Chapter one
Good knight
There are many famous saints and that’s probably a fact, I don’t know any, I think they all died. Did you know there are also lesser-known saints? I didn’t, I don’t even know the mainstream ones to be honest. I think there’s a Saint Yours, I remember that name being banged about a lot when I was a kid. Anyway! What we are concerning ourselves with here is the tale of Saint Frank, he was canonised by people who didn’t even own a cannon, in recognition of the stuff we’re going to point our eyes at right now. Will that do? Is that enough background information for you? There isn’t much more, it’s a simple springboard, but one that’s going to catapult us into a world that’s long gone, or maybe never existed at all. We’ll leap into a time of impossible things we’re going to believe were real, like the lines between the mortal realms of man, woman, and any extra variables that were available at the time, were never thinner. I’m sure the obesity crisis wasn’t as prevalent in times of great famine and pestilence. No! The lines were never thinner, thin lines! That’s what they had back then.
No one is born a Saint, you have to earn that title by doing great deeds, or by personally knowing the guy who hands out the sainthoods and taking care of a few legal problems, but our focus here is on great deeds.
Our tale of extraordinary heroic heroism begins in the kingdom of Little Hampton Upon Sea. It’s not the biggest or mightiest of kingdoms but it has a castle, a very small castle with three bedrooms, an en-suite bathroom, kitchen and an outhouse. Yes, I know every house is technically an outhouse, there would be no point in building a house inside another house. An outhouse is what us sophisticated folk call the outdoor toilet. It’s a little hut built around a hole in the ground. This particular hole in the castle’s outhouse leads out to the side of the hill the castle is built on, anything sent down said hole is safely and hygienically deposited over the village of grateful peasants at the bottom.
Marching through this village is the kingdom of Little Hampton Upon Sea’s one and only knight, Sir Frank. He’s at the head of his army, well, army is a bit strong, there’s three of them, four if you include Sir Frank, so it’s more of a small mob than an army if truth be told.
On the outskirts of the village there’s a young maiden who’s locked in the stocks, a large wooden barrel sits next to the apparatus, and it’s filled with all the grizzly, nasty food waste from the village. This slurry has rotted to the point where it is now a slimy, thick liquid. There is a small bucket next to the large barrel, Sir Frank dips it into the slurry to fill it up then throws its nasty contents over the young maiden, “Morning Margaret.”
Margaret shakes her head a few times to try and jiggle loose the long and nasty drooping strands of slurry, “Morning, it’s a grand day for it.”
Behind Sir Frank a young man refills the bucket then throws the contents into Margaret’s face, “Morning Margaret, how’s your mother?”
Margaret spits out bits of rotten fruit before answering, “Still quite strict and controlling over young pages, Russell, but it’s for my own good, bless her heart.”
Behind Russell stands the massive frame of a very reluctant-looking man who is poking the slurry with his finger, “It looks really nasty today, Margaret, I feel bad dousing you with it.”
Margaret laughs before replying in the tone of a helpful shop assistant, “Don’t you worry about it, Mr. Tiny, I totally deserve it.”
Tiny tilts his head to look at the smiling Margaret as he fills his bucket, “Really? Good night then?”
Margaret’s voice lowers into one of excitement as she replies, “Oh, god yeah!”
Tiny throws the bucket of slurry over her, “I’m glad to hear it, it’s important for you young’uns to have some fun. What time are you on ‘til?”
Margaret waggles her head in an effort to shake off the worst of it, “Just until four today, I expect I’ll be back on Monday though, its Greta’s hen do this Saturday.”
Tiny walks away to join his departing mob, “Well, have fun! Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do or something that will get you garrotted.”
Russell walks next to Sir Frank, his arms swing by his sides as he keeps glancing over to Sir Frank’s face in an effort to gauge his mood and if small talk will be received well or result in a scolding. Sir Frank seems to be in a reasonably happy so Russell remarks, “You know Sir Colin, from the kingdom of Ramsbottom?”
Sir Frank nods then replies, “Yes, what of him?”
“He has his own company horse now.”
“SHUT UP!”
“As God as my punisher. It’s a big white one, looks majestic so he does. There will be many a princess lowering their long locks from their tower windows for him now, he’ll be up to his neck in it. Sir Colin Getsalot, that is what they’ll be calling him.”
“The kingdom of Ramsbottom is barely half the size of Little Hampton Upon Sea, how the devil has he got his fat peasant ass on a fancy white steed while I’m walking everywhere in metal shoes!? What bloody idiot thought metal shoes would be a good idea?”
“Mine are made from wood, sire.”
“I bet they’re more comfortable than my metal ones.”
“That’s as maybe, my lord, but I can’t light the campfire by clicking my heels together.”
“Well, I’ll tell you what, I’ll be demanding an audience with King Greek Tony upon our return. If Ramsbottom can fork out for a Mustang for cock-eyed Colin, I want a company horse.”
“About that, my lord?”
“Oh, we’re not having this conversation again, I’ve been assured Greek is a traditional Gaelic name.”
“Then why all the kebabs?”
“I don’t know! Kings have exotic tastes! King Greek Tony is as English as you and I.”
“Aren’t we of Roman and Anglo-Saxon lineage, my lord? The Gaelic people are actually the only true English.”
“Yes! But that was a long time ago and they got banished to Scotland and Wales, when you have invaded somewhere for long enough it becomes yours, thems the rules!”
“Ah, I see. It is a bit like when you get married, once she’s been in the house for over a week it becomes hers?”
“Exactly! Now, where was this blasphemer last spotted?”
“He’s known to have some kind of nest next to the river by the Giant’s Soup Bowl, my lord.”
“There’s a giant!?”
“No, that’s just what the villagers call the big rock that looks like a soup bowl, my lord.”
“A nest, you say?”
“He is a peculiar sort. He has been spotted getting romantic with badgers out in the potato fields many times.”
“Oh my! He’s forced himself onto badgers!?”
“No, he’s made them nice dinners and lit candles out in the fields, he’s been very respectful about it. I’m sure if it went any further, he would’ve been a gentleman about it.”
“My god! Just think of the fleas! Right, lead on then! To the Giant’s Soup Bowl, let us apprehend the villain!”
Sir Frank had to learn Latin as a part of his Knighthood’s final exams, a pointless endeavour as no one speaks it anymore, but for it to not be a total waste of time he issues all of his orders in Latin. He takes a deep breath, puffs out his chest from underneath his metal armour and points dead ahead with gusto. In a booming and authoritative voice, he commands, “AD FACIEM ASINI SACRILEGO!”
Sir Frank insists on holding his sword aloft to point in the direction they are heading, even though Russell’s leading the way. Tiny keeps looking at the tip of the sword just to make sure he is going the right way.
Russell stops in front of a giant sandstone rock that has been eroded over time by a small stream into the form of a bowl, “Here we are, my lord, the villain what’s gone and offended Our Lord Almighty has his nest around here somewhere.”
Sir Frank climbs the large sandstone bowl until he is stood on top of the lip looking down into the surrounding clearing in the middle of the woods. Whilst placing his hands upon his hips, he shouts in a very authoritarian voice, “Blasphemer! Show yourself! I, Sir Frank, of the kingdom of Little Hampton Upon Sea, have been charged by King Greek Tony, via powers granted to him by the divine holy ghost and affiliates, to dispense justice onto you. There is no point in trying to run, I am a knight! I am true, committed and have God on my side!”
A deep booming voice rattles through the clearing, “NO YOU DON’T!”
Sir Frank lifts up his left arm and sternly points his finger in the air while looking down at Tiny and Russell, “THAT was not God.”
The booming voice replies, “YES, I AM!”
Sir Frank, still holding up his forefinger into the air, spins in a circle to look around the clearing into the surrounding trees, “That, if I am not mistaken, is the sound of a man talking into a bucket!”
An elderly man with a long grey beard dressed in dirty green peasant clothing steps out from the dark shadows of the trees holding a bucket, “Be that as it may, knight, it doesn’t alter the fact that I am the one true God.”
Sir Frank lowers his finger then puts his hands on his hips and begins to inspect the old peasant, “I’m pretty sure you’re not.”
“I know, I couldn’t believe it myself, but I performed a miracle only last Wednesday which leaves no doubt at all that I am in fact the Divine One.”
