"Halt!" Arthur cried as they approached a tall castle. They blew the signal horn and Arthur cried "Hallo!" twice before a figure appeared on the wall. He wore a butler's suit and helmet.

"Allo! Who is eet?" the figure asked.

"It is King Arthur, and these are my Knights of the Round Table. Who's castle is this?"

"This is the castle of my master, the honourable Sir Leigh Teabing." The man fidgeted in an ornery way.

"Go and tell your master that we have been charged by God with a sacred quest. If he will give us food and shelter for the night, he can join us on our quest for the Holy Grail," Arthur said, giving his usual canned speech.

"Well, I'll ask him, but I don't think he'll be very keen. Uh, he's already on one, you see."

"What?"

Galahad explained, "He says his master's already on a grail quest!"

"Are you sure he's on one?" Arthur asked the figure on the wall.

"Oh, yes. It's very time consuming-a."

"Well, u-- um, can we come up and meet him?"

The guard sighed and assumed an even more defiant posture. "Ye must answer me these questions three, ere the inside ye see! First… what is your name?"

"It is 'Arthur', King of the Britons. I told you that before."

"Second, what... would my master serve… tea or coffee?"

"Tea, I imagine," answered Arthur. He didn't think someone named TEAbing would be inclined to serve coffee.

"Correct. And thirdly, what... do you put in the tea… milk or lemon?"

Arthur recalled his granninny's strict teachings on the subject. She'd once thrown him down a well for answering that very question too hastily. He answered correctly this time with, "what kind of tea?"

The figure on the wall was utterly aghast. "Huh? I-- I don't know that!" He looked as if he would have jumped off the wall in desperation if Arthur hadn't known to keep people talking in these cases.

"Well, what kind of man are you that you don't know that?"

"I'm French! Why do think I have this outrageous accent, you silly king-a! My master is ze English type-a around here."

"What is he doing in France?"

"Mind your own business!"

"If you will not show us to your master, we shall take your castle by force!"

"You don't frighten us, English pig-dogs! Go and boil your bottom, sons of a silly person. I blow my nose at you, so-called Arthur King, you and all your silly English k-nnnnniggets."

"What a strange person," Galahad commented unnecessarily.

"Now look here, my good man--" Arthur attempted.

"I don't wanna talk to you no more, you empty headed animal food trough wiper! I fart in your general direction! Your mother was a hamster and your father smelt of elderberries!"

"Is there someone else up there we could talk to?" Galahad asked. "Your master, perhaps?"

The guard sniffed. "No. Now, go away, or I shall taunt you a second time-a!"

"Now, this is your last chance. I've been more than reasonable," Arthur shouted.

Suddenly, another person appeared in the crenellation over from the guard. He was very aristocratic-looking with graying red hair. "Now, what's going on here? Have you been giving my guests a hard time? What am I paying you for, Remy?"

Remy the guard sighed.

Teabing continued, "Now, we must welcome the fellow grail seekers with a proper meal. Fetchez la vache."

"Quoi?"

"Fetchez la vache! Oh, never mind, I'm never going to master this inferior language of yours. Get the filet mignon you've been cooking."

Somewhere off in the shrubberies, a voice radioed to the authorities on his divine ear, "I have confirmed the location of the criminals. Fetchez la Fache."

Meanwhile, an albino monk approached as well, chanting softly and periodically whacking himself on the head with a board.