The Orric Manuscript

This is an excellent example of a persona history done in a period style. It is reprinted from Rampant Lyin, the Thor's Mountain newsletter with the permission of the author, Master Orric of Romney, formerly of the Barony of Thor's Mountain, Kingdom of Meridies and now dwelling in the Barony of Storvik, Kingdom of the East. His presence is sorely missed by us.

*************************

Recently, RL was provided with a translation of an eleventh century manuscript. With the permission of the translator, it is our pleasure to present it to you at this time, complete with the translator's notes.

Wide have I wandered	away from fair England
Over the wild sea	to dwell with the Danes
My homeland lies plundered	by honorless pirates
I am called Orrick.	I sing now my death song
Schooled by fine masters	a 'scop' first became I
To shelter the weary	with word woven mantles
Graced by fair Fortune	my songs in his service
Earl Godwin accepted	I honor his household!
Swift like the swallow	flew years before me
Godwin stood gravely	a king but uncrowned.
Unshaken by times hand	until a tomb claimed him
Did I then sing for	and entered his service.
Again as an arrow	did time pass before me
Harold of Wessex	hunted the waters
Seeking sea’s bounty	with line and with sinker
On shore I guessed	our ships did I guide.
Losing our way	we crossed the channel,
Landed in Normandy	where we met William.
By treacherous guile	bought treason’s gain.
Obtaining an oath	sworn under false colors
William the Wiley	won hollow promises.
Sailing for home	at summer sun’s height
Learned we that Edward	lay ill by his throne
Harold of Wessex	by Witan was chosen
To be the new king	Succeeding Confessor.
Lo, in the Northland	landed Norwegians
Lead by Hardrada,	hard-counsel giver.
Harkened by warriors	of Harold of Wessex,
Their anger aroused	by news of the Northmen,
Bitter the battle	at the stream of Stanford,
Of our soil, six feet	did Hardrada inherit.
Felled by a blow, I	fared ill in battle,
Staying at Stanford	as the king strayed southward,
Battered and fevered	from the battle-sickness,
The House of Acleah	healed my wounds grievous.
Hearing that Harold	lay hewn from the conflict
Hurried from England	the House of Acleah, and
Sharing their small ship	I sailed on the salt sea.
Arriving in Denmark	I wed with their daughter
Aethelthryth was she,	a fine wife she made me.
Swift did the seasons	sail in the Daneland,
Aged now am I...

Translator's Note: The discovery of a relatively intact Danish manuscript (c 1090) has caused much recent excitement among students of Medieval Scandinavia.* The above is the most complete translation to date. Sadly, the poem breaks off before completion. The final lines of the manuscript are missing, and would seem lost for all time.

*It is unique among primary sources in providing an explanation for Harold Godwinsson’s journey to Normandy in 1064.

---

Back to Early Period #2 | Back to Early Period Index
Back to PastTimes