The Baby Eating Bishop of Bath and Wells

The Baby Eating Bishop of Bath and Wells is coming to dinner. That was one of the hand painted slogans written large on the gates of Berwick on Tweed, Elizabeth One’s northern border fortress.

“Scrub that damned thing off” shouted the Gate Captain, “If he sees that we’ll all be having sweetbreads on toast for breakfast”.

“What are sweetbreads Captain?”

“Testicles son…..testicles and it’ll be our testicles we’ll be eating, now get scrubbing”.

Fortunately for them the Bishop had taken a detour and was visiting some of his smaller estates in the North of England. His landholders and their tenant farmers hadn’t been able to send his rents south. They claimed the money had been sent, but the Border Reivers had taken the lot.

Unfortunately for them the Baby Eating Bishop of Bath and Wells (BEBoBaW) wasn’t a trusting man and he was currently in Wark to the west of Coldstream collecting his rents in person.

He was cold, his saddle had rubbed him raw and he was not in the best of moods, this was indicated by the additional charge of cartage that was added to the rents owed, on top of the onerous, collection in person charge and the feeding and stabling flat rate.

Wark was a small but beautiful village on the banks of the Tweed, not far from the safe havens of Twizell and Norham Castles, there was always trouble in this part of the Borders and so the BEBoBaW had taken quite a large escort to guard his august personage. The escort came as an additional cost for the locals, they referred to it as blackmail but the BEBoBaW referred to it as protection money.

He knew that Bishop Arkwright kept a tight control over the lands in his diocese and as the BEBoBaW approached Wark he could see the local priests gathered in the village square to welcome him.

They look to be a rather monkish lot he thought, rather Papist even, there might be some enjoyable work for me to do, weeding out heretics, and maybe collecting additional tithes as well. The BEBoBaW rubbed his hands together at the thought of the entertainment as well as the extra money, he wondered under which column in the balance sheet to enter the charge. Maybe just as sundry expenses he chuckled.

No one knows what the monkish priests were thinking because they were a tight mouthed lot. This was a time whent a wrong word would get you marked as a Papist and it was a slippery slope from that to the stake. The new Church of England seemed to enjoy a good roasting to cleanse the common folk of any desire to backslide into Catholicism.

It was a large gathering and the BEBoBaW hissed “Keep close” to the two Captains of his Guard, Sir Jasper and Sir Francis.

You may wonder why there were two Captains but then you are probably not as paranoid as the BEBoB&W.

Father Michael approached timidly, he still wasn’t used to being called Reverend Crabbucket instead of Father Michael, a term he much preferred.

He was also wondering why the Bishop of Bath and Wells had so many handsome women in his entourage.

Very handsome women he thought, gentil women as well.

The one wearing a breast plate and an imperious attitude had demanded an apple from one of the villagers. The old woman looked perplexed; the apple crop had failed, mainly because the villagers had resorted to chopping down the apple trees for firewood to keep warm last winter.

Father Michael worried this might get out of hand but just then, there was a commotion at the front door of Widow Black’s house.

Two men were pushing and shoving in the doorway, both trying to get through at the same time. One emerged victorious from this scrummage and ran screaming his battle cry “Douglas, a Douglas” as Dashing Dougie Douglas ran straight at the BEBoB&W.

He would have made it but Sir Jasper stepped into his path with his sword drawn.

Sparks flew as their swords clashed but within seconds the northern hellion was laid low by the effete southerner. “Get out of my way” came another raised voice as second man emerged from the doorway; helmet askew but ferocious purpose could be heard in that steely voice.

Loping passed the fight between Sir Jasper and Dougie he dashed straight at Sir Francis, the Bishops other Guard Captain. Without ceremony the Black Vagabond sliced his sword in a flailing backhanded cut that tore through the muscle and sinew of Sir Francis’s right leg, the man fell to the flagstones, blood spurting from his wound.

There was a thunderous bellow from the same house, “You dogs keep out of my way next time”.

Mad Wullie Snapcase staggered out into the daylight, saw that his nearest opponent was the BEBoBaW and with 3 long paces was within sword reach of the man in black.

The problem was, that in emerging third out of the building he gave the Bishop enough time to collect his wits and draw his sword. He had a reputation for eating babies raw, which was slightly apocryphal because he preferred them lightly sautéed but he was a man who could take care of himself in a fight. A reputation he preferred to keep to himself, it always caught any one who made it past his guards by surprise and surprise was always good in these dangerous times.

Mad Wullie raised his weapon for a massive killing blow and was faintly disconcerted to feel the Bishops sword pass through his leather jerkin and slipping between a couple of ribs missing his left lung by a fraction of an inch. He sank to his knees wondering if it had been such a good idea to try and rob the Bishop of Bath and Wells.

The Bishop looked down from his horse and as if reading his mind. Said, “no lad, it was a bad idea”.

Not deterred by the lack of success so far Slasher McBrain rushed the foppish looking Sir Guffington Shortcake.

McBrain by name but not by nature, he quickly realised that a man dressed in lime green and yellow hose would have taken a fair amount of ribbing about his appearance over the years. Such a man grown to middle age and serving in the BEBoB&W bodyguard might be able to deal with such ribbing, possibly in a rather violent manner.

McBrain was cut down unceremoniously, suffering a grievous wound that he might never recover from, especially as Shortcake didn’t take too well to be called a southern powder puff and was deciding if he should stab McBrain in the chest or somewhere more painful. In the end he just went for the neck.

Wee Jock McClew was the last man out of the Widow Blacks house, he was a canny fighter, well anyone entering the fray last is canny in my book. He used his small shield or targe with good effect to protect himself from an initial attack, then countering, he downed Sir Nathanial Toastrack with ease. Sir Miles Cholmomdley-Warner faired no better against McClew and as he lay in a pool of blood he wondered if Madeline Basset-Smith even noticed his valiant effort to save her from the wild eyed Borderer but she was still trying to get an apple from the old lady, so possibly not.

I’ve no idea what happened next because this was a game we fought last year when the Mad Lord Snapcase ventured north in the entourage of the BEBoBaW but the rest of the Borderers have joined in the scrap and the softie southerners (MLS) have counter attacked, The Bishop is down, as is the Black Vagabond but there are still a few good men standing, and the monks haven’t run away…..yet, although they are wondering if they should intervene and on whose side!

Auld Wat (Walter Scott of Harden) draws a bead on Sir John Falstaff, fires and misses his man, realizing that there’s only him and Wee Jock still fighting on the Reivers side, and as they’re a little outnumbered, he decides the game is up and runs away.

This manoeuvre is sometimes considered a backwards, retrograde advance…..if you’re trying to put a good gloss on the situation but most people call it fleeing the scene.

Wee Jock McClew doesn’t have Auld Wat’s education and just flees the scene, the softie southerners can’t keep up with the hardy northern folk and so he gets away.

Mad Wullie Snapcase or Big Wullie as he prefers to be known, Dashing Dougie Douglas and the Black Vagabond were all wounded and taken prisoner. The Bishop of Bath and Wells has cut short his tour of the Borders and is even now headed for Berwick on Tweed, where he will need to hire more bodyguards before making his way down south.

Our three heroes are imprisoned in a gaol cart accompanying him, the gallows and a gibbet await them…..unless a rescue attempt is mounted by Auld Wat and Wee Jock, but they might need some reinforcements first.