scurlock at io.com
Fri Oct 18 00:35:53 PDT 1996
>Hooray for genuine Ansteorra history.
Here is another piece of the history of the "Butterfly Altercation"
that you may enjoy.
I was very new to the SCA and about a dozen or so of the Bryn Gwlad
fencers had joined me in a brigand household called Piper's Grove.
Because I was heading a criminal household, I was playing a lot with
Edwina Dirk Stern, the mistress of the local Guild of Assassins.
The word had gotten out that assassination would be allowed at the event,
and it appears that Alex AND Bjorn had both contracted with Edwina to
murder each other. As Edwina did not have the manpower to fulfill
both contracts, she telephoned me to ask if I would be willing to
take over the contract on Bjorn's life. I readily agreed and
immediately called a household meeting.
I appeared at the meeting with a small crock full of Tullamore dew,
and having no idea of the forces I was about to set in motion, I told
them that Bjorn was the target for the weekend and that whoever
killed him first would get the Tully. Familial obligations required
that I travel to my hometown on the weekend of the war, so I was
not able to attend the event.
When I returned to Bryn Gwlad, I went to a fighter practice at
Waterloo Park. HE Seanna De Fraser was there. I had not been there
long when I heard Seanna's distinctive articulation carrying my way
on the breeze. "SCURLOCK!!!", she cried, "JEREMY SCURLOCK!!!" I
turned, she approached. More quietly she said, "Scurlock, I would
like a word with you." There was something in the way she hung on to
that last "you" that gripped my attention. (We joke about this now,
but at the time, there was murder in her eyes.) We walked a short way
together and sat down. She then told me the following tale, which
was later corroborated by other members of my house:
Alan of the Dark Wood arrived on Saturday morning and immediately
began to plot Bjorn's untimely demise. Actually, a number of my
household members were doing exactly the same thing, but because I
had put them in a kind of competition with one another, they were not
sharing their plans. (This will become important later.) Alan had
brought with him a boffer bottle made by Iolo Fitzowen. The label
read "Olde Frothingslosh, the pale, stale ale with the foam at the
Sometime following the fighting, Alan, armed with his bottle, stalked Bjorn
out to the parking lot. When Bjorn stopped near a truck, Alan crept
upon him on his blind side and cried, "Your Excellency!" As Bjorn
turned toward him, Alan slammed the bottle down on the truck's
bumper, in simulation of breaking it, and then jammed it at Bjorn's
head. Bjorn fell and Alan ran away, ready to claim his Tully.
Back at the parking lot,
Alan's attack had swept Bjorn's glasses off of his face and to the
ground, where they broke. God bless him, Bjorn was always stone
blind without his glasses. Bjorn began to feel about the ground on
all fours, crying, "My glasses! I can't see!" To his credit, Alan
returned and attempted to aid Bjorn as best he could, thus making
his capture easy for Bjorn's enraged entourage. Alan was dragged to the
Bryn Gwlad tavern tent and securely bound to one of the supporting
HE Vargskol Halfblood was present, and angrily demanded that Alan
reveal just who had put him up to this assassination attempt. At first,
Alan was loathe to tell him that it was me. Varg began to stamp about
the large tent, while suggesting that poor Alan be "put to the question."
Jan was watching all of this, getting angrier by the minute.
While elsewhere in camp,
Bjorn went back to his tent to get his extra pair of glasses.
Unbeknownst to him, another member of my house who was unaware of
earlier developments on site, had secreted herself on a tree branch
which overhung the entrance to Bjorn's tent, armed with a "poisoned"
dagger. As Bjorn emerged from his tent, she dropped straight down
upon him, with a loud shout. As they both went to the ground, Bjorn
cried out, and his entourage, already alerted by Alan's earlier attempt
on Bjorn's person, handily made the arrest.
She was likewise dragged to the tavern tent, where the questioning
began anew. Pretty soon, it came out that I was somehow at the
bottom of all of this. I don't think Varg was at all surprised.
Jan was coming to a nice, rolling boil.
Meanwhile, at Alex's,
Alex caught a mouthful of salted wine, courtesy of Edwina, and began
writhing on the ground in loudly feigned death throes.
Jan called one of the very few Courts of the Realm this kingdom has
ever known, right then and there. The upshot of all of this was that
the truth came out, both Alex and Bjorn were busted to peasant
first-class for the remainder of the event, my friends narrowly escaped
banishment, and I was in the dog house for a very long time.
Ah, for the days when events were more, er, spontaneous.
Actually, I carried a bit of guilt about this for some years. I ran
into Bjorn again a couple of years before he died and confessed my
culpability, and apologized. He was quite gracious about it.
Now that is Ansteorran history with a small "h".
Thus ends the tale,
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