When we got back to the mainland I spent most of the day getting debriefed by Murphy and her boss Captain Roberts. We went over my e-mail reports in detail, then went over them again, and again...finally we discussed exit strategy, how to get those guys down out of the hills without someone getting hurt. Then they cut me loose for the weekend, with the promise that Monday morning they would have everything bought and ready for me to go back in. That left me at loose ends for three days. Wow...three whole days off. Shit, I ain't gonna know what to do with myself.
I spent the rest of the day Thursday and most of Friday getting reacquainted with Mary, and doing a little magic studying. Mary had come up with a spell that would disperse minor magic, which she thought I could do. It wasn't combat quality, by any means, but it might be useful. By Saturday morning though I was ready to do something else. I mean really, there's only so much you can do before things start to get sore, and while I never get tired of talking to her, I was ready for a little depressurization. As luck would have it, this was Ursulmas weekend. What is Ursulmas you ask? Well, glad you asked. One of the four or five largest SCA tournaments in An Tir. It's the first major fighting event of the New Year, and all the heavy hitters come out to knock the rust off. Just what Momma Fisher's boy needs, an opportunity to play knight in armor, and drink and tell tall tales, listen to the tales of old, and immerse myself in a group that values honor, chivalry, and fair play, and at least tries to uphold those ideals. Further, I'll get to see it through fresh eyes, as Mary has never been to an event.
Nine o'clock found us headed out the door with my armor and gear in the back, a box of garb, my cook stove, cots etc., and some food and hooch. Mary was a little doubtful but willing to give it a try.
The Event site wasn't very far away, just down the road in Monroe at the County Fairgrounds, and event camping is indoors at this site because it's usually cold and rainy or even colder and snowy. This year, it was the later. Not that this slowed us down any, the barns are heated, some, and most European clothing from the Middle Ages was built for a colder climate than we now have. Besides, the cold is better for fighting. As we pulled up, one of my old friends, Master Robert, was at the gate collecting money and signing folks in. Robert is one of the oldest members of the Order of the Pelican (the equivalent of a knighthood for service to the kingdom, instead of fighting prowess) He's been working to make events like this function since before I could spell knight. We chatted for a few moments, catching up on each other's lives a bit. (Robert knew I was law enforcement, but didn't know that I was a 'Thrope. I don't think it would have mattered, but it wasn't something I advertised.) I couldn't tell him about the case I was on, but that was OK, he didn't want to hear about it anyway, he was more interested in whether I had done any good woodworking lately, and who this lovely lady was on my arm, and was I going to fight today? I wanted to catch up on all the latest from the Kingdom, as I hadn't been to an event in at least six months. Well, come to think about it, more like a year. Damn. I learned that some folks I knew had had children, and others had died. We found a place to set up our stuff in the "dorm building" and dragged my armor over to the main building where the fighting and merchanting and...well, basically everything except cooking, after hours entertaining, and sleeping was going to be going on.
I went over to the list table (that's what we call the place where you sign up to fight) and signed myself in...Sir Johann Beornson KSCA, Barony of Aquaterra, Kingdom of An Tir. Which means that: I'm a really good fighter, and know enough other things about the Middle Ages that some King (it was Sir Barak's third reign) felt the need to put a white belt around my waist. That I live in what is known to the rest of the world as Snohomish County in Washington. An Tir, our kingdom, actually spans Washington, Oregon, part of Idaho, and in Canada British Columbia, Alberta, and Saskatchewan. In short, it's a damn big kingdom, and at a large event we might have five or even seven thousand people, of which up to two thousand may be fighting in some discipline or other.
We've got archers both target and combat (they use bird blunt arrows, and 35LB bows for combat, they wear full armor, yes the arrows hurt, but not as much as a BIG guy hitting you.) Rapier fighters (think Three Musketeers), and Heavy fighters (full medieval kit), and some equestrian (horseback) fighters. Then there's thrown weapons guys, and the kids fight with padded versions of the same weapons in a style called Youth Armored Combat. There's people that make anything that was made in the Middle Ages, in the way they made it then (or as close as we can come with the materials and knowledge available today). There's people that teach dance, and music, folks that cook in period fashion, with period recipes, and those that brew or make wines and meads, again in as close to period style as possible with the resources available.
Me, I do woodwork, and I fight. I've done a little brewing but nothing to speak of, a little armoring (I made some of my own kit) and a little blacksmithing, but mainly, I bash people with training swords made of rattan, and make furnishings.
After I got done signing in for the fighting, I took Mary around and introduced her to the locals that she didn't already know. Bird was there, showing off some of her jewelry, and, of course, Mary knew her (she had introduced us to each other). Master Rauthulfr was there, Mary knew him from faculty meetings at the UW (he's got a Chair there in Middle Ages History and Middle English). Several of my old cronies were there, and as guys are wont to do, they gave me a hard time, and explained to Mary just what a reprobate I was, and why she should run fast and far, before she made a terrible mistake.
Another thing we have is Heralds. In history, and in the SCA, a Herald isn't someone who rides around on a magical white horse, and takes care of whatever crisis is bothering the crown at the time, like in some fantasy novel. A Herald is someone who does announcements for the crown, and the local royalty, as well as announcements for the folks that are actually running the event. They do the formal court work, and announcements on the field when we set up to fight, and they are the guys that help you create and register your coat of arms, among other things. In history they were also "the king's mouth"' and did what is now thought of as the state department's work. My favorite herald Saewynn was there, which was nice, she hasn't gotten out as much lately, her health hasn't been good, and her knees are shot. So we stopped and chatted for a bit, then moved on to merchant's row.
Merchant's row is the shopping center of the event. There are folk that make stuff and sell it for a living, or as a hobby. There are those that buy stuff either overseas or from junk shops and resell it, and folk that cook or serve drinks. As you might guess, it spans from the truly amazing workmanship of handmade pottery, wood carving, handmade swords and knifes etc., to absolute junk that should have been left on whatever refuse pile it was found. Then there's the temple--Temple Caffeina--a medievalist's Barista coffee shop and hangout for the teen crowd, where coffee, from basic to double decaf skinny, raspberry mocha on ice is available. Guy named Mati runs the place (when Mati isn't being replaced by his alter ego Betty). If Mati's not there, Robby will be, yes, they're both light in the loafers, nobody cares, they just care that they're fun people to hang out with, and make a great cuppa. After we stopped in for a cuppa, we went shopping. We hadn't gotten very far down the row before they called for fighters to suit up, so I had to go, leaving Mary to socialize or shop as she wanted.
Getting into well-designed armor isn't very different from getting into heavy cold-weather gear. It weighs more, but the weight is so well distributed that if it's built well, and fits, you can do somersaults in it. I once saw a guy (and not a 'Thrope either, just a normal human) do a 5th Dan Black belt Jut Ken Do Katta, including jumps and back flips in his full kit. The stuff you hear about knights having to be put on their horse with a crane? Just not true...oh sure, some of the late period specialized jousting armor was that heavy, but that stuff was to real fighting gear, as a modern bomb technician's suit is to cop body armor. If you build it right, you can put it all on yourself, in about 15 minute
s. It is, on the other hand, HOT. Even in late January in Washington, it's hot if you're indoors. By the time I got my suit on and inspected, checked all my weapons out, and found out who my first fight was, I needed water.
After flagging down a water bearer, and getting some watered-down Gatorade, I went and got in line for the first fight. I had drawn some guy that I didn't know. He was fairly new to fighting based on his kit, lack of a squire's belt or any titles whatsoever. Someone said that he had come down from Alaska with the new hot stick everyone had been talking about. Guy named Viscount Sir Reynard. He had just stepped down as King at 12th Night, so I guess it was Earl Sir Reynard now. I hadn't fought him, but I had heard he was GOOD.
Anyway, we stepped into the Eric (what we call the fighting ring, it's a pun on the red ropes that surround the ring...Eric the Red, subtle we ain't) and lined up on opposite corners, were announced, bowed to the crown, our inspirations, and each other, and the Marshall called lay on. This kid was fighting in an unusual style for tournament in An Tir, he had a glaive. Now a glaive is a good war weapon, being basically a six-foot pole with a sword on the end, suitable for thrusting and chopping, but in a war, you count on being able to hide behind the shield guys. It's not quite so good for tournament, one on one, because while it has a lot of reach, it's slow. So if you can make the guy miss with his first shot, he's got to be able to run backward faster than you can run forward, or you get inside his effective range, and the fight is yours.
I fight an unusual style as well, so I try not to prejudge. I use an axe in my right hand, and a sword in my left. Oh, and to make it worse, I'm left handed. This combo isn't very good in a war, and I don't use it in war for just that reason. It makes you a target for every archer and pike man in the enemy ranks. If you're fighting across a wall it's OK, because you can charge the wall, dive down, and hook the pikes and spears as they go over the wall. But for anything else, it's just a way to die fast. However, for one on one, especially against a guy with a sword and shield, it's great. You don't have a shield to hide behind, but if you do it right, you're throwing so many shots the guy with the shield is forced purely defensive, then you either hit past the top of the shield with the axe, or use the axe to pull down the shield and club him like a baby seal (er, the flipper type, not the Navy type). A guy with two weapons is also confusing for the opponent, because they don't know which your strong hand is. The general assumption is usually that the axe, being heavier, is in your strong hand.
The thing is, though, you don't really need any more strength to wield an axe than to wield a sword, but a sword requires more subtlety in the wrist. So, the axe goes in the less dexterous hand. (This isn't something that I often explain to fighters, unless I'm teaching them, or after I've defeated them, so if I'm ever going to fight you, just forget everything I just said.) This isn't quite as effective though, when you're facing something six feet long and pointy. Against a glaive, the sword and board man generally takes the first shot on his shield, then rushes. I don't have a shield to take the shot against...
Most of this was running through my head as the Marshall called "Lay on" and we started circling each other. He obviously didn't know what to do about my weapon combo, and I didn't want to charge in and Pez the new guy. I try never to use my 'Thrope speed when fighting, that's cheating, so I was feeling this guy out, when he stepped in on me. Shit the boy was fast; for a non-'Thrope, he was really fast. He stepped in on a full lunge like a fencer would use, and the only reason I didn't lose the fight was I managed to catch the glaive on my axe. So since his weapon was snagged on my weapon, I quickly parried it wide right and charged. He didn't back up nearly as fast as he moved forward, so I got inside the cutting edge of his weapon and hit him across the back of the head with my sword. He kept moving, so I hit him again. He still kept moving, and now he was out of range, and damn near into the range that he could hit me. As I mentioned, we aren't using real steel, which I'm sure would have made scoring easy, as I would have caved in the back of his skull. Instead, with inch and a half rattan, what he got was a nice dent; which he nicely ignored.
Well, in the Society there's a label called a Rhino. No, it doesn't have anything to do with were-rhinoceroses, I don't believe such a thing is possible, those critters being vegetarian and all...(If I haven't mentioned it, to the best of my knowledge only omnivores and carnivores have lycanthropy.) No, these Rhinos, short for Rhino-hiders, are guys that behave as if their armor was made of Rhino hide, and was impervious to just about anything. In our combat the rule is that "let the killed man say if he be slain". In other words, the only guy that can really tell how hard the hit was is the guy that got hit. So if he doesn't take it, the only thing you can do is assume your shot wasn't as hard as you thought it was, or glanced, and hit him again. Some times that translates to hit him HARDER. This is why it's not usually a good idea to get a rep as a Rhino...there are some REALLY big guys out there, and they can hit very hard indeed.
I heard a story, very believable, of one of our fighters that had been accosted during the riots after the Rodney King thing. The guy in question is very big, you might even say fat. That is, if you never fought him. Baron Sir Thomas can put every pound he has behind a sword. So when the group of young impromptu tax collectors decided to rob him and then beat the shit out of him, if not kill him, they figured they were messing with a big old fat white guy, who couldn't run and sure couldn't fight all of them. Well, Tom pulled one of the rattan swords out of his car, which he was getting into when these four guys accosted him, and with one swing created an open fracture to the nearest ass-hat's femur. Said ass-hat's three buddies left so quickly you could hear the air rush into the vacuum where they used to be, leaving their buddy lying there on the ground, with part of his upper leg bone sticking out of his leg, screaming.
This sort of demonstrates why you don't Rhino hide; eventually someone like Sir Tom is going to decide to put the hurt on.
I was thinking that I had a genuine certified Rhino in front of me. That or I had gotten so rusty that I forgot how to deliver a good blow. So I backed out of reach of the business end of his weapon quickly (since he was backing up to get into range, it was easy to pass all the way out of range before he figured out I was disengaging). I looked at him, and cocked my head, the sort of cock that says "Well, what about those shots?" He didn't even say anything, just started to circle. OK, I thought, it's going to be like that, is it? Aaannd, it was on. No more Mr. Nice Knight. I wasn't going to use 'Thrope strength, or speed, but I was going to pull out all the stops and quit playing with my food. I circled clockwise with him for about 90 degrees, then put out my sword to touch his glaive as I went counterclockwise as fast as I could, without breaking into 'Thrope. This had the result that I was on his right, or weapon side, and inside his range before he could recover. The sword pushed his glaive over and down, and I put about 200 lbs of ass behind an axe swing to the side of his head. Well, that hit, knocked him right on his ass. I backed away to let the Marshall call the fight, and this guy GOT BACK UP! I backed well out of his range, cocked my head to the side, and said "REALLY?"
He shrugged and said "Yeah, I tripped." The Marshall asked if he was all right, and he said yes, and we continued. He took three steps to circle and charged. This time he didn't miss completely, his point took me in the right triceps, which means I lose the use of that arm (I fight right side forward with the axe leading). But it doesn't mean the fight is done, I just have to drop the arm. I dropped the axe straight down, but kept that side on the glaive, and ran up it, with it rubbing my right side all the way, so he couldn't disengage it and hit me somewhere lethal. When I got in range, I swung again, but I wasn't going for his helmet this time. I hit his right arm just below the shoulder with a rising snap, and then hit his right leg with the next hit, a wrap shot off the rebound of the first shot. There's a spot on the back of the thigh, which if you hit if with sufficient force (and it doesn't take as much as you might think) will cause the leg to buckle. You just can't h
elp it, you get hit there, the leg's going to fold up. I hit that about as hard as a normal person could. As that leg buckled, that put the left arm in reach, and I put the third shot on his left arm just above the shoulder, then stepped back out of range.
He didn't try to bluff this one out, he couldn't. Neither of his arms was going to be working right for a while, and he was going to be limping off the field. He was on his knees, looking up at me with both arms limp, and said "I yield, you have disarmed me." The Marshall asked if we were both satisfied, and announced me the winner. The kid tried to pick up his glaive to walk off the field, and found that he couldn't (I figured he would get the use of his arms back in about fifteen or twenty minutes.) Well, out comes this guy in a white belt to help him, and I got the DISTINCT smell of fox. Not the smell of fox that Yoshi smelled like, no, this was 'Thrope fox, through and through. I came up to offer a shoulder to help the kid off the field, and he pulled away with an "I'm FINE, I don't need your help."
Well, there were other people waiting their turn to fight, so I walked off. Then I went to that knight that had grabbed the glaive. He was about six foot two, two hundred ten pounds, very fit, with long black hair, and wearing a surcoat, over minimum armor (in fact, it looked like under minimums to me). He looked over at me, and said in a soft voice "You didn't need to hurt him."
I shook my head, and said "Look at the back of his helm, there's two new dents in it. He didn't take either one of them. Your trainee needs to work on his gauging."
He looked over at the helm, which was off by this point, as a couple of other guys were helping the kid get out of his armor (this was a double elimination tournament, but he wouldn't be fighting any more for a bit, if he fought any more at all today with the bruises I just gave him) and saw that sure enough, there were two dents with red smears on them, just the color of the edge markings on my axe. He looked back at me, and said "OK, he deserved that, then." He looked over at my past opponent, and said "You're done for the day, pack up your gear, and go tell the list that you're withdrawing. We'll speak of this later." Then turned back to me, and held out a hand. "I'm Reynard, I don't think I know you, and I thought I knew all the knights in this kingdom."
Keeping The Faith (John Fisher Chronicles Book 2) Page 19