Tales of Bjornsborg
The True Founding of Bjornsborg
by Alisandre Oliphant
If you look on the list of Bjornsborg’s barons and baronesses, you will see that Erasimierz Waspanieski (known as Grayraven) was the founding baron. And on paper that is true. But I will tell you that the baron who actually founded Bjornsborg was Jan w Orzeldom, and I will tell you why.
In the interests of full disclosure, what I recount here of early Bjornsborg was before my time; and let me also tell you that I am Jan’s wife, so may be considered biased. But long before we married, I had heard many pieces of this story from many other sources who were active at the time. The events are of record. And when Jan was at fault in a story he freely says so.
Much of what occurred back then would not have stood up in the light of modern, instant, cheap communication. But this was half a century ago, and communication was by phone (and it still cost extra to call outside your area code) or by mail. Decisions were often shaped by people who could afford to pay high long-distance bills or travel to meet in person.
Now listen.
Bjornsborg started life in 1974 as Bear’s Fort. In 1975 sometime, Jan went to his first event, a demo in Bjornsborg, and he remembers much excitement there because they had just been notified they could be a shire.
The populace was made of several subgroups with little innate cohesion other than that they lived in the same area. There was the Neskaya Council, an all-female household; House Thornwell, which Jan later joined; Grayraven’s household largely made of students of Trinity University; and a few outliers.
As this is not intended to be a detailed history, I will omit specifics and say only that Grayraven was not a force for good. He liked to be in control and he liked to be agreed with, and he tried and often succeeded in removing people who obstructed that. He had money, and so was better able to communicate and connect politically.
He was not unintelligent, he was not untalented, and he was not ill-favored; in fact, he could be charming. But he drew his strength from dividing and denigrating others. Grayraven was the kind of person that modern SCA culture would reject.
This was also the timeframe when the people in this part of Atenveldt came up with the name “Ansteora” (the second r came later) and began pressuring the Aten crown to make us a region. Regions needed three baronies, though, and we only had two (Stargate, founded in 1973, and Steppes, founded in 1975).
Grayraven thought Bjornsborg should be that third barony. He also thought he should be the baron. His household paid the membership fees for several people so there were enough paid members to qualify. He ran a grassroots push, telling people in individual conversations that everyone else had voted for him. He knew the decision-makers back in Atenveldt (Phoenix). And so when Atenveldt made Bjornsborg a barony in November 1976, Grayraven was made the baron. And a month later, in December 1976, the Region of Ansteorra, with its three baronies, was created.
As baron, Grayraven continued as he had been. And the ladies of the Neskaya Council finally had enough and started a letter-writing campaign. Although Ansteorra became a principality in 1977, we were still part of Atenveldt, so it was to Atenveldt they appealed.
By early 1978, the Aten crown had received so many complaints about Grayraven that the king, Koris Natterhelm – the first Ansteorran to wear the crown of Atenveldt (and therefore unusually close, in Dallas) – came down to do an inquiry. Jan was in the hall during the inquiry; he remembers the stream of people going in to speak to Koris in high states of emotion; and Koris asking him, as he was leaving, to help “keep people sane down here.”
What action the crown would have taken, we do not know, because shortly after, in May 1978, Grayraven graduated from Trinity and left the barony. He left a splintered group behind him. He was succeeded by Gwenneth Sanquebarr (one of about five ladies he had promised to make baroness after him). She was ill-equipped to handle the role, even without the challenges he left her. On paper, she was baroness from May 1978 to September 1979, but she ceased attending events after about two months and did nothing to heal Grayraven’s harm. Bjornsborg was effectively rudderless for over a year; its officers held it together, but with no active noble.
Meanwhile, Ansteorra became a kingdom in April 1979, and was having its own drama throughout that year. Our first King and Queen were Jonathan and Willow, and Jonathan fell afoul of the Pelicans of Ansteorra when he elevated a lady named Arlene the Soother over the objections of many of that circle. Arlene said she had been made a Pelican years ago and the records were lost, and he believed her and thought that re-elevating her would fix things. It did not. Her elevation so deeply offended the circle they complained to the Board of Directors. Again, this was long before instant communication, and the Board traveled out to Ansteorra to hold an inquest. Ultimately they forbade Jonathan to create any other peers during his reign.
Jonathan was irritated. So, he could make no peers? Fine. But nothing was keeping him from installing ruling nobles. And Bjornsborg needed attention. So he killed two birds with one stone – he sent a “so there” to the Board by addressing the baronial vacuum in Bjornsborg in November 1979.
The two largest groups left in the barony were House Thornwell (which Grayraven had disliked so much that he once had issued a proclamation saying no member of Thornwell would ever hold baronial office), and the Neskaya Council. In a piece of diplomacy equivalent to a political marriage, Jonathan named one person from each of these two groups as the new baron and baroness. Jan, of House Thornwell, became baron; Alexandra Tatiana Feodorovna of Novgorod, of the Neskaya Council, was baroness. Jonathan knew Bjornsborg’s history, and he asked Jan to erase the divisions and give the kingdom a barony.
Jan was not unintelligent, he was not untalented, and he was not ill-favored; in fact, he could be charming. And he turned out to have a genius for bringing people together, inspiring them with his often lunatic ideas, and investing them with the spirit of the larger group. One of the first things he did was meet with a splinter group who wanted to form their own barony in the same area; he convinced them to stay.
Jan involved the barony in choosing baronial arms they actually wanted. Grayraven had never asked anyone; he just designed submission after submission and tried to get them registered. He had not been successful and detested the College of Arms as a result. His last angry attempt was intended to be ridiculous – a dancing bear in a fool’s cap, juggling. After Grayraven had gone, just as Jan and Alexandra stepped up – the arms passed. They were awful.
Jan held a vote to see if any of the populace wanted to keep the dancing bear, and it was near-unanimous to replace it. Jan was a herald (he had been Grayraven’s baronial herald before House Thornwell was thrown out), so he drew up everyone’s ideas and presented a big board of designs. The populace selected the arms they wanted; the arms the barony now has.
Jan attended every meeting of every guild. He created a baronial order, the Ursae Majoris, to advise him. He considered his officers to be members of his court and seated them around him at events. He encouraged people to attend events as a barony. He threw off ideas like sparks, welcomed others’ suggestions, and his enthusiasm was contagious; the barony would run with ideas, embellish them, and make them their own. After a few years, Alexandra stepped down, and from 1983 to 1989, Jan was baron alone, and continued as he had been.
During his tenure, Bjornsborg coalesced. It found its identity, its voice, and its culture. It became a beacon of creativity and energy and gave the kingdom some of its most memorable events. So successful was he that Bjornsborg was often accused of being a “cult of personality,” with a populace ready to do anything Jan said. Bjornsborgers found this thought laughable; they had rejected plenty of stupid Jan ideas. But there were plenty of good ones, too, over the years; and together they made Bjornsborg a place of legend and renown.
A founding baron or baroness has the right to have the arms of the branch they founded in a canton on their shield in perpetuity. No others have this honor. For Bjornsborg, this right is Grayraven’s, not Jan’s. So when Jan stepped down, it did not sit well that Grayraven, who built nothing and left the group crumbling in his wake, bore an honor that Jan never would.
So the Ansteorran Crown gave Jan an augmentation (quite rare at the time), and took the even rarer step of specifying the form it should take: the arms of the Barony in honor point. The populace of Bjornsborg (63 of them) signed a petition consenting to that use, to forever associate the barony with him. It reads:
“Unto the College of Heralds of Ansteorra and the College of Arms
“We understand that while the arms of a Barony are the ceremonial property of the ruling noble, any usage or display of those arms reflects the Barony as a whole. Due to this, all official actions concerning Baronial armoury require the knowledge and consent of the populace of the Barony.
“Therefore, we, the populace of the Barony of Bjornsborg, consent and petition that the usage of the arms of our Barony as an augmentation of arms granted to Hrabia Jan w Orzeldom by Mikael and Rebekka, Rex et Regina Ansteorrae, in recognition of his many years of service as our Baron be registered as illustrated below. We consider any connotations concerning armoury of pretense which may be reflected by the form of this augmentation to be a singular and unique honor to all parties involved. We hereby state our desire that Jan w Orzeldom’s arms be registered augmented by the arms of our Barony.”
So – it is true: Grayraven oversaw the establishment of an administrative entity at the baronial level that Ansteorra needed to become a region. But it was Jan who founded the barony. He took the fractured people Grayraven left behind and gave them their heart.
Listen. You can still hear it beating.
A Tale of Her Ursine Excellency, Baroness Alexandra Tatiana Fedorova of Novgorod
by Brendan O Corraidhe (Circa AS XX):
She was watching a tourney from the shade of her pavilion one summer day (I was going to say "blazingly hot summer day", but that would have been redundant), sipping contentedly from an iced goblet that was beaded with condensation. Sir Simonn of Amber Isle came off the field, sweat pouring down his face.
Smiling, she held the goblet out to him. He gratefully took it from her hands, sighed, drank deeply.... and exploded into a fit of gasping and coughing that was *quite* alarming. He handed the cup back, rasping, "Th-th-that's NOT WATER!"
"No, dear, it's vodka," she smiled sweetly. "You should have asked!"
It might have been the same tourney; I was sharing her shade. I asked her what she was snacking on - it looked like soggy beef jerky. Still watching the field, she replied, "Steak Tartare." Then she turned and looked at me sternly. "And don't you DARE tell ANYONE that I eat raw meat!"
A Tale of Bjornsborg
by Cynric of Bedwyn
Gather ‘round, you sons and daughters of the bear, and I’ll recall the days when Heroes strode the halls of Bjornsborg like leaves scattering before a harvest wind. Then were we a seat of true renown, led by a warrior of might and cunning called John of Eagle’s House (in his native tongue, Jan w Orzeldom). Jan, who once sat the throne of the Sable Star but found ruling a kingdom too tame a life and so returned to lead his tribe, was a man of inestimable grace, wisdom, and puissance.
We were a noble ship with a noble captain at the helm, but ‘tis true that those with whom we came into contact oft times remarked that our behavior was not in keeping with the traditions of neighboring folk. This was as it should be, for we resembled them no more than a giant oak resembles a slender willow. Where others mewled, we roared. As others supped, so did we ravenously devour. While others delicately tippled, our horns were filled and emptied many times over. Naturally, this made us strong of voice and long of song, attributes which, while of great value to Heroes, are not always appreciated by those cut from lesser cloth. And so did our prowess at table and mead bench send Bjornsborg to follow its own and singular path, alone but never friendless.
Except, it must be said, for once a year. At that magical time, just as hoary Winter was at last loosening his icy grip on the land and the spirited hounds of summer could be heard baying over the distant hills, Bjornsborg hosted a glorious tournament in the manner of those in Jan’s homeland of Silesia. It is said some fey spirit inhabited the woods and fields where this tournament took place each Spring, for none who entered its boundaries departed unchanged.
Warriors strove far beyond their accustomed strength, skalds and minstrels with marvelously woven words enfolded the rapt souls of those who wandered near their fires, artisans produced works that surpassed those of the great masters; indeed, the very air seemed enchanted. The hillsides were dotted of an evening with vermilion mists, as though all the myriad hearth fires of Fäerie smoldered thereon.
Some who graced these lands with their presence are no longer to be found in the halls and war fields of Ansteorra, having taken up residence in Valhalla on Odin’s right hand, but if you watch with the mind's eye you may yet glimpse the shades of they who strode as giants in those heady days.
Throughout these two score years and three, the Land of the Bear has seen no lack of upheavals, yet we’ve met all challenges cast our way. Cattle raids, boar hunts, noble quests, barbarian invasions, Sarmatian visitations, Viking invasions, encounters with magical isles, flaming villages, rock farmers, Highland hooligans, and many’s the grand tournament have been witnessed in these borders. Some are born to be Heroes, others have Heroism thrust upon them...but all Heroes, all Lions, heed the call of Bjornsborg sooner or later.
An Old Tale of Bjornsborg, by Jan w Orzeldom
A court was held in Bjornsborg in the “period” structure of the granary of the San Jose Mission. This was before the national park service took possession of the property, and with a lot of diplomacy, use was granted. The Duchess Natasha affair and the Courts of “Grayraven” were in the past and Gweneth Sanquebar was baroness. She ruled with no baron. However, a stranger to these lands had her close confidence. Some say that he, Torgetai Blackwolf MSCA, had won her affections with the gentle and courtly practices of the Mongols.
This may be so, for this gathering was billed as a Mongolian Court. Fire was not permitted in the fireplace, but the flame of candles was not banned. Elaborate cushions were deployed, but no chairs were used in the hall. Corwin Distarte translated what people said into a gibberish that was claimed to be “Court Mongolian.” Later Vargskol Halfblood and Dragomir the Cossack continued the dreaded “Punnic Wars.” I fled to the courtyard.
Here I spoke with Mistress Willow de Wisp. I must make an aside here. Anybody I’m likely to mention probably went on to considerably grander titles, but peers were a scarce commodity at that time. Willow very much a standout person. We talked about the war between the Ardh Duin and the Clan Cadal, she being the chieftain of the latter group.
I inquired if it was safe for her to be this far south unaccompanied by her sturdy clansmen. There was no danger at all, she declared, and introduced me to her invisible escort. I do not recall the name, I probably couldn’t spell it anyway, not being of the Celtic persuasion. Her guardian was more than eight feet tall, with a tendency to pout. We continued the conversation, with Mistress Willow grandly playing the role of a fierce war leader.
At this point up trotted Ilyana, a newcomer to the society. She offered me a share of her drink, and I introduced her to a “Peer of the Realm.” After a very brief “wow moment” Ilyana’s big smile returned and she reached up and gave a gentle tug on one the Chieftain’s braid cases. Sweetly saying, “Ding! Ding!” she vanished into the clusters of people. The persona bubble having burst, Willow paused and said “Well, so much for feared war leader right now.” Then she gave a very genuine and friendly laugh and the evening continued.
Mistress Willow had and still has great command of almost any social setting. She can go from glorious bombast to genuine concern in an instant.
Of Lyoness
by Etienne de Montagu
Way back in the day, I helped create the Tournament of Lyonesse. It was the spiritual successor to Bjornsborg's Tournament of the Lions, with some tweaks to make it less of an early medieval tournament and lean in to 1) the fact our Barony was now led by a solo Baroness instead of a solo Baron; and 2) my own love for late-Medieval Arthurian imagery and pageantry.
Anyway, it was pretty super-successful. I was super-involved in the first two, then moved to Stargate, but by then they had momentum so they kept doing it for another six or seven years. Eventually, Mari (the Baroness) stepped down and the new B&B (rightfully) wanted to do their own thing. So it was decided the March 2000 version would be the last and they invited me back to herald the event one last time (I never fought in it, but always served as "Lady Lyonesse's" herald for the tournament and the court).
The day was splendid. I won't recount all of it but trust me, it was up there with my top five special moments in the Society. But it was evening court where things really rocked.
See, we'd decided it wasn't enough to just end Lyonesse. Nope, we were gonna kill it, dramatically, on stage.
During evening court, the King (Drake) started acting like he was feeling ill. As court progressed, he got worse, and fell down DEAD (great acting, by the way). His lady wailed and wept and cried "Poison!" Lady Lyonesse arose, and declared she could brook no such violation of her hospitality and must make amends. She bent over, bestowed a kiss upon His Majesty, who rose hale and hearty, as Lady Lyonesse herself fell dead, having given her life for his.
It was, gentle reader, a hell of a moment. And then I, as the herald (who'd been acclaimed as "Author of Lyonesse" earlier in the day) stepped up and delivered these words:
"And so, our tale, long years in the telling, ends. Lyonesse shall sink beneath the waves anon, to dwell but in our dreams. Let bearers come! Prepare a pallet for our Lady. To carry her unto her final rest. Come Ladies of the Bear, Hawk, Stag, and Dragon. And all who bore those titles in the past. Go forward and prepare our Lady's final bower. Bring the gifts of the sea and the flowers of the field to adorn her tomb. Her champion, arise! And all who stood as champions before. Goodly warriors all, accompany our Lady as an honor guard. And show her one last time, the devotion she showed you. To all who stay behind, pray heed! Tonight, all manner of things are out of joint. The walls between the worlds grow thin with our Lady's passing, and much that dwells in shadow walks tonight. This hall, the field, your fair pavilions are safe. Pray, celebrate what was this night and keep the dark at bay. On the morrow, in Bjornsborg shall you wake, and Lyonesse will sleep the sleep of ages. Think you well on the deeds you saw this day. Remember all you witnessed in the past. For never shall you see their like again. But in your dotage, you shall look upon the youth, who never saw these shores and say, "There was such a place." Come, let us see our Lady home."
And we walked out of a silent, weeping court.
So, that's part of the story. The context for the factoid. Yeah I'm long-winded. Anyway. When I got my longsword, that model was between production runs and impossible to find. Or nearly so. Turned out Edwin Fitz Lloyd had one, but the leather grip had been stripped off the handle. He offered it to me at a discount, and I had a new A&S project. Re-wrapping the hilt turned out to be a bit of a challenge, because the pommel was peened on, so I had to figure out how to wrap it securely with lacing. As it turned out, this was done with lots of linen thread, glue, leather, and paint. I’ve been using it for over two years now, and it’s held up great.
Anyway, because I do so love the whole Arthurian schtick, when I was preparing to wrap the handle, I decided to take some inspiration. I knew that often the hilts of rich knight’s swords carried relics or prayers or that sort of thing. In the spirit of that, my hilt contains a very tiny copy of my “eulogy” for Lyonesse, along with a lock of Bia’s hair.
500+ words of back story, 170 or so of factoid. This may be the most Theron post ever.
More Tales
- Of the Overraskelse Hunt and the Wounding of Ivarr
- A Chronicle of Elfsea Defender - featuring many folk from Bjornsborg
- The True and Unexpurgated Story of Ivar’s Pants
