Bert & Bertha, King & Queen of Kent: A Love Story Maybe, Maybe Not

By William Griffin

Young Ethelbert, King of Kent, goes to Paris to collect a substantial debt. Old Charibert, King of the Franks, greets him, stalls him a hundred times, then promises his daughters weight in gold. On second thought he gives her away instead. Bertha is large, but shes beauteous, bounteous, bumptious. Ethelbert is small, but hes a fierce warrior who bows to no one. But she nearly kills him by opening a door just as he was about to knock on it. She tends to his splattered nose and his wounded pride. He likes her jolly jokes, but she grows sad, thinking that Bert, like all the other young men shes met, will run away from a big fat blob like herself. She wont be sad ever again, promises Bert, not while hes alive. Having met their match, then, they decide to make a match, even though her parents and the bishop dont think its a good match. Ethelbert, you see, is a pagan, and Bertha, a Christian. A beautiful marriage and a wild wedding reception take place, complete with pop-up cake, dwarf-tossing, competitive dancing, and truly horrid foods that only a young reader can like. By the way, its A.D. 562 for anyone who wants to know.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Oct 21, 2013
• ISBN: 9781491813935

William Griffin

William W. Griffin, aka Walt Griffin, was born in 1964, in Atlanta, Georgia. After graduating cum laude from Georgia State University, he has worked in corporate creative advertising, and has taught graphic design as a high school and college instructor. He is married, has two children, and lives in North Georgia. Griffin’s first novel, a satirical comedy titled “Diggin’ Elroy,” was self published in 2015. The novel is also currently available for purchase online through all fine book retailers. See the latest posts from the author - https://www.williamwgriffin.com

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BERT &

BERTHA

KING & QUEEN OF KENT

A Love Story Maybe,

Maybe Not

A YOUNG ADULT NOVEL

William Griffin

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AuthorHouse™ LLC

1663 Liberty Drive

Bloomington, IN 47403

www.authorhouse.com

Phone: [phone]

© 2013 by Henry William Griffin. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 10/16/2013

ISBN: 978-1-4918-1394-2 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4918-1393-5 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2013916289

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models,

and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

CONTENTS

Prologue

Paris In A Dark Age

Battling With The Bishop

Midnight In The Great Hall

Before Dawn In The Library

Morning In The Great Hall

Thirteenth Door On The Left

Thirteenth Door On The Right

Wooing The Frankish Princess

Rehearsing The Wedding

Bachelor Party

Wedding In The Cathedral

Wedding Banquet

Heading Out On The Honeymoon

Barely Afloat At Ypwinesfleot

Breakfast In Kenterbury

Stumbling Onto The Idol Hall

Dinner Of Welcoming

Bumbling Into The Templum

Idling About The Idol Hall

Chatting It Up In The Chapel

Wool-Gathering On The Hillside

Children & Storytime

Invaders On The Isle Of Thanet

In Search Of The Pope

Summit On Thanet

Into The Swirling Swale

Out Of The Broken Basin

Epilogue

About The Author

for

Ardis & Avery

PROLOGUE

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All fairy tales begin Once upon a time, which is nowhere when it comes to time and place.

But this history of Bert and Bertha is not a fairy tale; no, it isn’t, not even close.

Therefore, this history of the King and Queen of Kent not only is full of facts but also contains a few far-fetched fantasies and not a few other words beginning with the letter F.

from

The Book of Silly Jisms by M. Eiffel, Archdeacon.

PARIS IN A DARK AGE

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War?

War!

That’s the way the conversation between the two warriors got under way one cold winter night in Paris. Ethelbert was king of Kentdom and spoke only Kentish. Charibert was king of Frankdom and spoke only Frankish. Yet the countries were so close—only a stone’s skip across the channel separating them—that they were able to understand some, if not all, of the words that the other spoke. Gestures helped.

Make war? asked Charibert, putting a ham of a hand on his scramasax, a heavy, mean-looking blade hanging from his belt. That was his way of saying, I can slice you in half any time I want!

No war, said Ethelbert, moving his head from one side to the other. That was his way of saying, Draw that sword, mister, and I’ll draw mine faster!

Peace? asked Charibert, using his puffy fingers to dig the wax out of his ears. That was his way of saying, I don’t believe what I’m hearing!

Peace no fun, agreed Ethelbert, nodding his head up and down. That was his way of saying, Peace be with you, but I’m not turning my back on you, no, not for a second!

It took thirty minutes of drinking, bragging, and bumping bellies before the message in its fullness got from Ethelbert to Charibert. They could have had interpreters, of course, but that would have been too easy for the two kings—the Frankish being tall and old and fat, the Kentish being small and young and thin—who thought they could do everything themselves.

High winds were blowing across the Ile de France, whistling through the window frames and under the oak doors in Charibert’s palace. The kings were standing by a roaring fire at one end of the great hall, trying to keep warm. After each drink, they tossed their goblets against the stone in the fireplace. It was as though they expected them to shatter into a thousand sweetly-sounding pieces. But the goblets weren’t made of glass; they were made of metal. The metal cups just hit the stone with a clunk and waddled around for a second or two.

"Me, Me-ro-vin-gi-an, belched Charibert. You, hahaha, you just country bumpkin from the woods!"

"Me, Kent-wa-ra-by-rig, burped Ethelbert, and this country boy will knock that city chap’s block off soon as look at him."

"Me Chari-bert, you Ethel-bert, said the Frankish king, not wanting to start a fight with so much drink in him. We both Berts. Hahaha."

Kent-Bert and Frank-Bert, laughed Ethelbert a little too loud and a little too long.

Want to see my skull collection? asked the Bert from Frankdom.

With teeth or without teeth? asked the Bert from Kentdom. He was too young in battle to have begun a collection of his own.

Without teeth, of course. You give a man a good whack in the mush with a flat-bladed sword, and you knock all his teeth out.

I know that, said Ethelbert, trying to rest his elbow on the mantelpiece but always seeming to miss. And when his elbow did make it to the ledge, the roaring fire burnt his side right up to the armpit. But did you know that teeth make good buttons?

I didn’t know that.

Saxon teeth make very good buttons. Look at my shirt.

A bit flashy, don’t you think? asked Charibert as he looked at the raggedy-edged objects up and down Ethelbert’s front.

And Angle teeth—smaller, brighter—just right for underwear. Would you like to see?

Ethelbert put his goblet down and was just about to open up his clothes to show the buttons…

No, no, that’s all right, said Charibert, not wanting to see the disgusting sight. I’ll take your word for it. By the way, just where did you say you’re from on that silly island?

But I’m not from that Scilly Island!

Well, if you’ve fought the Angles and if you’ve fought the Saxons, does that mean that you’re not an Angle and not a Saxon?

That’s right, Cheery-Beery-Berty, old chap, old fellow, old Jack-in-the-box. I’m a Jute.

God bless you.

A Jute!

God bless you again.

"What are you blessing me for?

It’s an expression of refinement. Every time someone in Frankdom sneezes, we call down God’s blessing on the poor sniveling fool.

But I’m not sneezing. I’m just trying to tell you that I’m a Jute! shouted Ethelbert at the top of his lungs.

There you go again.

I’m a Jute, I tell you!

Well, mumbled Charibert, it slowly dawning on him just what the young man was trying to say, nobody’s perfect.

For anyone who cared, it was anno Domini quingentesimo sexagesimo secundo (AD DLXIIo) on the Christian Kalendarium.

BATTLING WITH THE BISHOP

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Saying he had to make a little trip to the boy’s room, Charibert excused himself from the great hall and walked—lurched really, for he had much too much to drink—toward his library. He couldn’t read or write himself, but having books and a room to put them in gave him a certain cultural advantage when dealing with vulgarian kings like Ethelbert.

Oh so quietly, Charibert opened the door to the library. His torso was enormous, and he would like to have tiptoed in on his tiny-toed feet. Instead he tottered from side to side, hoping he wouldn’t be heard. The bishop was playing naughts and crosses with the Archdeacon.

Fine Christian you are, said the bishop with a pout. You cheat, and I’m not going to play with you again!

All kings smell bad, said Archdeacon Eiffel, a great talking bird who wore a hundred feathers and