Cobbleton: A Lord's Struggle
Filename: ds04.html
© 1998 Darren Stewart
Length: 3000
Genre: Medieval Fiction
Description:
A medieval lord is accused of murder in this humerous story.
Cobbleton: A Lord's Struggle
Morning dawns as usual to the Medieval town of Cobbleton. From the edge of the city, standing on the walls, the gatekeeper Matthew Samuels called out loudly, "Six - o - clock and…" There was a brief silence before another voice sounded out discontentedly, "All’s well."
From the front gates of the castle proper there was a clatter of armour and horses hooves as Sir Malcolm Evans, the lord’s son set off on his customary quest, accompanied by his ever-faithful squire who was… drunkenly trying to shoot the knight with a cross-bow.
"You’ve got it all wrong, Coffin," the knight swayed in his saddle. "Colin. You always aim below with a cross-bow."
The drunk squire released the arrow and it thudded into the knight’s breast-plate.
"You got it Coffin – Colin." The knight pulled the arrow out, "Tally-ho!" and clattered through the town.
In the Horses’ Fox, the tavern-keeper, David MacLeod, dumped the last of the night’s drunkards into the gutter in his alley and began to prepare for another day of business.
From the Lord’s bedroom could be heard an incessant giggling and the low rumbling of the Lord’s voice while a servant held a glass up to the door with a humorous expression on his face. A broad woman suddenly pinched the glass from between the servant’s fingers.
"If you don’t stop that, Leroy, I’m going to call Captain Samuels!" the woman threatened.
Captain John Samuels rounded a corner and saw the two of them. He turned around and looked back the way he’d come, before shaking his head and peering through sleep filled eyes at the two servants.
"Oi!" he cried. "Wot’s going on ’ere?" He shook his head again. "I mean, what’s going on here!"
Leroy began to stutter nervously, "Uh, not-t-thing, Cap’n!"
The Captain of the guard nodded, then walked past them, stopping only briefly at a loud shriek of laughter from the bedchambers. He cocked an eye at the door (however that’s done), then shook his head again and walked on.
Sir Luke Evans, Lord and master of Cobbleton, gripped tightly and jiggled once more. His wife, Marilyn gave out another giggle as the feather danced across her bare foot.
"Oh, do stop now, Luke. You’ve got to–"she let out another shriek, tears now running from her eyes. "You’ve got to get on with the days work."
Sir Evans sighed. "I do suppose you’re right, my lady." He stood and placed the long peacock feather in a case on his dresser. "Such dull proceedings with this stuffed up noble from court. All about how much I earn every year, so he can work out how much he can steal from me."
"Now, dear, taxing isn’t stealing."
"It is from the thief on the throne," Sir Evans grumbled. "Divans," he called out loudly.
A door to the left of the bed opened to reveal Walter Divans, Butler and Advisor to Sir Evans. Divans walked through. "You called, My lord?"
"Let’s start the day, shall we?"
Divans bowed his head in a slow nod, "Of course, my lord."
Then Captain Samuels burst in. "My lord!" he cried. "Lord Ogle has been murdered!"
Sir Evans’ face paled. "Are you sure?"
"Sure?" Samuels cried. "How could I be mistaken. When a dagger is run through someone’s heart in the middle of the night, it’s pretty obvious he’s been murdered." He saw Lady Marilyn then. "Oh. I’m sorry, my lady. I had not intended to expose you to such language."
"Quite all right, my dear captain."
Sir Evans frowned. "One wonders how the king will take this…"
"This is an outrage!" his Majesty, King Olden the Second shouted to the throne room, pretty much empty, as usual. "That murdering lord has had those lands too long. We shall try him on the weekend! And we shall find him guilty of treason against my crown!"
It was a sombre occasion that brought the Lord of Cobbleton to the Horses’ Fox. Instead of his usual boisterous mood upon visiting his favourite tavern, the lord entered quietly and merely sat at the bar and motioned to MacLeod to serve him a drink.
Since all knew of the murder and of the king’s immediate declaration of their Lord’s guilt, they avoided him, staying in their corners and keeping to conversation in hushed tones.
MacLeod took out a glass for himself and sat across from Sir Evans. "Do you want to talk about it?"
The knight looked bleary eyed up at the tavern-keeper. "What’s there to talk about. A noble was murdered in my castle. All know that I do not actively support our king, therefore all assume I am guilty of this crime."
MacLeod shrugged, "But we know you’re not guilty."
Sir Evans smiled thinly. "Tell that to the king’s guards who’ll arrive in a few hours to arrest me."
"That we will do, father!" came a cry from the entrance as Malcolm entered. "I hastened back towards our dear castle upon the moment I heard of this dreadful occurrence. Upon my way I happened upon a band of brigands who have wounded my squire, and damaged my armour," he gestured down at his plain tunic. "Upon my arrival at our castle I immediately inquired of my dearest mother where thou wast, and so have arrivest here in due time. The brigands I mentioned appeared to be celebrating some great victory and I do fear that their goal was naught but to implicate thee falsely, my dearest father, as perpetrator of this fiendish crime! Unfortunately, they were many a mile away and to reach their camp now might take many hours, since I ride at such great speeds."
The noble’s son stopped, gasping for breath while father and tavern-keeper attempted to unravel what he’d just said.
"Malcolm," Sir Evans started at last. "You only left this morning, and I’ve seen the speed you ride. How far were those bandits?"
"Well," Malcolm conceded. "Maybe they weren’t all that far away, but it sounded just great in the telling!"
MacLeod shook his head. "Always the clown, Malcolm."
Malcolm grinned at him.
"So how goes your quest?" asked MacLeod, seeing his Lord deep in thought.
Malcolm’s grin faded slightly. "I fear it is not progressing as far as I would have hoped. I seem to have a problem getting very far before being forced to return for our evening meal."
"I think," Sir Evans observed at last, "that our best plan of action would be to confront these bandits."
Malcolm nodded enthusiastically. "Of course, of course. I already look forward to a reaquaintance with the fellows! Just let me find a suit of armour and I will be with you promptly."
"No Malcolm," Evans shook his head. "I think I should do this alone."
Malcolm’s face fell about two stories or farther. "But…"
Evans shook his head firmly, "No buts. I travel alone to confront these brigands."
Which is, of course, impossible, as any good servant will tell you. A lord should never be allowed to wander alone without at least some staff. Therefore, Sir Luke Evans, Lord of Cobbleton and accused of murdering Lord Ogle, looked across the people who were coming with him.
They consisted of two squires, a cook (an idea of his wife’s), a blacksmith (who insisted on bringing a wagon equipped with forge and anvil), a physician (complete with leeches and all manner of other disgusting tools), and four soldiers (each one wondering why he was there).
Thankfully there was a distinct lack of Malcolm. Unfortunately, there was also a distinct lack of Captain Samuels.
Sir Evan turned to the squire on his left. "My dear squire," he queried, slipping into the speech which is almost always spoken by someone wearing armour. "Hast thou any knowledge of where my dear Captain of Guards is?"
The squire took about ten seconds to decode what his lord had said before answering, "No, my lord. I have no idea where Captain Samuels is."
Captain John Samuels rounded another corner (there seemed to be a lot of them in his life), this time deep in the barracks. Made no difference, though. He still turned around the door to find himself before a castle door leading out to the courtyard where Sir Evan was waiting. He turned around slowly. Behind him was the castle, a hallway hundreds of yards away from where he’d been previously.
He shook his head and walked out the door.
"Ah, Captain Evans!" Sir Evans called "We thought thou’d forgotten the brigands all together and were cajoling elsewhere. But now that thou hast arrived, we may begin on this journey before light fades altogether. Pray be horsed and let us continue."
Grumbling under his breath, Samuels climbed unto the horse offered by a stable hand.
"Right," cried Sir, Evans, seeing Samuels on the horse. "Let us depart."
The convoy started off, Sir Evans and Samuels in the lead, followed by the two squires, the blacksmith’s wagon – also carrying the physician, and the four soldiers brought up the rear (none of them knowing why they were there yet).
At the gate to the castle they waved to Samuel’s son, the gatekeeper.
"Fine man, thy son," Sir Evans commented.
Samuel nodded. "He’s made us proud."
They continued through the town, waving to the occasional person. It only took a few minutes to reach the outside gate.
"Hello! Father, Sir Evans!" cried Matthew Samuels.
The Lord and Captain looked at each other in surprise, then back up at the gatekeeper, leaning out of the tower window.
Over an hour later, the sun set. Quite a spectacular sunset. As the sun began to drop down beneath the horizon the entire sky lit up in a beautiful red colour all streaming into the forest ahead of them. As darkness settled upon them, they entered the forest.
Towards the rear of the procession, the four soldiers were looking up at the gloomy trees with anxiety and the blacksmith was guiding his horses while polishing a sword at the same time. In the back of the wagon, the physician was studying the rear of his eyelids, oblivious to the rest of the world with the cook doing his best not to set the wagon on fire. One squire was also sleeping, slumped in his saddle, while the other was studying the tail of Sir Evan’s horse as if there was nothing else around him.
The only place in the whole convoy where it could be said that order was prevailing was at the front, where the accused lord and his captain were keeping a vigilant watch around them for any sign of the brigands Malcolm had noted.
Eventually, of course, they found them. Unfortunately, a convoy of eight horsemen and a blacksmith’s wagon make quite a bit of noise, so when they found the brigands, the brigands found them.
"Right!" cried Sir Evans. "Which one of thee, foul murderers, hast bereft Lord Ogden of his life?"
There was a humorous wave which passed over the brigands at this, before one, towards the back of the group, shouted out, "I plunged the dagger, old man. What are you going to do about it?"
Sir Evans lifted his visor to show the grin he was wearing on his face. "Why lads, we’re going to bring you in, of course!" The grin faded into a determined expression. "I want as many alive as you can get. Understand Captain?"
Samuels nodded. "Of course." He turned to the four soldiers. "Get on with it!"
They plunged into battle, the brigands outnumbered them about three to one, and they all jumped into the fray. The four soldiers, good as they were, only took out one or two a piece before they were down, killed or wounded. The squires continued to fight, since they too were good soldiers, but were forced away from their lord and back to defending the wagon which held the physician and weapons.
Not even a physician can manage to sleep through a battle, so he was sitting fearfully next to the blacksmith, clinging tightly to his bag of utensils, while the cook, well, having successfully managed to not set the wagon on fire, he was trying to bribe the attacking soldiers with various baked goodies.
The blacksmith grabbed a huge broadsword from the back and dragged it to the front. "Away with you, fiends!" he cried and lifted the huge weapon above his head. The brigands took an uncertain step backwards, staring at the sword. The blacksmith began to yell unintelligibly as the weight of the weapon toppled him over onto the attackers.
The surviving brigands laughed and continued after the physician. Thwarted in his attempts to bribe the soldiers, the cook started shouting obscenities at them, and promptly began throwing his beautifully baked items at them.
One attacker could be heard as he sunk to the ground, a pie wrapped around his face, "Hm. Guess I should have taken it before he threw it at me."
Sir Evans clouted another of the bandits on the head and turned to his Captain. "Why Samuels. I do believe we’ve won!"
Samuels looked around him at the moaning bandits and motley collection of their convoy. He nodded. "Yep. I guess we did."
Sir Evans dismounted and approached the man who had taunted him. "Now, my good sir. I would be most obliged if thou wouldst inform me of thy employer."
The bandit, holding a cut on his shoulder and wearing a fruit cake as a hat mumbled something inaudibly.
"What’s that, man. Pray speak up so that I might hear thee." Sir Evans picked the man up until they were eye to eye.
The man’s eyes widened. "I said it was Sir Delis of Forton, to the north," he gasped out.
"Good, good." Sir Evans dropped the man and he hit the ground with a thud and moan. "Shall we go?" Sir Evans asked Captain Samuels.
"I think, my lord, that our physician should see to our wounded."
Sir Evans nodded. "Of course! How unthoughtful of me." He mounted his horse and turned so he could watch the brigands stumbling off into the forest and his physician moving among the downed men searching for theirs.
After only a mere half hour, the physician declared the three remaining soldiers fit to continue and climbed back into the wagon for some more detailed study of his eyelids. Very important, the eyelids. Especially to this physician.
To make a long story short… SirEvansarrivedatNortonandconfrontedSirDelis,wrunga-confessionoutofthelordandbroughthimbeforethekingwherehewasgrantedappease. Right. Got that?
No, I didn’t think you would. We’ll try it again. Norton was several hours north of Cobbleton, and so Sir Evans declared that they would sleep just north of the battlefield that night. The next morning dawned(as mornings always do… eventually) to find the convoy already on the move.
Once they travelled the several hours, Norton appeared in front of them. As it was a time of peace, the gates were wide open, so the convoy had little trouble getting up to the castle of Sir Delis.
"Sir Delis!" Sir Evans called. "I have a bone to pick with thee."
From the closed castle door there came no response. From the man above, though, there did. "And what would that be, Sir Evans?"
That was followed by the usual exchange of insults and mockery as Sir Evans accused Sir Delis of framing him and Sir Delis merely laughed and asked Sir Evans why he murdered Lord Ogle. Eventually, Sir Evans shouted out one insult too many and Sir Delis leaped off of the battlements to land catlike, on his feet and armed.
"We shall see the outcome by arms!"
"Did you have Lord Ogle killed?" Sir Evans demanded, dismounting and drawing his own sword.
Sir Delis snorted. "You will not get an answer out of me. It will be proven by our battle."
Sir Evans shook his head. "It will not count without the king’s approval. Did you kill Lord Ogle?"
Sir Delis glared at Sir Evans. "Then we will go to the capital."
"Did you kill Lord Ogle, Sir Delis?"
The other lord’s temper snapped. "No I did not kill the stupid lord. I hired someone to do it!"
Sir Evans smiled at the other’s face, a look of consternation as Sir Delis realised what he’d done. "I thank thee, Sir Delis. I’m sure that there art enough witnesses who wouldst say that thou hast said this to convince the king." He gestured to Samuels, who disarmed the other noble.
"Let us go, then," Sir Evans cried, and his procession turned around, heading for the capital.
Sir Evans kneeled before the throne.
"I fear I must apologise to thee, Sir Evans," King Olden, seated on the throne told him. "I have disgraced thou by the automatic declaration of thine guilt."
"No apology is necessary, Your Majesty. All in the same position would have made the same declaration. I merely hope that we can get along better, so that this type of occurrence will not happen again."
Olden nodded. "I too, have the same wish, that we could be friends"
Sir Evans smiled and rose. "Then may I leave thine august presence and carry myself back to my castle?"
"Of course."
Sir Evans turned and left the throne room. Outside the door he was met up with by his captain.
"Friends!" Samuels snorted. "Olden isn’t friends with anyone. He taxes too much."
Sir Evans nodded. "Aye, Captain. But we must appear as if we were his friends, or else these occurrences would happen again."
The convoy headed home, confident that the accusation of Sir Evans was at last put to rest.