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 | Blogs > gowerboy > thoughtsfromtheedge > A Knight's Tale - wherein we meet Mook, a knight of Camelot, and his trusty squire Tom. |
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"Prithee, where art thou bound, sir knight, with such dispatch?" Mook paused in his cumbersome jog towards the privy. Why couldn't people just say what they meant? If there was one thing Mook couldn't abide about court it was all this theeing and thouing. He much preferred the plain talk of the villagers and countryfolk. Although, recently, he had noticed an alarming tendency amongst the youngsters to adopt courtly attitudes. Apparently "chivalry" was fashionable. Mook knew all about chivalry, but this new form of courtly love, with moon-eyed maidens and love-sick warriors left him rather cold. Chivalry was about honour and respect and honesty. Quite what composing songs to a young girl half glanced in a tower window a week last Wotansday, whom you then couldn't live without, had to do with chivalry was beyond him. Mook turned and bowed, his bladder screaming under the strain. These summer tournies were always the same. A few tankards of beer with long unseen comrades, a speech by the king toasted with more beer, a display of skill at arms for the crowds, followed by more beer and then a dash to the privy. If it wasn't for all these maidens, Mook would quite happily have relieved himself in his armour, as would most of the other knights. But apparently the damsels found the reek of urine soaked leather undergarments unromantic, so the serfs had been digging latrines all the previous day and erecting small wooden huts around them, which most folk considered extremely unhealthy. "Sorry milady, but I cannot tarry. In faith I...um...well...." Mook glanced up and suddenly the world stood still. (It's a well documented fact that the world does not stand still on these occasions. However, research mages have recently discovered a strong magical field, generated by extreme mood change, that slows time dramatically in a limited area. Tests have proved that it is indistinguishable from the field generated during the Chancellor of the Exchequer´s speech to the Round Table concerning Camelot's annual horse-fodder budget). She was beautiful. Completely, breathtakingly, heartbreakingly beautiful. Mook staggered slightly, found his feet, then lost his tongue. If he had been able to see the trouble that was lurking behind those glorious features, he would have pissed in his armour there and then. But sadly not. Love enters in at the eye, said the poet. What he didn't say is that it immediately severs the optic nerve and leaves you blinder than Blind Pugh the beggar...in Dark Alley...at midnight...on Midwinter's Night. ************************************************* Two weeks later Mook sat in his room putting the finishing touches to "Ballad of a Pure Heart". He strummed his lyre and cleared his throat. His young squire, Tom the miller's son, stood in the corner, pale and exhausted. It had been a long afternoon and Tom was beginning to wonder why he had ever wanted to get away from his father's flour milling business and sign on as a squire at Camelot. He had known it would be tough, but, as he prepared to listen to his master sing again, he began to miss the random cuffs to the head, the curses and the casual neglect that had previously been his lot. Thankfully, as Tom's master cleared his throat, there came a knock at the door. "A letter for you, sire." Tom handed the small tightly-rolled scroll to Mook who broke the familiar seal and read avidly. "Saddle up my steed, Tom. We're going on a quest," commanded Mook, "What's the matter, boy?" Tom wiped the tears of relief from his face, "Nothing sire, really. Nothing at all." ************************************************* The sun streamed through the boughs of the trees as Mook and Tom picked their way through the undergrowth. Penetrating the forest was becoming more difficult as they progressed, having lost the path some hours before. The horses were picketed in a small glade to be retrieved on their return. "But I still don't understand, sire," said Tom, continuing the conversation they had been having for most of the day, "Why does milady want this thing so badly? It seems strange to me. After all, what can she do with it?" Mook sighed and hacked at another overhanging branch, "I've told you before, Tom. It's not what she'll do with it that's important. It's the fact that I get it for her. It's a...thingummy...y'know...a token...of my love for her." "But you've only seen her once, at the tourney. Ever since then, there have only been letters sent by pageboy. I mean, how do you...how can you...what I mean is...." "You just know, Tom. It's as if the world stands still and you are consumed by the revelation that, up until that moment, your life has been incomplete, and that from that moment forth your every waking hour will be devoted to her happiness." "But about a month ago you said that love was for fools and weaklings, and that Sir Parsifal needed his head soaking in the trough for that poem he read at the tavern. What was it called? Oh yeah, 'Ode to a Fair Maiden Fair Fairer than the Fairest of the Fair'. Time stopped still while he read that, I recall." "Tom, Tom, Tom...you don't un...what was that?" The two of them froze as from ahead came the noise of movement. The crack of breaking twigs and the swishing of branches mingled with the chink of mail and the rattle of spurs. Mook raised his sword and moved Tom gently behind him. "Who goes there?" The noises stopped. The murmur of voices could be heard, and then, from a particularly large and thorny bush, emerged the head and shoulders of a knight. "Mook!" "Parsifal! But what in seven circles of hell are you doing here?" Mook lowered his sword and helped his old friend from his entanglements, "And what have you got in the sack?" Parsifal reached back into the bush and pulled a small red-headed boy from the briar. "My squire and I have just retrieved the Golden Shawl from the lair of the Mad Crocheter within the depths of this very forest," declared Parsifal, as Tom and Kelvin, Parsifal's squire, exchanged nods of acknowledgement, "And a hard time we had of it too. If Kelvin here hadn't bound her with a skein of two-ply yarn, I might still be being fitted for a patchwork jersey." Parsifal shuddered at the recollection. Mook blinked, "The Golden Shawl? But I too am bound to retrieve the very same, on the wishes of a fair maid, who at this very moment awaits my return in Slazenger Castle." This time it was Parsifal's turn to look taken aback, "Slazenger Castle? But who on earth could be awaiting you there? That is the abode of Milady Myfanwy, on whose express desire I embarked upon this quest." "Let me get this straight," Mook said evenly, "The Lady Myfanwy asked you to retrieve the Golden Shawl for her as a token of your undying love and devotion, on the understanding that you for her were the timeless icon of valour and prowess, a peerless knight to whom no other bore comparison?" Parsifal shifted uneasily, "Those may have been the words, more or less, yes. Um...you too?" The sound of birdsong filtered down through the branches. A light breeze ruffled the undergrowth. Nobody spoke for a long moment. Then Mook turned to Tom and placed a hand on his shoulder, "C'mon, Tom. Let's get the horses," he said wearily, "Oh, and Tom?" "Yes, sire?" "Remind me to burn that bloody lyre when we get back, won't you?" "Yes, sire." said Tom, feeling happier than he had in days. |
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11/2/2007 12:28 pm |
Lufigendlic.. Measure outside yourself.
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 11/2/2007 1:54 pm |
Lufigendlic..
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11/2/2007 6:01 pm |
"Remind me to burn that bloody lyre when we get back, won't you?" what was the lyer's intent? to play the bards i think!
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11/2/2007 7:01 pm |
God,you must think terrible things about us women. And much of the time, unfortunately, you are probably right. Love the Parcival/Lohengrin twist and can only hope you get the connection...otherwise, you're just having us all on. LakeyDay
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11/2/2007 7:50 pm |
hope you have a nice weekend too 
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11/2/2007 8:12 pm |
Funny story. (I suddenly feel self conscious about my navel.)
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11/3/2007 6:28 am |
""But you've only seen her once, at the tourney. Ever since then, there have only been letters sent by pageboy. I mean, how do you...how can you...what I mean is...." "You just know, Tom. It's as if the world stands still and you are consumed by the revelation that, up until that moment, your life has been incomplete, and that from that moment forth your every waking hour will be devoted to her happiness." Right. This sounds just like some of the FF love affairs 
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11/3/2007 8:07 am |
Laughing at Dancingmachines comment.....yeah it does sound like FF. Love the story and wonder how it continues!
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11/3/2007 11:25 am |
*starts clacking coconuts together* You know, for the, um, horses' hooves sound effects. I'm dyslexic. I scream Ho Dog instead of Oh God in the throes of passion.
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11/4/2007 2:04 am |
like it have agood weekend  thanks for reading and as per Dave Allen "May your God go with you"
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11/4/2007 4:03 am |
hey my friend thanks for dropping by hope the weekend is great peace to bro don't worry  I have got your back
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11/4/2007 12:10 pm |
LOL - that's a good one, MunchkinM! *plink!! plinkplink! plink!* (that's the bloody lyre)
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11/4/2007 1:23 pm |
There are love affairs on ff? *gasp* Peace .. elaine67
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11/5/2007 7:00 am |
"Remind me to burn that bloody lyre when we get back, won't you?" what was the lyer's intent? to play the bards i think! except when they hey nonny nonny.
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11/5/2007 7:04 am |
God,you must think terrible things about us women. And much of the time, unfortunately, you are probably right. Love the Parcival/Lohengrin twist and can only hope you get the connection...otherwise, you're just having us all on. LakeyDay
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11/5/2007 7:05 am |
hope you have a nice weekend too
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11/5/2007 8:53 am |
Funny story. (I suddenly feel self conscious about my navel.) until now
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11/5/2007 8:54 am |
""But you've only seen her once, at the tourney. Ever since then, there have only been letters sent by pageboy. I mean, how do you...how can you...what I mean is...." "You just know, Tom. It's as if the world stands still and you are consumed by the revelation that, up until that moment, your life has been incomplete, and that from that moment forth your every waking hour will be devoted to her happiness." Right. This sounds just like some of the FF love affairs
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11/5/2007 8:55 am |
Laughing at Dancingmachines comment.....yeah it does sound like FF. Love the story and wonder how it continues!
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11/5/2007 8:56 am |
*starts clacking coconuts together* You know, for the, um, horses' hooves sound effects.
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11/5/2007 8:57 am |
like it have agood weekend You too.
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11/5/2007 8:58 am |
hey my friend thanks for dropping by hope the weekend is great peace to bro
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11/5/2007 8:59 am |
LOL - that's a good one, MunchkinM! *plink!! plinkplink! plink!* (that's the bloody lyre) What's the difference between a lyre and a lute anyway?
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11/5/2007 9:00 am |
There are love affairs on ff? *gasp*
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11/5/2007 4:59 pm |
However, research mages have recently discovered a strong magical field, generated by extreme mood change, that slows time dramatically in a limited area. Tests have proved that it is indistinguishable from the field generated during the Chancellor of the Exchequer´s speech to the Round Table concerning Camelot's annual horse-fodder budget. This story teeters so tremendously, I love it. There is such a balance in how you've placed the various comic tidbits. We expect...expect... here, no, here!, but that's not what I expected. It's unpredictable. Brilliant. And Mook is someone I hope we meet again. I really really like this one. (ps I'm glad ff has a spell checker. Totally butchered tremendously.) Peace .. elaine67
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11/6/2007 6:35 am |
However, research mages have recently discovered a strong magical field, generated by extreme mood change, that slows time dramatically in a limited area. Tests have proved that it is indistinguishable from the field generated during the Chancellor of the Exchequer´s speech to the Round Table concerning Camelot's annual horse-fodder budget. This story teeters so tremendously, I love it. There is such a balance in how you've placed the various comic tidbits. We expect...expect... here, no, here!, but that's not what I expected. It's unpredictable. Brilliant. And Mook is someone I hope we meet again. I really really like this one. (ps I'm glad ff has a spell checker. Totally butchered tremendously.) And I really should add... Happy Birthday!
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11/6/2007 8:06 am |
Is that an African or a European coconut? I'm dyslexic. I scream Ho Dog instead of Oh God in the throes of passion.
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11/6/2007 8:07 am |
LOL - that's a good one, MunchkinM! *plink!! plinkplink! plink!* (that's the bloody lyre) I'm dyslexic. I scream Ho Dog instead of Oh God in the throes of passion.
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11/6/2007 8:50 am |
I found them in Mercia. Anglo Saxon Heptarchy in the early Middle Ages?
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11/6/2007 5:13 pm |
You found them in one of the kingdoms of the Anglo Saxon Heptarchy in the early Middle Ages? I'm dyslexic. I scream Ho Dog instead of Oh God in the throes of passion.
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11/7/2007 6:39 am |
Yes! Bloody difficult it was too. I almost regressed to being a pony.
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11/7/2007 6:58 pm |
Great Gobstoppers...your just a brilliant writer....no really..you are.. Earth is the insane asylum for the universe.
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11/7/2007 6:58 pm |
err...and when can we expect more? Earth is the insane asylum for the universe.
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11/8/2007 7:33 am |
err...and when can we expect more? thanks, wee
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