"More wood for the fire!" Shouts the Barron, as the lady of the castle tries to warm their young babe, wrapped in his blanket. "My son must be warm!" The servants scurry to obey his request.
A guardsman enters the dreary hall of the keep. "Sir, A bard requests food, and shelter form the storm in exchange for an evening's entertainment."
"Show him in." Says the Barron with a trace of a smile on his solemn face. Ever since the death of the kind old Harper that lived here to agedness, the very happiness seeps from the lives of the people here, with no music, or tales to feed the soul and mind, even the wine seems to have lost it's color. "It will be good to have a song or two, perhaps a tale."
The bard is shown in, and kneels before the Barron, his faded clothing, once colorful, leaves a small puddle of water upon the stone floor.
"Thanks to you Milord, just a moment of rest, and a stool are all I require before I begin..." The bard says with great gratitude.
The Barron waves his hand, and a stool is brought for the bard, on which he promptly sits, and takes a moment to warm.
Looking up the bard asks "Now... what tale should I tell?"
An old knight exclaims. "One about a man of action!" Then cried a lady of the court "No! one of romance!" The Barron ends the requests with one of his own. "Perhaps one of tragedy, to fit the mood the weather presents.
The Bard smiles and looks to the crowd. "I have one that encompasses all three. One of a young man who leaves home to seek his fortune. Of how he finds love. Of how the love is lost, but in a way, is not."
"It is the tail of Barthalamu and Oliviet." He says, then after a pause adds. "Also known as the tale of the ghost with the beautiful voice..."
The bard then begins his tale. "Now, of the Hero of the story, Bartholimu, there is naught out of the ordinary to tell. He was a young man, nearing his twentieth year. His Noble Father, while not cruel, had a temper that was, and is the result of a... disagreement of sorts, Bartholimu left his home, to seek out his fate, whether fair or foul, filled with adventures of many a kind... and perhaps even love..."
"The Heroine Oliviet however is a different matter, she was made of the stuff that fires the imagination, in men, whether waking, or in slumber..."
"Her hair was as spun gold... her face the sunshine captured, her eyes, the stars... her figure could make even the most pious monk repent of his vow of celibacy... and when she moved with that grace of hers... it would set to fire the loins of any man."
"However, all these together, were nothing compared to her voice... it was as if a chorus of angels was singing in harmony... with that voice she could coax the fox from his den, or the wren from her nest... it was rumored that her voice was stolen from the sweetest singer of the sirens, such was it's effect on men."
"However she was not without her faults. She had a will that could match that of any man, though she rarely needed exercise it... and whenever there was a hunt, or a falcon flight to enjoy, enjoy it she would..."
The bard takes his lute from his back, and strums, with the intent of taking up a melody to accompany his story, but it sounds sourly. "I apologies, the storm must have damaged my lute... we shall have to make due without." He then sets the lute aside.
"Where were we? Ah yes."
He then continues. "On one of these falcon flights, her falcon, whom she always attached bells too, became stuck in the highest branches of the tallest Spruce in the forest.
Bartholimu, who was walking near by heard it's cry, and before you would know it, he has half way up the tree, braving it's needles to set the poor bird free.
Just as he had loosened the flapping raptor, Oliviet arrived and shouted to him. "You there! Stop harassing my falcon!"
Now, it is unbalancing enough to be at the top of a tree trying to free a slapping falcon, but when someone shouts at you just when the bird takes to the air, it is nigh impossible.
As you can Imagine, Bartholimu fell from the tree. And had not many of the branches broken his fall he would have perished, as it was he was badly injured.
Oliviet, realizing her mistake, and feeling very guilty, called the party to her. Forming a stretcher, they brought him back to the castle, where she personally nursed him back to health.
During the months he was in her care, a strange closeness and caring formed, and grew into love... and soon they where married...
The night that was to be their honey moon, a crier arrived, announcing that Bartholimu's father had died... and that should no rightful heir claim his birthright in 10 days, the land would be divided among it's neighbors.
Knowing full well that he could not make it to the earl in time, but the herald who was trained for speed might, he sent him to the earl, telling that he would be there as soon as possible, and that he clamed the lands.
As he prepared to go, Oliviet asked when they where leaving for. "We are not, you must stay here, the ride will be long, hard, and fast, and as needs be, I travel faster alone." He replied solemnly.
Oliviet, never having been denied anything before, did not take this well, knowing that he would not take her with him from the castle, she devised a plan to meet him at a point along the way, and she packed and set out immediately, with no one's knowledge.
Bartholimu left soon after, thinking Oliviet in too much of a mood to send him on his way. Soon twilight fell, and they each made camp, not far from each other. In fact, close enough, so that Oliviet saw the glow from Bartholimu's fire on the hill opposite hers.
She waited till the dead of night, when she knew he should be asleep, and then stole from her hill into the valley beyond. Little did she know that…"
The bard coughs, the weather having caused him the beginnings of an illness. The baron sends a servant to the bard with a motion of his hand, to give the bard some wine. The bard accepts, and drinks heavily of the red liquid, before handing back the chalice.
"A fine vintage this... But where were we?" He pauses to reflect, then after a moment he continues.
"Ah yes. Little did she know, that in the valley, was a deep gorge, carved over the centuries from limestone that lay not far under the ground she trod upon. Unknowing of this she stole towards her husband's camp...
As you have probably guessed by now, she fell into the gorge, and her broken form lay there, growing cold as the unmoving stone about her."
The bard sighs heavily before continuing, affected by his own tale.
"Bartholimu rested against a tree, near the dieing firelight... when he felt a sudden chill upon his cheek... As he looked up he saw the ghostly form of his wife looking sadly down at him.
A thousand questions sprung to his lips at once. "How did you die? What happened? Where is your body? Why are you able to come to me now... in this form?" came the questions, gushing forth all at once..."
Before continuing with the action, the bard takes a moment to explain the next part of the story. "Now, Oliviet was one of those spirits that could only communicate through song... and her gift of voice was fortunate at this point. She sang her reply to the last of the questions.
My will is my way my dear, My will is my way my dear, I've been by your side, as the firelight died, My will is my way my dear.As she sang, Bartholimu was able to formulate some of the more pressing questions in his mind. "Why did you come to me? Why not your father or mother? Surely they are closer to you at the castle..."
Oliviet replied in a way that she hoped would comport her husband.
I love you so dearly my dear, I love you so dearly my dear, I love you so dearly, And been with you so nearly, I love you so dearly my dear.Bartholimu suddenly stood, realizing that something must be done if Oliviet where to reach her eternal slumber, elswise she would already be on her way to crossing over. "What must I do to help you... my beloved...?" he stood and asked with teary eyes and a cracking voice. Come find me tonight my dear, Come find me tonight my dear, I've fallen so low, and have died from the blow, Come find me tonight my dear. Oliviet suddenly starting floating into the darkness. Bartholimu knew he was to follow, and though he was soar afraid he grabbed a burring branch from the dieing fire, and followed as quickly as he could, and just as he had almost reached her, he saw the horror on her face as she screamed
Bartholimu came to a skidding halt, and as he teetered, he dropped the torch, right into the very gorge that Oliviet had fallen into... as he regained his balance, he saw his torch fall to lay beside the broken, stone cold shell of his beautiful Oliviet...
"Please, how can I help you now that I have found your form...?" He begged to know. She once again sang her reply...
Come follow me down my dear, Come follow me down my dear, Come follow me down, Wrap me up in a gown, Come follow me down my dear.Bartholimu suddenly understood, for her to cross over, she must have a proper funeral. The gown she talked of was a funeral gown!
As Oliviet guided Bartholimu down into the gorge, dawn approached.
Finally they reached the bottom. Bartholimu took her body, and found a shallow way out of the gorge.
Oliviet's family was heartbroken when Bartholimu came in carrying her body. The funeral was set for 2 days away, enough time to allow them to say their final goodbyes."
The bard pauses for a moment, looking out over the audience, takes a deep breath, and then continues, for this tale has a moral that must be emphasized.
"As they where saying their goodbyes in the hour before the ceremony, Bartholimu expressed his greatest concern. "Love, I do not know if I can go on without you." And Oliviet replied softly, and with great love. "I will always be with you, as long as you keep my memory here. And here." As she lovingly touched his forehead, and his chest, right above his heart." The bard holds his hand to his heart, as he touched his own as he spoke the words.
The bard ends the tail. "And so, as the funeral ended, and she was laid to rest, her spirit drifted into the next life, leaving her beloved with comfort, and her memory, which he kept all his days."
The bard stood, gave a brief bow, and was escorted to his chambers, leaving his audience with heavy thoughts for the night, and with their memories of loved ones passed.