Legends of Sir Bevois of Hampton
... they did perform
Beyond thought’s compass, that former fabulous story,
Being now seen possible enough, got credit,
That Bevis was believed.
— William Shakespeare, Henry VIII, Act 1, Scene 1
Beyond thought’s compass, that former fabulous story,
Being now seen possible enough, got credit,
That Bevis was believed.
— William Shakespeare, Henry VIII, Act 1, Scene 1
Bevois and Ascupart
Michael O’Leary, renowned local storyteller, retells our hero’s tales
THE STORIES OF BEVOIS, or Bevis, were once as popular as the stories of King Arthur. The stories of Arthur, however, were considered a bit more grand and courtly; the Bevois stories were for the common people. Andrew King writes, in Sir Bevis of Hampton; Renaissance Influence and Reception ... “Norfolk’s wry observation in Shakespeare’s Henry VIII , that the exaggerated feats of chivalry at the Field of Cloth of Gold “got credit / That Bevis was believed”, indicates only one possible response to the legend: bemused, possibly scornful, recognition of its appealing but essentially puerile fantasies.” Well, puerile fantasies my arse; this is storytelling – and Southampton took particular ownership of these stories. Why wouldn’t it? With its double tide and its crack-brained inhabitants, Southampton was a place for stories. In 1724, Daniel Defoe wrote, “Whatever the fable of Bevis of Southampton, and the giants in the woods thereabouts may be derived from, I found the people of Southampton mighty willing to have these things pass for true.”
There are many versions of the Bevois stories, but I cobbled one together, inspired by a wander round the Bevois Town pubs (before the Bevois Castle Hotel had its name gratuitously changed), and put it in my mighty tome, Hampshire and Isle of Wight Folktales, published by the History Press ( www.thehistorypress.co.uk/hampshire-and-isle-of-wight-folk-tales.html ). Should anyone want a copy I’m flogging them for £8 + p&p £1.74. Contact me via www.michaelolearystoryteller.com. Alternatively google it on Amazon or The History Press. You could even go to a real live bookshop! Anyway – here’s an extract from the book: The Legend of Sir Bevois IN THE CENTRE of Southampton stands the Bargate. This medieval gate used to be the entrance to the city, though now it stands strangely alone, the adjoining buildings being demolished in the 1930s during a monumental act of civic vandalism – the sort of vandalism that over the years has damaged Southampton as much as the Luftwaffe did in the 1940s. There are some steps that lead up to a little museum above the arch; though the museum is rarely open, being run entirely by volunteers. If you do go inside you will see two large wooden panels, each one with a painting of a figure on it. One is of a knight called Sir Bevois, and the other of a giant called Ascupart. These two paintings used to be on the outside of the Bargate, guarding the entrance to the city, but the weather and the vicissitudes of time meant that they had to be brought inside. At one time all the inhabitants of Southampton would have been familiar with the stories of Sir Bevois (sometimes known as Bevis). Indeed in 1724 Daniel Defoe wrote; “Whatever the fable of Bevis of Southampton, and the giants in the woods thereabouts may be derived from, I found the people of Southampton mighty willing to have those things pass for true” ... and those names are still in the fabric of the city; there is an area called Bevois Town, built upon a hill that was once called Bevois Mount, and at its foot is Bevois Valley. This is a fairly unprepossessing part of town now – but the names make a palimpsest, which is a document hidden under another document; you can use your imagination and see the hill, the valley, all rolling down to the river, before the Victorian city overwhelmed it. There is an Ascupart Street very close to Bevois Town, and a thirteenth century tower called Arundel Tower which is named after Bevois’ mighty steed. (Rather more picturesquely the tower is also known as Windwhistle Tower – once you get to know it you find Southampton full of these little touches!) These stories are often traced back to a Middle English romance called Bevis of Hamtoun, but nowadays it does seem that we always have to look for a written source, as if stories are only squiggly lines on paper. Yet before stories were written down they were told, and there is a lot of evidence of a character called Bevis before the writing of the romance. All along the south coast there are relics of someone called Bevis; he’s in the landscape of the area as much as Arthur is in the landscape of England and Wales. Before the city spread over Bevois Mount there was a long barrow on the hill known as Bevis’s Tomb; on the top of Portsdown Hill, that singular hill that overlooks Portsmouth there is another long barrow called Bevis’s Grave, on the border between Hampshire and Sussex there is a long barrow called Bevis’s Thumb. Maybe there was a Saxon warrior called Bevis, who resisted the Danes or the Normans in much the same way that Arthur is often regarded to be a Romano-Briton who resisted the Saxons. Who knows? But here is one version of the tale: |
Sir Bevois and......
... Ascupart from the panels in the Bargate
Bittern from Bevois Mount by G.F. Sargent
|
The story of Bevois of Hamtun
ONCE A UPON A TIME Southampton was called Hamtun, and Hamtun had a castle – it’s long gone now; except for Windwhistle Tower. In that castle there lived a boy called Bevois. He lived there with his father, Sir Guy, who was Earl of Hamtun. Sir Guy was important, but he wasn’t happy. His wife had died, and so he turned his face against the world – and he showed no care for little Bevois. Often he’d lash out at the boy, and try though Bevois might to earn the approval of his father he only ever seemed to be subject to his anger.
One day Sir Guy was going out hunting. Hooves clattered across the courtyard as he trotted out towards Lordswood, the great forest that lay behind Hamtun and connected the Forest of Bere to the east with the New Forest to the west.
Bevois ran after him and called, “Father, father, can I come with you?”
“Get away from me,” roared Sir Guy and kicked out at him. Poor Bevois ran back into the castle crying.
Sir Guy rode deeper and deeper into the forest.
“I shouldn’t have done that”, he thought, “but ever since my wife died I’ve never done the right thing. Foolish it may be, but I’ve always blamed Bevois, since she died giving birth to him.”
As he rode deeper into the forest Sir Guy came upon a clearing in the woods. In the clearing there was a well, and at the well there was a woman and a little girl. The woman was filling seven wooden jugs with water.
“What are you doing?” demanded Sir Guy.
“This is my job”, she said, “I fill the jugs up with water, carry them down to the village and sell them.”
“Then I will buy one”, said Sir Guy, and lifting the jug he drank deep.
Looking at her, he said, “You seem to be a strong woman, and a capable one. I need a wife, and a mother for the boy, will you marry me?”
“Well”, she thought, “that’s a bit sudden”, but things do happen a bit suddenly in stories – and she thought, “Hmmmm, Sir Guy of Hamtun, a very important man – not bad”.
“Very well,” she said, “but this is my daughter, and she’s called Josyan. She would have to come with me.”
And so it was – they returned to Hamtun and they were married. The wedding was wonderful; there were troubadours and harpists, clowns and jugglers, fire eaters and play actors. They even had storytellers. (I was there myself, though unfortunately I spent the night in the dungeons for getting too drunk to remember any stories.)
Well, it would be good to finish the story there with a “They all lived happily ever after”…
... but they didn’t.
You see, she turned out to be not so very nice. Oh, she liked being important, she liked being the Earl of Hamtun’s wife. She’d shout at the servants, “My dinner’s too hot,” or, “my dinner’s too cold,” or “Take that servant away, give him the sack,” or “Chop off his head!” She was terrible. As for little Bevois, she didn’t like him at all. She thought that one day he’d be Earl of Hamtun, and she didn’t want that.
So she tried to make his life even more miserable than it already was, but miserable he was not. You see, her little daughter, Josyan, became firm friends with Bevois and they became playmates and made each other happy.
Time passed and time passed, as it does both in and out of stories, and Josyan became older and Bevois became older, until Josyan became a young woman and Bevois became a young man.
And – inevitably;
… they fell in love.
Now – Josyan’s mother noticed this and growled to herself, “I won’t have her marrying him, I’ll put a stop to this.”
In those days people believed that your dreams came true, so she pretended that she’d had a dream.
“Sir Guy,” she said, “I had a dream last night. I dreamed that there was your very important looking wooden chair,” – it was a bit like a throne, with carvings of dragons on the side, “and Bevois crept up behind it and chopped it to splinters with an axe. What do you think the dream meant?”
The next day she said, “Sir Guy, last night I had a dream that you were sitting in your very important looking wooden chair, and Bevois crept up behind you with an axe and CHOPPED OFF YOUR HEAD. What do you think the dream meant?”
Day after day she said she had these terrible dreams – though she made them all up.
Finally it was too much for Sir Guy.
“Bring Bevois to me,” he roared at the guards.
Bevois was brought to him, and Sir Guy said, “Bevois, you must go, you must leave this place, because I think that you mean to do me harm”.
“Why, what is it that I have done?”
“My wife has had these dreams …”
“Ah – has she. Very well, I will go. I will do what they do in stories; I will go and seek my fortune.”
Bevois went to get a cloth, he fashioned it into a bag, he tied it onto the end of a stick, and went down to the kitchens for some food and drink to put in the bag.
Then he had to say farewell to Josyan. Holding each other, the tears running down their cheeks, they felt that their hearts were breaking inside them.
“One day – one day,” said Bevois, “I will return”.
“I will always wait for you,” sobbed Josyan – because in stories that’s just what you do.
Then Bevois left Hamtun – and he walked and he walked and he walked. It was a cold, grey, wet, miserable day and Bevois walked deeper and deeper into the forest. He didn’t know where he was going and he knew that when he had eaten the food and drank the drink he’d have nothing, and so with a deep weight on his heart he trudged on.
Night fell, and still Bevois was walking – then through the darkness he saw a twinkling light. He followed the light through the trees and came to a rickety - rackety wooden hut. He knocked on the door, heard a scuffling and grumbling from the inside, and the door was opened by a withered old woman.
“What do you want?” She eyed him suspiciously.
“Please, good woman, could I take shelter here for the night?”
“I’ve got nothing, nothing to share with the likes of you.”
“I have some food and drink,” said Bevois, “and gladly I’d share it with you.”
“Oh – very well.”
Once inside, Bevois took the bag from the stick and the old woman eyed the food hungrily. She looked so old and frail and hungry that Bevois thought, “She needs this food more than I do”, and he gave her nearly all the food, indeed he pretended he was eating more than he really was.
When the morning came the old woman said, “I’m not as daft as you think, and I saw that last night you gave me nearly all the food that you had. You are a good man, and I have a present for you”. She handed Bevois a rough looking wooden flute.
“This is a magic flute”, she said, “and you’ll know when you need it.”
“Well, it won’t really do anything,” he thought, “but it’s good of her to give it to me, and it would be an abuse of hospitality not to accept”, so he said thank you, and off he went.
It was another cold, wet, miserable day, and he walked and he walked and he walked. When night fell there wasn’t even a rickety - rackety wooden hut, and Bevois had to take what shelter he could beneath a gaunt tree. “At least I have the flute,” he thought, “and I can play a tune. I’ll play a sad tune because that’s how I feel.”
And so he did – and the tune he played, as he thought of Josyan, and he shivered with the damp and cold, and his insides groaned with hunger, would break your heart.
At least, at first it would, but then his fingers started to move faster and faster – he couldn’t stop them – and he found himself playing a happy tune; a fast tune; a dancing tune. Then the flute wriggled like a snake in his hands, it twisted and turned, and became a strange bell shaped instrument whose dancing music echoed through the forest.
Bevois felt his feet start to move and, in spite of himself, he started to dance round and round the tree. Up in the tree there was a squirrel, and the squirrel started to dance up and down a branch on it’s back legs; then a badger came dancing out from between the trees on it’s back legs. The tree drew its roots from the ground and it started to dance – soon the whole world seemed to be dancing.
Finally Bevois stopped playing, lay down at the foot of the tree, and fell fast asleep.
Then it was morning time, and the sun was shining and the birds were singing.
“Well”, thought Bevois, “I’m still hungry, I still miss Josyan so much, I still don’t know where I’m going – but there are things to be done, adventures to be had – and there’s a whole wide world out there.”
So out he went into the wide, wide world, and he walked, and he walked, and he walked….
… until he came to a great big house.
He looked through the window and saw a very grand room. There were thick carpets on the floor, fancy furniture, pictures on the walls, and chandeliers, even though chandeliers hadn’t yet been invented.
Also in the room there was a flock of sheep – and a terrible mess they were making.
Bevois knocked on the door, the door opened, and there stood a funny little man with a pointy nose.
“What do you want?” demanded the funny little man with a pointy nose.
“Begging your pardon, “said Bevois, “I don’t mean to be nosey, but I couldn’t help noticing a flock of sheep in that very grand room. Now, I’m looking for a job. Do you need a shepherd?”
“There’s no point,” moaned the funny little man with a pointy nose, “because there’s a giant, and he lives in the woods, and his name is Ascupart, and he keeps stealing the sheep. All I can do is bring the sheep into the house, and the straw and hay too - and oh dear, dear me; what a mess, what a mess!”
“Let me look after the sheep,” said Bevois, “and I’ll deal with the giant Ascupart.”
“Don’t be silly, what could a little fellow like you do against a great big giant like Ascupart?”
“Just let me try.”
“Well, you can take a few of the sheep, and we’ll have a trial period; but whatever you do, don’t go to that long, narrow strip of a field at the top of the hill, the one next to the forest edge, the field called Long Acre, because that is were the giant comes.”
So Bevois looked around and thought, “Which field has got the richest, greenest grass?” and of course it would be, wouldn’t it? It was Long Acre.
The little man had given Bevois some food and drink, and so, in Long Acre, he sat down to eat and drink. The sheep were cropping the grass and bleating softly, the sun was shining, the birds were singing, and Bevois drifted off to sleep.
Then out from the forest came a HUGE giant; with huge feet, a red warty nose, a large club, and a leather apron around his belly. He leant down, picked up a sheep, and hurled it into the leather apron.
Bevois awoke, leapt to his feet and shouted the Middle English equivalent of “OI – put that sheep back.”
“ARE YOU GOING TO MAKE ME?” bellowed the giant in astonishment.
“If I have to.”
“Listen, I could crush you with my thumb, little man.”
“Go on, then.”
The giant roared, and leaned down to crush Bevois. But what did Bevois do?
He put that flute to his lips – it wriggled and squirmed and shape-shifted – and dancing music swirled around the hill top and the forest edge, and the giant started to dance.
The giant was dancing, Bevois was dancing, and all the sheep were dancing around Long Acre on their back legs. The giant had the biggest, heaviest legs, so he got tired first.
“Stop, stop, please stop,” he screamed.
“Why should I stop?”
“If you stop I will go into the woods and fetch you back a special suit of armour, a special sword, and a special horse.”
“Well, make sure that you do,” said Bevois sternly.
The giant went into the woods, and when he emerged he had a rusty old suit of armour, a broken sword, and a poor old broken down donkey.
“Right,” said Bevois, and started to play again.
“No, no, no,” said the giant, “this time I will, I will.”
When the giant returned, he brought a shining suit of armour, a shining sword, and a beautiful white horse with a black star on its forehead.
The name of the sword was “Mortglay”.
The name of the horse was “Arundel”.
Then the giant said a strange thing; “I’m weary with being the villain, I’m weary of everyone hating me – but I have to eat. Please, could I come with you and have adventures?”
“All right,” said Bevois, “as long as you behave yourself!”
So they took the sheep back to the funny little man with the pointy nose and set off into the wide, wide world.
They had many adventures in many lands, but one day they were walking three abreast in the wild country of Armorica. You can imagine Bevois holding the horses bridle and the great giant Ascupart striding along beside them. Suddenly the horse turned to Bevois and, for the first time, the horse spoke.
“Bevois, back in Hamtun there is trouble. There is a foul dragon, and the dragon is the spawn of Sir Guy’s wife. A terrible dragon called Murdure has flown southwards from the wild forests of Caledonia, burning and ravaging as it went. The wife of Sir Guy transformed herself into the awful dragon of the southern forest, and over Vectis,” (the ancient name for the Isle of Wight) “they had a mighty copulation. This copulation was so terrible that it raised vast waves and storms, storms so violent that they destroyed the town of Francheville, ruined by dragon breath and sea.
The she dragon then dived into the bottomless waters of Shirley Pond, where she gave birth to a beast that grew into a mighty dragon in three days. The she dragon returned to Hamtun as the earl’s wife, cool as you please.
But her spawn has crawled forth from the pond and wrapped itself around the city walls of Hamtun. It is calling, “Feed me, feed me – give me my dinner.”
The people have brought it all the horses, the cows, the oxen, the pigs, the sheep, the goats, the cats, the dogs, the rats, the mice and still it calls “Feed me, feed me – give me my dinner.”
So there has been a terrible lottery. When your number is called, you are taken outside the city walls, tied to a stake, and fed to the dragon. And the last number to have been drawn is that of Josyan, the fair Josyan. Tonight she is to be fed to the dragon.”
“Nooo,” screamed Bevois, “but we are far away in Armorica, what can we do?”
“Jump on my back and I’ll show you,” said the horse.
So Bevois jumped on to Arundel’s back, and the horse leapt into the air and flew, with the great giant Ascupart running after them.
They flew over rivers, streams, fields, forests, roads, villages, towns, cities – over the sea, over Vectis – till ahead of them was Hamtun. Wrapped around and around the city walls was the hideous dragon.
There also was Josyan, tied to a stake. Arundel and Bevois touched ground next to her to see the dragon busily blowing smoke rings, and admiring them as they drifted over the city walls.
“Leave her be,” shouted Bevois, drawing the mighty sword Mortglay.
The dragon grinned a toothy grin as it lazily looked at the knight, and thought how it liked its food in tins.
“Are you going to make me?” it drawled.
“If I have to,” shouted Bevois, and struck the dragon on the nose with the sword.
“Ow,” squealed the dragon, “that hurt”, and seizing the sword in its jaws it spat it up into the air. The sword flew down the south coast of England and landed in the city of Arundel (same name as the horse of course). To this day, if you go to Arundel Castle you will see a tower called the Bevis Tower, and in the castle you will find the sword Mortglay – all of which tells you that my story is true.
“Now I’m seriously angry”, screeched the dragon in a voice like fire and brimstone and blowing out a great ball of fire, it reared up above Bevois.
But Bevois drew out his flute and started to play. It twisted and shape shifted, and the music swirled around the city and over the sea.
And the dragon danced …
and Bevois danced …
and Ascupart the giant danced …
and Arundel the horse danced …
and even Josyan, tied to the stake, danced a little bit of a jig.
But as the dragon danced it shrank. It got smaller and smaller till it was just the size of a horse – and smaller and smaller till it was just the size of a person – and smaller and smaller till it was just the size of a dog – and smaller and smaller till it was just a strange green bubble. Then Arundel the horse kicked the bubble and there was nothing left but a nasty green stain and a horrible farty smell.
Bevois cut Josyan free from the stake and they fell into each other’s arms. Down from the castle came Sir Guy. “Who are you?” he said.
“Father, don’t you know me?”
“You’re Bevois – and you’re welcome home.”
And so it was that Bevois and Josyan were married – and later they ruled Hamtun, and it is said that they ruled wisely and well (some would say that we need them back).
As for Josyan’s mother; well she went stamping off into Lordswood and she was never seen again.
Or perhaps not.
There are those who say that she became a dragon again and flew shrieking and screaming to Burley Beacon, where she became the dragon that terrorised Bisterne.
Others say that if you walk in Lordswood, you might come to a clearing, and in the clearing there is a well, and at the well you will see a woman filling seven wooden jugs with water.
But if you turn round – blink – and look again: there’s nothing there.
— Mike O’Leary :)
ONCE A UPON A TIME Southampton was called Hamtun, and Hamtun had a castle – it’s long gone now; except for Windwhistle Tower. In that castle there lived a boy called Bevois. He lived there with his father, Sir Guy, who was Earl of Hamtun. Sir Guy was important, but he wasn’t happy. His wife had died, and so he turned his face against the world – and he showed no care for little Bevois. Often he’d lash out at the boy, and try though Bevois might to earn the approval of his father he only ever seemed to be subject to his anger.
One day Sir Guy was going out hunting. Hooves clattered across the courtyard as he trotted out towards Lordswood, the great forest that lay behind Hamtun and connected the Forest of Bere to the east with the New Forest to the west.
Bevois ran after him and called, “Father, father, can I come with you?”
“Get away from me,” roared Sir Guy and kicked out at him. Poor Bevois ran back into the castle crying.
Sir Guy rode deeper and deeper into the forest.
“I shouldn’t have done that”, he thought, “but ever since my wife died I’ve never done the right thing. Foolish it may be, but I’ve always blamed Bevois, since she died giving birth to him.”
As he rode deeper into the forest Sir Guy came upon a clearing in the woods. In the clearing there was a well, and at the well there was a woman and a little girl. The woman was filling seven wooden jugs with water.
“What are you doing?” demanded Sir Guy.
“This is my job”, she said, “I fill the jugs up with water, carry them down to the village and sell them.”
“Then I will buy one”, said Sir Guy, and lifting the jug he drank deep.
Looking at her, he said, “You seem to be a strong woman, and a capable one. I need a wife, and a mother for the boy, will you marry me?”
“Well”, she thought, “that’s a bit sudden”, but things do happen a bit suddenly in stories – and she thought, “Hmmmm, Sir Guy of Hamtun, a very important man – not bad”.
“Very well,” she said, “but this is my daughter, and she’s called Josyan. She would have to come with me.”
And so it was – they returned to Hamtun and they were married. The wedding was wonderful; there were troubadours and harpists, clowns and jugglers, fire eaters and play actors. They even had storytellers. (I was there myself, though unfortunately I spent the night in the dungeons for getting too drunk to remember any stories.)
Well, it would be good to finish the story there with a “They all lived happily ever after”…
... but they didn’t.
You see, she turned out to be not so very nice. Oh, she liked being important, she liked being the Earl of Hamtun’s wife. She’d shout at the servants, “My dinner’s too hot,” or, “my dinner’s too cold,” or “Take that servant away, give him the sack,” or “Chop off his head!” She was terrible. As for little Bevois, she didn’t like him at all. She thought that one day he’d be Earl of Hamtun, and she didn’t want that.
So she tried to make his life even more miserable than it already was, but miserable he was not. You see, her little daughter, Josyan, became firm friends with Bevois and they became playmates and made each other happy.
Time passed and time passed, as it does both in and out of stories, and Josyan became older and Bevois became older, until Josyan became a young woman and Bevois became a young man.
And – inevitably;
… they fell in love.
Now – Josyan’s mother noticed this and growled to herself, “I won’t have her marrying him, I’ll put a stop to this.”
In those days people believed that your dreams came true, so she pretended that she’d had a dream.
“Sir Guy,” she said, “I had a dream last night. I dreamed that there was your very important looking wooden chair,” – it was a bit like a throne, with carvings of dragons on the side, “and Bevois crept up behind it and chopped it to splinters with an axe. What do you think the dream meant?”
The next day she said, “Sir Guy, last night I had a dream that you were sitting in your very important looking wooden chair, and Bevois crept up behind you with an axe and CHOPPED OFF YOUR HEAD. What do you think the dream meant?”
Day after day she said she had these terrible dreams – though she made them all up.
Finally it was too much for Sir Guy.
“Bring Bevois to me,” he roared at the guards.
Bevois was brought to him, and Sir Guy said, “Bevois, you must go, you must leave this place, because I think that you mean to do me harm”.
“Why, what is it that I have done?”
“My wife has had these dreams …”
“Ah – has she. Very well, I will go. I will do what they do in stories; I will go and seek my fortune.”
Bevois went to get a cloth, he fashioned it into a bag, he tied it onto the end of a stick, and went down to the kitchens for some food and drink to put in the bag.
Then he had to say farewell to Josyan. Holding each other, the tears running down their cheeks, they felt that their hearts were breaking inside them.
“One day – one day,” said Bevois, “I will return”.
“I will always wait for you,” sobbed Josyan – because in stories that’s just what you do.
Then Bevois left Hamtun – and he walked and he walked and he walked. It was a cold, grey, wet, miserable day and Bevois walked deeper and deeper into the forest. He didn’t know where he was going and he knew that when he had eaten the food and drank the drink he’d have nothing, and so with a deep weight on his heart he trudged on.
Night fell, and still Bevois was walking – then through the darkness he saw a twinkling light. He followed the light through the trees and came to a rickety - rackety wooden hut. He knocked on the door, heard a scuffling and grumbling from the inside, and the door was opened by a withered old woman.
“What do you want?” She eyed him suspiciously.
“Please, good woman, could I take shelter here for the night?”
“I’ve got nothing, nothing to share with the likes of you.”
“I have some food and drink,” said Bevois, “and gladly I’d share it with you.”
“Oh – very well.”
Once inside, Bevois took the bag from the stick and the old woman eyed the food hungrily. She looked so old and frail and hungry that Bevois thought, “She needs this food more than I do”, and he gave her nearly all the food, indeed he pretended he was eating more than he really was.
When the morning came the old woman said, “I’m not as daft as you think, and I saw that last night you gave me nearly all the food that you had. You are a good man, and I have a present for you”. She handed Bevois a rough looking wooden flute.
“This is a magic flute”, she said, “and you’ll know when you need it.”
“Well, it won’t really do anything,” he thought, “but it’s good of her to give it to me, and it would be an abuse of hospitality not to accept”, so he said thank you, and off he went.
It was another cold, wet, miserable day, and he walked and he walked and he walked. When night fell there wasn’t even a rickety - rackety wooden hut, and Bevois had to take what shelter he could beneath a gaunt tree. “At least I have the flute,” he thought, “and I can play a tune. I’ll play a sad tune because that’s how I feel.”
And so he did – and the tune he played, as he thought of Josyan, and he shivered with the damp and cold, and his insides groaned with hunger, would break your heart.
At least, at first it would, but then his fingers started to move faster and faster – he couldn’t stop them – and he found himself playing a happy tune; a fast tune; a dancing tune. Then the flute wriggled like a snake in his hands, it twisted and turned, and became a strange bell shaped instrument whose dancing music echoed through the forest.
Bevois felt his feet start to move and, in spite of himself, he started to dance round and round the tree. Up in the tree there was a squirrel, and the squirrel started to dance up and down a branch on it’s back legs; then a badger came dancing out from between the trees on it’s back legs. The tree drew its roots from the ground and it started to dance – soon the whole world seemed to be dancing.
Finally Bevois stopped playing, lay down at the foot of the tree, and fell fast asleep.
Then it was morning time, and the sun was shining and the birds were singing.
“Well”, thought Bevois, “I’m still hungry, I still miss Josyan so much, I still don’t know where I’m going – but there are things to be done, adventures to be had – and there’s a whole wide world out there.”
So out he went into the wide, wide world, and he walked, and he walked, and he walked….
… until he came to a great big house.
He looked through the window and saw a very grand room. There were thick carpets on the floor, fancy furniture, pictures on the walls, and chandeliers, even though chandeliers hadn’t yet been invented.
Also in the room there was a flock of sheep – and a terrible mess they were making.
Bevois knocked on the door, the door opened, and there stood a funny little man with a pointy nose.
“What do you want?” demanded the funny little man with a pointy nose.
“Begging your pardon, “said Bevois, “I don’t mean to be nosey, but I couldn’t help noticing a flock of sheep in that very grand room. Now, I’m looking for a job. Do you need a shepherd?”
“There’s no point,” moaned the funny little man with a pointy nose, “because there’s a giant, and he lives in the woods, and his name is Ascupart, and he keeps stealing the sheep. All I can do is bring the sheep into the house, and the straw and hay too - and oh dear, dear me; what a mess, what a mess!”
“Let me look after the sheep,” said Bevois, “and I’ll deal with the giant Ascupart.”
“Don’t be silly, what could a little fellow like you do against a great big giant like Ascupart?”
“Just let me try.”
“Well, you can take a few of the sheep, and we’ll have a trial period; but whatever you do, don’t go to that long, narrow strip of a field at the top of the hill, the one next to the forest edge, the field called Long Acre, because that is were the giant comes.”
So Bevois looked around and thought, “Which field has got the richest, greenest grass?” and of course it would be, wouldn’t it? It was Long Acre.
The little man had given Bevois some food and drink, and so, in Long Acre, he sat down to eat and drink. The sheep were cropping the grass and bleating softly, the sun was shining, the birds were singing, and Bevois drifted off to sleep.
Then out from the forest came a HUGE giant; with huge feet, a red warty nose, a large club, and a leather apron around his belly. He leant down, picked up a sheep, and hurled it into the leather apron.
Bevois awoke, leapt to his feet and shouted the Middle English equivalent of “OI – put that sheep back.”
“ARE YOU GOING TO MAKE ME?” bellowed the giant in astonishment.
“If I have to.”
“Listen, I could crush you with my thumb, little man.”
“Go on, then.”
The giant roared, and leaned down to crush Bevois. But what did Bevois do?
He put that flute to his lips – it wriggled and squirmed and shape-shifted – and dancing music swirled around the hill top and the forest edge, and the giant started to dance.
The giant was dancing, Bevois was dancing, and all the sheep were dancing around Long Acre on their back legs. The giant had the biggest, heaviest legs, so he got tired first.
“Stop, stop, please stop,” he screamed.
“Why should I stop?”
“If you stop I will go into the woods and fetch you back a special suit of armour, a special sword, and a special horse.”
“Well, make sure that you do,” said Bevois sternly.
The giant went into the woods, and when he emerged he had a rusty old suit of armour, a broken sword, and a poor old broken down donkey.
“Right,” said Bevois, and started to play again.
“No, no, no,” said the giant, “this time I will, I will.”
When the giant returned, he brought a shining suit of armour, a shining sword, and a beautiful white horse with a black star on its forehead.
The name of the sword was “Mortglay”.
The name of the horse was “Arundel”.
Then the giant said a strange thing; “I’m weary with being the villain, I’m weary of everyone hating me – but I have to eat. Please, could I come with you and have adventures?”
“All right,” said Bevois, “as long as you behave yourself!”
So they took the sheep back to the funny little man with the pointy nose and set off into the wide, wide world.
They had many adventures in many lands, but one day they were walking three abreast in the wild country of Armorica. You can imagine Bevois holding the horses bridle and the great giant Ascupart striding along beside them. Suddenly the horse turned to Bevois and, for the first time, the horse spoke.
“Bevois, back in Hamtun there is trouble. There is a foul dragon, and the dragon is the spawn of Sir Guy’s wife. A terrible dragon called Murdure has flown southwards from the wild forests of Caledonia, burning and ravaging as it went. The wife of Sir Guy transformed herself into the awful dragon of the southern forest, and over Vectis,” (the ancient name for the Isle of Wight) “they had a mighty copulation. This copulation was so terrible that it raised vast waves and storms, storms so violent that they destroyed the town of Francheville, ruined by dragon breath and sea.
The she dragon then dived into the bottomless waters of Shirley Pond, where she gave birth to a beast that grew into a mighty dragon in three days. The she dragon returned to Hamtun as the earl’s wife, cool as you please.
But her spawn has crawled forth from the pond and wrapped itself around the city walls of Hamtun. It is calling, “Feed me, feed me – give me my dinner.”
The people have brought it all the horses, the cows, the oxen, the pigs, the sheep, the goats, the cats, the dogs, the rats, the mice and still it calls “Feed me, feed me – give me my dinner.”
So there has been a terrible lottery. When your number is called, you are taken outside the city walls, tied to a stake, and fed to the dragon. And the last number to have been drawn is that of Josyan, the fair Josyan. Tonight she is to be fed to the dragon.”
“Nooo,” screamed Bevois, “but we are far away in Armorica, what can we do?”
“Jump on my back and I’ll show you,” said the horse.
So Bevois jumped on to Arundel’s back, and the horse leapt into the air and flew, with the great giant Ascupart running after them.
They flew over rivers, streams, fields, forests, roads, villages, towns, cities – over the sea, over Vectis – till ahead of them was Hamtun. Wrapped around and around the city walls was the hideous dragon.
There also was Josyan, tied to a stake. Arundel and Bevois touched ground next to her to see the dragon busily blowing smoke rings, and admiring them as they drifted over the city walls.
“Leave her be,” shouted Bevois, drawing the mighty sword Mortglay.
The dragon grinned a toothy grin as it lazily looked at the knight, and thought how it liked its food in tins.
“Are you going to make me?” it drawled.
“If I have to,” shouted Bevois, and struck the dragon on the nose with the sword.
“Ow,” squealed the dragon, “that hurt”, and seizing the sword in its jaws it spat it up into the air. The sword flew down the south coast of England and landed in the city of Arundel (same name as the horse of course). To this day, if you go to Arundel Castle you will see a tower called the Bevis Tower, and in the castle you will find the sword Mortglay – all of which tells you that my story is true.
“Now I’m seriously angry”, screeched the dragon in a voice like fire and brimstone and blowing out a great ball of fire, it reared up above Bevois.
But Bevois drew out his flute and started to play. It twisted and shape shifted, and the music swirled around the city and over the sea.
And the dragon danced …
and Bevois danced …
and Ascupart the giant danced …
and Arundel the horse danced …
and even Josyan, tied to the stake, danced a little bit of a jig.
But as the dragon danced it shrank. It got smaller and smaller till it was just the size of a horse – and smaller and smaller till it was just the size of a person – and smaller and smaller till it was just the size of a dog – and smaller and smaller till it was just a strange green bubble. Then Arundel the horse kicked the bubble and there was nothing left but a nasty green stain and a horrible farty smell.
Bevois cut Josyan free from the stake and they fell into each other’s arms. Down from the castle came Sir Guy. “Who are you?” he said.
“Father, don’t you know me?”
“You’re Bevois – and you’re welcome home.”
And so it was that Bevois and Josyan were married – and later they ruled Hamtun, and it is said that they ruled wisely and well (some would say that we need them back).
As for Josyan’s mother; well she went stamping off into Lordswood and she was never seen again.
Or perhaps not.
There are those who say that she became a dragon again and flew shrieking and screaming to Burley Beacon, where she became the dragon that terrorised Bisterne.
Others say that if you walk in Lordswood, you might come to a clearing, and in the clearing there is a well, and at the well you will see a woman filling seven wooden jugs with water.
But if you turn round – blink – and look again: there’s nothing there.
— Mike O’Leary :)
Well - that was one story: now here’s another!
THIS MUCH MORE closely follows the 14th century poem, which is one of the most famous sources of the Bevis, or Bevois, story. This poem specifically connects Bevois to Southampton. It is still my version, of course, as I’m passing the tale along the chain, as storytellers always have. It is a version that will be in my forthcoming book, Hampshire and Isle of Wight Folktales for Children; due out soon, to be published by the History press.
I used Gammer Gurton’s, The Renowned History of Sir Bevis of Hampton to get access to the medieval romance. This is a children’s book, published in the 1820s.
Since then Lynn Forest-Hill has brought out a translation of the romance which I think is excellent. It was published as part of the So to Speak Festival in Southampton, and was introduced at a concert where I told a Bevois story in glorious collaboration with the Southampton Folk Orchestra, and the Delicious Sounds Choir. It only costs £5.99 and there are still copies of the festival edition available from Blackwells in Portsmouth. These can be ordered by email: [email protected] or by phone: 02392 832 813. Payment can be made by phone or email, but preferably by phone.
Bevois of Southampton
THIS STORY STARTS in Scotland, in a gloomy castle, on a gloomy headland, overlooking the dark North Sea. This was the gloomy place where a gloomy girl called Murdina grew up. I’m not surprised she was gloomy, because being brought up to be a lady in those days really wasn’t much fun. You had to spend all your time doing embroidery, being respectful to oafish knights, and talking about silly things – you were never allowed to talk about anything serious. Murdina could do all that – she played the game, because to have rebelled would have just made life worse – but secretly she dreamed about love, sunshine, blue seas, happy music and sizzling sausages. She had heard that in other countries sausages could sizzle and pop in a pan, rather than float, semi-submerged, in a slowly bubbling, greasy, fatty, glutinous gunge.
So, when Sir Murdure, from far away Almayne, came to visit – with his fancy clothes, confident manner, and gleaming, shiny teeth – she thought he was wonderful. He seemed to be a symbol of all the things she had been dreaming about. She was a teenager now, and he was in his twenties; to her he seemed so mature and masterful. Her father, however, thought that Sir Murdure was a flashy little twerp, and that Almayne wasn’t a very important place.
Now, one of the worse things about being a lady was that your father had you brought up just to have you married off. Some fathers were better than others, but really they never paid much attention to the feelings of their daughters; they just wanted to make connections with other kingdoms and become more powerful. Murdina’s father didn’t think much of Sir Murdure as a match for his daughter, but he had heard of another knight, a knight who was definitely looking for a wife. This was Sir Guy, and Sir Guy lived in Southampton, which was nearly as far away as Almayne. Southampton was important because it was a port, and ships from Southampton traded with faraway places such as Genoa, Sicily, and Marseilles. Sir Guy’s last wife had sadly died of the marsh fever after a visit to Portsmouth, so he needed a new one. Murdina’s father thought to himself, “Aha, if I marry her off to Sir Guy I’ll make an important partnership with Southampton, and Southampton is a prosperous city”.
But Murdina had fallen completely in love with Sir Murdure, and they used to sneak out of the castle keep to have a kiss and a cuddle round the back of the bottle dungeon (a very nasty prison with a sloping floor which made it impossible to be comfortable; it was where Murdina’s father would put people he didn’t like – and that was quite a lot of people).
So when Murdina heard that she was to be married off to Sir Guy, she cried, “No father, I love Sir Murdure. He is handsome and fit, and he has very shiny teeth – I hear that Sir Guy is old and daft, and for all I know he has false teeth made out of whale bones”.
“You’ll do what you’re told, young lady,” said her father, who always managed to say things in an annoying and patronising way, “and as for that flash git, Sir Fancy Pantsy Murdure, he can just bog off back to Almayne.”
So a very resentful and angry Sir Murdure was sent packing, and Murdina was put on a boat that had to sail all the way down the east coast of Scotland and England, turn right at Kent, past Dover, Fairlight and Beachy, then along the south coast to Southampton.
Now that was a very long journey that took several weeks, and Murdina consoled herself by thinking that Southampton was going to be a warmer and sunnier place than her father’s castle. She hoped that it would be like the places it traded with, Genoa, Sicily and Marseilles, and that the sky would be blue, and the sea would be blue, and warm breezes would come fluttering in from the Mediterranean.
They approached Southampton at night and at first it did seem to be a beautiful place. There was a castle on a mound, they could see the distant shore of the Isle of Wight (she thought that maybe it was Sicily), and a full moon hung in the sky over the city by the sea.
Well, she married Sir Guy, and that was that. It wasn’t so bad at first, it was nice giving picnics and stuff, and being important and having loads of servants; she even had a woman to wash her bum after having a poo. But it wasn’t Sicily. The River Itchen was slow and muddy and got its name from all the insects that flew out of its estuary at low tide, and made you itchy - the River Test was clearer, but it wasn’t exactly blue. The people were slow and dull-witted and always moaning and complaining, and all the town councillors, who Sir Guy had to keep in order, just wanted to prance around and look important.
And as for Sir Guy - well he wasn’t that old, and he had all his own teeth, and he was never nasty to her - but he didn’t pay her much attention either. He was always doing important things; organising a water supply, so that clean water could run down to the city from the springs at Shirley, chairing meetings of the councillors that went on and on and on, entertaining important visitors and looking interested when they made long boring speeches, and riding round the city, looking important himself.
Then Murdina fell pregnant; she felt sick and ill all the way through the pregnancy, and finally gave birth to a baby boy, who they called Bevois. She didn’t like him very much, she didn’t like babies much anyway, and given that she wasn’t happy herself, she had no happiness to share with the baby.
It was then that she started to think about Sir Murdure, with his fashionable clothes and his shiny teeth.
“If I was married to him,” she thought, “everything would be fine, and I would be happy.”
So Bevois was brought up by nurse maids and servants, and as he grew up he didn’t have a lot of contact with his mum, he got his cuddles from his nurse maid, who became his nanny; he ran around the corridors and passages of the castle, and he ranged free through the forest that lay behind Southampton. He grew big and strong. Well – he had a lot more freedom than his mother ever had.
Murdina thought more and more about Sir Murdure, until in her imagination his teeth were even more shiny than ever they really had been, and his face more handsome than ever could be possible. He was her lost love, and when you’ve got one of those you blow them up into a picture bigger than anything real.
Well, hens hatch eggs, and people who are bored, fed-up and resentful hatch plots - so Murdina hatched a plot. She sent a letter to Sir Murdure in faraway Almayne - and after a few weeks she got a reply: “Yes, good plan, go for it”.
She then spoke to Sir Guy; “Husband, we need to go on a tour around Hampshire. Southampton is Hampshire’s main city, and you need to show everyone how important you are. You also need to remind some of those minor knights, such as Sir Billy of Basing, and Sir Willy of Winchester, that they owe you money”.
“Wife,” said Sir Guy, “that’s good thinking; we’ll set off on Thursday.”
And so they did. They went on a grand tour, and they stayed in very grand places, round and about Hampshire.
It was the eve of Mayday when they were staying in Wherwell Abbey, and Murdina took to her bed, clutching her tummy. “Oh husband, I’m not well,” she said, “I think the only thing that will make me feel better is wild boar – I do love a good hog roast.”
“She’s having cravings”, thought Sir Guy, “maybe she’s pregnant again. She might give birth to a daughter, and when the girl is old enough I can marry her off to someone even more important than me. Maybe I could even marry her off to King Edgar’s son, Ethelred the Unsteady.”
“Righty-ho, wife,” said Sir Guy, “I’ll just nip off into Harewood Forest and do a bit of the old boar hunting. Tonight we’ll have a hog roast with gallons of scrumpy cider, and that’ll make you feel better.”
Deep in the forest, Sir Guy caught sight of a boar. He whipped up his horse and went chasing after it, but as he entered a clearing in the woods at a place called Deadman’s Plack, he found himself facing Sir Murdure and a gang of wicked looking mercenaries. Mercenaries are soldiers who hire themselves out to the highest bidder, and they really aren’t nice.
“Not good enough, am I?” said Sir Murdure, “well, we’ll see whose good enough now.”
A massive fight followed. Sir Guy was very brave and very strong, and he killed several of Sir Murdure’s mercenaries before he was brought down himself. Then Sir Murdure raised his sword and chopped off Sir Guy’s head, and that was the end of him.
Sir Murdure strode into Wherwell Abbey and announced to Murdina: “Lady, I have a present for you”, and threw a sack at her feet. She opened it up, and there was her husband’s head. “Ooh goody,” she said, “Let’s get married”.
And so it was that they rode back to Southampton at the head of an army of knights, some of whom were Murdure’s mercenaries, and some of whom were Sir Guy’s knights - those who knew on which side their bread was buttered and thought it best to join the other lot. Well, Sir Murdure was the boss now!
When they came riding through the Bargate, which is the name for the main entrance into the city of Southampton, all the people came out to cheer them. That may not sound very loyal, but the boss is the boss, and if you are one of the ordinary people it is sometimes easier to cheer on whoever it is, and then get on with your own life.
Bevois, however; now he really wasn’t happy. He had got on with his dad; they used to go out hawking and boar hunting together, and other such gentlemanly pursuits - but now his father’s head was dangling from his mother’s saddle.
“Mother,” shouted Bevois, “You rotten pig - how could you do such a wicked thing?”
Well, that really is no way to talk to your mother, even if she does have your dad’s head dangling from her saddle; so she got off her horse, and smacked him one round the side of his head, which knocked him over. Bevois ran off to his room, leaving his mother thinking that she was going to have to get rid of him.
So a few days later she summoned a knight called Sir Saba. Now Sir Saba was Sir Guy’s brother, and had been in mourning.
“You have to accept that Sir Murdure is the boss round here now,” said Murdina, “and if you can’t accept it I’ll have your head too. This is a test of your loyalty. I want you to take Bevois out to the forest, and I want you to kill the little brat. If you do me this favour, I will see that you are well rewarded, and your future here will be assured. I want you to make it look like a hunting accident.”
Sir Saba had no choice - if the Lady Murdina said “jump”, you jumped.
Deep in the forest, with the sun shining through the branches of the trees and making dappled patterns on the ground, Sir Saba drew his sword and faced Bevois.
“I’m sorry Bevois, but you are to die. It is the way of things.”
Bevois looked at Sir Saba, and then got down on his knees and lowered his head.
“Then chop off my head sir, it is a sorry world that I would leave.”
Sir Saba lowered his sword - he knew he couldn’t do this terrible thing.
“Come with me Bevois, I keep sheep in the high fields above Portswood village. You must dress as a shepherd, and be a shepherd, and bide your time.”
Then Sir Saba killed a pig, and dipped Bevois’ clothes in the blood. He took them back to Southampton and the Lady Murdina as “proof” that Bevois was dead.
Well, several weeks passed, and as preparations were made for the wedding of Murdina and Murdure, Bevois watched from the high fields above Southampton.
Come the day of the wedding, Bevois stood amongst his sheep and watched the city. He could see the wedding guests streaming in, and flags and banners a’ flying, and he could hear the preparations being made for a great feast. When the trumpets sounded it all became too much for him, and he ran down the hill brandishing his shepherd’s crook. He went hurtling through the village of Portswood, and then careered down a steep valley which has ever since been known as Bevois Valley, though it must have had another name then. He charged through the gates of the castle, then crawled underneath the table at which were sitting all the great and important knights, and gave Sir Murdure a massive thwack on the knees with his shepherd’s crook.
“Ooooow” howled Sir Murdure, and ran around the room, bent double and clutching his knees, “Knights, guards, soldiers – get the little brat.”
All the knights piled in to catch Bevois, and under the table they all got tangled up with each other. Sir Clodwig’s boot was in Sir Glodwig’s ear, Sir Leodeprance’s elbow was in Sir Spareaglance’s stomach, and Sir Fladulance’s smelly bum was in Sir Gladioli’s face. Bevois wriggled out from under this twisting mass of knighthood, and legged it towards the door.
“Oh no you don’t,” screamed Murdina, as she came rocketing into the hall like a bat out of hell; and she grabbed Bevois in a neck lock that had him gasping for breath.
“Sir Saba”, she screeched, “Come here you wretched excuse for a knight.”
“My Lady, my Lady, I could not kill him”, stammered Sir Saba, and in an aside to Bevois he hissed, “Thanks very much, now that’s really dropped me into the do-do”.
“This is what you will do, Sir Saba,” snarled Murdina, “You will take him down to the black and oozy bed of the River Itchen at Northam - just outside the city - and you will bury him up to his neck. You will then let the tide come in and drown him. If you don’t do this thing, it will be you who will be buried up to your neck in the river mud - and I will be happy to watch you drown.”
So a gang of Murdure’s mercenaries took Sir Saba and Bevois down to the River Itchen, and the mercenaries watched whilst Saba buried Bevois up to his neck in the mud. They didn’t stay to watch him drown because they were missing valuable drinking time at the wedding, and whilst they were not men given to fear, they were terrified that the wedding guests would polish off all the beer, so they went back to the castle, dragging Sir Saba with them.
Poor Bevois, the tide slowly came in, and the water rose till it was over his chin and he thought he’d be drowned for sure. The water was high enough for a ship to come sailing up the central channel, and along came a trading galley from faraway Armenia.
“I think that’s someone’s head sticking out of the mud,” said one of the sailors (in Armenian).
“Don’t be silly,” said another sailor (also in Armenian), “What sort of person would bury someone up to his neck in mud?”
“These Christians, they’re capable of anything,” said the captain. The sailors were all Muslims, and as far as they could see, Christian countries didn’t seem to behave in a very Christian manner.
Well, the sailors brought the galley to the very edge of the channel, threw carpets on to the mud, and crawled out to Bevois. They dug him out using cooking pots and their bare hands.
And that is how Bevois travelled all the way to Armenia (Armenia is land locked, so they had to walk the last bit). The sailors brought him before their King (who liked a good story) and said, “Look what we found”.
The King listened to Bevois’ story.
“I knew Sir Guy,” he said, “He was a valiant knight. I want you to stay here and pledge yourself to me as your king. I will have you trained to become one of my knights.”
And so it was that for the next seven years Bevois grew into a young man at the court of King Emryn of Armenia. Now King Emryn had a daughter, and she was called Josian. We know what happens in stories - Josian and Bevois fell in love.
At the end of this seven years, on Christmas day, Bevois was riding across the fields on a fine horse. He didn’t know it was Christmas day - how could he? He was at the court of a Muslim king, who held different holy days, and different special days. One of King Emryn’s men knew that it was Christmas, though. He was a clever man who knew lots of things, but he only used his cleverness to cause trouble.
“Well,” said the knight to Bevois, “You would ride forth on what is supposed to be your special day, the Feast of the Nativity. Your religion must be pretty useless if you pay it no heed.”
“Oh yeah,” shouted Bevois, who was always quick to anger, “I’ll have you know that I honour this day more than any of the festivals of your stupid Mohammed.”
Well, I don’t think that either Jesus or Mohammed would think much of this, people fighting in their names, when really all that they’re fighting about is their own pride. But, do you know what? Grown-ups are much worse than children, and when grown-ups fight they invent all sorts of excuses, and when they fight over religion they dishonour their religions, because it’s really all about themselves.
Bevois and the knight, and the knight’s men, set too in a massive scrap, and Bevois was now a powerful warrior. He killed the knight, and knocked all his men off their horses.
King Emryn was very cross when he heard about this, and disappointed, because he loved Bevois like a son. He called Bevois to him and said, “Bevois you dishonour me, and both our religions – you are going to have to go”.
It was Josian who softened the king’s heart – she pleaded for Bevois, and she told her father that Bevois could become one of his greatest knights, and that he loved Emryn like a father. Emryn, who was really quite a nice person for a king, relented, and said, “Oh all right; just tell him to behave himself.”
So it was that Bevois become King Emryn’s greatest knight. He killed a dragon that was ravaging the kingdom (dragons do that), and he rid the land of thieves and bandits.
But then came some very bad news. King Bradmond of Damascus, a very powerful king, sent a message to King Emryn.
Dear Emryn,
I would like very much to marry your daughter, Josian.
If she were to become my wife I could help you look after your little kingdom in Armenia. We could combine our kingdoms into a federation, and then we could keep things simple by having me as king of both. You could then retire, and live in a nice little flat in the castle gardens.
If you say “no” to my proposal I will come to Armenia with my very powerful army, lay waste to the whole country with fire and sword, and then knock your block off.
I await a reply at your earliest possible convenience,
Best wishes,
King Bradmond.
Well, as you can imagine, that made Emryn very nervous – so he called together a council. A lot of his knights said he should just marry Josian to Bradmond, and accept his fate. It was Josian herself who strode into the council chamber and announced, “Father, I have a suggestion.”
“Don’t come in here,” exclaimed her shocked father, “this is not a place for females – be a good girl and go back to your embroidery.”
“Father – you must listen” she shouted.
“No, let her speak,” said one of Emryn’s knights. This knight hated the thought of giving up the kingdom to Bradmond, and because he had fought and ridden with Bevois, he had an inkling of what she was about to say.
“Father,” she said before he had time to stop her, “you know what a great warrior Bevois is. Sometimes the foreigner who has been adopted will fight more fiercely for his new country than someone born and bred there. You have seen Bevois defeat dragons and bandits; now let him lead the army against Bradmond - if anyone can do the business, it is Bevois.”
Now King Emryn knew that this was true, though he didn’t know that the main reason Bevois would want to beat Bradmond was because he was in love with Josian, and the thought that she should be married off to that warlord was unbearable to him.
And so it was that King Emryn knighted Bevois, and it was Sir Bevois that lead the army into battle against the mighty army of King Bradmond of Damascus. Bevois had more than his own skill, strength and cunning, however. He also rode a great horse, Arundel, a horse that had been presented to him by Josian herself, and a horse that could be ridden by no-one but Josian or Bevois, and he wielded a great sword, Mortglay, that had been forged in the blood of the dragon slain by Bevois, and blessed by the Princess Josian.
You won’t be surprised to hear that Sir Bevois was victorious, he proved himself to be a great general, and he returned to Emryn’s castle with King Bradmond as a prisoner.
Well, Emryn was a diplomat, and he allowed Bradmond to return to Damascus. He knew that it was best not to cause all sorts of future hatred by being vengeful - but now Bradmond would be beholden to him, so Emryn would be top dog.
Josian was so pleased to see Bevois return in one piece, that when he was stabling Arundel, she came into the stables and fell into his arms. Two other knights saw this, and they ran straight off to King Emryn and told him that his daughter was kissing and cuddling Sir Bevois.
Now Bevois was a great knight. Josian and Bevois loved each other. Maybe that should have pleased King Emryn. But we know that these great kings and knights thought that they owned their daughters, and it was they who chose who their daughters should marry, and given that Emryn had allowed his daughter more freedom than most kings did, this was all too much for him. Emryn’s anger was particularly great because he felt that Bevois had betrayed him, and was just taking advantage of Josian. Perhaps, in spite of everything, Emryn still couldn’t really see that Josian had a mind of her own.
But Emryn wasn’t going to make a scene, he wasn’t going to shout at Bevois, or threaten him. Instead he asked him to take a letter to King Bradmond in Damascus. Bevois, of course, didn’t know what was written in the letter.
Dear King Bradmond,
I hope you are behaving yourself.
Given that I am now the boss, you must do what I say. However, I don’t think you’ll mind fulfilling this request, because you have no cause to like the messenger. I would like you, please, on receipt of this letter, to put the bearer thereof, Sir Bevois, to death. I’ve rather gone off him.
Thank you very much.
Yours faithfully,
Emryn (King).
Well, on receiving this letter, King Bradmond had Bevois flung into a dungeon, a dungeon that just happened to contain two rather venomous dragons. Bevois fought the dragons, but eventually, in the confusion of the fight, the dragons fought each other. Locked together, the dragons poisoned one another. There were times after that when Bevois wished the dragons had killed him, because he was locked in that dungeon for seven long years. He passed the time by writing several books, and composing music. Later on one of the jailors sold the manuscripts to a Viking trader, and he took them to Iceland. They are still there in a little museum in a small town by the sea.
During his time in prison Bevois was mainly fed bran and water, which isn’t very nice, or very nourishing. On special days he was given better stuff, vine leaves stuffed with rice and mince, or kebabs with onion and nuts, but that was only on special days, so he grew thinner and thinner.
At the end of the seven years, King Bradmond thought to himself, “Well, now Bevois will be weak enough for us to kill him”; and he sent two soldiers down to the dungeon to do Bevois in. Big mistake. Bevois had great reserves of strength – some of this he had inherited from his father, but a lot of it, and he would never admit the fact, was inherited from his mother. He bashed the two soldier’s noggins together, and that was the end of them.
It was night time, so he crept out of his cell, grabbed the surprised jailor and locked him in with the two dead soldiers, nicked a horse, and galloped off.
When morning came, and it was discovered that Bevois had escaped – you can imagine King Bradmond’s rage.
“Catch him – get the rotten twerp – kill him”, shouted Bradmond at his knights, and they all donned their armour and went off in hot pursuit.
Bevois was weak with hunger, so they eventually caught up with him, just as he approached a great castle inhabited by a wicked giant. The giant had heard all about Bevois and thought to himself, “If I bash his brains out, King Bradmond will be pleased with me.” So he rushed at Bevois, brandishing his mighty club. Quickly Bevois shouted, “aha – my men will bring you down, you great, fetid lump”.
The giant looked at the knights who were following Bevois, and bellowed, “So these are your men, useless looking shower of ninnies, I’ll bash them first, and then I’ll flatten you”, and he proceeded to bash all Bevois’ pursuers to bits. Bevois grabbed one of the soldiers swords, and before the giant knew what was happening Bevois had chopped off his head. And that was that. Bevois then went into the castle and had dinner, which made him feel a lot better.
The next morning he set off again - and now he was on a quest (knights like going on quests); and his quest was to find Josian.
On the road he met a palmer. Now, a palmer is a pilgrim, and this man was on his way to Jerusalem - a place that is considered holy by more than one religion, something that meant the people of Jerusalem could flog all sorts of trinkets, but was always bad news when the members of one religion wanted the place exclusively for themselves.
“Ho there, palmer,” said Bevois, “What is the news? I’ve been banged up for some years, so I’m out of touch. What of King Emryn, and his daughter, Josian?”
“Oh, Princess Josian is married,” replied the palmer, “She married King Inor.”
Bevois felt a great sinking feeling in his heart.
“She loves this King Inor?” he asked.
“Oh I shouldn’t think so,” said the palmer, “We all know a princess has to do what her dad tells her. They say she loved this bloke called Bevois, but he went back to England. I think he came from some obscure dump called Southampton.”
“Noooooooo …” cried Bevois, and burst into tears.
“There, there”, said the palmer, “I didn’t expect to see a big tough fellow like yourself get so emotional; what’s up mate?”
Bevois told him the whole story.
“Tell you what, mate,” said the palmer, “I’ll swap my special palmer’s clothes for your horse, then you can enter Inor’s castle dressed as a palmer, suss out what’s going on, and no one will know the difference.”
“Nice one,” said Bevois, “swapsies.”
So they swapped the palmer’s clothes for the horse, and the palmer rode on chortling to himself, “I got a horse for some smelly old rags!”
In those days, castles, whether Muslim or Christian, always welcomed pilgrims, and they had special places were pilgrims could be fed. Sikh temples, or gurudwaras, still do the same thing today - whether they’re in England, India, or anywhere else.
So Bevois sat amongst the pilgrims, and it was the Princess Josian herself who brought the food.
“Don’t you know me?” said Bevois.
“No, I don’t think so,” she replied, “but you do look a bit familiar.”
“I’m Bevois, Bevois of Southampton.”
“That, sir, is a cruel and foolish thing to say, and anyway, if you were Bevois, I’d whack you one round the earole, because you disappeared off home.”
“No – I’ve been in one of King Bradmond’s dungeons; your dad wanted me out of the way. I can prove who I am, take me to Arundel the horse.”
Now Arundel was chained up in his stable, because he would let no one ride him but Bevois or Josian, and when Bevois saw this he could have cried again. But as soon as Bevois entered the stable, Arundel whinnied, reared up, and broke his chains – and Josian knew that it really was Bevois.
“I love you, Bevois,” she shouted, “and I really don’t like King Inor, he is old and smelly, and won’t stop blowing off really stinky ones - let us fly from here.”
And so they both leaped astride Arundel and galloped away, though not before seizing the mighty sword, Mortglay.
Well, they were long gone before anyone knew, and Arundel was the fastest horse in the land, so Inor had little chance of catching them. There were plenty of other dangers to face, though.
As they rode down a rocky track through wild mountains, a mighty giant stepped in front of them. He was covered in bristles like a wild boar, and he snorted and grunted.
“Not another one” thought Bevois.
“Ho there”, boomed the giant, “I am the mighty Ascupart, and this is my valley - Ascupart Valley. No-one passes this way, without a scrap.”
“One day,” thought Bevois, “I’m going to have a valley named after me, and maybe it too will be a dodgy place, but for now – I must battle this giant.”
Bevois dismounted, and drew his great, shining sword, Mortglay. The two of them set to in a mighty battle. The giant wielded his club, but Bevois was faster, though Mortglay wasn’t exactly a small sword. After fighting for three days the two of them were exhausted, and Josian was really quite bored with watching them. Bevois and Ascupart both fell onto their backs, and Josian poured some of their precious water over Bevois’ face; “Now’s your chance,” she whispered.
Bevois, dragging his sword, staggered across to Ascupart, and lifted the mighty Mortglay, ready to chop off the giant’s head.
“That’s enough,” shouted Josian, “You don’t have to actually kill him. Spare him and let him come with us, he’ll be handy in a fight.”
“Lady,” said Bevois, feeling a bit miffed, “He may betray us.”
“Listen, Bevois, I gave you that sword, and I’m saying don’t kill him.”
“I’ll second that,” said Ascupart from the ground, “You really wouldn’t want to upset the lady. Spare me, and I’ll be true to you.”
“Then rise, and live,” announced Bevois rather grandly, whilst Josian raised her eyes to the sky - like you do when someone is being a bit of a fancy pants.
So off they went, until they came to the Mediterranean Sea. There was a ship in port, and Ascupart shouted, “Ahoy there, maties, have you got room for a lady, a bloke, a horse, and – um – a giant?”
“Only if you’ve got the money,” the captain shouted back.
“I’ve got a few quid,” bellowed the giant, “Send us a boat.”
“Not likely,” shouted the captain, “I don’t like the look of you.”
So Ascupart picked up Arundel, and put him under one arm, then he picked up Josian and Bevois and put them under the other arm, and waded out to the ship.
“You’d better take us,” said Ascupart to the captain, “or it’ll be the worse for you”.
“Um, all right then. We’re going to Venice.”
“Oooh, that’s nice,” said Bevois, “I’ve always wanted to go to Venice. We can then have a walk across the mountains and go and see my uncle, who is Archbishop of Cologne. It’s rather a long walk, but it should be very scenic, and no doubt we can have a few adventures on the way.”
And that’s just what they did.
Well, after a lot of adventures, they eventually arrived in Cologne, and Bevois’ uncle said, “You two had better get married, you obviously love each other, and people are going to get a bit cross if you hang around together all this time without being married. That sort of thing might have been all right in classical antiquity, but it’s the middle ages now, and we’re much more modern.”
“Ah,” said Josian, “that is a little bit of a problem – I already am married.”
“WHAT – aaargh. That really is very naughty” shrieked the Archbishop of Cologne, “Who are you married to?”
“King Inor.”
“Ah - you’re a Muslim then.”
“Yes - indeed I am.”
Now, neither Muslims nor Christians took a lot of time out to examine what their religions really meant, and neither respected the other’s marriage vows.
“If you become a Christian,” said the Archbishop, thinking he could add another name to his list, “We won’t count your marriage to King Inor, and you can marry my nephew.”
Well, Josian didn’t like the idea – it felt like a betrayal of everything she was brought up with. But then she thought about her father marrying her off to someone she didn’t love, of how he‘d tricked Bevois, and about how it was really all about these blokes and their endless politics, and nothing really about religion at all.
“It wouldn’t really make any difference if I was Muslim, Christian, Jewish, Hindu, Buddhist, Zoroastrian, or whatever religion those doddery old druids I keep falling over in the forests have,” she thought, “really, it’s all just words: like stories.”
So she agreed to become a Christian.
Then the archbishop turned to Ascupart the giant. “You too must be baptised a Christian,” he said, “and we have built an especially large font to Christen you in.”
“You can get stuffed,” roared Ascupart , “I’m not becoming a Christian for no-one”, and he picked up the font, and dropped it over the Archbishop’s head. They could all hear the Archbishop shouting from inside the font: “Let me out, let me out”.
“It’ll take a while for all the priests and monks to get him out of that” said Bevois - and turning to Josian, he said, “Let’s get wed in Southampton, in Saint Michael’s Church – but this means I’ve got some business to attend to.”
So, accompanied by many soldiers from Cologne, they set off for England. Before they left the soldiers sprinkled themselves with holy water from Cologne Cathedral; which meant that Bevois’ army was known as the Eau de Cologne.
They travelled west to the coast of France, from whence they took ship to the Isle of Wight.
On the Isle of Wight, who should they find but Sir Saba.
“Ever since I refused to kill you, Bevois, the Lady Murdina and Sir Murdure have turned against me. They heard that you were alive in the east, and they vowed to kill me. So I fled to Wight, and I have many trusty men with me. Southampton has become a tyranny; they have built a mighty stadium for terrible sacrificial sports, and have invited in Scandinavian mercenaries to build great market places in which the citizens are forced to buy the most useless goods, and so many have fled across to the Island.”
And so it was that the Eau de Cologne gang joined the Island crew, and they all sailed to Southampton and attacked the surprised Sir Murdure.
There was a massive battle. It ranged from the village of Sholing across to the village of Millbrook, over the sea to the Isle of Wight, and back again. Finally, in the midst of battle, Ascupart the giant caught hold of Sir Murdure, and hurled him into a spiky hedge to the east of Southampton. That is where Sir Murdure met his end - which is why the place of Sir Murdure’s death has ever since been known as Hedge End.
As for Murdina - she let out a terrible scream and threw herself into a deep, dark, pool; a terrible place full of water dragons and monsters, known as Shirley Pond. The water sizzled and steamed as she sank beneath the surface, and continued boiling and bubbling until it was cooled by ice from a place nearby, known as the Ice House.
And so it was that Bevois returned to Southampton, and Bevois and Josian ruled Southampton, and it is said that they ruled wisely and well.
Hundreds of years ago everyone knew stories about Sir Bevois. They wouldn’t always be the same - everyone had their own versions, and no doubt everyone thought that their own version was the “proper” one. Shakespeare, in the play Henry VIII, when describing a fabulous scene, said that it was so impressive that you’d almost believe “that former fabulous story” about Bevis (who in Southampton is known as Bevois). So these stories were known to be great exaggerations used by the common people.
Southampton laid particular claim to these stories, possibly of the popularity because of a 14th century, written romance, called Bevis of Hampton, Hampton being the old name for Southampton. Mind you, there was an ancient monument called Bevis’s Grave on top of Portsdown Hill, overlooking Portsmouth, and another in Arundel in Sussex (same name as the horse), and another ancient monument called Bevis’s Thumb, near the Hampshire-Sussex border at Compton. I guess that there was a much older story that just got adapted by the writer in the 14th century, just as I’ve adapted it now – though that 14th century romance is my main source.
Another ancient monument, called Bevis’s Tomb, was on top of a hill called Bevois Mount, then just outside Southampton. This got swallowed up by buildings, as the city expanded. But the Bevois story is there in the place names of Southampton. There is an area of town called Bevois Town (with a school called Bevois Town Primary School), there is a road called Bevois Valley; and this is all around the hill that, before it all got built on, was known as Bevois Mount.
There is a street called Ascupart Street, and an old tower called Arundel Tower – though it can be a bit draughty at times, so people sometimes call it Catchecold Tower.
In the middle of Southampton there is an old gateway called the Bargate – it was the medieval entrance to the city – and in it there are two old paintings, one of Bevois, and one of Ascupart. I love the fact that even though people have forgotten the stories, the names are still there in the fabric of Southampton.
The sword Mortglay, however, is not in Southampton; it is in Arundel Castle in Sussex. I reckon that they nicked it, and that the people of Southampton should all march to Arundel Castle and demand it back.
THIS MUCH MORE closely follows the 14th century poem, which is one of the most famous sources of the Bevis, or Bevois, story. This poem specifically connects Bevois to Southampton. It is still my version, of course, as I’m passing the tale along the chain, as storytellers always have. It is a version that will be in my forthcoming book, Hampshire and Isle of Wight Folktales for Children; due out soon, to be published by the History press.
I used Gammer Gurton’s, The Renowned History of Sir Bevis of Hampton to get access to the medieval romance. This is a children’s book, published in the 1820s.
Since then Lynn Forest-Hill has brought out a translation of the romance which I think is excellent. It was published as part of the So to Speak Festival in Southampton, and was introduced at a concert where I told a Bevois story in glorious collaboration with the Southampton Folk Orchestra, and the Delicious Sounds Choir. It only costs £5.99 and there are still copies of the festival edition available from Blackwells in Portsmouth. These can be ordered by email: [email protected] or by phone: 02392 832 813. Payment can be made by phone or email, but preferably by phone.
Bevois of Southampton
THIS STORY STARTS in Scotland, in a gloomy castle, on a gloomy headland, overlooking the dark North Sea. This was the gloomy place where a gloomy girl called Murdina grew up. I’m not surprised she was gloomy, because being brought up to be a lady in those days really wasn’t much fun. You had to spend all your time doing embroidery, being respectful to oafish knights, and talking about silly things – you were never allowed to talk about anything serious. Murdina could do all that – she played the game, because to have rebelled would have just made life worse – but secretly she dreamed about love, sunshine, blue seas, happy music and sizzling sausages. She had heard that in other countries sausages could sizzle and pop in a pan, rather than float, semi-submerged, in a slowly bubbling, greasy, fatty, glutinous gunge.
So, when Sir Murdure, from far away Almayne, came to visit – with his fancy clothes, confident manner, and gleaming, shiny teeth – she thought he was wonderful. He seemed to be a symbol of all the things she had been dreaming about. She was a teenager now, and he was in his twenties; to her he seemed so mature and masterful. Her father, however, thought that Sir Murdure was a flashy little twerp, and that Almayne wasn’t a very important place.
Now, one of the worse things about being a lady was that your father had you brought up just to have you married off. Some fathers were better than others, but really they never paid much attention to the feelings of their daughters; they just wanted to make connections with other kingdoms and become more powerful. Murdina’s father didn’t think much of Sir Murdure as a match for his daughter, but he had heard of another knight, a knight who was definitely looking for a wife. This was Sir Guy, and Sir Guy lived in Southampton, which was nearly as far away as Almayne. Southampton was important because it was a port, and ships from Southampton traded with faraway places such as Genoa, Sicily, and Marseilles. Sir Guy’s last wife had sadly died of the marsh fever after a visit to Portsmouth, so he needed a new one. Murdina’s father thought to himself, “Aha, if I marry her off to Sir Guy I’ll make an important partnership with Southampton, and Southampton is a prosperous city”.
But Murdina had fallen completely in love with Sir Murdure, and they used to sneak out of the castle keep to have a kiss and a cuddle round the back of the bottle dungeon (a very nasty prison with a sloping floor which made it impossible to be comfortable; it was where Murdina’s father would put people he didn’t like – and that was quite a lot of people).
So when Murdina heard that she was to be married off to Sir Guy, she cried, “No father, I love Sir Murdure. He is handsome and fit, and he has very shiny teeth – I hear that Sir Guy is old and daft, and for all I know he has false teeth made out of whale bones”.
“You’ll do what you’re told, young lady,” said her father, who always managed to say things in an annoying and patronising way, “and as for that flash git, Sir Fancy Pantsy Murdure, he can just bog off back to Almayne.”
So a very resentful and angry Sir Murdure was sent packing, and Murdina was put on a boat that had to sail all the way down the east coast of Scotland and England, turn right at Kent, past Dover, Fairlight and Beachy, then along the south coast to Southampton.
Now that was a very long journey that took several weeks, and Murdina consoled herself by thinking that Southampton was going to be a warmer and sunnier place than her father’s castle. She hoped that it would be like the places it traded with, Genoa, Sicily and Marseilles, and that the sky would be blue, and the sea would be blue, and warm breezes would come fluttering in from the Mediterranean.
They approached Southampton at night and at first it did seem to be a beautiful place. There was a castle on a mound, they could see the distant shore of the Isle of Wight (she thought that maybe it was Sicily), and a full moon hung in the sky over the city by the sea.
Well, she married Sir Guy, and that was that. It wasn’t so bad at first, it was nice giving picnics and stuff, and being important and having loads of servants; she even had a woman to wash her bum after having a poo. But it wasn’t Sicily. The River Itchen was slow and muddy and got its name from all the insects that flew out of its estuary at low tide, and made you itchy - the River Test was clearer, but it wasn’t exactly blue. The people were slow and dull-witted and always moaning and complaining, and all the town councillors, who Sir Guy had to keep in order, just wanted to prance around and look important.
And as for Sir Guy - well he wasn’t that old, and he had all his own teeth, and he was never nasty to her - but he didn’t pay her much attention either. He was always doing important things; organising a water supply, so that clean water could run down to the city from the springs at Shirley, chairing meetings of the councillors that went on and on and on, entertaining important visitors and looking interested when they made long boring speeches, and riding round the city, looking important himself.
Then Murdina fell pregnant; she felt sick and ill all the way through the pregnancy, and finally gave birth to a baby boy, who they called Bevois. She didn’t like him very much, she didn’t like babies much anyway, and given that she wasn’t happy herself, she had no happiness to share with the baby.
It was then that she started to think about Sir Murdure, with his fashionable clothes and his shiny teeth.
“If I was married to him,” she thought, “everything would be fine, and I would be happy.”
So Bevois was brought up by nurse maids and servants, and as he grew up he didn’t have a lot of contact with his mum, he got his cuddles from his nurse maid, who became his nanny; he ran around the corridors and passages of the castle, and he ranged free through the forest that lay behind Southampton. He grew big and strong. Well – he had a lot more freedom than his mother ever had.
Murdina thought more and more about Sir Murdure, until in her imagination his teeth were even more shiny than ever they really had been, and his face more handsome than ever could be possible. He was her lost love, and when you’ve got one of those you blow them up into a picture bigger than anything real.
Well, hens hatch eggs, and people who are bored, fed-up and resentful hatch plots - so Murdina hatched a plot. She sent a letter to Sir Murdure in faraway Almayne - and after a few weeks she got a reply: “Yes, good plan, go for it”.
She then spoke to Sir Guy; “Husband, we need to go on a tour around Hampshire. Southampton is Hampshire’s main city, and you need to show everyone how important you are. You also need to remind some of those minor knights, such as Sir Billy of Basing, and Sir Willy of Winchester, that they owe you money”.
“Wife,” said Sir Guy, “that’s good thinking; we’ll set off on Thursday.”
And so they did. They went on a grand tour, and they stayed in very grand places, round and about Hampshire.
It was the eve of Mayday when they were staying in Wherwell Abbey, and Murdina took to her bed, clutching her tummy. “Oh husband, I’m not well,” she said, “I think the only thing that will make me feel better is wild boar – I do love a good hog roast.”
“She’s having cravings”, thought Sir Guy, “maybe she’s pregnant again. She might give birth to a daughter, and when the girl is old enough I can marry her off to someone even more important than me. Maybe I could even marry her off to King Edgar’s son, Ethelred the Unsteady.”
“Righty-ho, wife,” said Sir Guy, “I’ll just nip off into Harewood Forest and do a bit of the old boar hunting. Tonight we’ll have a hog roast with gallons of scrumpy cider, and that’ll make you feel better.”
Deep in the forest, Sir Guy caught sight of a boar. He whipped up his horse and went chasing after it, but as he entered a clearing in the woods at a place called Deadman’s Plack, he found himself facing Sir Murdure and a gang of wicked looking mercenaries. Mercenaries are soldiers who hire themselves out to the highest bidder, and they really aren’t nice.
“Not good enough, am I?” said Sir Murdure, “well, we’ll see whose good enough now.”
A massive fight followed. Sir Guy was very brave and very strong, and he killed several of Sir Murdure’s mercenaries before he was brought down himself. Then Sir Murdure raised his sword and chopped off Sir Guy’s head, and that was the end of him.
Sir Murdure strode into Wherwell Abbey and announced to Murdina: “Lady, I have a present for you”, and threw a sack at her feet. She opened it up, and there was her husband’s head. “Ooh goody,” she said, “Let’s get married”.
And so it was that they rode back to Southampton at the head of an army of knights, some of whom were Murdure’s mercenaries, and some of whom were Sir Guy’s knights - those who knew on which side their bread was buttered and thought it best to join the other lot. Well, Sir Murdure was the boss now!
When they came riding through the Bargate, which is the name for the main entrance into the city of Southampton, all the people came out to cheer them. That may not sound very loyal, but the boss is the boss, and if you are one of the ordinary people it is sometimes easier to cheer on whoever it is, and then get on with your own life.
Bevois, however; now he really wasn’t happy. He had got on with his dad; they used to go out hawking and boar hunting together, and other such gentlemanly pursuits - but now his father’s head was dangling from his mother’s saddle.
“Mother,” shouted Bevois, “You rotten pig - how could you do such a wicked thing?”
Well, that really is no way to talk to your mother, even if she does have your dad’s head dangling from her saddle; so she got off her horse, and smacked him one round the side of his head, which knocked him over. Bevois ran off to his room, leaving his mother thinking that she was going to have to get rid of him.
So a few days later she summoned a knight called Sir Saba. Now Sir Saba was Sir Guy’s brother, and had been in mourning.
“You have to accept that Sir Murdure is the boss round here now,” said Murdina, “and if you can’t accept it I’ll have your head too. This is a test of your loyalty. I want you to take Bevois out to the forest, and I want you to kill the little brat. If you do me this favour, I will see that you are well rewarded, and your future here will be assured. I want you to make it look like a hunting accident.”
Sir Saba had no choice - if the Lady Murdina said “jump”, you jumped.
Deep in the forest, with the sun shining through the branches of the trees and making dappled patterns on the ground, Sir Saba drew his sword and faced Bevois.
“I’m sorry Bevois, but you are to die. It is the way of things.”
Bevois looked at Sir Saba, and then got down on his knees and lowered his head.
“Then chop off my head sir, it is a sorry world that I would leave.”
Sir Saba lowered his sword - he knew he couldn’t do this terrible thing.
“Come with me Bevois, I keep sheep in the high fields above Portswood village. You must dress as a shepherd, and be a shepherd, and bide your time.”
Then Sir Saba killed a pig, and dipped Bevois’ clothes in the blood. He took them back to Southampton and the Lady Murdina as “proof” that Bevois was dead.
Well, several weeks passed, and as preparations were made for the wedding of Murdina and Murdure, Bevois watched from the high fields above Southampton.
Come the day of the wedding, Bevois stood amongst his sheep and watched the city. He could see the wedding guests streaming in, and flags and banners a’ flying, and he could hear the preparations being made for a great feast. When the trumpets sounded it all became too much for him, and he ran down the hill brandishing his shepherd’s crook. He went hurtling through the village of Portswood, and then careered down a steep valley which has ever since been known as Bevois Valley, though it must have had another name then. He charged through the gates of the castle, then crawled underneath the table at which were sitting all the great and important knights, and gave Sir Murdure a massive thwack on the knees with his shepherd’s crook.
“Ooooow” howled Sir Murdure, and ran around the room, bent double and clutching his knees, “Knights, guards, soldiers – get the little brat.”
All the knights piled in to catch Bevois, and under the table they all got tangled up with each other. Sir Clodwig’s boot was in Sir Glodwig’s ear, Sir Leodeprance’s elbow was in Sir Spareaglance’s stomach, and Sir Fladulance’s smelly bum was in Sir Gladioli’s face. Bevois wriggled out from under this twisting mass of knighthood, and legged it towards the door.
“Oh no you don’t,” screamed Murdina, as she came rocketing into the hall like a bat out of hell; and she grabbed Bevois in a neck lock that had him gasping for breath.
“Sir Saba”, she screeched, “Come here you wretched excuse for a knight.”
“My Lady, my Lady, I could not kill him”, stammered Sir Saba, and in an aside to Bevois he hissed, “Thanks very much, now that’s really dropped me into the do-do”.
“This is what you will do, Sir Saba,” snarled Murdina, “You will take him down to the black and oozy bed of the River Itchen at Northam - just outside the city - and you will bury him up to his neck. You will then let the tide come in and drown him. If you don’t do this thing, it will be you who will be buried up to your neck in the river mud - and I will be happy to watch you drown.”
So a gang of Murdure’s mercenaries took Sir Saba and Bevois down to the River Itchen, and the mercenaries watched whilst Saba buried Bevois up to his neck in the mud. They didn’t stay to watch him drown because they were missing valuable drinking time at the wedding, and whilst they were not men given to fear, they were terrified that the wedding guests would polish off all the beer, so they went back to the castle, dragging Sir Saba with them.
Poor Bevois, the tide slowly came in, and the water rose till it was over his chin and he thought he’d be drowned for sure. The water was high enough for a ship to come sailing up the central channel, and along came a trading galley from faraway Armenia.
“I think that’s someone’s head sticking out of the mud,” said one of the sailors (in Armenian).
“Don’t be silly,” said another sailor (also in Armenian), “What sort of person would bury someone up to his neck in mud?”
“These Christians, they’re capable of anything,” said the captain. The sailors were all Muslims, and as far as they could see, Christian countries didn’t seem to behave in a very Christian manner.
Well, the sailors brought the galley to the very edge of the channel, threw carpets on to the mud, and crawled out to Bevois. They dug him out using cooking pots and their bare hands.
And that is how Bevois travelled all the way to Armenia (Armenia is land locked, so they had to walk the last bit). The sailors brought him before their King (who liked a good story) and said, “Look what we found”.
The King listened to Bevois’ story.
“I knew Sir Guy,” he said, “He was a valiant knight. I want you to stay here and pledge yourself to me as your king. I will have you trained to become one of my knights.”
And so it was that for the next seven years Bevois grew into a young man at the court of King Emryn of Armenia. Now King Emryn had a daughter, and she was called Josian. We know what happens in stories - Josian and Bevois fell in love.
At the end of this seven years, on Christmas day, Bevois was riding across the fields on a fine horse. He didn’t know it was Christmas day - how could he? He was at the court of a Muslim king, who held different holy days, and different special days. One of King Emryn’s men knew that it was Christmas, though. He was a clever man who knew lots of things, but he only used his cleverness to cause trouble.
“Well,” said the knight to Bevois, “You would ride forth on what is supposed to be your special day, the Feast of the Nativity. Your religion must be pretty useless if you pay it no heed.”
“Oh yeah,” shouted Bevois, who was always quick to anger, “I’ll have you know that I honour this day more than any of the festivals of your stupid Mohammed.”
Well, I don’t think that either Jesus or Mohammed would think much of this, people fighting in their names, when really all that they’re fighting about is their own pride. But, do you know what? Grown-ups are much worse than children, and when grown-ups fight they invent all sorts of excuses, and when they fight over religion they dishonour their religions, because it’s really all about themselves.
Bevois and the knight, and the knight’s men, set too in a massive scrap, and Bevois was now a powerful warrior. He killed the knight, and knocked all his men off their horses.
King Emryn was very cross when he heard about this, and disappointed, because he loved Bevois like a son. He called Bevois to him and said, “Bevois you dishonour me, and both our religions – you are going to have to go”.
It was Josian who softened the king’s heart – she pleaded for Bevois, and she told her father that Bevois could become one of his greatest knights, and that he loved Emryn like a father. Emryn, who was really quite a nice person for a king, relented, and said, “Oh all right; just tell him to behave himself.”
So it was that Bevois become King Emryn’s greatest knight. He killed a dragon that was ravaging the kingdom (dragons do that), and he rid the land of thieves and bandits.
But then came some very bad news. King Bradmond of Damascus, a very powerful king, sent a message to King Emryn.
Dear Emryn,
I would like very much to marry your daughter, Josian.
If she were to become my wife I could help you look after your little kingdom in Armenia. We could combine our kingdoms into a federation, and then we could keep things simple by having me as king of both. You could then retire, and live in a nice little flat in the castle gardens.
If you say “no” to my proposal I will come to Armenia with my very powerful army, lay waste to the whole country with fire and sword, and then knock your block off.
I await a reply at your earliest possible convenience,
Best wishes,
King Bradmond.
Well, as you can imagine, that made Emryn very nervous – so he called together a council. A lot of his knights said he should just marry Josian to Bradmond, and accept his fate. It was Josian herself who strode into the council chamber and announced, “Father, I have a suggestion.”
“Don’t come in here,” exclaimed her shocked father, “this is not a place for females – be a good girl and go back to your embroidery.”
“Father – you must listen” she shouted.
“No, let her speak,” said one of Emryn’s knights. This knight hated the thought of giving up the kingdom to Bradmond, and because he had fought and ridden with Bevois, he had an inkling of what she was about to say.
“Father,” she said before he had time to stop her, “you know what a great warrior Bevois is. Sometimes the foreigner who has been adopted will fight more fiercely for his new country than someone born and bred there. You have seen Bevois defeat dragons and bandits; now let him lead the army against Bradmond - if anyone can do the business, it is Bevois.”
Now King Emryn knew that this was true, though he didn’t know that the main reason Bevois would want to beat Bradmond was because he was in love with Josian, and the thought that she should be married off to that warlord was unbearable to him.
And so it was that King Emryn knighted Bevois, and it was Sir Bevois that lead the army into battle against the mighty army of King Bradmond of Damascus. Bevois had more than his own skill, strength and cunning, however. He also rode a great horse, Arundel, a horse that had been presented to him by Josian herself, and a horse that could be ridden by no-one but Josian or Bevois, and he wielded a great sword, Mortglay, that had been forged in the blood of the dragon slain by Bevois, and blessed by the Princess Josian.
You won’t be surprised to hear that Sir Bevois was victorious, he proved himself to be a great general, and he returned to Emryn’s castle with King Bradmond as a prisoner.
Well, Emryn was a diplomat, and he allowed Bradmond to return to Damascus. He knew that it was best not to cause all sorts of future hatred by being vengeful - but now Bradmond would be beholden to him, so Emryn would be top dog.
Josian was so pleased to see Bevois return in one piece, that when he was stabling Arundel, she came into the stables and fell into his arms. Two other knights saw this, and they ran straight off to King Emryn and told him that his daughter was kissing and cuddling Sir Bevois.
Now Bevois was a great knight. Josian and Bevois loved each other. Maybe that should have pleased King Emryn. But we know that these great kings and knights thought that they owned their daughters, and it was they who chose who their daughters should marry, and given that Emryn had allowed his daughter more freedom than most kings did, this was all too much for him. Emryn’s anger was particularly great because he felt that Bevois had betrayed him, and was just taking advantage of Josian. Perhaps, in spite of everything, Emryn still couldn’t really see that Josian had a mind of her own.
But Emryn wasn’t going to make a scene, he wasn’t going to shout at Bevois, or threaten him. Instead he asked him to take a letter to King Bradmond in Damascus. Bevois, of course, didn’t know what was written in the letter.
Dear King Bradmond,
I hope you are behaving yourself.
Given that I am now the boss, you must do what I say. However, I don’t think you’ll mind fulfilling this request, because you have no cause to like the messenger. I would like you, please, on receipt of this letter, to put the bearer thereof, Sir Bevois, to death. I’ve rather gone off him.
Thank you very much.
Yours faithfully,
Emryn (King).
Well, on receiving this letter, King Bradmond had Bevois flung into a dungeon, a dungeon that just happened to contain two rather venomous dragons. Bevois fought the dragons, but eventually, in the confusion of the fight, the dragons fought each other. Locked together, the dragons poisoned one another. There were times after that when Bevois wished the dragons had killed him, because he was locked in that dungeon for seven long years. He passed the time by writing several books, and composing music. Later on one of the jailors sold the manuscripts to a Viking trader, and he took them to Iceland. They are still there in a little museum in a small town by the sea.
During his time in prison Bevois was mainly fed bran and water, which isn’t very nice, or very nourishing. On special days he was given better stuff, vine leaves stuffed with rice and mince, or kebabs with onion and nuts, but that was only on special days, so he grew thinner and thinner.
At the end of the seven years, King Bradmond thought to himself, “Well, now Bevois will be weak enough for us to kill him”; and he sent two soldiers down to the dungeon to do Bevois in. Big mistake. Bevois had great reserves of strength – some of this he had inherited from his father, but a lot of it, and he would never admit the fact, was inherited from his mother. He bashed the two soldier’s noggins together, and that was the end of them.
It was night time, so he crept out of his cell, grabbed the surprised jailor and locked him in with the two dead soldiers, nicked a horse, and galloped off.
When morning came, and it was discovered that Bevois had escaped – you can imagine King Bradmond’s rage.
“Catch him – get the rotten twerp – kill him”, shouted Bradmond at his knights, and they all donned their armour and went off in hot pursuit.
Bevois was weak with hunger, so they eventually caught up with him, just as he approached a great castle inhabited by a wicked giant. The giant had heard all about Bevois and thought to himself, “If I bash his brains out, King Bradmond will be pleased with me.” So he rushed at Bevois, brandishing his mighty club. Quickly Bevois shouted, “aha – my men will bring you down, you great, fetid lump”.
The giant looked at the knights who were following Bevois, and bellowed, “So these are your men, useless looking shower of ninnies, I’ll bash them first, and then I’ll flatten you”, and he proceeded to bash all Bevois’ pursuers to bits. Bevois grabbed one of the soldiers swords, and before the giant knew what was happening Bevois had chopped off his head. And that was that. Bevois then went into the castle and had dinner, which made him feel a lot better.
The next morning he set off again - and now he was on a quest (knights like going on quests); and his quest was to find Josian.
On the road he met a palmer. Now, a palmer is a pilgrim, and this man was on his way to Jerusalem - a place that is considered holy by more than one religion, something that meant the people of Jerusalem could flog all sorts of trinkets, but was always bad news when the members of one religion wanted the place exclusively for themselves.
“Ho there, palmer,” said Bevois, “What is the news? I’ve been banged up for some years, so I’m out of touch. What of King Emryn, and his daughter, Josian?”
“Oh, Princess Josian is married,” replied the palmer, “She married King Inor.”
Bevois felt a great sinking feeling in his heart.
“She loves this King Inor?” he asked.
“Oh I shouldn’t think so,” said the palmer, “We all know a princess has to do what her dad tells her. They say she loved this bloke called Bevois, but he went back to England. I think he came from some obscure dump called Southampton.”
“Noooooooo …” cried Bevois, and burst into tears.
“There, there”, said the palmer, “I didn’t expect to see a big tough fellow like yourself get so emotional; what’s up mate?”
Bevois told him the whole story.
“Tell you what, mate,” said the palmer, “I’ll swap my special palmer’s clothes for your horse, then you can enter Inor’s castle dressed as a palmer, suss out what’s going on, and no one will know the difference.”
“Nice one,” said Bevois, “swapsies.”
So they swapped the palmer’s clothes for the horse, and the palmer rode on chortling to himself, “I got a horse for some smelly old rags!”
In those days, castles, whether Muslim or Christian, always welcomed pilgrims, and they had special places were pilgrims could be fed. Sikh temples, or gurudwaras, still do the same thing today - whether they’re in England, India, or anywhere else.
So Bevois sat amongst the pilgrims, and it was the Princess Josian herself who brought the food.
“Don’t you know me?” said Bevois.
“No, I don’t think so,” she replied, “but you do look a bit familiar.”
“I’m Bevois, Bevois of Southampton.”
“That, sir, is a cruel and foolish thing to say, and anyway, if you were Bevois, I’d whack you one round the earole, because you disappeared off home.”
“No – I’ve been in one of King Bradmond’s dungeons; your dad wanted me out of the way. I can prove who I am, take me to Arundel the horse.”
Now Arundel was chained up in his stable, because he would let no one ride him but Bevois or Josian, and when Bevois saw this he could have cried again. But as soon as Bevois entered the stable, Arundel whinnied, reared up, and broke his chains – and Josian knew that it really was Bevois.
“I love you, Bevois,” she shouted, “and I really don’t like King Inor, he is old and smelly, and won’t stop blowing off really stinky ones - let us fly from here.”
And so they both leaped astride Arundel and galloped away, though not before seizing the mighty sword, Mortglay.
Well, they were long gone before anyone knew, and Arundel was the fastest horse in the land, so Inor had little chance of catching them. There were plenty of other dangers to face, though.
As they rode down a rocky track through wild mountains, a mighty giant stepped in front of them. He was covered in bristles like a wild boar, and he snorted and grunted.
“Not another one” thought Bevois.
“Ho there”, boomed the giant, “I am the mighty Ascupart, and this is my valley - Ascupart Valley. No-one passes this way, without a scrap.”
“One day,” thought Bevois, “I’m going to have a valley named after me, and maybe it too will be a dodgy place, but for now – I must battle this giant.”
Bevois dismounted, and drew his great, shining sword, Mortglay. The two of them set to in a mighty battle. The giant wielded his club, but Bevois was faster, though Mortglay wasn’t exactly a small sword. After fighting for three days the two of them were exhausted, and Josian was really quite bored with watching them. Bevois and Ascupart both fell onto their backs, and Josian poured some of their precious water over Bevois’ face; “Now’s your chance,” she whispered.
Bevois, dragging his sword, staggered across to Ascupart, and lifted the mighty Mortglay, ready to chop off the giant’s head.
“That’s enough,” shouted Josian, “You don’t have to actually kill him. Spare him and let him come with us, he’ll be handy in a fight.”
“Lady,” said Bevois, feeling a bit miffed, “He may betray us.”
“Listen, Bevois, I gave you that sword, and I’m saying don’t kill him.”
“I’ll second that,” said Ascupart from the ground, “You really wouldn’t want to upset the lady. Spare me, and I’ll be true to you.”
“Then rise, and live,” announced Bevois rather grandly, whilst Josian raised her eyes to the sky - like you do when someone is being a bit of a fancy pants.
So off they went, until they came to the Mediterranean Sea. There was a ship in port, and Ascupart shouted, “Ahoy there, maties, have you got room for a lady, a bloke, a horse, and – um – a giant?”
“Only if you’ve got the money,” the captain shouted back.
“I’ve got a few quid,” bellowed the giant, “Send us a boat.”
“Not likely,” shouted the captain, “I don’t like the look of you.”
So Ascupart picked up Arundel, and put him under one arm, then he picked up Josian and Bevois and put them under the other arm, and waded out to the ship.
“You’d better take us,” said Ascupart to the captain, “or it’ll be the worse for you”.
“Um, all right then. We’re going to Venice.”
“Oooh, that’s nice,” said Bevois, “I’ve always wanted to go to Venice. We can then have a walk across the mountains and go and see my uncle, who is Archbishop of Cologne. It’s rather a long walk, but it should be very scenic, and no doubt we can have a few adventures on the way.”
And that’s just what they did.
Well, after a lot of adventures, they eventually arrived in Cologne, and Bevois’ uncle said, “You two had better get married, you obviously love each other, and people are going to get a bit cross if you hang around together all this time without being married. That sort of thing might have been all right in classical antiquity, but it’s the middle ages now, and we’re much more modern.”
“Ah,” said Josian, “that is a little bit of a problem – I already am married.”
“WHAT – aaargh. That really is very naughty” shrieked the Archbishop of Cologne, “Who are you married to?”
“King Inor.”
“Ah - you’re a Muslim then.”
“Yes - indeed I am.”
Now, neither Muslims nor Christians took a lot of time out to examine what their religions really meant, and neither respected the other’s marriage vows.
“If you become a Christian,” said the Archbishop, thinking he could add another name to his list, “We won’t count your marriage to King Inor, and you can marry my nephew.”
Well, Josian didn’t like the idea – it felt like a betrayal of everything she was brought up with. But then she thought about her father marrying her off to someone she didn’t love, of how he‘d tricked Bevois, and about how it was really all about these blokes and their endless politics, and nothing really about religion at all.
“It wouldn’t really make any difference if I was Muslim, Christian, Jewish, Hindu, Buddhist, Zoroastrian, or whatever religion those doddery old druids I keep falling over in the forests have,” she thought, “really, it’s all just words: like stories.”
So she agreed to become a Christian.
Then the archbishop turned to Ascupart the giant. “You too must be baptised a Christian,” he said, “and we have built an especially large font to Christen you in.”
“You can get stuffed,” roared Ascupart , “I’m not becoming a Christian for no-one”, and he picked up the font, and dropped it over the Archbishop’s head. They could all hear the Archbishop shouting from inside the font: “Let me out, let me out”.
“It’ll take a while for all the priests and monks to get him out of that” said Bevois - and turning to Josian, he said, “Let’s get wed in Southampton, in Saint Michael’s Church – but this means I’ve got some business to attend to.”
So, accompanied by many soldiers from Cologne, they set off for England. Before they left the soldiers sprinkled themselves with holy water from Cologne Cathedral; which meant that Bevois’ army was known as the Eau de Cologne.
They travelled west to the coast of France, from whence they took ship to the Isle of Wight.
On the Isle of Wight, who should they find but Sir Saba.
“Ever since I refused to kill you, Bevois, the Lady Murdina and Sir Murdure have turned against me. They heard that you were alive in the east, and they vowed to kill me. So I fled to Wight, and I have many trusty men with me. Southampton has become a tyranny; they have built a mighty stadium for terrible sacrificial sports, and have invited in Scandinavian mercenaries to build great market places in which the citizens are forced to buy the most useless goods, and so many have fled across to the Island.”
And so it was that the Eau de Cologne gang joined the Island crew, and they all sailed to Southampton and attacked the surprised Sir Murdure.
There was a massive battle. It ranged from the village of Sholing across to the village of Millbrook, over the sea to the Isle of Wight, and back again. Finally, in the midst of battle, Ascupart the giant caught hold of Sir Murdure, and hurled him into a spiky hedge to the east of Southampton. That is where Sir Murdure met his end - which is why the place of Sir Murdure’s death has ever since been known as Hedge End.
As for Murdina - she let out a terrible scream and threw herself into a deep, dark, pool; a terrible place full of water dragons and monsters, known as Shirley Pond. The water sizzled and steamed as she sank beneath the surface, and continued boiling and bubbling until it was cooled by ice from a place nearby, known as the Ice House.
And so it was that Bevois returned to Southampton, and Bevois and Josian ruled Southampton, and it is said that they ruled wisely and well.
Hundreds of years ago everyone knew stories about Sir Bevois. They wouldn’t always be the same - everyone had their own versions, and no doubt everyone thought that their own version was the “proper” one. Shakespeare, in the play Henry VIII, when describing a fabulous scene, said that it was so impressive that you’d almost believe “that former fabulous story” about Bevis (who in Southampton is known as Bevois). So these stories were known to be great exaggerations used by the common people.
Southampton laid particular claim to these stories, possibly of the popularity because of a 14th century, written romance, called Bevis of Hampton, Hampton being the old name for Southampton. Mind you, there was an ancient monument called Bevis’s Grave on top of Portsdown Hill, overlooking Portsmouth, and another in Arundel in Sussex (same name as the horse), and another ancient monument called Bevis’s Thumb, near the Hampshire-Sussex border at Compton. I guess that there was a much older story that just got adapted by the writer in the 14th century, just as I’ve adapted it now – though that 14th century romance is my main source.
Another ancient monument, called Bevis’s Tomb, was on top of a hill called Bevois Mount, then just outside Southampton. This got swallowed up by buildings, as the city expanded. But the Bevois story is there in the place names of Southampton. There is an area of town called Bevois Town (with a school called Bevois Town Primary School), there is a road called Bevois Valley; and this is all around the hill that, before it all got built on, was known as Bevois Mount.
There is a street called Ascupart Street, and an old tower called Arundel Tower – though it can be a bit draughty at times, so people sometimes call it Catchecold Tower.
In the middle of Southampton there is an old gateway called the Bargate – it was the medieval entrance to the city – and in it there are two old paintings, one of Bevois, and one of Ascupart. I love the fact that even though people have forgotten the stories, the names are still there in the fabric of Southampton.
The sword Mortglay, however, is not in Southampton; it is in Arundel Castle in Sussex. I reckon that they nicked it, and that the people of Southampton should all march to Arundel Castle and demand it back.