Maelle MacLeod — The Pig of Ravenford | 1267

“The Pig of Ravenford” is from Maelle MacLeod’s album 1267. A lively tale of Gertrude, a pig, a bag of apples, a humiliated steward — and one of the least intentional heroes in local history. From 1267 by Maelle MacLeod. This track was created with the assistance of generative AI as part of the Fleur Sauvage Records project. Lyrics below. Come hear of Ravenford, where river meets the wood, and how one noble creature stood up for what was good. She fought for ancient freedom! She faced the tyrant's men! Her name was Gertrude. She was a pig. Let's start again. Old Widow Agnes owned her, a monstrous spotted sow, with little love for strangers and less for bathing, though. She slept beside the woodpile. She rooted up the yard. She ate what wasn't fastened down— and things that Agnes barred. No wisdom filled her little eyes. No noble heart was stirred. But Gertrude knew an apple when Gertrude saw the fruit. Usually from quite far away. Now Ravenford had grazed its swine beneath the forest trees since grandfathers of grandfathers had scratched their grandfathers' knees. The poor drove pigs to acorns when autumn browned the land. Then Lord Baldwin's steward came with parchment in his hand. “The forest now is Baldwin's. The acorns are his right. No pig shall enter from this day.” The townsfolk answered: “Shite.” Oh, Gertrude of Ravenford, glory to your name! You never fought for justice. You never sought for fame. You never loved the common folk nor cared what rights they had. You only wanted apples— and wanted them quite bad! The steward came on horseback with soldiers at his side. He read the lord's proclamation with bureaucratic pride. An old man raised his walking stick. A soldier drew his sword. A woman shouted, “Thieving swine!” The steward said: “A word like that again, and someone here will hang before the night.” Then Gertrude saw the saddlebag. And Gertrude saw— —what's that? Apples. She charged. Not for the people. She charged. Not for the poor. She charged because twelve apples were approaching through her door. The steward's horse saw Gertrude and disagreed with fate. It reared. The steward left the saddle at an admirable rate. He landed in a puddle. The apples hit the ground. Gertrude reached the battlefield. And ate what she had found. Oh, Gertrude of Ravenford, terror of the crown! One man climbed a willow tree. One man's breeches fell down. One soldier jumped into the ford and lost his sword and hat. Gertrude noticed none of this. There were still apples. Three. “STOP THAT PIG!” the steward cried, still sitting in the mire. Four soldiers formed a battle line with discipline and ire. Gertrude finished apple ten. Then eleven. Then— twelve. She looked at them. They looked at her. They reconsidered their health. The people started giggling. Then someone gave a roar. Soon all of Ravenford was laughing as never laughed before. The steward stood, with duckweed on his head, and said: “This matter isn't over.” “No,” said Agnes. “She's not fed.” The story reached Lord Baldwin, along with someone's claim that Ravenford had raised a beast in liberty's great name. The lord demanded witnesses, the charter and the law. And in an ancient monastery chest a dusty clerk then saw a grant made to the townsfolk some ninety years before: the right to feed their swine on mast within the eastern wood. The seal was clear. The wording stood. The steward had no case. Lord Baldwin read the document and looked him in the face. “You were beaten by a pig.” “No, my lord.” “You're covered in mud.” “Yes, my lord.” Oh, Gertrude of Ravenford, glory to your name! You never fought for justice. You never sought for fame. You never loved the common folk nor cared what rights they had. You only wanted apples— and wanted them quite bad! The bells of Ravenford were rung. The pigs returned to wood. The people drank to Gertrude because people thought they should. Someone brought a laurel wreath. Gertrude ate a leaf. Someone called her “Freedom's Sow!” Gertrude scratched her teeth. A poet cried: “She knew! She knew the people's ancient right!” Agnes said: “She knew there was an apple sack in sight.” So sing of noble chargers! Sing falcons in the sky! Sing hounds that save their masters! Fine. We won't ask why. But when you sing of heroes who changed the course of men, remember spotted Gertrude and count the apples: TEN! Eleven! TWELVE! Oh, Gertrude of Ravenford, glory to your name! You never fought for justice. You never sought for fame. No sword was in your trotter. No banner did you bear. You saw a bag of apples. You wanted your fair share. The lord still owned his castle. The poor still worked the land. But pigs went to the forest as ancient law had planned. So raise a cup for Gertrude! Let Ravenford be glad! She only wanted apples— and wanted them quite bad! Some say she fought for freedom. Some say she understood. Some say she faced the tyrant for the people and the wood. Agnes said: “She was a pig.” “Good pig.”