Sir Orfeo — Telling

Off the top of my head scratch telling (via a keyboard) of Sir Orfeo.

Back in the days when each province of England had its own King, there was a certain king of Winchester: the noble Sir Orfeo.

In his younger days he had been a troubadour, a man of rank who entertained all the courts across the land, with his exquisite harp playing. He played people’s emotions as he played his harp, from the happiest tunes to the most melancholy dirges.

And in his younger days, too, he had met the girl of his dreams, the one who would become his wife, the love of his life, the fair lady Heurodis; and never has there been a fairer queen, whether before or since.

One Spring day, it was early May, Dame Heurodis walked down to the orchard, with two of her maids, to listen to the birds singing, and the bees buzzing, and the sounds of Spring coming in.

She sat beneath a spreading/grafted apple tree, and… relaxed.

Before long, she had drifted into sleep; and her handmaids went a little way away, so that they might continue to chat.

Midday came and went; the birds were still singing; the bees were still buzzing. But suddenly: a scream; an almighty shriek; and when the maids rushed back to see their mistress, she scratching at her face, and pulling at at hair, and wailing such a sorrowful cry a banshee might.

The maids ran back to the castle to fetch help, and returned with a hundred ladies and knights to see what they could do for their Lady.

They took her back to the castle, and fetched Sir Orfeo.

As he entered her room, she was rocking backwards and forwards [model clenched hands].

Orfeo approached from the front, so as not to scare her, knelt down before her, and took her hands in his.

She shook her head, as tears filled her eyes.

“I’m so sorry… Oh, I’m so sorry…”

[Gently] “But, what do you mean ‘you’re sorry?’ What happened to you?”

“I have to leave you… I have to go…”

Two knights had approached her, had said she must leave with them. Of course, she’d said: “no; no, I cannot; I will not”, and they had ridden away.

But then they returned, a hundred knights and more, a King at the lead.

He gestured to a small palfrey beside her, and she found herself, on a horse at his side, overlooking an expansive green plain with a shimmering crystal palace in the distance.

“This will be your home now. This is where you must stay.”

“What do you mean, ‘I must stay’? I cannot. I will not.” And started to turn the horse.

“‘But you will stay’, he said, ‘you will stay forever. I will meet you tomorrow, at noon, by the tree. And you will be there. Or I will hunt you down. And even if I have to tear you limb from limb, you will come back with me.’”

“And then I was back beneath the tree, and soon I must leave you.”

Sir Orfeo talked to his advisers. A plan was made. The next day, five hundred nights and more led the lady to the spreading/grafted apple tree. They formed a cordon around, facing out, watching, waiting.

The birds had been singing, the bees had been buzzing, but suddenly, there was a silence. A deep silence around them.

Sir Orfeo looked out, saw nothing. Looked back to check his wife, and…

Where was she? Where was she? For the good lady Heurodis had vanished.

Sir Orfeo, distraught, returned to the castle. There were no tracks to follow.

Over the coming days, that grew into weeks, he became ever more solitary, only the sound of a lament as he played his harp, locked alone in his room.

One day, he was seen, leaving his room, dressed in a ragged cloak from who knows where, a bag at his side containing his harp.

“I will go into the wilderness. My steward will rule in my place. When you hear I am dead, summon a Parliament, and appoint a new king.”

And with that, he was gone.

Out, into the woods. Out, into the wilderness.

The weeks became months, and his hair grew long.

The birds and the beasts were his only company. On occasion, he would take out his harp, and play as only he could, and the eyes of the wild things would peer out of the gloom at him, but they would never approach.

The months became years; his hair became matted, his beard became long and dreadlocked. His pallor was grey and his teeth were black.

Seven, eight, nine years passed by. Ten years and more.

Every so often he would see them, the fairy folk, out hunting, or parading, or processing, with banners unfurled, as if to war.

Then one time, he saw their women folk, ourt hawking, fifty or more and each with a bird on her hand.

And then… he saw her… approached her, and there was recognition between them. But the other fair folk hurried round, and coralled her away and into the distance.

Biut not this time. Where you go, I go… And he followed them.

They came towards a hill, and as he apprached he saw a crevasse, an opening, and they disappeared inside.

He followed, at a distance, for three miles or more. And then he came to an opening, and: a vista of wide green plains. And he continued to follow.

Across the plains they went, and approached a castle, with gleaming crystal walls that glisted in the sun.

He approached the gate; dressed in rags, hair matted, beard dreadlocked, grey and dirty.

“I have come to play” he said, gesturing his harp. “I have come to play for your king.” And he gestured his harp.

As he went through the gates, he was met by the strangest sight. At first they looked like statues, but statues caught as if in the throes of death; warriors who had lost their limbs, or worse. Those who had perished by fire, or sunk and drowned. Those who had been hanged for their crimes, or withered by their ailments. Women who died even as they were giving birth. And there, underneath a tree, a spreading/grafted apple tree, his wife, the fair lady Heurodis.

He made his way across the courtyard, into the great hall, and demanded audience with the King.

“Who do you think you are?” said the Fairy King. “Only those I have invited are welcome here”.

“I come as a minstrel”, said the vagrant before him, and taking out his harp, he began to play.

And he played as he had never played before.

And when he had finished the King was entranced. “That was finer music then ever I have heard before. And deserves a gift in return. Ask what you will, and if it is in my power, I will give it to you.”

And with that, Sir Orfeo, as a beggar before a King, asked: “for that fair lady, beneath the grafted/spreading apple tree, to return to my land with me.”

“What nonsense,” said the King, the Fairy King. “How could I let one so fair have anything to do with one so foul as you? It will not be so.”

“It can be so and it must be so. You made your promise. I may be foul, but there is nothing fouler than a King who does not keep his word.”

And the Fairy King could not disagree with that.

Sir Orfeo packed away his harp, approached his lady, from the front, so as not scare her. He reached for her hands.

She opened her eyes, and looked in to his. His eyes filled with tears. And see smiled through hers.

They made it back across the plain without looking back.

The made it back through the hill, two or three miles or more, without looking back.

They made it back to the outskirts of Winchester. And found a beggars’ hovel in which to stay there.

No-one recognised the beggar for who he was; and his wife was hidden away.

Sir Orfeo, as a beggar, asked what news of that place.

“Strange times”, they said. “Strange times.”

Ten years or more before, their Queen, the fair Lady Heurodis, had been stolen away by the fairy folk.

Their King had sunk into a depression, then set off into the wilderness.

He had not been heard of since.

But neither had they heard of his demise.

And so his steward ruled in his place, as fair as his master had been, until he should hear news once again of his liege Lord, Sir Orfeo.

The next day, Sir Orfeo, still as a beggar, had picked up his harp and gone inside the city walls.

The music he played, as well as the strange sight of him — long, matted hair; a dreadlocked beard; grey and gaint with blackened teeth — drew more than a few passing looks.

And then the steward passed by. He had not heard that tune in a long time. He stopped and watched the harper.

“Please, sir, may I play for you? May I play for the court?”

“Of course, of course, you wold be most welcome”, and the steward helped the beggar up and talk him into the castle.

And how he played… tunes the like of which they had not heard for seven, eight noine, for ten years or more.

But not just tunes the like of which. Tunes the exact same as which.

The Steward approach the harper. Looked closely at the harp.

“Where did you get that harp?”

“A strange story, sir, a strange story indeed. It was many years ago, nine, ten or more I’d say, when I was out in the wilderness. I came across a pile of bones, and beside them, this harp. And ever since then, it has been showing me how it wants to be played.”

The Steward looked at the beggar in shock. “I.. I did not know… I did my best. I must summon a Parliament.”

The beggar looked at the steward. “If I had been your King, Sir Orfeo; if I had gone into the wilderness for ten years or more; then come upon his Lady wife in fairy land, and won her back, then lodged her in a beggar’s cot outside the city walls, and if I had found one who had been so honest and true as you, then if were I that king, on the day I died, I would pass my kingship to you.”

And as the beggar looked into his stewards eyes, the Steward recognised him for who he was:

“Sir Orfeo, my Lord”, and he fell to his knee.

“Sir Orfeo” went up the cry.

And he was taken back to the chamber that had been his, and washed and shaved, and maybe had some emergency dentistry.

And his wife was sent for.

And the celebration that started in Winchester that night spread out across the county. And the tale of what had happened went with it.

And many years later, after many happy years together with his wife, the fair Lady Heurodis, they made a final journey to another land.

And in his stead, the steward became King in his own name and ruled over that land.

And ever since then, when harpers have played, they have told the tale, or soung the lay, of Lady Heorodis and Sir Orfeo.