'Fine beast, isn't he?' said the groom I'd got talking to, raising his voice over the hubbub of the joust spectators.
'Yes,' I replied, following what I thought was his gaze, 'All slender build…long, elegant legs…lean muscles looking good under his coat…'
'Fine tail'
'Tail? Actually, I was talking about Master Chaucer. Though I daresay the horse is nice as well,' I added, eyeballing the groom and silently daring him to comment.
-
Fine, sunny day for a joust, too.
The concept ('I'm-bored-what-shall-we-do-hey-how-about-we-hit-each-other-with-sticks-and-pointy-objects?') itself was the most ludicrous thing ever invented by man– but the frills, like massive grassy fields, hordes of banner-waving happy people, and Wat apparently having multiple orgasms at the sight of a pasty stall, well, they were an excellent way to spend the afternoon.
'Tell you something, Geoff, when I go back, it'll be the outfits I miss the second-most'
(Indulge me. Skip this paragraph if you're one of these people who doesn't appreciate that all little girls still love to play dress-up. Full-length sleeveless scarlet kirtle, lace-up laces at the neck left slightly un-drawn, with a black overdress giving it some knee-length sleeve underneath, and the rest of the double-sleeve coming out to a point over my hands. And all this on the pasty skin of someone from the Age of Factor 50 Sunscreen!
'How do I look?'
'Like a wraith cross-bred with Queen Isabella's wardrobe mistress'
'Excellent'
I adjusted the pointy hat, satisfied.
'I should've made you walk down the street back at my place, Geoff. We have names for men who strut about in burgundy leather trousers and fur-trimmed coats on weekdays'
'Stylish?'
'No. Drag Queens'
Chaucer raised an eyebrow, smiling and not understanding.
'Ah, Queens! Well, being named after the aristocracy can't be bad. How excellent to know my trademark flamboyancy will still be recognised by generations to come…they still teach everyone my works, you say?'
'Yes, Geoff, I sat an exam on it yesterday'
'Ahhh, I'm a national treasure…!' he proclaimed to the sky, waving his gibbon-like arms heavenwards to God and closing his eyes, apparently overcome.
'Yes. Or just precious,' I said, flopping down delightedly in the long grass. I shook my head, smirking, ' My, my, my we are full of ourselves today, aren't we?'
'I have t'be, see,' he said, suddenly bending down to me and talking in a most theatrical whisper, and pausing for dramatic effect.
I cocked my head at him, 'Why…?'
'Yes, yes, I was just getting there, y'see, just pausing for effect – because!' he jumped back, lurching backwards, spreading his arms out and tipping his head back to shout at the sky one again, 'I'm introducing the bloody thing! Everyone will be hanging onto my words like baying dogs! Everyone's counting on my wizardy with words, my wicked way with…erk,' he said, falling over sideways and becoming lost to view amid the scratchy jungle of grass.
Unperturbed, I continued making a daisy-chain.
'Geoff,' I said, after a long pause, 'Are you pissed?'
He sat up unsteadily, scratching his head:
'How d'you guess?'
-
'Oi! I've got a bone to pick with you!' Wat cried, seeing me approach, 'That banana you gave me – ugh, it was 'orrible, couldn't eat more than half of it. It was all chewy and flat, all tough 'n' stringy like leather!'
'Wat. Did you eat the skin?'
'Er'
'Oh, never mind. Don't hold it against me. I'm sure there's more to you than just what you eat'
'Him? He's a stomach on legs!' Chaucer said cattily, flapping and pointing uncoordinatedly.
'Fonging shut up! Don't disagree wiv 'er, she's a lady,' Wat said, seemingly somewhat proud of the almost-compliment. Wow. Pre-feminist sentiments, graciously received by a feminist. I guess you can have your pasty and eat it. I gave up and handed him a large paper bag.
'Woss this?'
'Jellybeans. 40 different flavours equals hours of fun. Probably'
'Mmm, you can say that agai…n…' Geoff's voice trailed off as he caught sight of the three men he'd made a bet with the last time, and ideas started forming in his head. I yanked his coat.
'Don't even think about it! You can go bet on things when I've buggered off home. You've got a problem. You need therapy, sir'
'Yes, but if I could just…'
'I'll cause a scene,' I threatened, 'I'll dance the Can-Can, 500 years before it's been invented. Don't provoke me! I have striped stockings and I'm not afraid to use them!'
'Oh, spare us,' he said, awash with sarcasm,' I mean, I've only marched seven miles to the tournament in the nude. Heaven forbid I'm responsible for causing a scene. Although, that gang of nuns on horseback that followed me for three miles did more giggling than any women have a right to, even holy ones. Especially holy ones,' he mused, stroking his chin thoughtfully.
Wat yelped and spat a jellybean out.
'Uuurgh, s'hellfire!'
'Jalapeno,' I said absently, following Chaucer back in the direction of the main arena.
'You know, some men have drink problems,' he said with mild irritation, 'Some men fight with their neighbours. Some men hit their wives. Some men play croquet - although that last one's beside the point…anyway, the point is that rolling a few cubes with dots on them about and swapping coins one or twice is a pretty harmless activity by comparison!'
'Yes, Geoff,' I said automatically, finding a place in the stands, 'Now, be a dear and sod off and talk eloquent nonsense, everyone's dying to hear it'
-
'What's a vampire?'
'Why'd you ask?'
'Geoff said it was written on your tunic las' time we saw you'
'That was very observant of him, Master Falhurst. 'Tis a creature that sucks blood'
'Hello?' Wat said smarmily, 'That would be a leech?'
'And holy crotch, would 'Queen of the Damned' have been a whole a lot more fun if that were true!' I crowned, giving him a mighty thumbs-up, and getting mental pictures of six-foot leeches in period costume.
'Anyway, are you watchin' this joust or what?'
'Watch a lot of men dressed as baked bean cans hit each other with pointy sticks? God, I ho…'
'Look, will you just use the right word! It's a lance! L –A –er…uh…' Wat tailed off, realising the absence of an 'N' in the only two words he could write (his name) spelled D-I-F-F-I-C-U-L-T-I-E-S. He shook his head. Why could girls never get that bit right?
'You know something? I almost wish I could stay here. I mean, check it out. You've actually got trees here. Trees. Air. Forests. Fields. Mud. Imagine…no concrete. Amazing'
Wat was staring at me, jaw dropped.
'You're mad, you are!'
'Mad? Mad to think everyone living, working and travelling in little metal boxes is effing godawful?'
'Who cares!' Wat cried, 'You've got Smarties!'
'Oh Lord, I've only gone and got him on his high horse again…' I muttered, suddenly wanting to drop the issue. Wat maybe wasn't the best person to bounce philosophical concepts off of.
Chaucer had come over half-way through, still waiting to do his speech: 'On what?'
'No, that's called Slash,' I smirked quietly.
'She's gone mad!' Wat pointed incredulously, 'She finks this place is better than her place!'
'And what do you think of her place, Wat?' Chaucer said wryly, as the first set of knights were cheered on by the crowds. Who possibly I should be paying more attention to. But was an argumentative berk who just went for the jugular in debates.
'So help me Mother Mary, but she's got it easy!' Wat turned to me furiously, tapping his chest, 'Wanna know where I grew up? It weren't nice!'
'Surprise me. Luton?' I sighed.
Chaucer draped an arm kindly about the redhead's shoulders.
'This is a classic case of Verdanus sum oppositria…'
'Geoff, I would swear that's not Latin and you just made it up…'
'Shush,' he smiled a little messily, clearly still drunk.
'In English, the grass is always greener on the other side. None of us would be happy whichever place we were in'
'Look, I've 'ad enough of all this. I'm off to find William - it's not far off 'is turn and he'd better get ready. Enjoy your fancy talk, y'set of crackpots…' Wat stormed off in the direction of the tents.
'Yes, it's wonderful here!' Chaucer enthused to me sarcastically, 'The poor eat mud, the rich do their best to take away even that, the priests stop you having any fun, the women are silent, and the nobles…well, the nobles just sort of casually step on your face, maybe do a little dance on it awhile, break one's nose, you know, the usual. It's practically paradise'.
'Well, your Royal Sarcasticness, everywhere has its downsides'
'Really! What have you got?' He rounded on me
'Channel Five,' I nodded seriously, 'It's abysmal'
He frowned at me.
'Channel Five? Will you just speak ENGLISH when you talk to me? It's like listening to a foreign language, not that I couldn't carry on in French, Latin or Italian if you liked, but for heaven's sake…'
I stared at him a while, and then carefully said, 'Monty Python'
'We've BEEN through this'
'Weedwhacker'
'STOP IT!'
'Spaghetti'
'I'm going to have Wat fong you in a minute…'
I ceased the childish game, and made one last, futile attempt to convince the creature.
'But wanting to stay here. It's not just YOU, you people, it's like…what you represent. Yes, you're all bloody Catholics, but…'
'I'm planning on a deathbed confession, myself. Us poets can't be bogged down in all that confess-my-sins stuff all the time. Plus I gambled my rosary in a fit of winning-streak insanity. And I've done It on a Sunday (A/N: Apparently asterisks have been outlawed on this site, but see note at page bottom)'
'…but…oh sod it. Nevermind. You really are a know-it-all, aren't you?'
Chaucer grinned broadly, and a trumpet fanfare drowned out anything he had been about to say.
'My introduction!' he hissed, 'Wish me luck!'
-
A short while later:
'Put them away! That's indecent! Stop waving 'em about, that's obscene and sinful!' Wat stared at me, round-eyed and clearly shocked.
'What?' I panicked, looking down and wondering what on earth wardrobe malfunctions were causing such a stir.
'Them! THEM! Look, you're doing it again, Jezebel!'
'What? WHAT?' I panicked, covering myself. What the…?
'Oh for Christ's sake, your legs,' Chaucer rolled his eyes.
'Eh? Oh, right...no miniskirts yet. I am wearing tights, you know,' I added reproachfully, lowering my skirts from where I had been sitting in an unladylike fashion, and thinking I'd never feel the same towards my green-and-black stripies.
'Honestly, what d'you think you do to a man, flapping them in the air like that? Do women really walk about like that in your place!'
'Yes, and with a lot less on besides'
Wat harrumphed righteously, 'Humph, bunch of harlots…strutting about practic'ly nude…hang on a minute, why am I condemning it…my God, that's great!'
'Meh,' I said examining my fingernails and wondering if the mangy fur on Chaucer's coat was cat, rat or unfortunate hamster, 'The men get desensitised to it. It's not that much fun'.
'And blasphemous besides, Wat,' Chaucer mock-chided, hopping up and perching pertly on the rail I was sitting behind, 'Lust's a deadly sin'
Good thing too, I thought, 'specially with you wandering about like a peacock in leather trousers.
'Nice speech,' I said, giving him a miniature round of applause, ' I think you might've lost them at that bit about the windy red tower, but I know they loved hearing it anyway'
He sniffed.
'I know it was imperfect. You put me off, all this talk of labelling places…'
'Labelling things, ah, thass a serious business,' I said, slurring slightly due to having had three beakerfuls of whatever the hell that guy with the tray was selling, 'Some things could do with being better labelled. Married men ought to be more clearly labelled, you know, possibly with their marital status tattooed across their foreheads, in case someone perhaps ingests them by accident and they turn out to be corrosive…'
'Oh, alchemy, I know about alchemy. But that's got nothing to do with anything'
'There's nothing more corrosive to the internal workings than an unlabelled man, I assure you. They've got the potential to really burn up your insides,' I said, ever-so-slightly-sullen.
There was a silence, each of us staring roundabout, somewhere between slight uncomfiness and amusement. William had finished, winning his rounds as usual, and the last two competitors were playing it out for second and third place. The afternoon was getting dusky. Prize-giving, and time for everyone to head off to the nearby taverns and get heartily pissed. Nearly time to go.
'Reckon I'll have to bugger off soon. Good thing too, then I won't be here to talk nonsense. Sorry for not making more of an arse of myself, by the way, I didn't manage to humorously insult any noblewomen or get excitingly backed into a corner by a lecherous drunk or anyone, more's the pity'
'Well, s'alright,' Chaucer said, incapable of ever being serious and straightforward about anything, 'That load of shite you just came out with about marriage more than compensated. Wait 'til I tell Phillipa, she'll be deeply amused…' he smiled casually, patting me on the top of my head, the nearest available bit of me.
'Well, I can't take my mead, I'm drunk!'
'Yes, and so was I earlier, and look what it did for me! I was a veritable nightingale!'
'You were a herring-gull'
'I was silver-tongued, speaking in angels' voices, divinely inspired and bloody well socking it to the audience! I knocked spots off the other heralds, with their swanning about and courtly shite…!
'I don't deny it, monkey genuis!But come down off the high, right, or you're liable to fall a great distance?'
Wat appeared to be dozing off on the chair next to me. It felt good to know I had that effect on people. Apparently, though, Chaucer was still in the mood for conversation. He started a completely random topic. He leant back on the fence, stretching out luxiouriosly and lowering his voice as if telling me a secret.
'Been feeling a bit sinful, lately, actually'
'I cannot imagine why'
'Well, I was thinking I might go on a pilgrimage'
'Really?' I inwardly smiled, senseing where this was leading.
'Yes. Be good for me, and I might get some ideas for refining these tales I've been thinking about writing down'
'Anywhere in mind?'
He grinned at me.
'Oh - just Canterbury!'
(A/N from above) Refers to Medieval Church's extremely strict rules about Doing It, a topic on which they wrote and illustrated endless books, which just goes to show how both hypocrisy and blueprints for Playboy magazine have been with us a while. Included purely as an interesting nugget of information to brighten up your day. The rules ran roughly as follows:
Ideally we would not like you to Do It at all. But if you must Do It, you are only allowed to Do It with the person you're married to. No Doing It with anyone else. No Doing It on your own. No Doing It on Tuesdays, Fridays and certainly not Sundays. No Doing It on any Saints Day or Holy Day. No Doing It on Easter or Christmas or indeed for a whole 40 days before those days. No Doing It in any strange position. No Doing it during Lent. No Doing It with any part your body except the bits that were obviously designed to Do It. No Doing It with inanimate objects or anything not a human being and married to you. No Doing It before marriage. No Doing It in any place except your own bed. No Doing It ever again if your husband or wife dies. (And so on and so forth until you want to weep with joy upon discovering Anton LaVey…)
You know, at the top of the page it reads 'Unleash your imagination and free your soul'. Probably, it should be emended to 'Unleash your imagination and then watch it roam about, baying insanely and tearing your life to pieces, and then completely fail to get it back on its leash again'. Sigh.
Review, please, it keeps me going. I currently have no life, only a lot of exams and revision. Sobs. This is my only relief! My only escape! I'm going mental! HELP ME!
Ahem. But I'll be fine. Maybe.