ElderEpi Two
By annsmac, Bert, Jo...otherwise herein known as Me, Myself, and I...three women
just having a romp...probably the
most differently done of all the ElderEpis.
The story continues after the end of The Orient Express
(NOTE from Jo: One day I was waiting for a train in Switzerland... this is true,
believe it or not, and there tacked to a
pole was a sign that read "Danger de Mort", meaning in English, "Please refrain from touching the live wires or else
you will become toast." I stored that away in my bwain for future reference, standing there, tickled as I was at the
thought of Mort being
so dangerous and all. At last the day came for such storing to be...unstored.
This was that day.)
One
– Jo (brief reprise of last paragraph of Orient...)
Where was my Gladiator? He had to be here somewhere! Just then my eyes focused on a sign by the electrical transformer attached to the main mast (Jack was VERY progressive!). It read in large red letters, "DANGER de MORT!!"Oh, NO! Did this mean the infamous Mort d'Arthur was aboard? What if Mort had encountered my
Gladiator!!! I crawled across the deck like a fiddler crab who'd spent too long soaking in a pot of rum. The giant, sideways jerk was still continuing, making walking nigh impossible. Reaching the railing, and after only 7 or 8
barf episodes, I managed to look over the side. The sea was GONE! Where did it go! What WAS that fuzzy thing
with intricate Persian patterns and golden fringe at either end that now our ship reposed somewhat crookedly upon?
It, and all of us with it, was being jerked rapidly sideways through the sky as though by giant invisible hands. I could
see the Channel in the distance with the white chalk of the Seven Sisters bright in spite of some fog. Whatever did
Jack's "YOU" have in mind for us? Where were we being taken? I looked back up at Jack, still in the Crowe'sNest
and, as though reading my mind, he shouted down, "Wherever it is, it won't be the sea, my little seasick CrowePerson.
I promise you that!"
I was VERY relieved...and I knew, somehow, that this ship had landing gear on
its keel.
Two
- Jo
It seemed like several weeks had passed, yet still we hovered over the Channel. Was this some time warp? What
WERE all those waving colors in the sky? Had this
become a SciFI List? Why did
(now fully visible) was a doctor, not a roomie? Why was Colin doing strange things with his fingers in odd V
shapes? But...and most important of all.... was MORT aboard? The large sign had stated plainly in its red letters..."Danger de Mort"....I knew it could have nothing to do with the electrical transformer the sign was
attached to...it MUST be a warning that Mort himself was lurking about our ship somewhere! I clutched onto
Bud's sleeve. The humongous musculature beneath the thin layer of cotton was instantly.... comforting. Then
Gladiator crossed the deck toward me, glaring darkly at Bud. His blue tunic had gotten quite wet in the backwash
of the giant rug pulling and clung most appealingly to his thighs. Ah, how safe could a girl get? Bud's biceps.... Gladiator's thighs! Just then there was a loud thump as the women who had been diligent in their efforts to free
Terry's equipment from the rigging where it had become entangled, met with success and he fell to the deck at my
feet. Ah, yes! Terry's equipment. How could I have forgotten!
The ship jolted violently...and were it not for biceps, thighs, and equipment...I surely would have been thrown to the
deck myself. Tall trees
brushed past the gun ports of the ship. What was happening? Where WERE we?
The prow of the ship came to rest with its bowsprit rammed into the hollow of a
giant oak. Mistletoe draped from
nearly every branch and a fog drifted over the railings, enveloping us all in its cool veil. I could hear a vague shouting
in the distance. "Mort! Mooooort!" came the repeated call. Mort! Oh NO! It was TRUE! Mort HAD escaped from
his imprisonment and was on the loose! What WAS this place we had come to....could it be? Had our previous
postings about King Arthur caused us to crash-land near....dare I breathe the name.... Camelot??
Behind me, in the silent mist, I could feel all the characters stirring. Some were already sliding down ropes over the
side of our ship. The sound of a tussle
came from behind nearby low shrubbery.
"No! I want the cape!"
"No, I had it first....you can have the doublet!!"
There were loud rippings and fists were smacked into chins. I knew instantly that the characters were squabbling
over who got to be whom in Camelot. I sucked in my breath sharply as I thought of what it might come to if Jack, Maximus, Bud, and Terry ALL wanted to be king! This had to be Mort's doing!!! HE had brought us here just for
this dastardly purpose!!! I squinted my eyes and set my jaw like steel. I would stop him from carrying out his evil
plot! I would.......
I would send them on a quest.
One
question about the quest. Would it quench my thirst? Would it quell my hunger?
Would it quiet my racing heart?
Ah. Indeed it was a quandary. But I knew what it
would be. It would be a quieting, quenching, quelling and yet questionable quest
for a quahog.
The
Quest For The Holy Quahog.
I
had to stifle a giggle. I would have made it the Quest For The Holy Quail
because it rhymed with Grail and Jo so
loved rhymes except for the fact that
questing for quail was much easier than questing for quahogs.
"Good
Knights," I called below me. And then watched as they came grumbling into
view.
Gladiator
saluted me with that fist to his chest bit that Jo so loved. He was clutching his trusty sword and from the
looks of things, he was amazingly comfortable inside the suit of armor he was sporting. Terry's equipment had
become enhanced with the tights he was struggling to yank on and as he hopped around on one foot, the women
aboard with me all sighed. A
few applauded.
Sid swooped near Gladiator, resplendent in an ermine-lined purple cape. I rolled my eyes. Why of course Sid went
for the purple cloak. Bud had a mace and, as he swung it mightily, his biceps were enough to set a fair maiden's
heart
quivering.
"Any
fair maidens aboard?" I called out. The women all looked at each other.
Didn't look like it. We were a lusty
lot of wenches, after all. A fair maiden
wouldn't have stood a chance.
But
where was the crown? The crowning glory? And just then, Jack's long blonde hair
came into view and it seemed fitting that the man with the best head of hair was
sporting the crown.
"Ah,
the crown jewels," I said.
"My
love?" Terry called. "Didst thou sayest something about my crown
jewels?"
"No,
kind sir. Although perhaps later we'll have that talk." I smiled down at
Terry. The tights were… I was fanning myself. "Good Sirs. I have a quest
to send you on."
And
I told them of the Quest For The Holy Quahog. They were to go forth forthright
from this fortified ship and seek
its golden glory. But with each Good Knight, along would go a woman to record their battles, their glories, their
quest. And
also to record their dalliances, their mischievous pranks and their conquests.
Especially
their conquests.
"What
sayest you, Good Knights?" I called below.
"We
shall accept your quest, my lady," Jack replied and he was indeed the King.
Turning to the men, he said in his kingly voice, "Knights, choose your
ladies."
As
the women all rushed toward the railing vying to be chosen for the duty, the
Rose listed. And we fell. Long and
hard. A tumble into arms made to catch their
ladies.
I
twisted. I turned. I did a triple flip. I did a double gainer. I
would have done a foxtrot and I didn't even know how
to do one. But I beat the others and felt myself drop nicely into Terry's strong arms. "Terry," I said, "will you teach
me to foxtrot?"
"Just
sayeth the word, my lady," he said.
With
a mighty roar, the Rose shuddered back up to it's upright stand. If we'd hung
on, we might not have fallen. But
I'd already fallen hard for Terry so all's
well that ends well.
And
thus begins the tales of the Quest For The Holy Quahog. The first one to hop
aboard a white charger and head
into the enchanted land in search of the golden
quahog was…
Four– Jo
"I"...of course! Carefully....most carefully beyond compare... had I
chosen the character who would be my Knight.
My thoughts, of course, had first run...and swiftly so...to my beloved of all beloveds, Gladiator.....BUT....I had
decided upon this Quest for the Holy Quahog to choose another. And who WAS my knight of all knights....who of
all the characters had the name above all names in Camelot? Why...none other than Mr. Limbo himself... Arthur!
Yes, I had chosen Arthur. He was young, he was shy, he was inexperienced in....well....combat... and other things,
but I knew in my heart that with my... guidance...that one day, yes, one fine day, he WOULD draw the sword from
the stone. He did have this
annoying habit, tho, of holding conversations with owls in the middle of the
night.
"Arthur," I said, "Come with me and together we will quest for
quahogs through the swamps and vales."
"Oh, Venus mercenaria," he replied.
I considered smacking him, I must admit, but as he was my choice for this quest,
I refrained. I sighed, remembering thighs cloaked in clinging wet blueness.
"Our time will come again, beloved of my heart, " I thought, teeth
clenching. Taking Arthur by the hand, we headed in a direction that would lead
us away from Gladiator, Jack, Terry, Bud, Cort.....WHAT WAS I thinking!!!!
"This had better be a short quest!" That was what I was thinking. My magnanimity did have its limits, you know!!
What did one DO with a golden quahog, I wondered, if one did find it? Did one attempt to fill it with wine? Did one
set it upon one's mantle piece? Did one slip it through one's beltloop?
"Come this way, Merlina," Arthur said.
"Merlina?" I thought. "Merlina?" Then, noticing my long blue robe with the white stars sprinkled through it, I
said, "Oh!!" And, you know, I DID feel that I was "youthening" as we walked. Not bad, not bad at all! I might be
able to put up with this gig after all!
Arthur and I were afoot, but I could hear several knights on white chargers making their way through the forest not
far away. Each had a lady across his saddle in front of him. Sigh! Oh, well....this is but a single chapter in an ongoing saga. One must get out of one's holodeck from time to time.....mustn't one? Hmmm? And...I WAS in Camelot...and
with Arthur, no less!! Now, where WAS
this elusive quahog?
We came to a small stream where silver ripples sparkled in the late afternoon sun. A shirtless Man was lying on his
back, letting the cool water wash away mud he had somehow gotten all over himself. A small dog sat nearby,
watching. I had seen that dog before...on the Orient Express. That brought eviljulia 6.7 to mind. I was glad she was
gone out of our lives forever....but...where was Mort?
A sudden thought jolted me and I almost stumbled over a root. Mort's last name was....d'Arthur!!! Oh, NO!! My
eyes narrowed as I studied my young companion. Could he be some relative of Mort's? Was I in DANGER of
Mort? Danger d'Arthur??? I shivered slightly beneath my blue cape. What HAD I gotten myself into with my choice
of companion? Why did Arthur seem like he knew where he was going in this forest he had, supposedly, never set
foot in before? Why did he know the fancy name for quahogs? What in the heck WAS a quahog??? How would I
ever be able to discern a holy quahog from a plain ole secular quahog? As if he could read my thoughts, Arthur
turned, looked at me with a twinkle in his eyes, and said, "Because the holy one is golden, Merlina! Surely you,
of all people, must
know that!"
Suddenly, behind me, a branch cracked sharply, broken by some heavily-armored
foot......
Five – Bert
First, 'tis time for Myself to begin her own quest.
Sir Bud! “Myself” – being me and I alone – shall straddle a strong stud,
er, steed with strong-armed Bud and we’ll
no doubt want a horse too! Methinks that Bud is the perfect choice for a damsel in distress with that penchant he
has for protecting defenseless women. And I, being totally defenseless and
listless (as in without internet at work), certainly need a brave and honorable
man such as Bud!
I
should also mention that Bud decided to forego the armor for this venture.
He’s wearing his usual white short-
sleeved shirt with the arms wrapped around me and some sort of very soft buckskin trousers with his thighs close
to mine on our gentle steed, Exley of Oz. We do have our weapons at the ready in the off-chance of running into any
wife-beaters or drug kingpins on our journeys!
Our best quest guess is that the Holy Quahog of yore is buried somewhere deep in
the
make it there before the other knights and their ladies at our outstanding deduction, the prize will be ours. And
rightfully so – after all, Bud was really the
first to be mentioned in talking of Golden Prizes.
So we’re off – but first to spend the night in this charming little hovel
with the lovely thatched roof and the sweet-
smelling smoke wafting from the stone chimney. Hmmm, I hear someone singing from within. And the smell of -
what is that? Some herb or potion with rosemary perhaps? What a delightful and beckoning smell…. I can already
feel myself sinking softly and slowly into a bed of soft feathers with a goblet of that delightful potion and, of course,
dear, sweet Bud at my side….
Six
– Jo
At the sound of the cracking branch, Arthur was instantly alert. He actually made a rather sweet-looking lert. One
must be young to do that, you know. "Merlina!" he whispered softly, "Come quickly! Tintagel is just over yon rise!"
Oh, no....not Tintagel again! I had mispronounced that castle for so many years I feared I had forgotten which
syllable one DID stress!! "No, Arthur! I replied, "I cannot venture forth in yon direction. You must take me to
some
place like...er...
Tintagel, indeed!! "I know!" I beamed, "Let us go to
felt the wind in her hair! I, too, want to stand before the Tor and feel the wind in my hair! I will win the crowds. I
will give them something they've never seen before!" (Ah,
you can tell how far my mind had gotten away from my Gladiator, eh!!!)
Arthur agreed and with one twitch of my nose, three clicks of my heels together, a large pumpkin and several mice,
I folded my arms across my chest and blinked...and...there we were at the base of the tall green Tor. A reflecting
pool lay nearby and I wanted Arthur to see himself as the king he would someday become. He leaned over, gazing
into the deep waters....then moaned, "OMG....I
become Marcus Aurelius????"
I smiled, having forgotten Sir Richard of Harris was, indeed, both. "Ah, sweet young Arthur, you see...you become
not only a song- infested old King Arthur, you also get to be a patricided Roman emperor! Two for the price of one!
And you could even have an elephant tusk rammed through your torso if you want to be Jane Clayton's father in
of the pond waters, letting them settle into a different version of Arthur's future face. He seemed better pleased with
Sir Nigel of Terry...but I thought of the silver headpiece I would then have to wear...and which always seemed to me
to be a rather migraine-inducing piece of equipment (ah...Terry!!) in the way it pressed into Merlin's forehead. No,
that would NOT do!! I stirred the waters yet again and a long sigh of satisfaction escaped Arthur's lips (a somewhat
rare occurrence, I imagined!) "007! Now THAT'S
what I want to be when I grow up!!"
Just then Vanessa Redgrave, Cherie Lunghi, and Julia Ormond came tripping merrily past, flowers and ribbons in
their long hair, singing " 'Tis May, 'tis May! The lusty month of May!" Hurriedly, I blinked, winked, clinked, etc.
and made them disappear. After all, 'tis July and only CrowePeople are allowed to be female characters in THIS Camelot!!! Where WERE the others anyhow? This tale needed some romance! It needed more than I could generate
for sweet, young Arthur! It needed.......
Seven
– Ann
Oh my God.
This
tale needed Me in ways most good. And bad.
Tee
hee.
What
follows bears little upon the Quest for the Holy Quahog, nor does it bear
mightily upon the myth. Although in telling this tale of a knightly conquest, it
could be the forming of another myth.
And
clamming, we WILL go, but first, this humble bard will sing the tale of the
first conquest because within its song
lies the romance that "I" is
missing with Arthur…
Gladiator
(Sir Lanciator) had given me back to Terry (Sir Tristam). As I settled upon his
steed, Sir Tristam shifted
and I squirmed. "Good Sir," I whispered to
him. "Be thee eager to see Me?"
"How
could you tell, Me?" he replied. And he giveth to me his warmest smile,
with eyes twinkling with meaning.
"Why,
Sir Tristam, because your… equipment seems most… impressive," I said,
in my maidenly voice and fluttered
my eyelashes at him.
He
gave me a perplexed look. "My… equipment?" And then he shifted again
and I squealed in delight. "Oh. That.
No, that was not my… equipment.
That, my lady, was my…"
"Sir
Tristam! Not in front of the lady," Sir Lanciator intoned, using a deep,
commanding voice to forestall Sir
Tristam's words.
I
leaned forward in the saddle and glared across the lane at Sir Lanciator.
"I am still waiting to be vanquished, if
you don't mind, Gladiator," I
said with a deep scowl. But, my scowl turned into a gleeful smile when I spied a
sun-dappled glen beyond Sir Lanciator's shoulders… beyond his broad – oh, so
broad shoulders. Sigh.
And
this be where the first conquest takes place. 'Twas my virtue which lost the
fight within yon dappled glen.
Sir
Tristam sent Sir Lanciator ahead to scout the road to Avalon, advising him to
keep a steady eye for the Farmer
King. For, if legend be right, the Farmer King
be the keeper of the Holy Quahog.
And
while we were alone, Sir Tristam and I had a tryst.
"Lady
Me, thou knowest of my love for thee. We have danced on tabletops. We have
braved trains with eviljulia6.7.
We have partied the nights away in
words were spoken with romantic passion, and his
eyes held mystery and moons within them.
And
his kisses… well, Me does not kiss and tell, so there will be nay descriptions
of his tender lip action…
But
his tender mercies did speaketh to my heart. And therein lies the romance. A
thousand stars glittering in the darkened sky above Avalon, a million sparks of
sun's rays glistening o'er the wheat fields of
flames of
candlelight flickering within Camelot's walls… None may compare to the light
of our love.
(Now,
ain't that romantic? I tell ya what!)
But
more romantic does it get. For Sir Tristam did the dishes that night.
Could
any man be more perfect? And, with his… equipment, he was quite a man.
Sir
Lanciator had rejoined us for our evening's repast and he had glad tidings about
the road to Avalon. Along the winding path toward that legendary land, Sir
Lanciator had found the Farmer King.
But,
hark, what tales are unfolding in other fields, with other
knights? Who speaks there? Can it be? Is it? Ah, yes, verily, it is none other
than…
Eight
– Bert
Someone is singing inside that hovel! Sir Bud and Myself creep quietly up to the
one small window in the hovel and
I Myself peer inside. It's very dark and smoky in there and difficult to make out anything at first. Then I Myself can clearly see rows of books lining three walls. But this is no library - the fourth wall contains a massive fireplace with
a huge black cauldron boiling over the fire. On either side of the fireplace are row upon row of little bottles filled
with different things - some look like liquid in varying colours and others look like there's something more, er,
substantial in the liquid. I Myself back away so that Sir Bud can fit his head into the tiny window and he sees dried flowers and herbs and baskets hanging from the ceiling beams everywhere.
Then,
as the strange singing continues, a woman appears from nowhere.... She has long,
curly, dark hair and a
long gossamer gown. She's strangely familiar but in my mind's eye I Myself picture her in hospital scrubs! Ah - it
has to be Morgana,
the newly named Lady of the
Well,
Sir Bud and I Myself are both very tired and hungry from all the action on the
ship and desperately needing a
good night's sleep - and whatever.... Sir Bud courteously steps ahead of me to protect me from any danger and raps gently on the door to the hovel. The soft singing ceases and we hear that same soft voice, "I've been expecting you,
Sir Bud!" HEY, what about me, Myself!?!?
As I
have serious second thoughts about this strange woman in gossamer scrubs, I try
to back away and pull Bud with me, but it's too late. Morgana herself has opened
the door and is asking us in! She seems a bit surprised to see me Myself, but
behaves graciously nonetheless....
We
enter the hovel cautiously and as my eyes adjust to the darkness of the room, I
sense that wonderful sweet,
herbal smell again. It's coming from the cauldron
and I can't help but walk over and get closer to that heavenly scent!
Morgana
has set a table for TWO and asks us to please sit and rest while she prepares
our meal. She serves Sir Bud
a glass of some red liquid which he guzzles down hastily and then dips a ladle in the cauldron with a hot quaff for me Myself. It smells divine and tastes even better as I sip it slowly, luxuriating in the warmth it spreads throughout my
body.
Morgana
begins to spread a cloth on the table and lays out all varieties of meats and
cheeses and breads and invites
us to eat our fill - which Sir Bud does - seaweed and all! I have a taste of several particularly succulent looking
offerings, but I find Myself getting very, very sleepy all of a sudden. Dear sweet Bud realizes that I am quite tired
and gently lifts me and carries me to a small but very inviting bed in the corner of the room. It's soft and warm and
smells of
lavender and before I realize it, I am drifting off to sleep.
The
last thing I Myself remember seeing was Morgana striping Bud's shirt up over his
head. I struggle to rouse
Myself, but my head is heavy and my body will not listen to what my brain is saying. I can hear Myself screaming to
wake up and
get up, but somehow I can't.....
Nine
– Jo
The TORrible Truth:
After deciding that he preferred the Sir Sean of Connery look for his older
Arthur self, and much clinking and
blinking and winking and several pumpkins on my part, young Arthur was transformed into mature Arthur....
standing before me in all his glory...the tall green tor rising behind his quilted back. It took some cleverness on my
part, I must add, to keep him from riding off to attend Robin and Marian's wedding in Sherwood. I think it was Sir Richard of Harris' also being Marcus Aurelius that had got him thinking he was also Richard the Lionheart.
Further confusion ensued when he insisted he was ALSO Robin and it took much explanation to convince him that
he was ONLY Robin when Robin was
quite old and not when Robin was young and marrying Marian.
"But..." he spluttered, "...am I not ARTHUR when ARTHUR is old?
How can I be Robin when Robin is old? There can be only ONE!"
I sighed deeply. Once again Sir Sean was in the wrong movie. "No, no!" I cried. "You were a Spaniard in the "be
only one" movie!"
"A Spaniard!" he grinned in reply. "A Spaniard! Does that mean I get to be Gladiator?" My head was whirling!
"No, no, no!" I
fairly shouted. "Russell gets to be Gladiator!!! "
He threw back his silver-maned head and laughed as only an immortal Scotsman/Spaniard can laugh. "Ah, HA!"
laughed he heartily. "Do you mean that fellow in the remnants of a blue plaid shirt chasing cows up the tor? You
mean HE gets to be Gladiator?"
It was then I boggled at trying to explain that , no, not right NOW did Russell get to be Gladiator as Gladiator was
off in another part of the woods being Sir
Lanciator.
He lowered his eyelids halfway, looked at me seriously, and
rumbled deeply, "It is the old wound!"
"No, NOOOO!" I cried yet once again! "You DON'T get to be
Lanciator...you are THE KING, for Pete's sake!"
He smiled, "It is...a dream I have." He was getting closer.... right line...right character...wrong movie version. He wandered off up the tor, avoiding the multitudinous cowpies, and murmuring softly, "The land without a king.....
how will I ever find Forrester..."
I watched him wearily, wondering about that which I had wrought. I needed a change of pace! I needed a new knight!
As though carried on the wind of my wishing, the sound of hoofbeats came from around the far side of the tor. A
knight in shining armor at last!!! But...no. The knight who sat his steed before me was completely covered in dust. A knight in dusty armor? It didn't have quite the proper ring to it somehow. But then the visor was slowly raised and
the
visage looking out at me from within... albeit dusty...was so handsome that a
grin rose unbidden to my lips. "Hail, Knight of the Dusty Countenance,
" I greeted him.
Ten-
Ann
A dusty knight? Mayhaps he was a lusty dusty knight?
Whatever.
'Tis time for mine own tale of two twisted trysts to
continue………
When
we had left off, Sir Lanciator (Gladiator) had rejoined Sir
Tristam (Terry) and me for our evening's repast
and he had found the Farmer King as he 'twas scouting the road to Avalon. The Farmer King, remember him?
Legend has it, and why legend has it will only become clear anon, but anyway legend has it that the Farmer King
s the keeper of the Holy Quahog.
And
brave Sir Lanciator has found him. Dare we believe this even be true? We must,
for Sir Lanciator never lies for t'would be against his strict code of honor.
There
is ANOTHER reason our sweet, noble, honorable Gladiator/Sir Lanciator must not
lie. To do so, dear reader, would disqualify him from the unique ability that
only I, "Me," know. This be one of the final parts of the myth of the
Holy Quahog, BUT 'tis not the proper time within this tale to divulge this
secret. For 'tis true, yon writer of this tale
willst need this plot twist to carry the story's arc through to the denouement of this epic tale of quests, quiverings
and quandaries. But trust in this poor bard, dear readers - it twill be most worth it in the end. For so it goes, and
only Gladiator holds the key
but only I know what the key is.
But
this portion of our tale must continue, so continue we will.
As
dawn's first rays of gold sprayed across the landscape, I woke to find myself
(not Lady Myself, just Me) still in heaven. For what could be more heavenly than
to wake and find Sir Lanciator on one side and Sir Tristam on the
other side?
I
sighed loud enough to wake Sir Lanciator as I was facing him at the time. We
smiled into each other's eyes. We
inched closer. Our fingers met and sparks
flew.
We
both jumped back. Sparks? Sparks! "Sparks!" I exclaimed. "Morgan
Le Fey must be nearby."
Blast
the witch. She'd chosen that moment to interrupt my planned tryst with Sir
Lanciator? She'll get hers, I told
myself darkly. And what frustrated me most
sorely about this was that Morgan was SUPPOSED to watching over Arthur. Not Sir
Lanciator.
But
my exclamations served to waken Sir Tristam from his slumber. I felt his arms
encircle my waist, then his warm breath was on my neck. Ah, Sir Tristam. There
was and always would be something about this man and his…
equipment that would
tempt me.
"Enough,
Sir Knight," Sir Lanciator said. "We must be off. Avalon calls."
"Is
that anything like
"This,
dear Lady Me, is a quest, not a quip," Sir Lanciator chided me.
"Choose your steed."
My
heart quaked. My thighs quivered. My breath quickened. Choose my steed, indeed.
Lost in my lustful thoughts,
I had blanked out long enough for both men to
mount… their steeds. Damn.
Sir
Tristam pulled me up to share his saddle. "Equipment? Or
something else?" I teased him.
"Something
else," he teased back, giving me a lascivious wink.
"Yes,
you are," I replied as he set his fine steed to a gallop and we raced to
catch up with Sir Lanciator.
Not
long down the road and Sir Lanciator pulled hard to a stop. We watched as he
circled around, a confused frown darkening his fine countenance.
We
were stopped at a fork in the road and Sir Lanciator was looking for signs of
which road to take.
"The
one less traveled, of course," I told him softly. Sir Tristam hugged me in
tighter. He approved of the poetic reference, I could tell. After all, he is a
romantic devil, that Sir Tristam.
So
we set off down the lane most mortals would have avoided in the quest.
"This
looks familiar, I dare believe. Yes. I believe I recognize that tree. We are on
the right path for the Farmer
King," Sir Lanciator announced as we rode the road. "Tell us about the Farmer King, Lady Me, and why he is
important to
the quest."
"The
Farmer King, Lord Crowe de Russell, is a hermit and the last living relative of
Shakespeare's favorite actor,
King Crowe Immortalus of Ira-land. Into his hands was entrusted the responsibility to be the keeper of the Holy Quahog," I told them. "Legend has it that, after the golden clam disappeared from the Masons of Hollywood,
rogue pirates, descendents of the original Knights Temperamental, were the likeliest people to have absconded
with the Quahog with the purpose of restoring it to its rightful keeper. If this be true, then the Farmer King will have
the clam we quest for – or he will knowest how we will find it so we can
bring it back to King Jack."
"Why
is he known as the Farmer King?" Sir Lanciator asked.
"Alas,
'tis a sad tale, that it is. The Farmer King raises cows. But he never kills
them. Instead, he wanders his green
farm and calls them by name to come run with him. Most know him as the Farmer King but the natives of this
particular county
have another name for him: Dances With Cows," I told them.
Suddenly,
we bespied a strange form in the road ahead. Standing smack in the middle of the
path, holding swords in
both hands, garbed only in black armor with a red flower
in his helmet, he made a menacing sight. I shivered in Sir Tristam's arms.
Twas
the Black Knight himself.
"Men,"
I grumbled and looked at Sir Lanciator through slit eyes. "Couldn't admit
you were lost, eh, Gladiator?
Never heard of a map?"
For
surely, we'd taken the wrong path. Else we would not have crossed paths with the
Black Knight, Sir Denzeliosity.
"Never
fear,
Now,
this tale will continue anon.
Eleven
- Bert
Myself!
I awake in the morning refreshed and invigorated with my Bud looking adoringly
into my eyes. I Myself have a
slight headache but otherwise I'm fine.
Just
one problem.... I don't remember anything from the night before except my
dreams. I tell Sir Bud of them - all
the bouillabaisse and paella and something about a huge white whale! Dear Bud explains that our quest is for a
quahog, not
a Quequeg.
"Hail, Knight of the Dusty Countenance," I greeted him. He smiled, the dust caked on his handsome face cracking
into little roadmaps of
the kingdom. Ah, I thought. Useful as well as decorative!
He lowered the tip of his long lance to the ground, a chunk of windmill sail sliding off with the movement. "Be you
my fair Dulcin....?"
"Nope," I interrupted, before he could finish the name. "Boy, you guys are sure flops at keepin' your movies
straight!!" With that, I looked back up at the tor where Sir Sean of Connery was still side-stepping cowpies,
still murmuring, "But I KNOW I was old Robin and was with King Richard when that arrow got him outside the castle...and I was old King Richard at young Robin's wedding...how can I be old Arthur... where is Q when I really
need
him?"
I looked at the dusty knight before me in desperation. "Good Knight,"
I began....."
But 'tis yet still day..." he interjected.
I began, then, to despair of finding elusive golden quahogs in this life or the next. "My good Sir Knight," I attempted once again, "would'st dismount that I might study the map of the kingdom that doth appear on your dust-encrusted,
yet still handsome, face?"
With as much alacrity as one can demonstrate when one is a veritable sardine inside one's can, the dusty knight dismounted, knelt at my feet, and lifted his face upwards into the light. The golden glow of the afternoon sun
highlighted the cracks in the dust, and in only a moment I knew which way my path lay. Placing the softest kiss
upon his dusty lips, I said, "Thank you, good sir.
My way lies plain before me."
He remounted, and rode off across the sward, singing, "Golden helmet of Mambrino...." Ah, once stuck in the
wrong movie, 'tis hard to come unstuck.
Turning my back on the tor and old Arthur, I hurried down the path through the swale. Swards and swales...ah,
'twas all just so
very....English! A slender, naked man was walking before me. It was none other
than
himself!! I tossed him
my blue, white-starred cape as I ran past, calling out, "Wrong movie,
Roomie!"
"I'm NOT a roomie, I'm a DOCTOR!" he shouted in some pique after me.
Ah, I no longer had to be Merlina! I was free...not to be "me"...nor
even "myself"...I was free to be "I" once again! Endless
possibilities lay before me...er...I...if only I could get past the bad grammar
that was necessary to be I.
At the top of a mountain pass I could see Camelot lying splendidly in the distance. I must get there, I knew, before
Sir Tristam and Sir Lanciator and "me" returned with the golden quahog. As I hurried down the twisting trail, I
saw....
the hovel. He assures me that there was no Morgana or Morgan la Fey or anyone there but he and I (that being
Myself, Not Lady “I”). I Myself was so exhausted from our previous adventures that I collapsed as soon as we
entered the hovel – apparently the heat overcame me and I Myself swooned with the vapuhs (you DO realize that
I Myself
am a Lady from Southern Camelot).
The hovel was empty save for the soft soothing bed in the corner and the huge fireplace in which no fire was burning
and no cauldron boiling. No potions, no strange bottles with even stranger contents, no herbs or baskets hanging –
just Sir Bud and me Myself. Seems I Myself dreamt the
whole sordid affair. (Once again my mind wanders to tales of yore
in a land called
During my vapuhous swoon, Dear Bud prepared himself a meal of dried nuts and berries from an old cache he found
in the hovel, made a splendid fire, and
watched over me tenderly as I Myself slept and dreamt of clams and whales and
such….
He assures me Myself that he caressed me gently, but never violated me Myself whilst I slept knowing that that would
be unknightly-like! Well, DRAT, say I Myself – missed it!
But
on with our journey to the
hear in the far distance the sound of…what? Is that the noise of hooves? Please tell me Myself, I Myself say to
Myself, that Rusty has not brought all those Brangus heifers along to bloody old
But wait!! It sounds more like a single horse or mayhaps two…. Can it possibly be the Knight of the Dusty
Countenance or even Sir Lanciator and Sir
Tristam with his…equipment?
As the hoof-beats become louder and the dust washes over Sir Bud and Myself, we both quiver with anticipation.
(Not the kind of anticipation
you’re thinking of, Dear Reader, but that will come anon – have patience!)
The cloud of choking dust begins to settle and we can start to make out two grand steeds with a single rider atop
each. But who are they? I Myself can’t quite make them out….too far away yet and too much red dust – GAWD, we
need rain!
Fourteen – Ann
Well, really, now, who cares what "I" saw? Who even cares what
"Myself" saw? Because this is all about "Me." Besides, anon
has arrived and 'tis time to take up again the tale of two too twisted trysts.
Perchance,
are there, as legend holds, Monty Python fans among the brave knaves reading
this tale? If tis true, what follows does so with great beggings for forgiveness
for its cheesy take on the classic. Forgive me, Monty Python fans
for my sins.
As
our tale last ended, Gladiator/Sir Lanciator, being a man (and what a man), had
not wanted to admit to being lost upon the road to Avalon and to see the Farmer
King. Tis how we came to take the wrong fork in the road and found ourselves now
facing the Black Knight, Sir Denzeliosity himself.
Menacing
us from his position, clad in the blackest of black armor with a lone red flower
in his helmet, he waved
two black swords, one in each hand.
Brave
and trustworthy Terry/Sir Tristam leaped into the fray, intent to save me by
vanquishing this dreaded foe. As
he approached the Black Knight, Sir Tristam
whipped out his… equipment.
Twas
quite a sight. But then, 'tis always is.
"Perhaps,
Sir Knight, a sword would be more helpful?" Sir Lanciator called out, and
tossed Sir Tristam his own
sword of steel.
Grabbing
the shaft in one hand, Sir Tristam thrust his other hand into his pants and
emerged with… a piece of
equipment most deadly. Twas his large commando knife,
which he nicknamed The Leatherman. Indeed.
Miraculously,
Sir Tristam's handsome visage was now smeared with green, black and tan paint.
"Where is he?"
I whispered to Sir Lanciator as I stood next to him on
the path. "It's like he's blended into the trees."
"Camouflage,
my lady. He is a master in this arena," Sir Lanciator told me.
Our
eyes peeled, we watched and we waited for Sir Tristam to make his move.
Suddenly, Gladiator's heavy sword
swung through the air and gave a mighty gash to the Black Knight's arm. The Black Knight's red, red blood gushed
forth upon
the brown, brown ground.
I
averted my eyes into Sir Lanciator's chest. "Oh, my," I sighed.
"Hold me tight lest I swoon, kind sir."
However,
I was faking it – just a bit. Anything to be in his arms. Sigh. But, I had
left one eye open so that I could
watch as my beloved Sir Tristam competed
against the Black Knight.
The
arm with the mighty gash dropped its sword and Sir Tristam called out,
"Black Knight, dost thou concede?"
"This?
It's a flesh wound. No way I'm givin' up."
Again,
we saw the heavy steel sword rise in a mighty arc and when it fell, it cleaved
off the Black Knight's arm. Blood rushed forward and fell upon a red-brown
earth.
"Concede,
Sir Black Knight," Sir Tristam said, stepping forth from the trees and
wiping some of the camo paint from
his visage. "Concede, sir, and we will
tend thy wounds."
"No
way. Fight me. Are you a man or a little baby?"
Sir
Tristam and Sir Lanciator exchanged meaningful looks. "Finish him, brother
knight," Sir Lanciator told him,
giving a thumbs down.
Whack.
Another mighty sword swing and the other arm of the Black Knight was separated
from his body. More
blood spilled forth, though not nearly as much, and now it joined the knight's other lifeblood on the nearly red
ground upon which he trod.
Sir
Tristam turned, shaking his head.
"Get
back here. I'm ready to kick you to death," the Black Knight called,
thrusting his legs out, one at a time as
Sir Tristam dodged them easily.
Whack.
And his legs were no longer attached. Little blood was left within the poor
knight's body.
"No
more, I beg you, Sir Tristam. The man is dead already," I said.
"No. Get your a** back here," the
Black Knight said.
"My
Lords, he is never going to cede. But look how noble he remains," I said.
We watched in amazement as his
torso tried to follow Sir Tristam and the Black
Knight's teeth gnashed in a frustrated attack.
Rolling
his eyes to heaven, Sir Tristam stepped forward one more time and… Whack!
There went the head,
rolling upon the now-solid red earth.
We
mounted the steeds once more. I chose to ride with Sir Tristam as reward for his
bravery, although against
an unworthy foe, but still 'twas bravery made him face
the wrath of the Black Knight.
"Hey!
Get your a**es back here. Come back here and fight me
like men." I looked over Sir Tristam's shoulder
as we rode back to take the
other fork, and saw the Black Knight's head, still rolling and mouth still
moving.
"Must
still be his training day," I said to Sir Tristam. "He has not yet
fully learned the lessons of playing a bad
guy."
My
two knights agreed. And thus our tale takes another break. Verily, we will
continue anon and in the next verse,
we will sing the praises of the Farmer
King.
Fifteen
– Jo
"I" saw Camelot lying splendidly in the distance.....and, deciding to leave all the chopping, slicing, and dicing of
enemy knights to "me"'s storyline, turned aside from my path when I beheld an empty swing dangling from a large
and shady tree. Daisies and pink rosebuds had been woven around its ropes and the seat was cushioned in violet
velvet. Having walked and run for a good 342 miles this afternoon, I decided to rest a while in this lovely spot. As
I settled
comfortably upon the violet velvet, two strong hands were placed atop mine on
either side where I held the ropes.
Breath, redolent with wild figs and old wine, came warmly upon my cheek as the as yet unseen knight leaned forward
to whisper in my pink, shell-like ear,
"I was hoping you would come this
way."
Turning my head I beheld Sir John Longhair de Biebe. Ah, I
thought, I had wondered where YOU were in this story!!! Taking my hand, he led
me more deeply into the shade where a soft fleece had been spread among the wild
lilies. A
small stream sang delightful stream-songs as it flowed over smooth stones not far to one side and large-tailed golden
fish leapt and turned flips
in the air. As we sat together upon the fleece, a row of grey bunnies stared at
us with large brown eyes, fawns nuzzled our elbows, and bluebirds wove pink
ribbons into their nest above our head. Cherry petals floated down upon us like
pink snowflakes.
Wow! I thought. Disney incorporated!!! This man was GOOD! He handed me a scroll of faded parchment bound with
a white satin bow. Unrolling it, I noticed most of the script had been carefully marked out, leaving only radiant words
he wished
to communicate to my heart. I sighed. It was about time I had a little romance
in this tale of the quest!
Quahog? I cared not for quahogs at such a time as this! Let "me" grub through the underbrush in search of the
beastie. "I" was content upon
my Biebed fleece!!!
Sixteen
– Bert
Suddenly, Sir Bud gasps as if seeing old friends and I can barely make out two figures coming toward us. One seems
very slight with lovely hair blowing in
the dry breeze while the other is a bit on the well-fed side and has almost
white hair….
Oh, dear, can it really be? YES, it’s Jeff and Jeffrey! I Myself can make them out now! Oh how could this Lady be
so fortunate as to be surrounded by three of her favorite characters! And what else could Sir Bud and Myself need on
our quest more than a plumber with
all the right, er, tools and a scientist who can identify safe plants for us to
use for food and whatever….
J & J explain to Sir Bud and me Myself that they too are in search of the Holy Quahog as Jeffrey was wrongly
deprived of it some years past. Their
journey has been long, but without grief and they are prepared to venture on
without rest.
So the four of us set out together…Myself riding with Dear Bud with those strong arms wrapped around me and
those protective ways of his enveloping my
whole being. (Alas and alack, why ever did I Myself fall asleep
last night? Perhaps tonight…a ménage a trez!)
J & J ride on either side of us – Jeff riding his beautiful Palomino, Spencer, and Jeffrey astraddle Wallace of
Michaelton – a steed, he explains,
who can only carry his weight for 60 minutes without a brief rest. As
we ride off toward the West, Sir Bud and Myself explain to J & J our plan to
make our way to the
J & J then begin to relate the tales of their travels and the news they have met with along the way. News of a Farmer King and a Dark Man who seem to be gathering groups of people from across the land for what purposes they yet
know not. It seems that both are hell-bent on establishing
some ilk of thing that they call The Stand!
In my mind’s eye (that of Myself), I seem to be seeing something about a land where there is an old woman at a tiny
farm house and another place where there are bright lights and huge towers and it smells of….what? I Myself drift
into and out of daydreams and find myself picturing this Dark Man with a long black coat and black boots and
beautiful hair striding away…. Dare I truly yearn for this man when I Myself am surrounded by Dear Bud and J &
J…. Oh, I must call Myself back to the task at hand!
“MYSELF! Come back!”
Seventeen – Ann
And
so we return, brave readers, to the tale of a too, too twisted tryst tale by
Lady Me…
The Black Knight was vanquished and we were on our way again. Once we set out
upon the proper tine of the fork
in the road, it was but a brief jaunt to the path that led to the land of the Farmer King. However, upon reaching the shelter of the outback land of this farm of cows, the two mighty steeds upon which our party rode reared up and
nearly dislodged we mortal riders.
When
at last the beasts were under control, Gladiator/Sir Lanciator leapt from his
horse, crying, "Something most
foul has spooked the horses. Quickly, let us not tarry. Let us not wait. Let us be brave. Let us echo into eternity. Let
us harken. Let us…"
"For
pity's sake, brother knight, let's just go kick some a**,"
Terry/Sir Tristam growled.
Both
men took off at a dead run. They knew whatever had spooked the horses was even
then hiding in yon barn.
As I waited for them to return, I wandered into the house of the farm. Ah. What mysteries would I uncover about
the mysterious,
reclusive Lord Crowe de Russell? I had not long to wait.
There
in the central room, o'er the hearth, upon the mantle was a Celtic cross. I
gazed upon it and read the runes engraved thereon. They told a tale. And what a
tale they told. Good thing I read rune, eh?
The
tale told of a young boy who wandered the land searching for the opportunity to
sing and wear fishnet hose.
When that day, that glorious day, finally arrived, he saw his path clear. Twas a path that took him by day into the
fields to dance with cows and call them by name; and by night, to strum his lyre and sing songs of pious (and not so
pious) love to maidens fair at a pub known as deStubbs.
"But
what about this acting? This calling of his blood?" I wondered aloud.
"I
leave that to my characters," Lord Crowe spake to me. I turned to find the
one who dances with cows there
before me. His smile not haunted but jaunty, his
eyes shining in the light and his hair…
"My
goodness. You have magnificent hair," I said.
"And
you, Lady Me, are but a hair's breath from the final clue of the quest,"
Lord Crowe said. My, but his voice.
'Twas so familiar.
Just
then, the brother knights came tumbling through the door. They had found the
source of the spooking. 'Twas
none other than Sir GalaHando!
Oh.
What a sight he made. Menacing scowl marring the beautiful countenance. He was
clad all over in white mail.
Which 'twas quite nice, truth be told, for mail is,
well, um, easy to see through. And I could not stop staring at Sir GalaHando and
his… tattoos.
"Sir
GalaHando! Where is your lady? And why are you here at the Farmer King's
domain?" I asked him.
He
sneered at me but Sir Lanciator gave him a mighty backhand as punishment for his
less-than-chivalrous behavior toward me.
"Ow. That hurt," he said. Then he turned his eyes back to me. "Lady Me, I bear bad tidings. No one claimed me. In
fact, many of my brother knights are even now riding about the countryside without a lady. I was hiding here in hopes some would come to visit Lord Crowe and that I would be able to snatch one to be my scribe. After all, this Crowe
mate seems to be quite
the lady magnet."
But Sir Tristam and Sir Lanciator would not shed tears for Sir
GalaHando. Instead they tied him upon his steed and
set the horse racing over
the countryside, scattering Lord Crowe's cows hither and yon.
When
he was gone, Lord Crowe told us the final clue about the Holy Quahog. It had
come back into his possession.
But, he was much too busy birthing new baby cows and making up new names to call his new baby cows to be
bothered guarding a golden clam, he told us. Besides, he told Sir Lanciator, he preferred not to get too wrapped up
in the race for the Golden Statues. His life, he professed, twas
devoted to pursuit for pursuit's sake. Therefore, he entrusted the golden clam
with a woman most powerful and wise.
"Who
is this woman?" I asked him. "And where may we find her? And, dear
lord, who are you pursuing?"
"I
will ignore the pursuing joke,
aid. "Finding her will not be difficult. But getting the Holy Quahog from her will be. She will only entrust it to a man
who proves capable of claiming the clam. And, therein lies the rub. For claiming the clam requires a special man who
is able to meet
the Dame's challenge. And only that man will be given the right to try to claim
the Holy Quahog."
He
gave us a map upon which twere the directions to where we wouldst find the Dame
du Étang. It was but a short distance away.
Sir
Tristam volunteered to scout the way this time and Lord Crowe wanted to go do
some cow dancing. That left Sir Lanciator to my wiles. I mean… tee hee… that
left me to Sir Lanciator's advances.
Honest.
He made the first move. I swear.
Well,
I mean, I know he's going to tell you I jumped him the moment the other two were
gone, but who would you believe? Lady Me, your humble scribe? Or the man who
cannot lie?
Oh.
Yes. You've got a point.
Okay.
I admit it. So I jumped right up onto his lap. Still, he did
not exactly object, if you get my drift. Strong chest
(he was wearing his armor still, drat), strong arms (same armor) and soft lips (fooled you, eh? He'd taken off his
helmet.) And, oh my, what a sword!
This
be where discretion leaps into the story. And in its wake, leaps another with a
tale most deep…
Eighteen
- Jo
As comfortable as I was upon my Biebed fleece, I knew I must get "I" hence to Camelot before the falling of the Knight...er... night. "Adieu, adieu...my long-haired love," I called out reluctantly to Sir John as once more I headed
down the trail toward Camelot.
Camelot! In far off
otherwise occupied quahogging with Lady "Me" so I must needs singeth his song in his stead. Yes...where in the
world WAS there in the world a man so untouched and pure? None compared to my incomparable Lanciator du
Lac.
But what was this...this...THING...that now appeared before mine eyes in the last rays of the evening sun? Whatever
it was was dressed in a cape of red and yellow and green and brown and scarlet and black and ocher and peach and
ruby and olive and violet and fawn and lilac and gold and.... well... LOTS more colors!!! He was turning in wide circles
as he made his way down the trail,
swirling his cape out about him as he went and singing, "I look handsome, I
look smart, I am a walking work of art! Such a dazzling coat of many
colors...how I love my coat of many colors..."
Ah! 'Twas Sir Sidney du Goo! "Sir Knight," I called as I approached. "Art thou goething to Camelot, lying splendidly
in yon valley?"
He stopped and studied distant Camelot for a long while, taking in the sight of
the sunset glinting off its silver towers
and turrets. Smiling at last, he replied, "Yes, I think it is quite splendid enough to be graced with my presence." And
with that, he continued his twirling descent, singing, "And where in the world is there in the world a man so
extraordinaire?" He liketh himself far too well, I thought.
Walking on, I next happened upon a young knight dressed all in blue and holding a bouquet of bee-covered
wildflowers in his hand. It was Sir Lachlan Locksley...a relative of Robin's, no doubt. I stopped beside him and he
gazed at me with great sadness welling in his blue/green eyes, singing softly, "I loved you once in silence, and
mis'ry was all I knew..."
Well, I thought....Camelot 'TIS a MUSICAL, thou knowest!!! I told him I would
meet him in the Great Hall later that evening. Sir John Longhair de Biebe was
also coming to Camelot, and I had told him I would meet him on the grand
staircase. But....well....!
Next I came to a very young knight, fresh out of squiredom. He bore a large "X" upon his shield to proclaim his new
title of Sir Johnny du Crossing. I remembered now that, though he had avoided the Orient Express, he had, indeed,
been plopped out of the box onto the deck of the ship. I was glad to see him take an active part in the saga and
pleased, too, to note his front tooth had now been fixed. I was sure that the repair would only aid in his career as a
knight errant. He sang, " I know in my soul what you expect of me, and all that and more I shall be!" We arranged
to meet in the back
hallway.
A cloud of dust approached from behind me, filling the air around Sir Cort of the Court, Knight of the Dusty Countenance. When it had settled, he smiled down at me and sang, "Had I been made the partner of Eve, we'd be
in
How HARD "I" was working to turn the saga into a musical AND gather all the characters in Camelot!!! I was
facing west when Sir East came up behind me. I should have known! East would ALWAYS be behind me when I
faced west!!! He tipped his visor fetchingly and sang, "It's here! That shocking time of year, when tons of wicked
little thoughts merrily appear!"
How did I know he was thinking of the barn? But I had to get to Camelot before the sun entirely set, so I told him I
would meet him later that evening in the
stables.
As I neared Camelot, there was yet another knight enroute. This was Sir Zack l'Agent. His steed looked quite the
worse for wear and was, indeed, unridable and he was forced to push it along by its rump in a most unknightly
manner. Dear Sir, if thou dost ever maketh it into the city, I will meet thee in the courtyard. But his steed was progressing so slowly that he sang loudly to my on-going back...."Here we are, my love, and not far, my love, from
where we
were before.....!"
Ah, another tryst!!! HOW was I going to be in so many places at the same time?
When was "ME" going to bring Lanciator and Tristam to Camelot? What
was coming next? ....
And
now begins another verse from your scribe,
When last we visited, our trembling threesome had received the final clue from
Lord Crowe de Russell to help us in
our Quest For The Holy Quahog. Along with
the clue he gave us a map to find the Dame du Étang.
Which
'twas a good thing. For I did not want to follow another man down another wrong
path, if you catcheth my
drift.
However,
before we left, Lord Crowe gave me something else to take along. Its mysteries
he refused to divulge,
simply telling me that the Dame du Étang would rise from
her lair when we flung it upon her covering waters.
Dame
du Étang, as she is known in the quahog quest mythology, is known in my native
land as the Lady of the Pond.
'Tis said that one must have a special something to
convince the Lady to rise up from her waters and greet thee.
And
Lord Crowe has given us "it" – the thing he claims will get her to
rise up. I took it most graciously from his
hands, even though it seemed an odd
thing to give me.
As
we rode from Lord Crowe's farm of cows, I was riding with
Gladiator/Sir Lanciator. Seemed appropriate, as
we had shared a night most divine… Oh. Drat. I'm still not kissing and telling. But, I will say this, he was no longer
in his armor. He was now
wearing his blue tunic. Still had that mighty sword, as well. Twas a delightful
ride that morning, to be sure.
"Fair
Lady Me, where is the smile of last eve?" Sir Lanciator
whispered in my ear. I smiled into those eyes, I swam
in those arms, I nestled
into that chest… And dang near forgot the question.
"Well,
it is this… thing that Lord Crowe has bade us to take with us and toss upon
the golden pond," I replied,
holding the thing in two fingers before us.
"Tis a tattered thing, is it not, my knights?"
Terry/Sir
Tristam said, "If I didn't know any better, I would think
it was a shirt for it is flannel and its pattern seems familiar. But it is filled with such holes…"
Just
then, I believe the meaning hit us all. "Because it's full of
holes, it must qualify as something holy," Sir Lanciator said. "That
must be it. We must need to fling something holy upon the waters in order to
call forth the lady of the
pond."
I
held the thing up in both hands and we looked hard upon it. Indeed. Sir Tristam
was right – as he most often is,
too right – and it was a holy blue flannel shirt. And, this I knew, it was also something precious to the Farmer King
for,
verily, he hast
refused to giveth this holy shirt up for many years.
In a
short time, we reached the golden pond. It shimmered in the
sunlight and it glittered richly before our eyes. A mesmerizing sight, that it was. I gave the holy shirt to Sir Lanciator and he
tossed it with a mighty toss. We three watched as it settled upon the calm
waters. Slowly, it sank beneath the surface. Nothing happened.
"Perhaps
it takes time," Sir Lanciator said.
"Maybe
it needs to reach the bottom before she comes," Sir Tristam said.
"I
hope we haven't offended the Lady of the Pond with it," I worried.
Suddenly,
the water began to roil. Then it seemed to boil. Then we recoiled. Up from
depths, the Dame du Étang arose
in all her glory. And totally dry. How is that
possible? Well, 'tis a land of mysteries.
In
her hand was the holy shirt. She smiled upon us. "Thank heavens someone
finally got him to get rid of this old
thing," she told us. "Lord Crowe de Russell must have found you worthy vassals, else he wouldst never have sent
you to me bearing the holiest of his holy shirts. Why do you call me
forth?"
We
told her of the quest. She nodded when we explained the purpose was to bring the
gold clam back to King Jack
to assure his rightful ascension to the Oscar crown.
"Tis
a noble cause," the Lady said. "And that passes the first
challenge. Therefore, I will let one of you step forward
and take the next challenge. But, I warn you. Choose your champion most wisely. It must be a person of great moral character who has led a virtuous life of duty and honor. And, most importantly, he must possess already his own
golden glory."
We
huddled together to discuss this. It took about two seconds. After all, Sir
Lanciator had proven his great moral character. His entire life w