Jimbo

Hi everyone.

I originally posted this chapter on this forum in the middle of '06. Since then I've gone back to it from time to time and edited it, and re-edited it...cut bits out, put them back in again and again and...! I just don't seem to be able to stand back and say, 'There, it's finished!'

I've had a fair bit of help from people on another writing forum (not sure if I'm allowed to name it here?), but I wanted to expose it to another audience, too.

Basically, I'd just like to know what people make of it as it is today. It's meant to be a light-hearted, humourous piece. Oh, and as you can probobaly tell, I'm British, so please excuse any problems that are down to trans-atlantic language barrier!

London, 1415AD

Ralph was confused….

Upon leaving the Tricky Weasel Inn, he had attempted a short walk down a similarly short, dark alley next to the raucous old tavern. His intention had been to shave a few minutes from the hike to the stable, where his horse, Gaston, was probably at that very moment enjoying a nosebag full of whatever it is that horses eat out of nosebags. Ralph could not remember just then what that might be, but apples probably had something to do with it. Thinking of apples brought cider to mind and thinking of cider, more specifically the quantities of the stuff he had just poured down his throat, made the fact that he was now lying face down in a stinking, brown puddle all the more comprehensible.

He lifted his head from the puddle, just in time to avoid a lungful of rainwater and mud as he inhaled deeply in an attempt to clear his mind, and thus begin to figure out where he was.

It was at that moment that the man who had hit him from behind, knocking him into the puddle, had hefted him up by the armpits, spun him and slammed him against the wall of the tavern, pinning him in place like a pressed flower - albeit a rather drunk and soggy flower. Ralph's eyes were jolted open with the force of the impact and he pounced on the opportunity to seek out the cause of this sudden and rather painful motion. He could not see anything past the large, angry-looking man whose face grimaced at him from mere inches away. Ralph's alcohol-induced confusion turned tail and fled the field in the face of a superior force: panic.

"Right, 'and it over then!" demanded the man behind the grimace.

Confusion rallied momentarily and Ralph said "Huh?"

This did not seem to placate the man. "Your money? 'And it over?" he asked, seemingly somewhat perplexed at Ralph’s inability to comprehend.

Ralph's confusion completed its rout, but unfortunately for him, it left behind a crack rear-guard of outraged stubbornness. "No," he said indignantly, "unhand me or I shall call the Watch!"

His assailant, who had been holding him by both shoulders, growled and abruptly moved one massive hand to grab Ralph by the throat. He found himself scraped up the wall as he was lifted a few inches off his feet and once again held in place, feet now dangling uselessly. Gosh, he noted to himself, this chap is big.

Breathing was still an option, but only just. The man putting the squeeze on Ralph was so close to him that there was not enough room to swing a kick, or even angle a knee at any soft fleshy bits. If the brute even had any, Ralph thought. The idea of throwing a punch entered his mind, but due to the proximity of his attacker and his own limited mobility, he would only be able to land a weak, hooked punch at a very awkward angle. However, now that the robber had his victim where he wanted him, he seemed to unwind a bit.

"Look 'ere, I just want your money. Tell me where your coins are, I take 'em, an' you get a quick bash on the 'ed an' its all over, right?" The man asked in what Ralph thought was a very reasonable tone, considering the kind of transaction he was offering.

"But it is mine; I need it!" Ralph gasped, as a group of small, flashing spots appeared right in the centre of his vision, obscuring the villain's oft-broken nose. Ralph’s eyes darted around, frantically trying to locate a source of assistance. He noted two other figures at the opposite end of the dingy ally. These figures were also engaged in an embrace, although of a far more enjoyable kind. With his throat being gently crushed, shouting for help just was not possible. Maybe they could form part of a cunning distraction though, he thought. One he had used in a variety of situations and always to a variety of outcomes.

"Look 'ere. A fine 'n dandy gent like yourself can afford to be robbed now 'n then. Comin' down 'ere, it's to be expected, like. Come on, a man's got to eat." The thug was still using reason, or what he thought was reason. To show just how reasonable he was, he relaxed his iron grip round his victim's neck, just a little.

"And this man has got to live!" stressed Ralph. "I owe money to somebody, and if they do not get it very soon, then I am a dead fine 'n dandy gent!"

The would-be thief's patience ran out. With his free hand, he snatched at something behind his back and produced a short, black and very solid looking club.

"Right then, I'll 'ave to do this the 'ard way, eh?" He said, raising the club above his head slowly, and very menacingly. It was time for Ralph's desperate ploy, his flailing clutch at a flimsy straw. He made a great show of widening his eyes and looking past the man's right ear in the direction of the lusty couple at the other end of the alley. "I say, is that the King?" He gasped, in as much of an excited shout as his constricted airways would allow. Even as he choked the words out, he knew his trick was lamer than a two-legged pony and he was about to have his skull cracked.

"The King?" cried the thug, in a surprisingly high and child-like excited voice. Completely forgetting himself, he turned in the direction Ralph had indicated, dropping his victim in the same movement. At the sound of his shout, the other pair froze in guilty unison. A gust of wind carried a few hushed, hissed words from one of the figures back up the alley, “…on Earth could they know it’s you?”

From the other came an exasperated “shush!”

The wind failed to carry the second figure’s next sentence. “Away with you woman. One shall have to have these unfortunates dealt with. Just in case….”

This second figure then withdrew from his lady-friend's embrace, yanked his trousers up from round his ankles and turned to face Ralph and his…friend. The woman let her dress fall back into place, gave it a quick, smoothing brush with one hand and fled from the alley like a bolt from a crossbow.

"Oh, what rotten luck," whined the abandoned lover as he buckled up his belt. "One wonders how on earth you knew it was I?" he enquired of the thief, now tucking his shirttails into his trousers.

Ralph, who had dropped to the floor like a sack of turnips, had just started launching himself from a crouched position into a sprinting away quickly position. He froze in mid-launch, stood upright and also turned to look.

"You are the King?" He asked incredulously.

"One has that pleasure, yes." The man was partially in shadows so the veracity of his claim could not immediately be borne out. That was by the by though, as neither Ralph, nor the thief actually knew what the King looked like. A loud coughing fit suddenly overcame the so-called King. Was it his imagination, or did Ralph make out the word 'guards!' squeezed surreptitiously in between splutters once or twice?

A few quiet seconds passed. No one seemed to know what to say. The alleged King appeared to be waiting for something; he also looked almost embarrassed enough to put to the test the old adage ‘to die of shame’. Ralph felt his confusion coming back, with reinforcements. His brain, no longer working overtime panicking about his impending battering, was now reminding Ralph of the eight or nine flagons of cider it had been immersed in inside the Tricky Weasel a mere ten minutes ago. Ralph swayed a bit on his feet and leaned against the grimy alley wall. The man who had moments ago been about to render him unconscious and take his money dropped to one knee, right into the same puddle Ralph had almost inhaled earlier.

"My lord, 'tis an 'onour! Erm, Bernard at your service, sire," he said, eyes on the ground.

Ralph clicked his tongue in derision at this simpleton's display of gullibility.

"Bernard eh? Well, Bernard, that is not our King you idi- er, my good man. In fact, that is not any King. That would just be yet another opportunistic scallywag, like your good self." He chided.

"Ahem, actually, one is the King, you know. Travelling incognito as it were. All the better to sample the lives and welfare of one's subjects. Besides, the crumpet in these parts far exceeds anything up in yonder castle."

"Can't you get a better baker? Being King an' all that?" enquired Bernard.

"Er?" replied the King.

"I say," said Ralph, who was once again getting value for money out of his drinking binge and coming over a bit feisty, "if you are the bloody King, then bloody prove it!"

It did not strike Ralph that should this chap be able to comply with his demand then he had just sworn at his monarch. Swearing to your monarch is acceptable – for oaths and suchlike. But swearing at your monarch is dangerous for your health and that of any known family, friends and associates, depending on how touchy that particular monarch might be.

"My dear fellow, one was just arriving at that matter," said the King, stepping out of the shadows and into a slightly lighter part of the generally very dark alley. In the gloom Ralph judged that the man was of average height and quite slim of build, yet he carried himself with a bearing that Ralph could only think of as, yes, regal. The chap moved a little closer and he struck Ralph as having chiselled features, fairly handsome - or was that the drink talking?

"Loyal subjects," began the King, "one's reputation is at stake here. One would not like evil rumours to sweep the town, possibly entering one's castle via one's servant's quarters. One would not like such rumours to then haunt the halls of one's castle, perhaps reaching the fair and delicate ears of one's beautiful Queen. Would one?" Ralph did not care one way or the other what ‘one’ did or did not want, he just wondered why this man almost seemed to be stalling them. But stalling for what?

"No!" exclaimed Bernard obediently, where obedience conveniently stood in for an understanding that was decidedly absent.

Ralph sighed sarcastically.

"One would offer one's subjects a small boon, were they to swear oath to never make mention of a chance meeting with their King…" bargained the King.

"Ooh, a boon," Bernard enthused. "What's a boon?"

"Oh what drivel!" Ralph was dismissive. "Bernard! Mug this phoney whilst I make good my escape will you? There is a good fellow."

"Gentlemen, please. You need but name a price, and one will have servants bring you your desire, in exchange for your stillness of tongue," offered the King.

Ralph was getting bored of this display and realised that he might be wasting good escaping time, but the only thing running away just yet was his tongue.

"If you are the bloody King, make me a bloody knight of the bloody realm then! Ha!" he challenged, triumphantly.

"Ooh, yeah sire, make me a knight 'n'all!" seconded Bernard enthusiastically, nodding his shaven head violently up and down

"Knight you?" asked the King, shocked.

"Yes. Make me a bloody knight, my liege! Ha-ha!" laughed Ralph, now enjoying turning the tables on this obvious trickster.

The so-called King's brow furrowed and he looked contemplative, before smirking a smirk of the most cunning and sly kind. "Hmmm," he began. Ralph tapped his foot impatiently, Bernard, the thief-turned-flunky, bit his lip in anticipation. "One will knight you both!" He announced grandly. Ralph snorted in derision, Bernard gave a tiny yip of excitement.

"However," the King continued, "one will need to summon one's bodyguards…as they have…umm…one of them has one's ceremonial sword…for…umm…safe-keeping."

The King's hand went to a pocket in his trousers. Ralph tensed, expecting a knife; the conman had tired of his little game and was resorting to the popular peasant pastime of murder and robbery. The King's hand reappeared and all Ralph saw was a golden twinkle from a key-sized object. The King brought the object near to his lips before pausing.

"Do not be alarmed my good fellows, one shall just summon one's bodyguards who are on watch nearby. One must have privacy whilst one is…err…investigating the welfare of one's subjects." A wistful flash passed across the King's face. No doubt he was ruing the interruption of his 'welfare investigation' moments ago.

"Bodyguards?"

Ralph did not like the sound of that at all.

"Stand up Bernard!" He hissed at the kneeling brute by his side, now convinced that trouble was in the offing. Bernard ignored him.

The man claiming to be King pressed the golden object to his lips and blew into it. A shrill whistle erupted, blasting Ralph's ears and making him wince. Within moments, shouts could be heard from both ends of the alley, and the clatter of numerous feet clad in heavy boots. Ralph glanced over his shoulder, in the direction he had come from originally and saw three men in dark uniforms and rounded helmets running towards the sound of the whistle blast. Ralph looked aghast at the conman, his jaw dropping.

"Oh lord." Ralph said to himself as a kind of awed incredulity came over him.

Behind the King, another figure had entered the alley carrying a torch. The bright flames from the burning stick illuminated the crest of the Royal Guards on his tunic and lit up his face, revealing features obscured by masses of facial hair and scars. Surely this was some kind of wild boar given a uniform, thought a terrified Ralph.


(There you go. A massive thanks to anyone who read this.)

A-L

I SWEAR I posted something about this earlier but I don't think it showed up. Eh. I really enjoyed this piece, it was humerous, detailed, and downright entertaining. Good Job so far.

Jimbo

How strange.

Well, thanks very much for the read, and the positive feedback. Much appreciated.