Well, it is time once again for everyone favorite writing trick: flashbacks!
Yes, flashbacks. We're going to take a nice stroll down memory lane, looking back to the past. How far back are we going? Very, very far back. Back to the very beginning. About six hundred years or so. Which means lots of research for me.
That's right. I'm going to be exploring the mysterious past of Betelgeuse. Specifically, I'm going to show off his back-story. The life (and death) of one of the protagonists that we know very little about. They only give the tiniest hints in the movie about what he was like before he was summoned by the Maitlands and certainly not much about his life prior to becoming the Ghost With The Most. And though other writers might have tried to devise a reasonable depiction of his past before, I'm not afraid to put my own spin on things.
…Okay, I lied. I am a little afraid. He's a pretty impressive and interesting character, so I want to write a history that is worthy of him. Something that won't let my readers down. There are a lot of expectations to live up to considering all the varied back-stories people have devised for him in the years since "Beetlejuice" was made. But I'll do my best.
And remember, the Black Death struck England in 1348 to 1349. Just to give you a reminder of the general time period…
So let's get on with it. Flashback time! And because I don't want to write like Shakespeare (who would actually have existed after Betelgeuse's death by quite a bit), just assume that dialogue is being translated to something a bit more comprehensible to the modern audience.
It's showtime!
Regardless of what popular opinion and the media might suggest, the idea of magic did not always cause a reaction of panic and hysteria. Even during the Middle Ages, there were points where certain types of magical practices were accepted rather than leading immediately to attempts to hang or burn the witches. A lot of the people in power, even within the church, actually believed that people couldn't have magical powers anyway and that there was no harm if some chose to pretend they did. Granted, there were some who believed that all magic was connected to the devil and that thought-process grew over time, but that belief didn't have complete dominance within the culture until later.
Two "types" of magic were said to be practiced during the Middle Ages. One was considered to be the more inappropriate type that was later used as the example of how witches were pure evil while the other was considered more harmless.
Black Magic was the "bad" type of magic. Black Magic had more of an association with the devil and satanic worship. If someone fell ill of unknown causes, this was often said to be caused by witches who practiced black magic. Other harms caused to society, such as accidents, deaths, or bad luck, were also said to be caused by Black Magic.
The basis of White Magic was in Christian symbolism, and it focused on nature and herbs. It was the "good" type of magic, something intended to help. White Magic was used for good luck, love spells, wealth and spells for good health. Astrology was another major part of White Magic. Alchemy, which is the practice of making potions, was a part of White Magic as well. All these aspects were also referred to as "folk magic" and, in certain areas, it would be considered useful to have someone like that around.
In fact, prior to the 13 or 14th Century, witchcraft had come to mean a collection of beliefs and practices including healing through spells, ointments and concoctions, dabbling in the supernatural, and forecasting the future through divining and clairvoyance. In England, the provision of curative magic was the job of a "witch doctor" (a term used in England long before it came to be associated with Africa), also known as a "cunning man", "white witch" or "wiseman". "Toad doctors" were also credited with the ability to undo evil witchcraft. Although they did not refer to themselves as witches, these cunning-folk were generally considered valuable members of the community.
For a while, practitioners of folk magic were left alone by the authorities. Witches weren't really prosecuted and hunted until around the time that they published the "Malleus Maleficarum." The "Malleus Maleficarum" (The Hammer of the Witches) is a witch-hunting manual written in 1486 by Heinrich Kramer, an Inquisitor of the Catholic Church, and first published in Germany, where it is known as "Der Hexenhammer," in 1487.
In the Catholic Church, the prevalent view since AD 900 was that witchcraft was not real, that practitioners who were in the Church were instead heretics deluded by the Devil into believing they manifested arcane powers. Most punishments, pre-"Malleus" were light, either penances of a sort usually given in Confession for most sins, a spell in the city stocks, or at worst excommunication. In the 1350s, the opinion was still in the middle of shifting from "only malicious magic users who makes deals with the devil for power are dangerous, but some use magic for good works" to "all magic users are evil and made a deal with the devil."
-Excerpt from 9th Grade History Assignment "Magic, Witches, and the Middle Ages: What Happened Before People Started Hanging and Burning Them at the Stake" by Sam Manson
Elinor gasped as the latest pain faded, knowing that the end was near and hoping for a better outcome than before. The other women, and Sibylla specifically, whispered calming and soothing words in her ears, smoothing back her loosened hair, and helped her remain balanced on the horseshoe-shaped stool. She breathed heavily, the scent of the ointment smeared on her filled the air. She'd experienced this before, but it always ended in tragedy. The woman prayed this time her child would be born alive.
She'd been walking through the village, returning from the communal oven with the bread for her husband, when the first pangs of labor struck. No longer living within the village, she'd known the journey home would take too long and she would be unable to locate the neighbor women in time. Instead, she was taken to Sibylla's home while someone else in the village took news to Remfrey in the fields.
Sibylla was a wisewoman, one who moved to the town when she was younger and came with an understanding of many ointments, potions, and remedies that often helped more than those used in the past. The room was covered in the evidence of her knowledge, jars of sweet smelling contents and valuable parchments arranged on the shelves and table. She was also a skilled midwife. If there was any hope for Elinor's child surviving, Sibylla would ensure it.
Pain struck again, coming far faster than before. Seeking any distraction from the last stages of labor, Elinor's gaze searched the room. Every chest, window, and cabinet was unlocked and opened, a tradition meant to ensure an easy birth. Cloth, water, and other items awaited their use upon the child. The fire flickered, the heat making it even harder to focus on anything beyond her discomfort.
Her eyes finally fell upon a parchment resting on the table. Stars and constellations were carefully drawn and their movements across the night sky mapped. She recognized some of the shapes they formed. Sibylla's status as a wisewoman, one who knew the methods of examining the night sky to learn a child's future and what ills they might face, would need to know where the stars appeared upon their birth. Such a map would be useful for that knowledge, to help divine what the future might hold. But as a midwife, any spell she might know would not be used during the child's birth. Only afterwards, when the baby was safely delivered, might she be willing to look to the night sky to see what answers might be revealed. Anything else would risk accusations of witchcraft, though everyone in the village knew she always used her skills to help and never to harm.
Such beautiful stars, though.
"You are nearly finished," assured the midwife. "Your child is almost here."
Another woman brushed back Elinor's hair. She was so tired. She'd already suffered such hardship, debt and ruin pushing her and her husband to the edge. They had so little now. After all of this, she didn't want to be left burying another child who never drew breath. Her heart would break to lose another. She wanted a baby to hold in her arms.
This time, a short cry was torn from her throat as it struck. The other women crowded close, her hands gripping desperately the sleeves of those closest. It hurt. It hurts so much. And as the last of the pain faded again and Elinor felt her body relax, she heard something that brought tears to her eyes.
A baby crying.
The next few moments passed in a blur as the midwife and the other women scurried around her. She caught glimpses as the child was bathed, throat and mouth cleared of mucus, ears pressed back, and the limbs carefully swaddled. With the skill and experience of the various women in the room, Elinor knew the swaddling would be done correctly. It was important, after all, that the infant was properly bound tightly with the strips of cloth to ensure the limbs would grow straight and without any deformity. And it would ensure the child did not become misshapen from improper or excessive handling. After losing so many babies before they were born, she would not let anything harm this one.
Holding the crying child in her arms, Sibylla said gently, "You have a son."
Tired and sore from the day's events, Elinor reached out to finally touch her baby. She was quick to pull him close, whispering soft and kind words. She had a son. He was alive, his crying loud and strong. Even with the swaddling, she could catch a glimpse of light-colored hair so similar to her own. He was a miraculous gift, one she'd hoped and prayed for. Even with all the hardships in recent times, there was one shining glimmer of light in her life.
"Have you and your husband discussed names?" asked one of the women, reaching for some honey to place in his mouth.
"It seemed too hopeful when all the others were lost before they were born," she said quietly. "I feared that I was simply not meant to bear a child. At least not one who would live."
Another woman, one a little older and less optimistic, reminded, "He may seem healthy now, but he could easily share his siblings' fate. That is no reason not to give him a name."
"He won't die," assured Sibylla. "Not yet."
Part of her feared asking and possibly inviting the potential for witchcraft to be used against her family, but Elinor looked towards the wisewoman with hope. She'd always been a kind soul and her children were respectful of the church. Any powers that she might have or knowledge she may use to glimpse what future a baby might have, it was not the work of evil. It was a gift from above. She would not bring harm upon the child or his soul.
"What do the stars reveal to you?" she asked. "What shall become of him?"
Reaching for the star chart, Sibylla ran her finger along the lines to trace where the correct point would be for the day and time of his birth. Elinor could not hope to understand the more complicated parts of the image, but she knew that a skilled person could determine each star's location at any point in the year using the map. That would let Sibylla know what the child's future might bring.
"Your son will be far more clever than most would suspect, his will stronger than most would believe, and proud of what he can accomplish," she recited solemnly. "Love will not be easily found for him and his loyalty hard to earn, but both shall be unwavering from him if gained. His ambition will not often drive him to action. But if he chooses a goal or agrees to a deal, nothing in this life or after will stop him from completing it." Sibylla paused briefly, glancing at the baby still whimpering a little in his mother's arms, and said, "He may not be well-known outside of this village or gain much power in life, but his name shall be remembered greatly in death. So you may wish to choose one carefully."
Uncertain what to make of the prediction of her son's future, Elinor looked down at him. He was starting to settle down, the baby almost as tired as his mother. He was so precious. If nothing else, he would be remembered and treasured for simply being her child. He was a hopeful light in the world, like a little star shining down on her life.
That thought gave her an idea. Perhaps her precious little star should share a name with one in the sky, the same stars that promised he would be remembered and would grow to be a clever, determined, and confident man. It seemed fitting to the woman.
"Goodwife Sibylla," she said respectfully, "I would like you to choose a star from your charts. One that you believe would make a suitable name for my son."
If the midwife was surprised by the request, she did not show it. Instead, she merely glanced down at her parchment with a thoughtful look on her face. Her finger traced across the various drawings until she paused on one. Elinor tried to look more closely without disturbing her child. Even those who could not determine a child's fate from the stars knew at least enough to recognize them in the sky. The shape of the constellation looked familiar to her. She finally recognized it as Orion the Hunter.
"This one is a bright and unique star in the night sky," said Sibylla thoughtfully. "It is called Betelgeuse."
The famine wouldn't be nearly as bad for them if his father didn't try to cheat the lord of the manor. Lord Gilbert was usually a reasonable man, taking care of those who worked his land and trying not to burden them too harshly when times were hard by lowering their dues until a more prosperous time. But the boy knew his father just couldn't resist the urge to steal from those in power, trying to hold back their dues, and now they were expected to pay the same amount of produce during the famine as punishment. That left them with practically nothing and constant pangs of hunger in Betelgeuse's stomach.
Father was working Lord Gilbert's lands today, so he was on his own for the moment. He'd finished everything he could at home, straightening up and trying to coax some life into their garden. He even fed the skinny goat with what little plant life wasn't withered away. Now he was searching for something to eat, poking around the dark and boggy forest that grew around their home. They couldn't hunt what little game might hide in the damp and marshy terrain, but there were other options. Especially if someone was hungry enough not to be choosy.
He knew it wasn't always like this for his family, though he didn't remember any other life. Mother used to tell stories of how she and Father were once freemen who came from reasonably successful families. Father was once a thatcher in addition to his farming while mother came from a family of coopers. They had a nice house in the village and worked the better stretches of land. They were prosperous once. The thin gold ring that Father gave Mother when they married, the one passed down from his mother, was proof of that. Betelgeuse now wore that ring on a leather thong around his neck and hidden beneath his clothes, keeping it out of sight so Father wouldn't sell it and waste the money. It was the last hint of the better days of the past and of his mother.
Clambering over a fallen tree, the boy couldn't help thinking that everything was Father's fault. His actions brought the family into the debt that required him to take an oath of bondage, turning them from freemen into serfs before Betelgeuse was even born and binding them to the land. And because Father could not manage to be respectful even when completely at Lord Gilbert's mercy, he was given possession of the worst land on the fief rather than the original area they once had. The marshy, boggy area surrounded their house and they could only grow crops on the most infertile fields. Then, after Mother and the sibling he never got to meet died, Betelgeuse watched Father try to keep back a portion of their crops to sell later. His attempts to cheat on their dues earned further anger from Lord Gilbert and ensured no relief would come in times of trouble. It was foolish to anger those in power when you have none and they were paying the price with his hunger.
Finding a rotten log of a size that he could easily roll, the boy pushed hard. The moist ground underneath proved to have what he was hoping to find. Hunger and desperation made any source of food seem appealing. Hoping to ease the pangs of his stomach, he grabbed the skittering beetle and took a bite. The twitching legs and the crunch of the shell were strange, but the taste was not as unpleasant as he dreaded. He grabbed a second before it could escape and swallowed it as well.
"Are you all right? What are you doing?" a voice called, startling Betelgeuse enough to scurry away from the rotting log.
Looking up, he saw an older boy looking at him curiously. He looked about ten while Betelgeuse was only six. Wearing a cloth shirt tied with a leather belt, a thick woolen mantle that reached from his shoulders to halfway down his legs, short wool trousers, and practical shoes, he was dressed similarly enough to Betelgeuse that he was certain the older boy was either another serf or a freeman who wasn't from a particularly well-off family. The condition of his clothes, however, was better than Betelgeuse's outfit. Obviously his parents were at least wealthy enough to provide well-made clothes for their son, suggesting that being a freeman was more likely. Attached to his belt was a sheath for a small knife and a leather pouch large enough to hold three eggs easily. He held a pile of sticks in his arms, explaining what he was doing in the marshy wooded area. Unlike Betelgeuse's blond hair, the older boy possessed brown hair and an expression of pity that he didn't like.
"I'm fine," said Betelgeuse quietly, not wanting to admit what he was doing.
"You're Remfrey's son," he said, recognition dawning on his face. "I heard Father talking about him. He said the famine hasn't been good for him. He said that he tried to cheat Lord Gilbert so he'd have more money to spend on the drink and now he's paying the price."
Refusing to admit it, though more out of pride than out of defense of his father, Betelgeuse crossed his arms and remarked, "We're doing just fine. We can handle a little famine without any trouble. We're probably doing better than you are."
The older boy didn't immediately respond. He just stared at him with a thoughtful expression. Betelgeuse hoped that he believed him and left soon. The two small beetles just weren't enough to completely silence his hunger and he hoped to find something else to eat before Father returned from the fields.
"You probably are," said the older boy slowly. "Perhaps then we can make a deal. I need to collect wood for my family, but it is hard to carry enough without walking back and forth far too many times. Another set of arms would make the work go faster. And Mother packed me a little Maslin bread that I would be happy to share if you would help me carry some wood back to my home."
Hunger won out over pride, if only barely. Father always hated the idea of charity, claiming that it made them no better than vagabonds and beggars wandering the countryside. But if he helped collect and carry wood, then it wasn't charity. It was simply a trade.
"I suppose I could help," he said carefully. "It seems like a fair deal. What's your name?"
"Galeren," said the boy, starting to walk. "And my father is Henry. We live closer to the village than you. What's your name?"
"Betelgeuse," he answered as he started picking up pieces of wood. "My name is Betelgeuse."
After a very long day of trying to do the work of two, Betelgeuse walked tiredly towards the village. Early in the day, he'd received help in the fields, feeding the animals, setting the pottage to simmer so they could have something to eat that evening, and all the other chores that needed to be performed. But Father wandered off at one point and left the eleven year old alone. Betelgeuse expected it to happen, he was stronger than he looked, and knew how to handle the tasks necessary, but they weren't easy for him to do completely alone. And because Father left, Betelgeuse always had to drag him back home from the village. At least he knew where to look.
Anyone who was even half successful at growing rye, barley, and oats knew how to brew beer. It was practically a requirement unless someone wanted to risk sickness from the water or drink milk like a child. Betelgeuse was reasonably successful so far at creating a decent brew just like he learned to cook after Mother's death. But some people were far better at it and Cole's family was particularly skilled at brewing beer. They tended to brew stronger variations that were more likely to get a man drunk in a reasonable amount of time. They even produced enough to sell at their inn. Locals and travelers alike would go to their place to spend a few coins or trade other produce and goods for a cup. Even when they could not afford such things…
As he neared his destination, a voice called out to him and made the boy pause.
"Betelgeuse, what are you doing here?" asked Galeren.
The older boy, a young man by this point, was carrying a large sack of flour on his back from a recent trip to the mill. His family's fields tended to grow wheat well enough that, during good years, they would have enough left over from what little they paid as taxes to Lord Gilbert that they could keep some for themselves. Other families made due with simpler crops for the household, such as rye and barley. And because they weren't serfs, they only needed to work their own fields instead of working both theirs and those of the lord of the manor. This allowed them to produce better crops most of the time.
But they were good people. Sometimes, when Betelgeuse was hungry and wasn't too tired, he could work out a deal of various chores around their property in exchange for a little food. Of course, on the days he was exhausted from doing the work of two and too hungry to go on any longer, he would go back into the marshy woods to catch a few bugs. Hunting the game was reserved for nobility, but no one cared about the bugs. Some of them were pretty good and he couldn't impose on the generosity of Galeren's family when the boy had nothing to offer. He wasn't a beggar. Still, Betelgeuse appreciated the food during the harder times and he rather liked Galeren in general.
"Your father visiting Cole's inn?" asked the older boy gently when Betelgeuse didn't respond.
Reluctantly, Betelgeuse nodded. There was no reason why he should bother concealing the truth. By this point, everyone knew that Remfrey was fond of beer to the extent he wouldn't stop until all his coins were gone. And when he didn't spend their meager funds on stronger beer, he would turn to the cards or the dice and lose it against other players. It was why their family ended up in debt years ago in the first place. And while Father managed to work as a thatcher for a while even after becoming a serf and earning some coins that way, he'd stopped after Mother's death and now barely did the minimal work necessary to get by.
Everyone knew he was drinking and gambling his life away. It was for that very reason that Remfrey never remarried; he couldn't afford to give any woman a decent life, even if there was one who could catch the man's attention through the haze of drunkenness.
Smiling sympathetically, Galeren asked, "Do you need any help getting him home?"
"No, I can take care of him. Did you manage to see Agnes on your way to the mill?"
"Yes, I saw her," he said, adapting to the change of topic easily. "I did not have time to speak to her for long, but she seemed to like the ribbon I brought her last time," he said, a slight smile and distant expression taking over his face.
Ever since Galeren started speaking to Agnes, the black-haired daughter of William who lived at the other end of the village, it became clear that he was fond of her. And she seemed fond of the young man in return. In a few years, Galeren would almost certainly ask William for permission to marry her. All they needed to do was to wait until he could properly support a wife, which would take some time.
Betelgeuse had to admit that Agnes was pretty and rather sweet, which was probably why Galeren liked her. Actually, Betelgeuse was noticing girls far more often than in the past. There was just something about their faces, their hair, and their figures that seemed far more interesting than when he was a small child.
"I'm happy she liked it," said Betelgeuse before looking towards his destination. "I guess I better get Father. Maybe he hasn't traded away too much yet."
"Betelgeuse, how about I at least come with you inside?" Galeren. "I have a spare moment and I'd feel better if I come."
"It's getting late. You don't have to."
"Please let me do this much at least, Betelgeuse."
Not wanting to argue further and knowing he was stubborn enough to keep it up all evening, the boy nodded and headed inside. Cole and his wife owned a small inn that they ran with their children, though more people came to drink than stay in a room for the night. And though both helped make the beer, everyone knew Joan was the one who knew the tricks to making the most potent brews. All of this meant that the dark room was filled with the shouts of men, the occasional song, and the smell of ancient beer soaked into the very dirt. Waiting a moment as his eyes adjusted to the flickering light of the fireplace, Betelgeuse heard something that left him horrified and angry.
"Well, Remfrey, you've lost. I'll be by your house tomorrow with a wagon to pick up the crops you owe me."
"Bu' Aye need 'em fo' my lord," argued Remfrey, his loud and slurring voice carrying across the room. "Ca't do dis. Mus' 'ave 'em fo' Lord 'ilbert."
"Should have thought of that before you made the wager."
Betelgeuse spotted his father finally near the back, sitting next to a table covered in cards. Wearing threadbare, badly-repaired, worn out clothes, the light-haired man held a clay cup in his hands while staring blearily at his companions in vague panic. Wobbling even while sitting in place, he looked far smaller and frailer than he did out in the field.
Sitting with him was Ysembert, Peter, and Hamund. All three were broad men, build like oxen and proud members of the village. Peter was a half-decent carpenter while Ysembert was a thatcher, replacing Remfrey as the best in the village. Hamund was the one who spoke before, claiming the win.
He was going to take the crops meant for Lord Gilbert, meaning they'd have to make up the loss with anything they had left. Either Betelgeuse and his father would completely starve with nothing left to plant in the Spring or they would be cast out as homeless vagabonds and highwaymen. They couldn't afford this loss.
A desperate idea blossomed just as a worried Galeren placed a hand on his shoulder. So much could go wrong, but there was a slight chance to fix the problem. He could win the crops back from Hamund before he could properly claimed them.
"Can you go find two boards or two logs for me? About as long as I am tall?" Betelgeuse asked his friend. "If you can find and bring them here quickly, I think I can get my family's crops back from him."
Galeren nodded without question before hurrying out, his bag of flour still slung across his back. Betelgeuse turned back towards the table, trying to work up the courage for his plan. This would only work once. They would be too smart to fall for it a second time. But they wouldn't expect something this foolish yet. It might just work.
"One more wager, Goodman Hamund," said Betelgeuse as he stepped forward and captured the attention of the men.
"Go away, child. This is no game for you," scoffed Hamund.
"Scared to lose to me?" he asked, his tone taunting. "Surely you are not so poor at betting that you fear an inexperienced child winning, do you? Perhaps you worry that I shall prove a stronger challenge than a drunk man."
Just as Betelgeuse suspected, poking his pride worked. He couldn't look bad in front of his companions. That led Hamund to seek a different excuse, one that might let him save face without accepting.
"What wager, boy? You have nothing to bet," he said. "Your drunken father is broke."
Not giving himself time to reconsider, Betelgeuse pulled Mother's ring into view. The gleam of gold caught all four men's attention, Father looking just as greedy as the others.
"This ring for everything Father lost today," said Betelgeuse, trying to keep his voice sounding confident. "Winner take all."
Leaning forward, Ysembert asked, "Do you even know how to play cards?"
"No, but I have a bet I'm sure you will accept," he admitted. "I bet that I can move one of the full barrels of beer from the ground to the top of your table."
Hamund laughed, "A scrawny, half-grown thing like you?"
"And I'll do it with one hand behind my back," added Betelgeuse. "Do you accept the wager, Goodman Hamund? My ring for my Father's losses?"
"Accept it," urged Peter. "If the boy wants to make a fool of himself, then let him."
"Fine. I'll take that bet. You're going to regret it and have no one else to blame,' Hamund said before turning towards the gathering crowd. "Master Brewer, a barrel of your beer. We have need of it."
Cole looked hesitant about the entire situation, but he rolled one out without a word. Betelgeuse looked at the wooden object, filled to the brim with liquid, and knew without a single doubt it would be heavy. He was tired from a long day out in the fields, but he didn't have a lot of options. He was completely aware that he couldn't pick up the barrel and place it on the table with both hands, let alone one.
And that was the point. They wouldn't have accepted the wager if they thought he stood a chance of winning. The men thought that he was being foolish and decided to let him try because it amused them and because they were greedy. The problem was that they didn't pay attention to the details. He chose his words very carefully when he made the deal and made sure to leave a loophole.
Galeren managed to shove his way through the gathered crowd, the requested boards balanced on his shoulder. There was a look of confusion on his face, but Betelgeuse gave him a quick reassuring smile. The young boy had the situation under control
Taking care to ensure that everyone saw him tuck his left arm behind his back, Betelgeuse reached for one of the boards from Galeren's shoulder and moved it so that it was leaning against the table. Then he grabbed the second one and did the exact same thing. At this point, Betelgeuse could hear some muttering from the crowds as the smarter people realized what he was doing. Rather than being intimidated by that fact, he just grinned wider.
Still keeping his left hand behind his back, Betelgeuse tilted the barrel until it was lying on its side. He then rolled it across the ground until it was in position at the end of the boards. At that point, Hamund began to curse while Peter and Ysembert laughed.
Using the boards as a ramp, Betelgeuse began to roll the barrel up. It was still hard to do since it was heavy and wanted to roll back down, but he could manage it as long as he braced himself. Slowly it moved up the improvised ramp until the barrel made it to the top of the table. And never once did he bring his left arm out from behind his back.
"That's not fair," said Hamund. "You didn't lift the barrel."
"I never said I would," he reminded, grinning wildly. "You just thought I would. Everyone here heard exactly what I agreed to. I moved the barrel from the ground to the table with one hand behind my back. A deal is a deal. Everything my father lost tonight is mine. The crops and any coin he might have wagered."
"The boy is right," Ysembert said. "And you can't go back on your word when so many heard you take his bet."
With a reluctant look on his face, Hamund pulled out a few coins and tossed them onto the table. Betelgeuse grabbed them before his father had a chance to touch them. Ignoring the laughs, jokes, and impressed comments from the gathered audience, the boy reached for Remfrey's arm and pulled him to his unsteady feet.
"Come on," muttered Betelgeuse. "Let's get you home."
Maneuvering the drunken man through the crowd was initially difficult, but Galeren abruptly grabbed the other arm and helped him through. By the time they reached outside, it was already dark. The noise of the excited and entertained people was still audible even as they walked Remfrey in the direction of home.
"That was pretty clever, Betelgeuse," said Galeren. "How did you know it would work?"
"People pay too much attention to what they think someone says rather than what they actually say. If you listen closely and think about what their words mean exactly, sometimes you can see a way around it. And if you find a way to get around what is actually said, you can do a lot of things people never consider," he said. "I just made sure that I left myself a way out while making it sounds like I was trapping myself."
His friend laughed lightly, "As if you would ever trap yourself. Nothing can ever keep you stuck for long."
No, the flashbacks aren't quite over yet. Expect more in the next chapter. (And I hate writing drunk talk, no matter how little is used).
I will say this much. Due to the lovely combination of familiar and unusual names used during the Middle Ages, Betelgeuse's name doesn't stand out quite as much as it would today. I went through a list of common medieval names, picked about a bunch of them that I liked, and started using to populate the countryside. Old fashion names combined with nonstandardized spelling lead to some rather cool results. Betelgeuse is still a weird name, but not quite as bad as it could have been in comparison. And surnames were just starting to be used (mostly by nobility), so there's a good chance that the many of the locals wouldn't use a surname unless someone else shared that name.
On a different note, I had to do so much research about serfs, fiefs, and all that good Middle Ages stuff. I can't even tell you how much I had to look up. Well, I actually could do that.
Medieval Serfs, or villeins, were peasants who worked his lord's land and paid him certain dues in return for the use of land, the possession (not the ownership) of which was heritable. The dues were usually in the form of labor on the lord's land. Medieval Serfs were expected to work for approximately 3 days each week on the lord's land. A serf was one bound to work on a certain estate, and thus attached to the soil, and sold with it into the service of whoever purchases the land. The requirement often was not greatly onerous, contrary to popular belief, and was often only seasonally difficult, for example the duty to help at harvest-time. Serfs also had to make certain payments, either in money or more often in grain, honey, eggs, or other produce. When Serfs ground the wheat he was obliged to use the lord's mill, and pay the customary charge. Similarly, they had to use his oven to bake bread. In theory the lord could tax his serfs as heavily and make them work as hard as he pleased, but the fear of losing his tenants doubtless in most cases prevented him from imposing too great burdens on the daily life of the serf.
Besides the serfs' holding of farm land, which in England averaged about thirty acres, each peasant had certain rights over the non-arable land of the manor. He could cut a limited amount of hay from the meadow. He could turn so many farm animals such as cattle, geese and swine on the waste. Serfs also enjoyed the privilege of taking so much wood from the forest for fuel and building purposes.
Freemen, or free tenants, held their land by one of a variety of contracts of feudal land-tenure and were essentially rent-paying tenant farmers who owed little or no service to the lord, and had a good degree of security of tenure and independence. Serfs were tied to the land and could not move away without their lord's consent and the acceptance of the lord to whose manor they proposed to migrate to. They could, in theory, buy their way out eventually though.
A freeman became a serf usually through force or necessity. Sometimes the greater physical and legal force of a local magnate intimidated freeholders into dependency. Often a few years of crop failure, a war, or brigandage might leave a person unable to make his own way. In such a case he could strike a bargain with a lord of a manor. In exchange for protection, service was required: in cash, produce or labor, or a combination of all. These bargains became formalized in a ceremony known as "bondage" in which a serf placed his head in the lord's hands, akin to the ceremony of homage where a vassal placed his hands between those of his overlord.
The land owned by the Medieval vassals varied in size but were typically between 1200 - 1800 acres. The vassals land was called his "demesne," or domain. Vassals required this land, or fief, to support himself and his retinue. The rest of the fief was allotted to the peasants who were the vassals tenants. A vassals manor would typically include farming land, forests, common pasture land, a village, a mill, a church and a Manor House. The Manor House was the place of residence of the vassals and their families and were built apart from the village where the peasants lived. The Medieval vassals were all powerful over the peasants, holding privileges including Hunting and Judicial rights.
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