[Northkeep] About that news from Thirtieth - long

[Jennifer Carlson]

Thank you all for the vivats and congratulations.  I'm still floating a little over it all.  Joy is a sensation that doesn't come along often, and I want to hang onto it as long as possible, so I wrote it down for those who would like to hear what happened.  Be warned, this is a LONG post.

 

 

Those who attended the Great Court at Ansteorra’s Thirtieth Anniversary event saw the culmination of a vast conspiracy, in which an as yet undetermined number of people pulled off a “gotcha!” for the record books.
 
>From the point of view of the utterly clueless victim, the events leading up to it went like this:
 
Dairmaid and I had not planned on attending, but three weeks ago he says to me “You know, we probably should go to Thirtieth.  Someone ought to be taking pictures.”  My normal reaction to such a comment would be “Who are you and what have you done with Dairmaid O’Dunn?”  I mean, really – Canton, Texas, in July????    But he has a new mistress in the form of a Sony SLR and enjoys taking pictures at events and he is a historian/librarian by both nature and nurture, and I had a hankering to see who would show up at Thirtieth, and we could stay with my brother who lives an hour from the site . . . so I said yes and made the arrangements.
 
Some months back, Mistress Elizabetha had asked me to make a prize for the A&S competition, and I had a commission for a Centurion’s cloak to be delivered at the event (more about those scheming Disciples of Mars later), which meant I was preoccupied with getting both projects completed on time.  Then, on Wednesday before the event, I got a frantic email from Her Excellency saying that Lord Kevin would not be able to attend, and would I please herald for them in court?  Frequently, if there is no Laurel business at an event’s court, Dairmaid and I will slip off site early.  Since the court would be late in the evening, I figured Dairmaid wouldn’t be keen to spend a day in the heat, then hang around through court until almost midnight only to face an hour on the interstate before getting to bed; but when I told him I’d been asked to fill in, he said “ok.”  He said it perhaps a bit quickly, without any eyeball-rolling but, as I said, I was too preoccupied with carving a prize box and stitching a cloak to notice.
 
Except for the heat, it was a perfect trip, as we had a swift and easy drive Friday evening, then spent a couple of hours puttering around the site before we headed for my brother’s house for the night.  The next day, I braved the heat long enough to make a round past the merchants, then headed for the hall and the sanctuary of air conditioning.  During the afternoon I took an excellent class on finger-loop braiding, which got me volunteered by His Excellency to teach a class at WinterKingdom (more about HIM later).  I judged a couple of A&S entries, conferred with fellow Laurels, conversed with some people I hadn’t seen since my college days in Bryn Gwlad, and generally had a really good day.  We went to dinner with friends, and were back on site well before I was supposed to link up with the baronial entourage.
 
If you haven’t been to the Community Hall in Canton, it is much like the new Education Exposition building on the Tulsa Fairgrounds: a large, open building big enough to hold easily a thousand seated people.  Upon a stage sat the Ansteorran thrones, flanked by those of the Crown and Heirs of Gleann Abhann, who were in attendance.  On the floor, ranged out from the stage in order of seniority, were the thrones of all the thirteen baronies.  The two wings of thrones stretched nearly the length of the hall.  Northkeep, being the youngest, was furthest out to one side.  (Hmmm, the youngest of thirteen.  Sounds mythologically significant, don’t you think?)  Special stands set behind each barony’s thrones had been made to drape the heralds’ tabards on, which made for an impressive heraldic display during the day.
 
So, the heralds suited up and the entourages collected and lined up for a grand procession. (chronicled on Dairmaid’s Flicker account at: http://www.flickr.com/photos/imarcc/3714974191/in/photostream/
Their assembled Excellencies and the populace were seated, and court got underway.
 
Let me say that, if you’ve never been to one, Grand Courts are long.  Some are very long.  Mistress Rhiannon informs me that, in the Middle, they often stop court for “mead breaks,” which are like seventh-inning stretches with alcohol.  In Ansteorra, we tough it through.  This GC was expected to last only a couple of hours, and I was prepared to have sore feet well before it was over.  Nobles get to sit through a court, and the baronial guards swap out every fifteen minutes or so; but the heralds are court Marines: first in, last out, and on our feet and ready for action the whole time.  The few, the proud, the weird.
 
The Crown had a great deal of business to get through.  They made the usual opening remarks, welcomed their brothers Gleann Abhann, made thank-yous to various people, and took fealty oaths from several baronials, officers of state, and the Chivalry.  Baroness Druinne was called up to be thanked for autocratting, then was ambushed and on the spot elevated to the Order of the Pelican (Vivat!).  This ceremony took a while, as many peers wanted to speak for her.
 
This was followed by a marriage proposal (forgive me, I forget who proposed to whom, but she shouted yes and the kiss made everyone go “aaaww!”)  and the passing on of the offices of Star Principal Herald and Kingdom Seneschal.  Several awards were given out, including a Sable Talon bestowed on Northkeep’s own Thorvald Egilsson!  Vivat!
 
Trying to be a good court herald, I dutifully noted each name and award as they were given.
 
The Crown called forward all of those for whom this was their first event.  Then everyone was asked to stand.  Those who had been in the SCA less than five years were asked to take their seats.  Then those who had been playing less than ten years.  Then less than twelve…fourteen…sixteen…  Twenty, twenty-one, twenty-two…  This was fun at first, as you saw people you just KNEW predated you sit down.  Then it was a little unnerving, as more and more sat and you were still standing and you realized just how much of an old duffer you are.  Having been in 28+ years, there weren’t too many still on their feet when I sat down.  The oldest were two people who had been in 37 years.  Yowzah!
 
Then the Centurions came forward to welcome Madoc of Glastonbury into their order.  I’ve made a lot of Centurion cloaks, for almost as long as there have been Centurions, and it made me feel good to see so many cloaks from my hands on display.  Back at Castellan, the Centurions had called me before Their Majesties to give me word-fame and payment for the latest delivery of cloaks.  That was a touching moment that reminds me of why I love being part of the SCA.  They made me cry that day, drat them.  Anyway, I leaned over and mentioned to His Excellency that sometime this year would see the making of the one hundredth Centurion.  He asked me if I had made a hundred cloaks.  I told him no, I had made somewhere between 35 and 40, as best as I could remember.  
 
Next came a Court Baronetcy for Chaundra of Loch Rayburn.  I diligently scribbled the lady’s name, then had to scratch it out when I realized I had misheard it, and was re-writing it when the applause died down, so I wasn’t really paying attention.
 
Except I thought I heard my name.  My full name.  Dunstana Talana the Violet.  
 
I look up, and see Their Majesties, looking at me.  Thinking “What the …?”,  I look at Their Excellencies, who have turned in their chairs and are looking up at me, and I get this sudden feeling of being in deep you-know-what.  But when you’re summoned, you answer, so I say to His Excellency “You’ve got to help me get out of this thing,” because you don’t go as yourself before the Crown while wearing someone else’s livery.  Their Excellencies got me out of the tabard, which was a trick due to the four-foot-long veil pinned in place on my head, and because the neck opening of the tabard was only just big enough to get my head through.  They freed me from it and rearranged my headdress and sent me on up.
 
I hadn’t a clue in the world why I had been called.
 
Then I’m climbing the steps and kneeling, and looking up at Their Majesties, who are smiling and speaking the familiar words about having heard much about me and what I’ve done, and I’m trying to read between the lines for clues of what it was all about.  Then suddenly they yield the floor to Baron Ian (I hadn't noticed Their Excellencies follow me up), who delivers a beautiful speech about the projects I’ve done and the things I’ve made.  He then uses my own words to repeat what I had told him only moments before, saying “by her own admission, she has made between thirty-five and forty Centurion cloaks.”  Sneaky, tricksy Baron!  
 
Someone, I don’t remember if it was him or His Majesty, said something about the Centurions, and Her Majesty asked me to stand and turn, and I saw the central aisle was filled with a phalanx of Centurions, who are all grinning at me and holding out their cloaks to show them to the populace, and I start getting weepy.  I turn around and His Majesty hands me a handkerchief.
 
The herald began reading a scroll text.  I can recognize every scroll text before the first sentence is finished, but my brain was so muddled that I couldn’t tell which one he was reciting until I heard the words “Baroness to the court of Ansteorra.”  Dairmaid got a perfect shot of my “gaping codfish” expression as realization sank in.  I started sobbing, and when I looked up again, Her Majesty was holding before my eyes the most beautiful coronet I could imagine.  It was PURPLE!  Purple velvet, with beadwork laurel wreaths all about it and rimmed and topped with pearls!
 
Pretty much everything after that was a blur through the adrenaline and the sniffles.  I think I was hugged by the entire population of Ansteorra, and I remember pointing at my head and shouting “Isn’t this the COOLEST thing you’ve ever seen?”
 
And my feet had magically quit hurting.
 
The sequence of photos of it all start at:
http://www.flickr.com/photos/imarcc/3714796001/in/photostream/
 
 
 
 
That’s how I saw it.  Now, for the conspiracy.  I have since found out that I was set up like a three-rail billiard shot.  I’ve seen onions with fewer layers than this scheme.
 
Various conspirators have since confessed to their roles (including HL Livia Madeline Montgomery, some of you may be interested to know).  Many of them were given up by Dairmaid who, being Dairmaid, and snooped out most of the plot before the event.
 
Back up some months, I’m not sure when, to when the recommendation was first put in.  I don’t know who all among you were in on that, but thank you.  Their Majesties, not knowing me personally, wanted to opportunity to do so before they made their decision, and that’s where the Centurions come in.  Part of their intent in pulling me out of the kitchen at Castellan for the public kudos was to get me in front of the throne for a royal introduction.  Clever Centurions.
 
Dairmaid, being of a devious nature and therefore able to recognize deviousness on the wind, caught scent of the plot and took it upon himself to convince me to attend Thirtieth.  When you’ve been married to someone for twenty-three-and-a-half years, you THINK you know them.  He’s still being smug about it.
 
Then, when he learned the award had for sure been green-lighted for Thirtieth court, he informed their Excellencies that they needed to give me a reason to stay through court.  Hence, the “frantic email” from Her Excellency asking me to herald.  Do not play poker with this woman.
 
His Excellency never so much as cracked a smile or gave a betraying twitch the three times Saturday I asked him if Northkeep was going to have any business in court (I was out of practice and needed to prep myself).  Even after Thorvald got his Sable Talon and I asked if there was any more Northkeep business in court, His Excellency said “we’re saving the best for last” with such a complete deadpan I had no reason to suspect anything.  An Academy Award nomination for best devious performance by a Crown Appointee goes to Ian Dun Gillan.
 
I’ve since heard the names Keigan and Elizabeth de Calais as deserving indictment, and I know there are others.  Thank you all.
 
And there is one special conspirator who deserves mention: Lady Charmaine Talbot, the artisan who made my coronet.  It is a thing of beauty, the kind of coronet I would have made for myself. I appreciate the effort that went into it, and the matching box with a beaded laurel wreath worked on the cushion - that was a thoughtful, lovely, extra touch.  
 
Knowing that not only does my community think enough of me to put me in for the award, but to ask someone to craft a coronet tailored just for me turns me into a big pile of mush every time I think of it.
 
I suspect there are others out there, all of you quietly beaming at your success.  You deserve your sense of satisfaction.  It was a “gotcha” that only the best barony in the Knowne World could pull off.
 
In servicio et humilitate,
 
 
Talana, Baronessa
 
 
 

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