The Ballad of Stagbold Keep Part 1

The Ballad of Stagbold Keep

 

Initially, I confess, I had intended to write this as verse and then find some poor and credulous musician to supply music. But frankly the story is too complex for such treatment and I lack the patience.

In short the story is simple. I was lured to Stagbold Keep by the promise of commissions, it was sacked, and I fled. I am perhaps the only person still living who emerged from the sack without making a large amount of money out of it and this Ballad is my last opportunity to remedy the oversight.

Let us start at the beginning. Lord Stagbold, the eponymous holder of Staghold Keep, had a daughter. I’d like to say she was as beautiful as she was virtuous, but whilst I can vouchsafe her beauty, her virtue I am in no position to discuss.

Still her father must find her an appropriate suitor. Not a difficult task, her spouse would become Lord of Stagbold in time. There is some decent ploughland, excellent vineyards, a nice bay that is good for both fishermen and pirates and plenty of hunting.

The problem with these Partannese lordlings is that they think of themselves as bold and chivalric knights. They strut and preen; they send their sons and daughters to be educated in Prae Ducis or even Avitas. Some families hold sinecures in Port Naain and the head of the family will sit on the Council of Sinecurists. But when all is said and done, most of them are just brigands and the best of them, courteous hired muscle. But they’re free spending brigands and are reasonably generous patrons of the arts.

So it happened that I was at the Misanthropes Hall, listening to the gossip and looking for work. A minion of the Lord of Stagbold arrived and was looking for somewhere to take off his boots and cloak. I was the one deputised to show him the way to the cloakroom. I was just making conversation and asked him why he was present. It was then he told me that the Lord wanted a poet to be present to record the events that surrounded the courtship of his daughter. Immediately I asked him what terms he was offering. When told that it would be my board and ten alars in gold, I accepted the offer. I then led him directly to the barge where Shena and I accommodated him. That might seem overly generous on my part, but be damned if I was letting word of this job leak out, otherwise he’d have every poet in Port Naain pawing at his money belt. Not only that but the wine cellar of Stagbold Keep was legendary, the current Lord and his Father cosseted the Keep’s excellent vineyards and also purchased the finest vintages. I then rode south with him next day on a spare horse he’d brought with him.

If you don’t know Stagbold Keep, it’s south along the coast from Prae Ducis. It was a fair ride, but I was in good spirits and my companion was also happy. Apparently it had been assumed that he would need to stay in Port Naain for some days and he had been given expenses considered sufficient for the period. This money he splurged on our way back.

Stagbold Keep itself is a splendid sight as we saw it, illuminated by the evening sun. As we clattered into the inner court the place as a riot of colour with banners and bunting and men-at-arms in their finest. I was assigned a room in a turret barely large enough to lie down in and told to present myself at the great hall when the horn was blown.

Given that I had time on my hands I took the opportunity to look round and frankly I grew less impressed the more I looked. Of the great keep barely half was inhabited and the rest was frankly ruinous. It struck me that the last time the place had been properly functional must have been a century or more previously. At this point I began to worry for my ten alars, suspecting that this was a family prone to promising more than they delivered.

Still I presented myself when the horn was blown and was led to the top table. Here I was introduced to Lord Stagbold himself and his daughter and sole heir, Violetta. I’d like to say that I was overwhelmed by my host’s nobility, if only because I have the rhymes off pat for that. A more accurate description, for example ‘Querulous middle-aged debauchee’ is difficult to fit into any metre and is a brute to find rhymes for.

Still I was ostentatiously paid my ten alars and was then informed that I was to work with the lady Violetta.

& & & &

 

The next morning I was summoned to the lady Violetta’s breakfast room. I trust you are not assuming this led to any sort of intimacy between my good self and the lady. There again, please don’t think I looked down on her as the barely literate daughter of a backwoods bandit chieftain. I had seen her in Port Naain, (Although we had never been introduced) and she had studied there under some worthy scholars.

But even in the most eccentric circles of Port Naain society, it is rare to have a steel cage suspended outside your bedroom window so that you can mock the poor inmate at your leisure. Still, I was instructed to sit down at a small table and then she chased the maids from the room before turning to me.

“Poet, we have a problem.”

This wasn’t the opening gambit I’d expected and I immediately thought that she wanted the ten gold alars back, to replace them with something less valuable.  I’d checked them with a touchstone the previous night and had been stunned to discover they contained as much gold as circulated coinage ever does. Still I tried to be non-committal.

“We have my Lady?”

“Yes, have you seen my suitors?”

“I saw them at table at dinner yesterday.” I tried to keep my voice neutral at this point. I felt too much enthusiasm, or alternatively too little, would not be welcome.

“Have you ever seen such a nondescript ragbag of petty villainy? Or such an uninspiring collection of rustic ignoramuses? I doubt any of them could sit the right way on a water closet without having a manservant to direct them.”

It has to be said that given the complete lack of water closets in this Keep, any lack of ability in this direction was a purely theoretical disadvantage. But still I agreed with her overall assessment of the young men. Thus I felt I could show some sympathy for her cause.

“I confess that I wasn’t entirely impressed with them my Lady.”  

“So you and I are going to do something about it. I want you to pen a letter for me.”

She gestured to the writing implements on the table and obediently I took up a pen. She started to dictate.

“My most gallant admirer. It is with a trembling heart that I write to you to throw myself upon your mercy.”

I pondered the line. “Would that perhaps be better as your chivalrous mercy?”

For this observation I was awarded a smile. “Yes, probably; I’m glad to see you are joining in the spirit of this.”

She continued her dictation. “You stand out from the others like an elegant steel blade, hanging in a barn surrounded by rusting farm tools.”

I felt this was an interesting turn of phrase, but you can get away with so much more in prose. Poetry forces an artist to distil, to refine, and to concentrate one’s musings.

But still she continued.

“I have come to a decision, you are the one I have chosen, let the others prance and caper in front of my father as long as they wish. I will meet you at the foot of the north tower, exactly two hours after sunset tonight. Fetch your men and a spare horse for me and a pack horse for my trousseau.”

She looked at me, expectantly. I read back over what I had written.

“Will they know what a trousseau is?”

She bit her bottom lip as she thought. “What would you suggest?”

“Assuming you want to encourage them, why not just say ‘and a pack horse for my clothes and jewellery?’”

She pondered. “I didn’t want the bait to sound too blatant.”

“Having looked at those young men, I’m not sure it could be.”

She made her decision. “Clothes and jewellery it is then.”

I did and read it back to her. “Is that what you want?”

“Yes, I think that is perfect.”

I took a fresh piece of paper. “I will do a fine copy for you to sign.”

“Six copies, I’ll write the envelopes myself.”

 

& & & &

 

I wrote the six copies as requested and she busied herself with envelopes, dripping scent onto everything and finding little bits of lace to place in the with letter as a token. Then when all was done, she despatched her maids to secretly give the letters to their intended recipients. I was told to wander about doing whatever poets do when they’re working, and she went off on some other errands.

I wasn’t entirely sure whether she really did want me to drink too much and flirt with the maids, so instead I drank moderately and occasionally stood, darkly brooding, staring into the far distance, pen in hand. It was whilst I was doing this that I noted the Lady Violetta. She was talking to two fishermen at the water-gate, their boats moored there. I thought no more about it, and was contemplating flirting with the maids but then we were summoned to the great hall for the evening meal.

The atmosphere was strange. At least six of the suitors wore the smug expressions of men who are watching others playing for a trophy that has already been won. The others seemed driven to up their game, bragging of their prowess and boasting of what they intended to achieve. Violetta, acting as hostess in the unexplained absence of her father, allowed the wine to circulate more freely. I left as soon as I decently could, but before I had even got to bed was summoned to attend upon Lady Violetta. When I arrived at her rooms she was dressed for travel and had a large purse hanging heavily from her belt.

“You sent for me my Lady?”

“Yes. We have work to do at the North Tower.”

I followed her and we made our way to the North Tower. This area is the more ruinous part of the Keep, the curtain wall so low that an active man could climb it with ease. But the tower itself seemed sound enough. On our way to the tower she stopped by one of the lesser towers. She opened the door and there was a stairway spiralling down. But it seemed to have been blocked by having some stout boards placed across it. She nodded approvingly and looked around the inside of the walls. In several places there were those tightly wrapped packets miners and quarrymen use, joined by a common fuse. She took a candle down from a niche in the wall, lit the fuse and ushered me out of the door, saying as she did so, “We have half an hour.”

I kept silent. It is best in these circumstances to nod knowingly and trust that at some point you will be able to work out what is going on. Asking for explanations only irritates people.

I followed her to the top of the North Tower. Looking down I could see that clustered below us were six suitors, all armed and armoured and ready to ride. Each managed to look somewhat irritated by the presence of the others. Further off sat their guards. Each of the six groups sat huddled on their horses, watching the other groups with deep suspicion. The Lady Violetta gently tapped a wooden barrel that was standing on the top of the parapet. “Poet, when I give the word, empty it over the wall.”

“Am I permitted to ask what is in it?”

In the moonlight I saw her face light up with a broad smile. “I have had my maids emptying their chamber pots into it every morning for the last month.”

She then leaned over the wall and said in a low voice. “Beloved.”

Immediately all six of them surged forward, collectively they answered, saying something which approximated to, “I am here.”

“Gather close. There is something I must say.”

In spite of the fact that each found the proximity of the others distasteful they clustered closer to the foot of the tower. Violetta continued, “I have weighed you in the balance and feel that you are the ones least likely to win my hand.” From below there was a growing murmur of resentment, but she continued. “Still I feel that I ought to give you a gift to show how much I esteem you all.” With this she whispered to me, “Pour.”

I did so and the barrel discharged its contents on the group below. Violetta’s voice rang out, “Dolts, fools, pantywaisters, and cowards.”

With this she turned and fled down the stairs. I was hot on her heels. As we got down to ground level we could hear the shouts from outside, and finally one voice bellowed, “Sack the keep.”