Allan-a-Dale at Conisbrough Castle

By Bard of Burgh Conan

This story of amour courtois, senile lust, and true love is based on one of the traditional ballads of Robin Hood: Robin Hood and Allan-a-Dale. I have given it a Conisbrough setting at a specific date in history, 1190, one year after King Richard I left England to go on crusade, leaving his brother John to wreak havoc with the kingdom, and with the heart of his mistress, Adela, at Conisbrough Castle. However, the true love in the story concerns, not Adela, but her sister, Ela, and Allan-a-Dale.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Bard of Burgh Conan
• Release date: Jul 30, 2017
• ISBN: 9781370789962

Bard of Burgh Conan

Bard of Burgh Conan is the pen name Christopher Webster uses for his writing about his home town, Conisbrough. He was brought up in Conisbrough, went to Station Road School, and has lived at various times on Daylands Avenue, Roberts Avenue and Castle Avenue. The town, with its rich history and magnificent castle, has been an important influence in his life and has inspired some of his best work, hence his pen-name, Bard of Burgh Conan (from a medieval form of the town’s name). He read English at St David’s, Lampeter and Leeds University, and is now a teacher and writer. His first educational publication was Poetry Through Humour and Horror (Cassell, 1987). This was followed by many more educational publications including books for KS3 and GCSE English Language and Literature published by Hodder, and the best-selling 100 Literacy Hours (Scholastic, 1997/2005). He has also published several novels and some volumes of poetry under his own name. His writing about Conisbrough includes Crusader, The Abduction of Lady Alice, Richard of Conisbrough, The Poet and the Castle, Conisbrough Tales, Coal Dust Kisses and three books of short stories.

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ALLAN-A-DALE AT CONISBROUGH CASTLE

A story of amour courtois, senile lust, and true love

Bard of Burgh Conan

Copyright © 2017 Christopher Webster

aka Bard of Burgh Conan

All rights reserved.

CONTENTS

Introduction

ALLAN-A-DALE AT CONISBROUGH CASTLE

Historical Note

About the Author

INTRODUCTION

This story of amour courtois, senile lust, and true love is based on one of the traditional ballads of Robin Hood: Robin Hood and Allan-a-Dale. I have given it a Conisbrough setting at a specific date in history, 1190, one year after King Richard I left England to go on crusade, leaving his brother John to wreak havoc with the kingdom, and with the heart of his mistress, Adela, at Conisbrough Castle. However, the true love in the story concerns, not Adela, but her sister, Ela, and Allan-a-Dale.

ALLAN-A-DALE AT CONISBROUGH CASTLE

He was nineteen years old and his eyes were bright with the idealism of youth. His shoulder-length chestnut hair suggested that he was of English origin, for the Normans wore their hair cut short. He was wearing a tunic of bright scarlet, which struck an odd note in the village of Conisbrough, where the local people wore garments of undyed wool, often patched and frayed. His features had lost the softness of youth and were beginning to take on the definition of manhood. They were regular and well-formed, with a determined jaw, but soft blue eyes that suggested a dreamer or poet. At his waist he carried a large knife which was a general purpose tool for everything from eating to cutting wood, and even for self-defence if necessary. Over his right shoulder was strung a bow, and over his left shoulder a sheaf of arrows, which consisted mainly of bolts – blunt-headed arrows for shooting birds. Something else was slung there, too, which explained the enigma of this brightly-attired young man in a village of drab poverty – a gittern, for the lad was a minstrel.

He was looking for Conisbrough Castle. It was not hard to find because it could be seen for miles around, and all he had to do was to follow the highways and byways that led towards it. It was about five in the afternoon when he found himself in front of the outer gatehouse. It was a large wooden structure – the centrepiece of the outer bailey. Behind it, could be seen the walls of the castle proper, and the main gate, and over it all loomed the magnificent structure of the keep. It had only just been completed and was made of well cut ashlar blocks that shone almost white in the sunlight, but a creamy grey in the shadows. It was topped with a conical roof of blue-grey tiles, at the pinnacle of which flew a banner of blue and gold chequers.

There were two guards at the outer gatehouse. One of them a magnificent specimen of an Norman man-at-arms. He wore the latest style of great helm, gleaming mail, and a jupon of blue and gold chequers. The other guard looked decidedly down-at-heel by comparison. He wore one of the old nasal helmets, somewhat dull and pitted, and a plain blue jupon, somewhat frayed. Under it was no mail at all, just a leather jerkin.

They stood to attention and crossed their spears at his approach, but said nothing. The crossed spears were enough to put the question: State your name and business. The youth replied in kind by holding up his gittern which said, just as clearly as any words could do, I am a minstrel.

Report to t’ castle constable. Gu ter t’ main gate an’ h’is office is just ter t’left.

It was the humbler of the two guards who had said this, and he spoke in the Northumbrian dialect of English, which proclaimed him to be a local man.

The other guard added, in Norman French: But most of us speak French here, so if you can’t speak French, it will be a waste of time seeing the constable.

Je parle un peu de Francais – apres l’ecole de Northcliffe.

The Norman guard nodded, and the spear-barrier was removed.

The castle constable was too important and too busy to bother himself with an iterant minstrel, but his steward took his details.

What is your name? he asked in French

Allan.

We have another Allan in the castle. Where are you from?

Dale Manor.

Very well. You will be Allan-a-Dale – not de you understand, as that is an honorific. No, a plain a will do for you. Allan-at-Dale in English.

Allan had a family name of his own – a name of which he was very proud, but he had reasons for keeping it secret, so he said nothing.

The steward put down his quill and looked hard at him, as if to take his measure.

Now, the Castle Guard comes off duty at six and they go to the great hall for their evening meal. The guard for the evening shift will also be there – about twelve men in total. There will also be four or five of the Comte de Warenne’s men. See if you can entertain them. I should warn you that the last minstrel that tried ran away in tears with gravy all over his head.

That made no impression on Allan; he was confident that he could do better.

The great hall at Conisbrough Castle stood against the north wall. A single row of high columns supported the roof and four large high windows ranged along the south wall. It was one of the older parts of the castle, and lacked the conveniences introduced by the Comte into the newer parts, such as fireplaces and garderobes. Indeed, it had much in common with the mead halls of Allan’s Ango-Saxon ancestors. In the centre was a large central hearth. On the east side of the heart, nearest to the kitchen, were ranged rows and rows of trestle tables for the rank and file of the castle garrison. One the far said of the hearth was the high table for Comte de Warenne and his family, the castle constable, his knights, their ladies and any other visitors of high rank.

Robert was directed to the middle of the commons side of the hall, where a group of sixteen men-at-arms were sitting. They had removed some of their outer attire, but it was plain at a glance that they consisted of the same two types that he had first seen at the outer gate: Norman men-at-arms, young, fit and well-equipped, and a humbler type of guard whose ages ranged from youths younger than himself to a few grey-beards who must have been around 60. The steward said that he could take a place at their table, share their meal, and when it was finished, he should try a song or a ballad.

Hey, up, young ’un, said one of the grey-beards, a friendly-faced local man with a large paunch. What brings thee to Conisbrough – for ah can se tha art not a local lad?

What’s up wi thee eyes, Samwell? said one of the younger guards. Can’t tha see ’is gittern? ’Ee’s a minstrel, that’s what ’ee is, come to entertain thee.

What me?

Aye, thee, an’ t’ rest on us.

What’s thee name, lad? said Samwell, taking a greater interest in their visitor.

Allan.

Oh aye. Weer’s tha from?

Dale Manor.

Weer’s that?

The young guard intervened again. "Well ah nivver! Sixty-one years old an’