Here it is: the story you've been waiting for! The story they said couldn't be told! Set against the backdrop of the current Middle Ages a tale of two young people who searched for a world with chivalry and honor and found…each other!
In September of the year 1976 Gregorian, I was a graduate student in the Department of Geology at West Virginia University. As all heterosexual young men, I desired female companionship but there were very few women in the geology department and most of them had boyfriends or husbands. I decided I needed to expand my circle of acquaintances.
One of the undergrads had told me about an organization she belonged to called The Society for Creative Anachronism. It sounded like fun, and they were holding a demo to attract new members, so I decided to look into it.
I got to the demo late and so missed the sword play. When I came in there were several people in medieval garb answering questions from mundanes. I particularly noticed one very good looking brunette garbed in orange and black taffeta. I was very disappointed to learn that she had a lord in the Barony of Bakhale (Philadelphia PA).
I decided to join the Society and two weekends later, found myself journeying to the Shire of Myrkwud (Baltimore MD) to attend Eastrealm's Crown List. I was riding with Lord Stephen of Crowley and Evart of Bangor. On the trip, they were bad mouthing the brunette lady whose name I had learned was Isolde die Graue. Evart in particular seemed to be down on the lass and I concluded that perhaps I was lucky she had a love interest elsewhere.
The Sunday after the tournament a problem arose: the two young ladies who had ridden with Isolde to Crown List had found other rides back to Morgana. Isolde was taking antihistamine for a cold and wished to have a passenger to converse with so as not succumb to drowsiness induced by the drug. No one wanted to ride with her, no doubt because of Isolde's mean spirit.
Since I was one of the newest members of the Shire, I was asked if I would be willing to take the ride. Being forewarned about the lady and figuring I could put up with anything for three hours, I agreed.
On the trip back to Morgana, I began to wonder what Evart had been talking about. Isolde was as charming as she was beautiful. Why had they spoken of the lady so harshly? (A tip to young men everywhere, former boyfriends seldom make good references.)
Over the course of the next year, Isolde and I became good friends but oh! 'Twas torture! My affection had grown beyond the platonic but being a Viking, I was bound by a high degree of personal honor. It would have been a violation of that honor to steal another lord's lady. So things might have stayed but for the intervention of other forces.
In August of 1977, I had an accident opening a bottle of wine and severely lacerated my right hand. I had promised my parents that I would come home for a visit that weekend but I couldn't drive while on pain pills and with my right hand bandaged. Isolde, being a good friend, offered to drive me to my parents’ home. I accepted and the stage was set.
My mother is a witch. I've known this since long before I joined the Society. I don't remember much of the particulars of that visit home save one. As we were about to depart from my parents house my mother said, "Remember, if Edward ever throws you over Tracy, there's always my son."
Two months later, Isolde was in my apartment when she received a farspeaker call. We had just returned from the coronation of Master Frederick of Holland and Isolde had offered to make dinner as payment for the ride. The farspeaker call was Edward and out of courtesy, I tried not to eavesdrop on Isolde's side of the conversation. This was very hard to do in an efficiency apartment, so I wound up closeting myself in the bathroom.
Edward said that he had wished to talk to her at the event but had not been able to find privacy. He had become enamored of another lady and he wished to terminate their relationship. They conversed quietly for a few minutes, Isolde hung up and I emerged from my bolt-hole. She stood stoically for a few seconds then flung herself into my embrace and wept on my shoulder.
Isolde stayed with me that night. The rest, as they say, is history.