Reynard Condemned

The stairs are coming together well enough. J.O. and I spent some time the other day cutting the side sections, or “stringers,” that the steps fit on. This work has to be fairly precise, as having off-kilter stairs can be dangerous and makes a bad impression. That’s why I had J.O. around: Although I’ve done this work on my own, I wanted these stairs to turn out right. So far so good.

Yesterday I planted the two support posts that the stringers will attach to, fixing them to the bolts cemented into the ground. The posts are sturdy and straight, won’t budge any time soon. I used steel brackets I cut from my scraps, bent into shape with the gas torch. The metal is thick and strong, having been cut from pieces used on farm machinery. These brackets will be mostly hidden down there at the bottom of the posts. As an added touch, I thought to leave some overhang on the sides of the steps—so that the treads extend beyond the handrail and posts, leaving a little shelf. If it doesn’t look too strange, these side-shelves can be used to place flower pots, help adorn the porch and stairs. I’ve noticed that some people put their plants and flowers on the steps themselves, but it seems that maybe an unwary step-walker might knock against them, fall down or trip. This way, the flower pots will be off to the side—not in the area where people walk. If the look isn’t what I expected, I can simply cut off the overhang.

Out back I’ve done nothing further on the deck. High winds bringing a cold front have hammered the area, sending anything not fastened down blowing away or skittering down the street. I came around the house just in time to see a large plastic sheet slowly moving down the street, away from the house. As I thought about going to retrieve it, the wind picked up, giving the slow-moving sheet an extra shove. “Someone will find it,” I thought, “Will bring it home and make it their own.” If not, I would make sure to look for the big thing the next time I drove down the road, would put it in the car and give it a ride back to the house. It was the plastic I’d used to cover the new walkway while the cement cured.

As a note of explanation, I should maybe address why I am doing the projects in the order I’ve chosen. To a casual observer, someone maybe not even a little interested in home renovation work, it might appear that getting the house habitable might be a priority. To that person I would say that it IS important to get the place put back together, have a useable kitchen and bathroom, working heat and electricity—maybe a few faucets where you can clean up after a hard day’s work. But all of that work is going to get done anyway—I have no choice in the matter. In other words, it’s not optional. But the projects that deal with the niceties, the enhancements—the new porch, the deck out back, the more attractive stairs—I know from experience that they would most likely never get done. I would be so incredibly burned-out from the never-ending work involved inside the house, that I would, at the very end of it all, step back and say “To hell with it. I’m done.” And the house would remain the poor, abused-looking thing that it is. I’ve seen another place that was purchased just down the street. The house looks even worse than mine; but the investors renovated the whole interior, did a pretty nice job of finishing things off in there. However, they didn’t do anything with the exterior, and it looks like another typical, dilapidated house in an area of mostly neat homes maintained by their appearance-conscious owners. So I had to be honest with myself, realistic in my expectations and deal with the things that I knew would be put on hold indefinitely. Besides, the outside work is just more fun.

REYNARD FACES THE LION IN HIS COURT

When last we visited with our friend from the 1400s, he’d reluctantly agreed to accompany his nephew to hear the charges against him in the Lion’s court. This was the third attempt to get him to go; the bear failed in his mission, and so did Tybert the cat, both of whom were sorely abused for their efforts. On the way to see the Lion, Grymbart has Reynard do some penance, and the two finally appear before the fox’s accusers and the Lion, who has the role of judge in this affair.

With the arrival of Grymbart and Reynard comes a great tumult of voices, each wronged animal wanting to be heard above the others.
“Look at my head!” lamented Bruin the bear.
“I lost an eye!” cried the cat Tybert.
“I’m almost dead!” shouted the wolf.
In all of these proceedings there appears to be no special reliance on courtroom protocol or procedures; the lion allows the animals to make their accusations, and then hears the fox defend himself in his turn. He summarily declares him guilty and condemns him to death by hanging.
“We would desire him to be dead,” says one of the animals. On this everyone is agreed, needing no additional reflection or time to ponder the poor fox’s fate. This departure from normal judicial proceedings may be how matters were settled amongst beasts in the woods of fifteenth century Europe. The people’s courts may not have meted out justice any the better, for all they were concerned.

So Reynard, condemned to death, offers the king riches beyond all imagining. Here is what he says:

“Sire, sorrowful be me, as before you and your Dame Lion I stand, looking forward to being no more. But it is with good that I have acted, and it was with treachery that Bruin the bear would behave towards you.”

The fox then explained how his very own father he one day spied hoarding away some treasure in a hole, placing the jewels and gold in there and then covering up the hiding place so that it looked no different from the ground of its surrounding.
“He then took his tail,” said the fox, “and swished it around, so as to better smooth the dirt and make the place look like any other.”
“Hmm..swished the dirt, did he?” said the lion.
“Sire, he did swish the dirt,” replied the fox.
Then Reynard went on to explain that his father and Bruin the bear were planning a campaign against the very exalted and ennobled sire that stood before the humble fox, that they were offering a month’s pay in advance to anyone willing to take up arms in their cause. They sent out notice through the forest, posted messages and so on, so as to spread the word, and a great many interested parties responded.
“They posted messages?” said the Lion.
“Sire, they did post messages,” assured the fox.

Then Reynard explained how he went to that hole, the hiding place of the treasures, said that it was not so well-hidden that he could not again find it. While his father and Bruin were out enlisting the help of the forest beasts, posting messages and so on, the fox and his wife worked through the night to remove the treasure—the many gold and silver things and stones of great value besides.
“There were stones, too?” asked the king.
“Sire, there were many stones,” said the fox. “And they were of great value,” he added.
“When my father came to that place, wanted to extract some treasure to pay the treachery workers, lo did he find the hole without valuables, containing only dirt and empty space. It is then that a great sadness was beset upon him, and he went quickly to end his sadness and his life—mine own father.”

Reynard explained to the interested King and his Dame how he’d saved the royal couple from this terrible uprising, this paid rebellion, and—further—he had much riches from the King Ermeryk that he would gladly make a gift of.
“King Emeryk?” asked the Lion.
“Yes, it is from he that flow these riches of which I speak.”
“And where are they now?” asked the king.
The fox replied that these things were hidden now in a faraway place, a land called Krekenpyt.
“Krekenpyt?”
“Yes, sire. Krekenpyt. It is a faraway place, a forest thick in trees and great in region.”
“Well, I’ve heard talk of Paris, London, Cologne and Aachen,” said the Lion. “But never this Krekenpyt. You must be making it up.”
At these words the fox became as if he were from insults suffering, made angry a request to the hare, who happened to be nearby.
“Hare, have you heard of this forest they call Krekenpyt?” he aked.
The hare bore out the story, said that were it well he’d never visited that place, as terrible were his days there.
“So you see,” said the fox, “There IS a Krekenpyt!”
“Ok, ok,” replied the King. “Sorry I doubted you.”

So arrangements were made to go retrieve the treasure promised by the fox Reynard.
“Surely you will come with us—my Dame and I?” said the lion.
And the fox made his excuses.
“Well, about that,” he said. “It is so that the Pope forbids me passage in that land, that for deeds of mine I am not to be seen there. And, besides, do you really want to be seen running around with the lowly, ill-regarded fox?”
He then went on to assure the king that he would put things to right with the Pope.
“Immediately I leave you, I will straightaway go to Rome, seek absolution. I’ll do this right away,” said the fox.
“Then, once that business is taken care of, I’ll take to the sea, make for the holy land, do some penance there and see what can be done about me. I plan to make a thorough job of it. I’ll let you know when I get back,” he added.

When the fox had finished speaking, the royal couple—in their gratitude—made him a most eminent member of their court. He now held a position of some authority. When the other animals—most notably the bear and Tybert the cat—heard what had happened, they couldn’t believe their ears.