV. By the hand of good King Gryffith most sincere, and lovely Queen Aikaterine, we welcome now Eion an Dore, and call him Lord.

 

* * * * * *

Now, this was not what was read at court, so I don’t know if the signet had other text, or if something was put together, but this is what I sent.  I think the scroll got tied up in storm weather, so, I’m including it here, so at least this way our newest Lord of the East will know what I thought of him, regardless of what is on the actual scroll.  ;-p

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Reynardine’s Lady

This song was started some years ago, and forgotten, until I found a fragment of it on paper tonight and at last finished the tale I began. It still has no tune, but it will come. I’d consider this an early draft, despite the length in years it has taken to write it. There’s a shade of “The Cardinal Ordained” here as well, this predates even that piece.

 

Your father is gone, lost to the night

But of noble blood, it is true, I was born

and I go to defend our home and our land

and avenge my beloved, before God now sworn.

 

Deep from the box she lifted the thing

rough cloth fell way from its glaring shine.

This was my father’s own sword, she said softly,

our great treasure still, young Renardyne.

 

I have saved it in here for many a year

For iron so cold was your father’s one bane

It was all that I brought from my other life,

To men from that life it shall cause bitter pain.

 

She had followed my father by star and by moon

Over the great green hill

They had loved well all their days,

And if not for those curs, Love would have still.

 

Reynardyne, son, they will hunt you forever,

So go to the green castle deep in the wood.

For all of my days, I swear to protect you

I have kept them all from us as long as I could.

 

Now you take your sisters, you wrap them tight;

answer no sound at the the door – not a one

burn ye no fire, nor candle for light

Until I or the time of this fighting is done.

 

If I do not return within two days time,

all three of ye go to the great church to pray.

And while you are safe within its stony walls,

light a candle for each of the men I shall slay.

 

She had followed my father by star and by moon

Over the great green hill

They had loved well all their days,

And if not for those curs, Love would have still.

 

She strapped that great weapon upon her back

Over my father’s clothes she had put on

She tied back her hair and kissed us each fiercely,

as she swept into the wood as swiftly as dawn.

 

We hid for two days then fled to the church.

A monk knew my father and so took us in.

Dozens of candles were lit for her soul

to atone for the murders, though they claimed it no sin.

 

On the fourth day at Vespers she came through the song

Bloodied and weak, she fell through the door.

All of the herbs and the candles and Aves

could not bring back the man who she lived for.

 

She had followed my father by star and by moon

Over the great green hill

They had loved well all their days,

And if not for those curs, Love would have still.

 

Light me more candles, o friar, she begged,

I slew them like cattle beset with a plague

I did not spare a one when I came upon them.

I hunted them down over valley and craig.

 

Some call him a rake, and some call him sly.

Few know of the ruby-lipped maiden, once queen

who tamed the wise fox with her beauty and love,

my mother, the lady of bold Renardyne.

 

She had followed my father by star and by moon

Over the great green hill

They had loved well all their days,

And if not for those curs, Love would have still.

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True Love’s Kiss

This poem/song was started shortly after Crown Tourney, and finally finished in September, near the end of the reign of Kenric and Avelina.

Sir Kenric walked out to the list
with Avelina at his side
He would fight to see her Queen,
To crown his own beloved bride
Upon the field of battle.

Before the Eastern Queen and King
Upon their knees each softly bent
Pledged should the battles favor them
To goodly rule was their intent
Upon the field of battle.

Merrily the day began
with laughter in the autumn sun
As fighters sang the roundelay
so dancing ‘till the rounds were won
Upon the field of battle.

Through the lists like steeple bells
Rang out the shots that did delight
Every breath was held in check
when the final two last met to fight
Upon the field of battle.

Noble Edweard, Kenric bold
Bowed to the East assembled there
And with good will began to war.
The silent crowd could but stare
Upon the field of battle.

Step to step they were well matched,
When circling hawk called Kenric’s name
Reminded him the ground was his
If he but chose to end the game
Upon the field of battle.

A final blow, with honor dealt
Then Kenric stepped across the list
To take his lady in his arms
for all to witness true love’s kiss
Upon the field of battle.

Sir Kenric walked out to the list
With Avelina at his side
He would fight to see her Queen,
To crown his own beloved bride
Upon the field of battle.

 

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Laurel Scroll for Dutchess Aikaterine

Calligraphy by Howard Stith, Words by Monique Bouchard and illumination by Jana Brooks. Inspired by the portrait of Roger Mortimer, (d 1398), in the Robes of the Garter. 15th century document.
Laurel Scroll for Dutchess Aikaterina. Calligraphy by Howard Stith, Words by Monique Bouchard and illumination by Jana Brooks. Inspired by the portrait of Roger Mortimer, (d 1398), in the Robes of the Garter. 15th century document.

Kaffaud paub y teithi. llauen vi bri brython.
Kenhittor kirrn eluch. kathil hetuch a hinon.***

As dart verdant dragonflies
such rare grace her gifts supplies
swiftly do her fine hands sing
where threads do bloom sweet as spring

at the border, thread of gold
stitched o’re hours ‘ere untold
Fearsome tyger rampant there
golden roses twined in pair

bedeck her now greenly here
she whose talents do endear
on her brow place leaves supine –
laurels for our lady fine

laurel order stand and speak
of this gentle lady meek
Praise to Aikaterine
Saith Rex and Regina

Thus is Dutchess Aikaterine FitzWilliam brought into the Order of the Laurel at ** event/date/TBA** AS 46, by the hand of King Gregor and Queen Kiena.

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BANNER TEXT
Kaffaud paub y teithi. llauen vi bri brython.
Kenhittor kirrn eluch. kathil hetuch a hinon.

*** From the Black Book of Carmarthen, c.1250
Translation:
All Britons rejoice, sounding joyful horns.
Chanting songs of happiness and peace!
also translated as:
Everyone shall have his due, happy will be the Briton’s fame;
Horns of rejoycing will be sounded, and songs of peace and of fair weather.

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**I chose this style to reflect the location of residence for the FitzWilliam personae, on the border of Wales and England. Since Aikaterine was born in the Holy Roman Empire, so I am working on the premise that she is herself a Briton. The celebratory text of the Welsh and the Welsh verse style in English blend the two cultures.  The Cywydd deuair hyrion form I use is somewhat loose in form, my rhyming stresses are far from perfect.**

POETRY STYLE
Cywydd deuair hyrion (read CR Ward’s excellent description on it and other forms at her website…)

The most common variation is the cywydd deuair hyrion (cuh’-with day’-air her’-yon). It is made up of rhyming couplets of seven syllables each, with the accent differing on the rhyming words. This differing accentuation is called cynghanedd, which is a term for a system of alliteration and internal rhyme. There may be any number of couplets. The first line finishes with a stressed syllable and the second with an unstressed syllable. There is no set length.

x x x x x x a
x x x x x x a
x x x x x x b
x x x x x x b

__________________________

The scroll could only be so long, so I edited the original work to fit the space that was available. I sent the scribe both options.

ORIGINAL SCROLL TEXT (99 words)

As dart verdant dragonflies
such rare grace her gifts supplies
swiftly do her fine hands sing
where threads do bloom sweet as spring

linen, wool for dress and cote
heraldic charge each denote
Fearsome tyger rampant there
golden roses twined in pair

at the border thread of gold
stitched o’re hours ‘ere untold
this bouquet of skills afford
an armorial award

bedeck her now greenly here
she whose talents do endear
on her brow place leaves supine –
laurels for our lady fine

laurel order stand and speak
of this gentle lady meek
Praise to Aikaterine
Saith Rex and Regina