The following was originally posted on Facebook, March 2, 2021. It was written in response to several discussions about the practice of buffets during knighting ceremonies, in the immediate aftermath of Atlantia bestowing the accolade upon their first female knight, Sir Innogen of Clonmel. During the ceremony, Innogen’s knight, Duke Michael of Bedford, delivered three separate blows to the candidate, rather than the traditional single blow. 

[Content warning: discussion about intentional self-harm, blood, public displays of pain]

I understand and appreciate the power of ritual violence.

One of my first memories of the SCA is a knighting ceremony. In particular, I remember the king saying “Let this be the last blow you receive unanswered” before delivering a palm strike to the upper chest of the knight-candidate, knocking him into the waiting embrace of his new brothers-in-arms. The meaning of the blow, already known to me academically as a reminder of the knightly oath already sworn, became manifest in that moment, as did the trust shown to those who had previously endured the buffet, from the man delivering the blow to those supporting from behind.

When the time came for me to script my elevation to the Order of the Pelican, I knew that I would not be afforded a buffet; that was the purview of the Chivalry exclusively, and the Crown would never consent. Instead, I sought to create an element of ritual violence which would be meaningful to my Order, emblematic of the service I had rendered, and a manifestation of my understanding of the obligation I was about to undertake. One of my early ideas was to modify the staging of the oath of fealty to be more impactful, more symbolic, more meaningful.

The plan was simple. During the oath of fealty, instead of holding the Great Sword of State horizontally for me to rest my fingers on, the king would hold it vertically, point down, above me. I would sandwich the foible of the blade between my palms and recite the oath, in a tableau almost exactly like one that had been used by a knight for whom I held the highest esteem. The difference was this: While reciting the oath, I would guide the point of the blade to my exposed left breast, piercing the skin and drawing blood. And at the end of the oath, the king would say something along the lines of “Let this be the last blood you shed for your own purposes.”

This would, of course, be negotiated with the Crown in advance. The king would know that he was free at any time to pull up and end the piercing. I would be in full control of the point, guiding the length and depth of the cut. And naturally I would have precautions on hand, a chirurgeon standing by to staunch the bleeding in the unlikely event I hit a major vein.

The symbolic elements of this display are readily apparent. The pelican piercing its breast to feed its young is the central figure for the Order of the Pelican; it’s invoked at every elevation. And while I have suffered pain and injury while volunteering before, this cut would stand not only for the blood I’d already shed in my path to peerage, but also the sacrifices I was committed to make for as long as I remained in the SCA. The danger would likewise represent that the obligation of peerage, per the language used in my vigil, is not to be entered into lightly, but with sobriety and sincerity. This was a serious commitment I was making.

Plus, I’d get a cool scar out of it, a physical memento of my oath that day that could never be taken off or set aside.

Naturally, such a display needed an audience. I couldn’t very well swear my oath in private, and if no one witnessed the choice I made to endure the cut and bleed in token of my commitment to the SCA, then the opportunity to impress upon the populace the solemnity of the fealty oath would be lost.

In the end, I never even broached the subject with the Crown. The work which brought me to the attention of the Order carried with it the duty to consider the needs of the populace above my own. Despite the elevation being my day, regardless of my own right to make the ritual meaningful to me, I had an obligation to see how my choices would affect those around me.

And the truth of the matter is that going through with this public ritual bloodshed wouldn’t have served the needs of the Crown, the Order, the populace, or the Society as a whole. The spectacle would have undoubtedly upset members of the populace, whether they were hemophobic, had a history of self-harm through cutting, or had been betrayed and abused by someone who held power over them in a way that the tableau unintentionally evoked. Even if they turned away, they’d hear my voice crack with pain as I recited the words of the fealty oath.

And that’s not to mention the long-term damage that even a consenting king would suffer at watching a member of his populace bleed by the sword he wielded. Even if the king were able to shake off the emotional blow, no one who’d attended that court would be able to look on him, or the Sword of State, in the same way.

If I had gone through with that part of the ritual knowing its potential impact upon those I was swearing to serve, it would have demonstrated to the kingdom a different peer than who I wished to be: One who placed his own needs above others, who prized symbols over feelings, who would force an entire court to witness his staged and unnecessary suffering rather than allowing past deeds and future obligations to speak for themselves.

I still think there might have been a way to perform the ritual piercing in a meaningful, symbolic way that nonetheless spared the populace an unwanted and unwelcome vignette of violence. Perhaps during my vigil, in the presence of other members of the Order. Or perhaps with just the Crown and a few loved ones. Perhaps even on my own, while contemplating the responsibilities of becoming a Pelican. Even now, I have an itch on my chest where a scar should be.

But then I shake my head and return to the work at hand, for mine is an Order known for quiet sacrifice.