They approached Southampton at night and at first it did seem to be a beautiful place. There was a castle on a mound, they could see the distant shore of the Isle of Wight (she thought that maybe it was Sicily), and a full moon hung in the sky over the city by the sea.
Well, she married Sir Guy, and that was that. It wasn’t so bad at first, it was nice giving picnics and stuff, and being important and having loads of servants; she even had a woman to wash her bum after having a poo. But it wasn’t Sicily. The River Itchen was slow and muddy and got its name from all the insects that flew out of its estuary at low tide and made you itchy – the River Test was clearer, but it wasn’t exactly blue. The people were slow and dull-witted and always moaning and complaining, and all the town councillors, who Sir Guy had to keep in order, just wanted to prance around and look important.
And as for Sir Guy – well he wasn’t that old, and he had all his own teeth, and he was never nasty to her – but he didn’t pay her much attention either. He was always doing important things: organising a water supply so that clean water could run down to the city from the springs at Shirley, chairing meetings of the councillors that went on and on and on, entertaining important visitors and looking interested when they made long boring speeches, and riding round the city, looking important himself.
Then Murdina fell pregnant; she felt sick and ill all the way through the pregnancy, and finally gave birth to a baby boy, who they called Bevois. She didn’t like him very much, she didn’t like babies much anyway, and given that she wasn’t happy herself, she had no happiness to share with the baby.
It was then that she started to think about Sir Murdure, with his fashionable clothes and his shiny teeth.
‘If I was married to him,’ she thought, ‘everything would be fine, and I would be happy.’
So Bevois was brought up by nursemaids and servants, and as he grew up he didn’t have a lot of contact with his mum; he got his cuddles from his nursemaid, who became his nanny. He ran around the corridors and passages of the castle, and he ranged free through the forest that lay behind Southampton. He grew big and strong. Well – he had a lot more freedom than his mother ever had.
Murdina thought more and more about Sir Murdure, until in her imagination his teeth were even more shiny than ever they really had been, and his face more handsome than ever could be possible. He was her lost love, and when you’ve got one of those you blow them up into a picture bigger than anything real.
Well, hens hatch eggs, and people who are bored, fed-up and resentful hatch plots – so Murdina hatched a plot. She sent a letter to Sir Murdure in faraway Almayne – and after a few weeks she got a reply: ‘Yes, good plan, go for it.’
She then spoke to Sir Guy: ‘Husband, we need to go on a tour around Hampshire. Southampton is Hampshire’s main city, and you need to show everyone how important you are. You also need to remind some of those minor knights, such as Sir Billy of Basing, and Sir Willy of Winchester, that they owe you money.’
‘Wife,’ said Sir Guy, ‘that’s good thinking; we’ll set off on Thursday.’
And so they did. They went on a grand tour, and they stayed in very grand places, round and about Hampshire.
It was the eve of Mayday and they were staying in Wherwell Abbey, when Murdina took to her bed, clutching her tummy.
‘Oh husband, I’m not well,’ she said, ‘I think the only thing that will make me feel better is wild boar – I do love a good hog roast.’
‘She’s having cravings,’ thought Sir Guy, ‘maybe she’s pregnant again. She might give birth to a daughter, and when the girl is old enough I can marry her off to someone even more important than me. Maybe I could even marry her off to King Edgar’s son, Ethelred the Unsteady.’
‘Righty-ho, wife,’ said Sir Guy, ‘I’ll just nip off into Harewood Forest and do a bit of the old boar hunting. Tonight we’ll have a hog roast with gallons of scrumpy cider, and that’ll make you feel better.’
Deep in the forest, Sir Guy caught sight of a boar. He whipped up his horse and went chasing after it, but as he entered a clearing in the woods at a place called Deadman’s Plack, he found himself facing Sir Murdure and a gang of wicked-looking mercenaries. Mercenaries are soldiers who hire themselves out to the highest bidder, and they really aren’t very nice.
‘Not good enough, am I?’ said Sir Murdure. ‘Well, we’ll see who’s good enough now.’
A massive fight followed. Sir Guy was very brave and very strong, and he killed several of Sir Murdure’s mercenaries before he was brought down himself. Then Sir Murdure raised his sword and chopped off Sir Guy’s head, and that was the end of him.
Sir Murdure strode into Wherwell Abbey and announced to Murdina: ‘Lady, I have a present for you,’ and threw a sack at her feet. She opened it up, and there was her husband’s head.
‘Ooh goody,’ she said. ‘Let’s get married.’
And so it was that they rode back to Southampton at the head of an army of knights, some of whom were Murdure’s mercenaries, and some of whom were Sir Guy’s knights – those who knew on which side their bread was buttered and thought it best to join the other lot. Well, Sir Murdure was the boss now!
When they came riding through the Bargate, which is the name for the main entrance into the city of Southampton, all the people came out to cheer them. That may not sound very loyal, but the boss is the boss, and if you are one of the ordinary people it is sometimes easier to cheer on whoever it is, and then get on with your own life.
Bevois, however, now he really wasn’t happy. He had got on with his dad; they used to go out hawking and boar hunting together, and other such manly pursuits – but now his father’s head was dangling from his mother’s saddle.
‘Mother,’ shouted Bevois. ‘You rotten pig – how could you do such a wicked thing?’
Well, that really is no way to talk to your mother, even if she does have your dad’s head dangling from her saddle; so she got off her horse, and smacked him one round the side of his head, which knocked him over. Bevois ran off to his room, leaving his mother thinking that she was going to have to get rid of him.
So a few days later she summoned a knight called Sir Saba. Now Sir Saba was Sir Guy’s brother, and had been in mourning.
‘You have to accept that Sir Murdure is the boss round here now,’ said Murdina, ‘and if you can’t accept it I’ll have your head too. This is a test of your loyalty. I want you to take Bevois out to the forest, and I want you to kill the little brat. If you do me this favour, I will see that you are well rewarded, and your future here will be assured. I want you to make it look like a hunting accident.’
Sir Saba had no choice – if the Lady Murdina said ‘jump’, you jumped.
Deep in the forest, with the sun shining through the branches of the trees and making dappled patterns on the ground, Sir Saba drew his sword and faced Bevois.
‘I’m sorry Bevois, but you are to die. It is the way of things.’
Bevois looked at Sir Saba, and then got down on his knees and lowered his head.
‘Then chop off my head sir, it is a sorry world that I would leave.’
Sir Saba lowered his sword – he knew he couldn’t do this terrible thing.
‘Come with me Bevois, I keep sheep in the high fields above Portswood village. You must dress as a shepherd, and be a shepherd, and bide your time.’
Then Sir Saba killed a pig, and dipped Bevois’ clothes in the blood. He took them back to Southampton and the Lady Murdina as ‘proof’ that Bevois was dead.
Well, several weeks passed, and as preparations were made for the wedding of Murdina and Murdure, Bevois watched from the high fields above Southampton.
Come the day of the wedding, Bevois stood amongst his sheep and watched the city. He could see the wedding guests streaming in, and flags and banners a-flying, and he could hear the preparations being made for a great feast. When the trumpets sounded it all became too much for him, and he ran down the hill brandishing his shepherd’s crook. H
e went hurtling through the village of Portswood, and then careered down a steep valley, which has ever since been known as Bevois Valley, though it must have had another name then. He charged through the gates of the castle, then crawled underneath the table at which were sitting all the great and important knights, and gave Sir Murdure a massive thwack on the knees with his shepherd’s crook.
‘Ooooow!’ howled Sir Murdure, and ran around the room, bent double and clutching his knees, ‘Knights, guards, soldiers – get the little brat.’
All the knights piled in to catch Bevois, and under the table they all got tangled up with each other. Sir Clodwig’s boot was in Sir Glodwig’s ear, Sir Leodeprance’s elbow was in Sir Spareaglance’s stomach, and Sir Fladulance’s smelly bum was in Sir Gladioli’s face. Bevois wriggled out from under this twisting mass of knighthood, and legged it towards the door.
‘Oh no you don’t,’ screamed Murdina, as she came rocketing into the hall like a bat out of hell, and she grabbed Bevois in a neck-lock that had him gasping for breath.
‘Sir Saba,’ she screeched, ‘come here you wretched excuse for a knight.’
‘My Lady, My Lady, I could not kill him,’ stammered Sir Saba, and in an aside to Bevois he hissed, ‘Thanks very much, now that’s really dropped me into the doo-doo.’
‘This is what you will do, Sir Saba,’ snarled Murdina. ‘You will take him down to the black and oozy bed of the River Itchen at Northam – just outside the city – and you will bury him up to his neck. You will then let the tide come in and drown him. If you don’t do this, it will be you who will be buried up to your neck in the river mud – and I will be happy to watch you drown.’
So a gang of Murdure’s mercenaries took Sir Saba and Bevois down to the River Itchen, and the mercenaries watched whilst Saba buried Bevois up to his neck in the mud. They didn’t stay to watch him drown because they were missing valuable drinking time at the wedding, and whilst they were not men given to fear, they were terrified that the wedding guests would polish off all the beer, so they went back to the castle, dragging Sir Saba with them.
Poor Bevois; the tide slowly came in, and the water rose till it was over his chin and he thought he’d be drowned for sure. The water was high enough for a ship to come sailing up the central channel, and along came a trading galley from faraway Armenia.
‘I think that’s someone’s head sticking out of the mud,’ said one of the sailors (in Armenian).
‘Don’t be silly,’ said another sailor (also in Armenian). ‘What sort of person would bury someone up to his neck in mud?’ ’These Christians, they’re capable of anything,’ said the captain. The sailors were all Muslims, and as far as they could see, Christian countries didn’t seem to behave in a very Christian manner.
Well, the sailors brought the galley to the very edge of the channel, threw carpets on to the mud, and crawled out to Bevois. They dug him out using cooking pots and their bare hands.
And that is how Bevois travelled all the way to Armenia (Armenia is landlocked, so they had to walk the last bit). The sailors brought him before their king (who liked a good story) and said, ‘Look what we found.’
The king listened to Bevois’ story.
‘I knew Sir Guy,’ he said. ‘He was a valiant knight. I want you to stay here and pledge yourself to me as your king. I will have you trained to become one of my knights.’
And so it was that for the next seven years Bevois grew into a young man at the court of King Emryn of Armenia. Now King Emryn had a daughter, and she was called Josian. We know what happens in stories – Josian and Bevois fell in love. At the end of the seven years, on Christmas day, Bevois was riding across the fields on a fine horse. He didn’t know it was Christmas day – how could he? He was at the court of a Muslim king, who held different holy days and different special days. One of King Emryn’s men knew that it was Christmas, though. He was a clever man who knew lots of things, but he only used his cleverness to cause trouble.
‘Well,’ said the knight to Bevois. ‘You would ride forth on what is supposed to be your special day, the Feast of the Nativity. Your religion must be pretty useless if you pay it no heed.’
‘Oh yeah?’ shouted Bevois, who was always quick to anger. ‘I’ll have you know that I honour this day more than any of the festivals of Mohammed.’
Well, I don’t think that either Jesus or Mohammed would think much of this, people fighting in their names, when really all that they’re fighting about is their own pride. But, do you know what? Grown-ups are much worse than children, and when grown-ups fight they invent all sorts of excuses, and when they fight over religion they dishonour their religions, because it’s really all about themselves.
Bevois and the knight, and the knight’s men, set to in a massive scrap, but Bevois was now a powerful warrior: he killed the knight and knocked all his men off their horses.
King Emryn was very cross when he heard about this, and disappointed, because he loved Bevois like a son. He called Bevois to him and said, ‘Bevois you dishonour me, and both our religions – you are going to have to go.’
It was Josian who softened the king’s heart – she pleaded for Bevois, and she told her father that Bevois could become one of his greatest knights, and that he loved Emryn like a father. Emryn, who was really quite a nice person for a king, relented and said, ‘Oh all right; just tell him to behave himself.’
So it was that Bevois become King Emryn’s greatest knight. He killed a dragon that was ravaging the kingdom (dragons do that), and he rid the land of thieves and bandits.
But then came some very bad news. King Bradmond of Damascus, a very powerful king, sent a message to King Emryn:
Dear Emryn,
I would like very much to marry your daughter, Josian.
If she were to become my wife I could help you look after your little kingdom in Armenia. We could combine our kingdoms into a federation, and then we could keep things simple by having me as king of both. You could then retire, and live in a nice little flat in the castle gardens.
If you say ‘no’ to my proposal I will come to Armenia with my very powerful army, lay waste to the whole country with fire and sword, and then knock your block off.
I await a reply at your earliest possible convenience,
Best wishes,
King Bradmond
Well, as you can imagine, that made Emryn very nervous – so he called together a council. A lot of his knights said he should just marry Josian to Bradmond, and accept his fate. It was Josian herself who strode into the council chamber and announced, ‘Father, I have a suggestion.’
‘Don’t come in here,’ exclaimed her shocked father, ‘this is not a place for females – be a good girl and go back to your embroidery.’
‘Father – you must listen,’ she shouted.
‘No, let her speak,’ said one of Emryn’s knights. This knight hated the thought of giving up the kingdom to Bradmond, and because he had fought and ridden with Bevois, he had an inkling of what she was about to say.
‘Father,’ she said before he had time to stop her, ‘you know what a great warrior Bevois is. Sometimes the foreigner who has been adopted will fight more fiercely for his new country than someone born and bred there. You have seen Bevois defeat dragons and bandits; now let him lead the army against Bradmond – if anyone can do the business, it is Bevois.’
Now King Emryn knew that this was true, though he didn’t know that the main reason Bevois would want to beat Bradmond was because he was in love with Josian, and the thought that she should be married off to that warlord was unbearable to him.
And so it was that King Emryn knighted Bevois, and it was Sir Bevois that led the army into battle against the mighty army of King Bradmond of Damascus. Bevois had more than his own skill, strength and cunning, however. He also rode a great horse, Arundel, a horse that had been presented to him by Josian herself, and a horse that could be ridden by no one but Josian or Bevois, and he wielded a great sword, Mortglay, that had been for
ged in the blood of the dragon slain by Bevois, and blessed by the Princess Josian.
You won’t be surprised to hear that Sir Bevois was victorious. He proved himself to be a great general, and he returned to Emryn’s castle with King Bradmond as a prisoner.
Well, Emryn was a diplomat, and he allowed Bradmond to return to Damascus. He knew that it was best not to cause all sorts of future hatred by being vengeful – but now Bradmond would be beholden to him, so Emryn would be top dog.
Josian was so pleased to see Bevois return in one piece, that when he was stabling Arundel, she came into the stables and fell into his arms. Two other knights saw this, and they ran straight off to King Emryn and told him that his daughter was kissing and cuddling Sir Bevois.
Now Bevois was a great knight. Josian and Bevois loved each other. Maybe that should have pleased King Emryn. But we know that these great kings and knights thought that they owned their daughters, and it was they who chose who their daughters should marry, and given that Emryn had allowed his daughter more freedom than most kings did, this was all too much for him. Emryn’s anger was particularly great because he felt that Bevois had betrayed him, and was just taking advantage of Josian. Perhaps, in spite of everything, Emryn still couldn’t really see that Josian had a mind of her own.
But Emryn wasn’t going to make a scene, he wasn’t going to shout at Bevois, or threaten him. Instead he asked him to take a letter to King Bradmond in Damascus. Bevois, of course, didn’t know what was written in the letter.
Dear King Bradmond,
I hope you are behaving yourself.
Given that I am now the boss, you must do what I say. However, I don’t think you’ll mind fulfilling this request, because you have no cause to like the messenger. I would like you, please, on receipt of this letter, to put the bearer thereof, Sir Bevois, to death. I’ve rather gone off him.
Hampshire Folk Tales for Children Page 3