The Bard's Tale - 1. The Tale

[In a bohemian, but run-down house well outside of the castle walls, a bard sits at a table. Both room and table are partially submerged by books, papers, discarded quills. The bard is jauntily dressed in shades of blue and green, but his clothes have seen better days. He is writing angrily, his quill scratching against the heavy paper as if he hopes to make holes not words. It becomes apparent that he's not composing verse.]

How the heck am I to pay the rent this month?

[He speaks with a faint mid-American twang. Shaking his head, he reckons up again what he's just entered into his accounting book. He hopes that the total will change, but it doesn't. Next, he reaches out and drags an abacus into range – still no change. He sighs, takes a long swig out of a cup of ale and mutters to himself.]

No point in being the queen's bard if I never get paid. Maybe I should move someplace else? Find another patron? One who'll actually reward me.

[He unties his purse from his belt and counts the contents. It doesn't take long.]

Six pence, huh. She expects poems all times of the day and night. And she complains.

[He mimics the queen.]

'Why don't you write your verse in French, bard?' Or, 'Can't you at least, sound more French. It's so fashionable. J'aime ça.' No, I can't. I have enough trouble sounding English. And if I ask for payment?

[He mimics the queen again.]

'You must speak to my chamberlain. A queen has no need to carry her own money.'

[He spits on the floor in disgust.]

All he does is show me the empty coffers. Thin air don't buy me food, ale, clothes … I like looking neat …

[He fingers his well-worn tunic gloomily.]

OK, so she's queen. Doesn't mean I can't teach her what's right.

[He wraps himself round his ale cup and stares into the distance. Night draws on.]

~~~~~~~~~~

[The following morning finds him slumped over the table. He jerks awake.]

Aw... fuck.

[He stretches cramped muscles, yawns, then his eyes light up as he remembers the previous evening.]

I figure I got an awesome plan. And a successful plan, too.

[He smiles proudly to himself.]

I'm sure going to enjoy this. No question. OK … First thing? … go do a recon at the main gate and the guards. Can't do this through the servants' entrance.

[The bard visualises the entrance he usually enters through. Watched all the time by guards, searched, constrained … ]

[He sets off as he is – crumpled, yawning, breakfastless. He journeys along the road, muttering to himself. There are many other people also heading to the castle.]

Reckon I'm as good as the next bard. My poems have class, they have verve. I don't churn out the same thing, over and over again …

[He puts on a short burst of speed to overtake some goats. He pants for a short while afterwards.]

I'm an original thinker, … an artiste of the …. first order. French? … What makes the fucking French … so good, all of a sudden?

[He's plagued by flies because of the heat and the animals. One fly in particular, is very persistent.

He suddenly lurches to the side of the road as he hears the brisk clop of horses' hooves. A phalanx of mailed knights clatters past.]

What the heck?

[He scowls at their backs and raises a finger.]

They get paid, I reckon. She doesn't have a choice.

~~~~~~~~~~

[He arrives at the centre of town, hot, dirty and dishevelled. He finds the tavern nearest to the castle's main gate, orders an ale and tries to make himself look slightly more presentable. Toilette complete, he lounges in the tavern's entrance, watching what's going on. His eye's caught by the knight in charge of the guards.]

Wow!

[The bard lets out a quiet, low whistle.]

That's one good-lookin' guy. How often he's here, I wonder?

[A potboy from the tavern comes out for a breather and a cigarette. The bard smiles at him and starts a conversation of sorts. He remembers to speak with what he thinks is a generic English accent.]

Hello, mate. Who's the new knight?

[The bard points towards the gate. The potboy briefly looks over to the guard post, and rolls his eyes.]

Him? I've heard things 'bout 'im. I'd watch yourself, mate, if yer know wha' I mean? Or mebbes, 'e's just new on the job. Always rumours 'bout the new uns. Guard duty's not somethin' you'll find the household knights doin'. Where's the glamour, the romance in freezin' yer arse off day after day, arguin' the toss with pedlars and bloody friars.

[The bard perks up at the information.]

So, he's … a fixture? You know, here every day?

[The potboy shrugs.]

Yeah … pretty much. Dunno his name, though.

[He finishes his cigarette and goes back inside.]

~~~~~~~~~~

[A little while later, the bard is still to be seen lounging round the entrance of the tavern. This time he holds a piece of coarse bread in one hand and a lump of cheese in the other.]

Fast food, huh? This bread's gonna ruin my teeth.

[He is chewing on the bread morosely, when a couple of townsfolk, man and wife, approach. They're obviously on their way to their midday meal in the tavern. The woman spots the bard and stops in her tracks. She squeals with delight.]

Ooh! Look! Harry, look! That's whatsisname from the market square.

[She's almost jumping up and down with excitement as she points at the bard. He doesn't quite know whether to look quizzical, delighted or affronted. All the expressions flit across his face in quick succession. She pokes her husband in the ribs to get his attention. Her other half is keeping well out of the encounter and doesn't respond. She decides to address the bard directly.]

Sorry, I hope you don't mind, but I just love your routine. Makes my day, it does. Every Thursday, isn't it? Your jokes, they're so risqué …

[She simpers and tries to appear coy..]

… and I love your juggling. I don't know how you manage it. And your song and dance routines – they're really special. Get my feet tapping …

[She stops mid-sentence because the bard is looking daggers at her. He carefully puts down his bread and cheese, draws himself up to his full five foot whatever, and assumes his plummiest voice.]

Good dame, I am no jongleur, no mere marketplace performer or juggler. I am a poet. I am bard to the queen, herself.

[The woman looks him up and down scornfully.]

Hnh. Should've known you weren't him. He's a professional and he looks it. You? I've seen better dressed beggars.

[She flounces into the tavern, followed by her husband. The bard glares after them.]

That was way outta line.

[He stays where he is and tries to swallow his anger and hurt.]

Reckon I'm still the queen's poet, whatever she says. Even if it's an unpaid position.

[He sulkily chews some cheese. A passing soldier has seen and heard everything. He stops for a moment to speak to the bard before going on his way.]

Cheer up, mate. You wouldn't want to be liked by her.

[He sniggers.]

Hubby's hen-pecked to within an inch of his life. Real shrew when she gets going.

[The bard rolls his eyes in reply. He decides he's had enough for one day. He picks up his bits and pieces and heads for home.]

~~~~~~~~~~

[In the guardroom, a young knight is sitting at a plain, wooden desk, quill in hand. According to the clock, it's coming up to midday. He's writing in a massive, leather bound ledger. Although he's wearing his chain-mail, his sword, helm, gauntlets and spurs are piled on the seat next to him. Ready for any action which might call him outside. He stops writing so he can stretch his back and ease his neck and shoulder muscles.]

Why can't I have a scrivener? I haven't done anything today apart from record yesterday's bloody stop and searches. How am I meant to keep battle ready when I'm tied to this sodding desk?

[A soldier comes in with another heap of papers.]

There you go, sir. That's this morning's lot for you.

[The knight wearily picks one up and inspects it. A closer look at it reveals a series of pictograms whereby the guards can record each search as it happens.]

Thanks, soldier. Tell the sergeant I'll be out in a minute or two to see what's going on.

Yessir.

[The knight waits for the soldier to leave. He gloomily stares ahead, playing with one of his gauntlets.]

Course, I know why I'm stuck here, don't I? Not out, practising in the tilt-yard, like the rest of them.

[He tosses the gauntlet aside, angrily. He mimics various knights of his acquaintance.]

'Not one for the ladies, if you know what I mean.' 'Really? I'd never have guessed.' 'Can't have that sort in the joust. Not done.' Well, fuck them. I'm better than the lot of you.

[He calms himself down, then gets out of his seat, and gathers up his sword and gauntlets. He goes outside and looks around. He notices the bard, lounging in the front entrance of the tavern, and raises his eyebrows.]

Isn't that the queen's tame bard? Working hard as usual. … Wish I could have his position if it needs so little work. … Hmmm … Wasn't he hanging around earlier?

[His rhetorical question is overheard by one of the soldiers who replies.]

'e's bin 'angin' around fer ages, sir. I've bin keepin' an eye on 'im, sir.

[The knight isn't paying him any attention but still, the soldier continues.]

'e seems te be watchin' us, sir. Can't be right, sir, 'im standin' there an' snoopin'. Shouldn't be allowed, sir.

[The knight is lost in his own thoughts and just catches an echo of the soldier's words.]

Yes, indeed. Carry on, soldier.

[He's remembering the last evening at court when he had to sit and listen to the wretched man's interminable, saccharine verses. Or, he pretended to listen. The ladies of the court loved it. He shakes his head and reluctantly heads back to the guardroom. He's talking to himself again.]

Don't like his writing – at least, if that's a representative sample … and the way he speaks it? Dreadful mid-Atlantic accent. Wonder if he knows just how bad his attempts at sounding English are? Much prefer Gawain or Beowulf or perhaps, The Knight's Tale.

[He disappears into the guardroom again.]

~~~~~~~~~~

[Later the same day, the bard is back home. He's sitting at his table again, chewing the feather of his quill. He's staring at a blank piece of parchment, obviously lost for words. Then, inspiration strikes. He starts writing and, as the words get written, it's clear that it is poetry this time. He fills the parchment and stops. He smiles with pride.]

That feels awesome. God … writing real poetry – genuine, human emotions …

[He stops and squirms in his seat a little.]

Well, OK … fake genuine emotions.

[He rolls his eyes.]

It's a mighty fine poem, though. One of my best.

[He quotes a section as demonstration.]

My love is radiant in gold,

like summer vanquishing the cold,

full ember'd more than smudges mean,

whose fading life the mists enfold.

Kinda sad it don't mean anything – he's a good-lookin' guy, but that's it. Not the time for love. But hey … it's in a good cause. Gallant Sir Knight will help rescue a bard in distress.

[He grins at the thought of his plan working. He sands the ink on the parchment, then rolls it up carefully.]

Lucky, I guess. The knight in charge of the main gate being like me and all. Fortune is smiling on me – 'bout time.

[He's clearly pleased. He searches for a scroll case in the chaos surrounding the table. Finally, he finds one – a rich, burgundy leather.]

It's gotta look important. Can't have one of the guards reading it.

[He grimaces at the thought of the fallout.]

Sure hope he appreciates it. Guess I'll find out soon enough.

[The masterpiece safely put away, the bard goes in search of supper. He returns swiftly with a pie he bought at the tavern earlier. He looks at it with distaste, then bites into it. He nearly spits it straight back out. Finally, he manages to swallow it.]

What the fuck?! How do people eat this crap?

[He has a vision of a juicy ribeye steak, fries and a fresh green salad. This fades very quickly. He's left with his grey gristle and greasy pastry, He forces the rest of it down, helped by copious drafts of ale. He burps.]

I reckon it's been a good day.

[He goes to bed.]

~~~~~~~~~~

[The following morning, he wakes early. This time, he puts a lot of effort into his appearance. He grooms himself thoroughly and he chooses his clothes with care. He tries to get a sense of how good he looks by peering at himself from various angles. Satisfied, he dons a feathered cap and sets out for the castle, scroll case in hand.]

[Happy and excited, he strides out along the road, muttering to himself as he goes.]

Neat. Real neat and clever. Real neat, clever and inspired.

[It's not clear whether he's talking about himself or the poem. But, he's obviously psyching himself up for the encounter ahead.]

[He stops at the millpond on the way, to admire his costume. He lingers for a few minutes, viewing himself from all angles. Satisfied, he does a final twirl, arms outstretched. He stumbles, and nearly loses hold of the precious scroll case in the process. By lunging forward to stop the case from ending up in the pond, he dirties his shoes and hose with mud.]

Fuck, but that was close.

[A passing goose girl nearly wets herself laughing at him.]

Why don't yer give it another go, mate? Mebbe's yer'll 'ave better luck next time. Tryin' to see if it'll float, are yer?

[The bard gives her the finger, then tries to clean himself up using clumps of grass. Looking now rather less pristine than before, he arrives back at the tavern. Again breakfastless, he eyes someone downing a pint.]

Shall I … ?

[He finally drags his eyes away, enters the tavern and orders a bowl of barley porridge instead.]

That'll be a farthing¹, mate.

[He hands the coin over to the barman and receives the food in return. The bard stares glumly at the wooden bowl of mush.]

D'you have any syrup? Maple, preferably.

[The barman looks blank.]

Yer wha', mate?

[The bard rolls his eyes.]

Syrup. Sugar syrup with flavourings?

[The barman shakes his head.]

Sorry, mate. Lost me there. What's sugar when it's at home? Honey's an extra farthing, if you want some.

[The bard fingers his meagre purse and decides against it. He sits and forces down the tasteless porridge. He is very hungry.]

~~~~~~~~~~

[A few minutes later, the bard comes out onto the street again. He's managed to make himself look somewhat better. He looks across at the castle gate and notices that the sergeant is on duty.]

Reckon he's the man I need.

[He strolls towards the gate and the guard post, trying to look as though he has every right to demand entrance through the main gate. He reminds himself to sound as English as he can.]

Best BBC received pronunciation – whatever the heck that is.

[He approaches the sergeant.]

Good morning, sergeant.

[The sergeant looks at him and doesn't reply apart from a brief nod. This unsettles the bard a little.]

I have an important communication for your officer. Is he around?

[The sergeant is used to all sorts. And, anyway, he recognises the bard, despite his attempts to disguise himself otherwise. He's not impressed.]

Well … if it isn't Mr Honeytongue, himself. Forgotten the way to the servant's entrance, have we?

[The bard's face falls. The sergeant continues.]

And what's so important that the court's favourite crooner is here, almost before cock-crow?

[The bard bristles at being called a crooner.]

I'm bard by appointment to the queen and why I'm here, is a matter for your officer.

[This doesn't make any difference to the sergeant's attitude. He's now leaning against the gate.]

Yeah, yeah. Officers don't usually appear until after breakfast. I suppose I could give it him …

[The bard know what's coming. He opens his purse and reluctantly removes two silver pennies. The sergeant notices with amusement, just how thin the bard's purse is.]

Don't they give you your tips? Or, perhaps you should pass round a hat? This one, perhaps?

[The sergeant uses his halberd to spear the bard's cap, then drops in it a nearby puddle.]

Oops! Oh dear. Never mind, aye.

[He sniggers. The bard just about keeps his cool – the plan is too important to be derailed by the likes of him. He hands over the money and the scroll case. Then he bends down and rescues his cap. The feather looks decidedly the worse for wear. He glares at the sergeant.]

The queen will hear of this.

[He turns round and beats as dignified a retreat as he can.]

~~~~~~~~~~

[A little later on, the same knight is again sitting at the guardroom desk. He's stopped writing in the ledger for a moment and is musing on yesterday's sightings of the bard. Not because the bard's any threat, but because he wants to think about him for who he is.]

Wonder if he's gay? He's really … cute, I suppose he'd call it.

[The knight sounds lonely and wistful. Then he rouses up and tells himself off.]

Oh, for fuck's sake. I should know better. Gender stereotyping at its worst – he's a poet and dresses like a popinjay, so, therefore he's gay.

[He rolls his eyes.]

I'm on the receiving end of that sort of crap, day in, day out.

[He mimics the adoring simpers from a lady of the court.]

'Sir, you are a true knight, a gallant warrior. So bold, so brave, so manly … Meet me later, behind the chapel.' Not bloody likely.

[He picks up his quill again and starts on another entry. It's clear, however, that his mind's not on the job.]

Wonder if he only writes the fluff he performs for the ladies? Surely, he doesn't? … Hope not.

[His dreams of a partnered life don't include having to listen to the sort of romantic drivel he has to suffer every time he attends the court. A particularly choice bit floats into his head. He mimics the bard's delivery.]

A rose in bloom, its petals blush

Beneath the moon's expectant hush …

[He is jolted out of his daydream by the entry of the sergeant. He immediately assumes his officer-of-the-day expression – just in time for the sergeant's salute.]

Morning, sir!

Sergeant. Anything to report?

[The knight sounds all business, once more. It's clear, even from this short exchange, that there is no camaraderie between the two men.]

This was given to me earlier, sir. It's for you, apparently.

[The sergeant hands over the bard's scroll case.]

Handed in by that idle, Yankee bastard who delights in calling himself, 'bard by appointment to the queen'.

[He's apparently trying to imitate the bard's accent, but he deliberately makes it sound far too camp. The knight doesn't rise to the bait. He holds the case, rotating it gently for a minute or two while looking at it thoughtfully. Then, he places it carefully on the desk and turns his attention back to the sergeant.]

Sergeant. I believe the bard is indeed employed by the queen. So, whatever his merits or demerits, he should command a certain level of respect. From me and from you.

[He raises an eyebrow at the sergeant and waits for an answer. The sergeant obliges on cue.]

Yessir.

[The knight exhales with annoyance.]

Do I have to send you on the equalities training yet again, sergeant?

Nosir.

[The sergeant stiffens with resentment. The knight notices and regards the sergeant with a distinct coolness.]

In which case, it's about bloody time you put it into practice, soldier. Should it happen again, you'll find yourself on a charge and you'll probably lose your rank and privileges. Fancy being in the ranks again, do you?

[The sergeant shakes his head.]

I thought not. I'm well aware of your fighting skills, sergeant, but you also need to be setting an example to your men in other ways. You'd do well to think on it. That'll be all.

[The sergeant is by now bristling with anger but he manages to salute. After he's left, the knight runs his fingers through his hair and sighs in exasperation.]

Probably won't make any fucking difference. He'd be a really good sergeant if he wasn't such a homophobic prick.

[He picks up the scroll case again. This time, he's OK to open it. He's about to remove the contents when he stops and sniffs the air. It's obvious there's a scent of some sort.]

What's this? Cinnamon and … cloves? Hnh … Unexpected. Pleasant, though.

[Finally, he removes the parchment, unrolls it and starts reading. First, his eyes widen, then he chuckles. He continues reading until, with a final snort of amusement, he puts it down.]

Well … that pretty much answers my question as to whether he's gay or not. Wonder if he wrote them specially? That would mean he'd made a real effort. But still … Is he really wooing me? Or some ideal knight he's read about somewhere? … It'd be nice to have a suitor, though. It's been ages since the last one ...

[The thought of having a suitor makes him feel hot and bothered under his chain-mail. He flushes pink and shifts in his seat. He re-reads one part of it, smiling and shaking his head at the same time.]

It's much better than the stuff he normally produces. But … all those fancy phrases? And what's the colour of my hair or my eyes got to do with anything?

[He shakes his head again, then re-reads another bit.]

For Christ's sake … Really?

[He reads out a particularly choice snippet.]

My love so like the sky endowed

with blue, a vision sans a cloud

upon the brow so clear and bold,

with Sisyphean care unbowed.

He obviously doesn't know about this bloody paperwork.

[He chuckles again but decides he needs to get back to work. Reluctantly, he puts the parchment away and settles down to the never-ending drudgery.]

[Two stop and search reports later, he's back to thinking about the bard and his billet doux.]

Wonder if he'd write me another? I mean, if he's that keen, he'd love to, wouldn't he? Perhaps, if I send, I dunno, something from Gawain or Chaucer, he'd reciprocate with something in the same vein. That'd be much, much better. I'm no poet or any sort of writer.

[He gets up and looks at the overflowing shelves behind where he sits. In amongst the military treatises, personnel handbooks, and health and safety logbooks, is a battered copy of Sir Gawain and the Green Knight. He sits back down, and starts flicking through it, work now completely forgotten.]

It's the hunting scenes I like and, of course, the fights with the green knight. Just Gawain being himself – a knight. Though I'd do without all the women.

[He finds one section and quotes part of it.]

Everyone carrying a bugle blew it at once,

And the others, without horns, raised a great shout.

It was the most glorious baying that man ever heard,

A noble clamour set there for Reynard's soul …

Or how about?

Then the king commanded Gawain to stand up,

And he did so promptly, and moved forward with grace,

Kneeled down before the king and laid hold of the weapon …

Hmm … Those two? It'll give him an idea, anyway. I'll write them out later, when it's not so busy. Right, back to work.

~~~~~~~~~~

[Having watched the sergeant take his precious poem into the guardroom, the bard has other fish to fry. He's managed to borrow a drab, concealing cloak with a deep hood. The cap he started out with has obviously been abandoned.]

[He tries to blend in with the morning's traffic of people going about their business. It's noticeable that he keeps to the shadows whenever he can as he walks briskly to his next destination. After a short while, he stops outside a shop which sports a painted sign with Pardon me! on it. Underneath, in smaller lettering, the text continues, Percival the Pardoner. Licensed issuer of Papal indulgences. Another sign in one of the windows declares, Only the most genuine, authenticated relics sold here. Ask within. A grubby extra piece of parchment has been stuck on the bottom edge of the sign. Three for the price of two. Limited time only.]

[The bard rolls his eyes in disbelief. He enters and greets the well-dressed but disreputable individual behind the counter.]

Hey, Perce. How are things? Not out fleecing a devout congregation someplace?

[The shopkeeper grimaces.]

I've run out of letters of authority.

[The bard snorts. He has no sympathy whatsoever.]

Well, hey. You never paid me for the last lot. How much was it again? Sixpence, I reckon.

[The pardoner scowls, opens his cashbox and removes six silver pennies. He gives them to the bard who immediately tests each one before putting them in his purse.]

How the relics' trade doin'? Any pieces of the True Cross left?

[The bard can't help sniggering.]

Jeez, Perce, but your customers are gullible. Anyways, you want a bunch more letters? I'll take payment in advance this time.

[The pardoner is not enjoying this encounter. His scowl is becoming permanent.]

God, you Yanks drive a hard bargain. If I pay you in advance, I expect gold leaf and lapis blue in abundance. Your last lot of letters were too plain – they weren't impressive enough.

[The bard's mouth hangs open for a second or so.]

Lapis blue? Kinda tricky to get hold of … and it costs. Not somethin' I'm gonna get from the market.

That's your problem.

[The pardoner opens the cashbox again, hesitates, then closes it without taking any money out.]

 

Hang about. What did you come in here for, anyway? Wasn't just for the money, was it?

[He peers at the bard. He senses this is a good time to drive his own bargain. The bard isn't impressed.]

Nope. I'm lookin' for somethin'. A little 'under the counter' somethin'? Which, if I told the bishop, would make you a dead 'un. Or as good as.

[He stares back at the pardoner, before continuing.]

The queen? She ain't paid me for three months straight. How's a man meant to live?

[The pardoner's now smirking.]

I wanna teach her what's right. I was thinkin' an enchantment.

[Sensing a good sale, the pardoner dives into a backroom and returns bearing a selection of products, all gaudily packaged. He picks one out.]

This is a good one. It'll make her fall in love with you.

[The bard looks disgusted.]

Eugh! Gee, thanks but no thanks.

[The pardoner picks another one.]

How about this one, then? She'll make you her champion. Fancy the joust, do you? Rich pickings to be had. Ladies' favours to win …

[He cocks his head at the bard. He's not impressed.]

Jeez, Perce! You're a bastard and no mistake. I'm no cowboy in a movie.

[The pardoner has no idea what the bard's referring to. He shrugs and rolls his eyes.]

Well, give me a hint, then. I'm not a fucking mind reader.

[The bard thinks for a moment.]

I reckon I need somethin' to make her … suggestible, malleable. Her and everyone else within range. I gotta get past guards and household knights..

[The pardoner makes a show of thinking hard. In fact, he thinks he can see the pennies falling into his hand, maybe even a groat² or two. He disappears into the backroom again and emerges, clutching a large black and gold creation.]

This beauty is from the Max strength range. Effective range, three hundred metres or more. Single use only, mind.

[He gives it to the bard, who holds it gingerly, turning it and trying to read the writing on the wrapper.]

So … OK …

[He continues to rotate the package slowly.]

How d'ya use it?

[The pardoner sighs.]

Really? God, you're such an amateur. You read the instructions and do as they say.

[He sounds as though he's talking to a child.]

Pretty straight forward, even for you.

[The bard knows this is going to cost him, big time. He braces himself.]

How much?

[The pardoner thinks of an opening price.]

Three groats and it's cheap at the price.

[The bard's eyes widen in horror. He gasps.]

Three groats! Perce, that's way too much. Sixpence and a guarantee.

[The haggling continues until they settle on two groats and a guarantee which both of them know won't be worth the parchment it's written on. Price settled, the matter of payment comes next. The bard fires the opening shot.]

OK … Two groats. This is how it's gonna work. I give you three pence and you charge the remainin' five pence 'gainst what the next bunch of letters gonna cost you.

[The pardoner becomes indignant.]

Not bloody likely. You think I was born yesterday? Payment upfront, in full. Corpses aren't very good at paying their bills, I find.

[The bard's indignant in turn.]

No way. I'm gonna get me my money. The queen'll pay up – no problem.

[The pardoner snorts in derision.]

Yeah, right. And next, you'll be telling me the Earth goes round the Sun.

[The argument continues until they reach a compromise. The bard pays fourpence and receives the package plus the worthless guarantee. They shake hands on the deal and the bard leaves with his prize.]

~~~~~~~~~~~~

[The bard arrives back at the tavern. He slips inside and reappears a few minutes later minus cloak, his bedraggled cap back on his head, and his purchase concealed in a bundle. He hesitates, fingers his purse and dives back inside. A couple of minutes later, he can be seen with a take-out pottage³. He's so hungry, he can't wait to get home before he starts eating it. He's about to eat his first spoonful when a scruffy urchin darts out from where he's been waiting nearby.]

Mister?

[He pokes the bard to attract his attention. He nearly spills his food.]

Hey! You jerk.

[The urchin persists.]

Yoo the bard, mister? Gotta package for yer.

[He brandishes the bard's own scroll case at him.]

Yeah, that's me.

[He tries to grab the case but the lad isn't letting go without a fight.]

'e said you'd give us a farthin'.

[The bard scowls, opens his purse and fishes out a farthing.]

There. Now get lost!

[He stands, holding the scroll case, bundle, and his meal, and looks across to the guard post. He's being watched. It's the knight. The bard suddenly, inexplicably feels tempted to wave. He starts to raise the hand which is clutching the case, but he thinks better of it. He decides to go home.]

~~~~~~~~~~

[It's the evening of the same day. The bard is again sat at his table. He's looking closely at an unfurled scroll by the dingy glow of two rushlights. The far end of the parchment is held down by the empty pottage bowl and the wooden spoon. He's having some trouble reading what's been written – the knight's handwriting is not of the best. He reads some parts out loud.]

Jeez! He didn't like my poem. Leastways, he thinks it 'too much like a courtly romance … I am but a hard-working knight, made of flesh and blood.' Mighty fine flesh and blood, I'm thinkin'. Least he read it, I guess.

[He frowns slightly, takes a drink of the ever-present ale, and goes back to the closely-writen parchment. He's now reading the knight's suggestions for the sort of thing he'd like to receive.]

'I enjoy Sir Gawain and the Green Knight … Huh? Never read that one. Guess I'd better get hold of a copy.

[He sighs – more expense.]

That darn bookseller don't need no more of my pennies. … What the heck? …

[Now, he's reached an excerpt from Chaucer which the knight thought of at the last minute. It's crammed into the last inch or two of the parchment.]

This really English?

[The bard tries to read and speak the Chaucerian English – with little success.]

'Til al the noyse of peple was ydo' … ?

[He moves on.]

'No man therefore, up payne of los of lyfe' … ? Fuck, this is kinda hard work.

[He gets up and starts looking for something in the general chaos. Finally, by the window, he finds what he's looking for. It's another quill. Happy, he sits back down and starts copying the original text. As the quill moves, it translates or modernises at it goes.]

[After a short time, he sits back and looks at his handiwork, or rather, the quill's. He reads part of it out.]

The prince has, in his prudence and wisdom,

Concluded that it would be mere destruction

Of noble blood, if this affair were fought

In terms of mortal combat, to the death.

And therefore he desires to modify

His first proposal, so that none shall die.

OK … so, what? He wants a bunch of verses 'bout bein' a knight? How chivalrous he is?

[The bard changes his quill. He stares hard at a blank piece of parchment, trying to summon inspiration. Finally, he starts to write.]

~~~~~~~~~~

[It's early morning on the next day. The usual knight hasn't long since arrived. He's sitting at the desk in the guardroom. His work is in front of him, but, once again, it's not holding his attention like it should. At length, he gives it up and goes outside. He greets one of the sentries on duty.]

Morning, soldier. Anything to report?

[The guard isn't used to being addressed by knights, and particularly not this one. He flushes bright red, forgets to salute, and can't help stuttering.]

Err … no, sir. Ehm … not much … err … going on, sir.

[It's not clear whether the stuttering's from nerves, embarrassment, or another reason entirely. The knight kindly takes no notice.]

Good. Any sign of that bloke who's been hanging around outside the tavern the last couple of days?

[The guard thinks for a moment.]

Oh … err … D'you mean the guy who had a run in with the sarge, sir? Err … Yesterday, it was.

[The knight looks faintly surprised but knows better than to ask for details.]

Imagine it's the same bloke.

Then, no, sir. No sign.

[The knight's face falls but he quickly resumes his usual expression.]

Ah … Just as well. Carry on, soldier.

[The knight looks over towards the tavern, just to be sure. There is indeed no sign of the bard. He sighs quietly and returns to the guardroom and his work.]

[Sometime later, an excited herald dashes up to the guardroom door and starts hammering on it with his fists. This wakes up the dozing knight in a trice.]

Wha … ? … Come in!

[The herald bursts in and stands gasping in front of the desk. The knight is surprised, even, possibly, alarmed.]

Yes, herald?

Sir. … The queen … will be paying … you and your men … a visit shortly. She asks … that you not do anything … special in preparation. She … wishes to be incognito.

[The knight looks gobsmacked for a moment, then manages to regain control of himself.]

Thank you, herald. My men and I will eagerly await the queen's visit.

[The herald does a swift about turn and heads off back the way he came.]

~~~~~~~~~~

[Sometime later, a smartly dressed woman can be seen heading from the castle towards the main gate. She is obviously a lady of the court but otherwise there is nothing to distinguish her. She is alone – no maid, guard, or anyone in attendance. She stops for a minute or two on the castle green, more to savour her freedom than anything else.]

God … it's so nice not to have people watching my every move. Nobody forcing palace protocols down my throat … Freedom, even if it's only for a short while … and then, the company I want. An ordinary, working knight and his men. What shall we talk about? Who cares? As long as it's not about politics or palace intrigues. It'll be different, interesting …

[The queen thinks of the numerous occasions she's watched the knight instead of paying attention during mind-numbingly boring audiences. She's followed him with her eyes as he does his rounds, talking to his men and dealing with people at the gate.]

He's fair when he's settling disputes. I can see it on the faces of the townsfolk even if they don't like what he's decided. That's good – don't want the mailed fist on display unless it's necessary. He's certainly hard-working and conscientious.

[She laughs, a little embarrassed.]

More than me, by a long way. God, I'm such a sloven at heart. Laziness would be my default setting – not that I've got the option, of course.

[She sighs. A couple of castle tradesmen go past. They recognise the queen, of course, but their eyes slide over her without betraying any signs of that recognition.]

I'm looking forward to meeting him. Blimey, he's good-looking. Mean, I've seen him at court but he's always at the back of the room. Doesn't put himself forward. Doesn't fawn over me … Like that.

[In fact, the queen approves wholeheartedly. She loathes the pushy, over-familiarity of the household knights.]

The effing, bloody machismo, the whole 'women should be kept in their place' attitude. Dinosaurs, the lot of them, and most of them haven't got two brain cells to rub together. Good in a fight, suppose …

[She sighs.]

Trying to have a conversation with any of them that doesn't concern fighting, weapons, horses – dream on. God, it's so boring. And all the women seem to talk about is bloody needlework. Hope this knight's different. Think he is.

[On this note, she continues her walk to the main gate and the knight.]

~~~~~~~~~~

[It's another bleary-eyed morning for the bard. He spent most of the previous night trying to write something appropriate for the knight. It's obvious it wasn't easy: discarded quills, crumpled parchment lie all around. He only stopped because he ran out of rushlights.]

[He comes in from the outside, having thrown a bucket or two of freezing cold water over himself. He's towelling himself down with a large piece of rough linen, and grumbling.]

Is it really so difficult to build a shower someplace? Jeez, I hate this country sometimes. And, hey, why can't I afford candles? Proper, wax candles. Huh, reckon I know why.

[He's back on familiar territory and continues grumbling while he gets dressed and drinks his morning cup of ale. He picks up the one uncrumpled piece of parchment and reads it through again. He quotes a section.]

I love you not for dragons slain,

for derring-do or broken chain,

but for a smile so wide and kind,

not fair Adonis could attain.

Awesome. Real fine poetry.

[He's happy with the night's work, although it took him long enough to achieve. Rolling up the parchment, he puts it in the same scroll case as before. Now, he looks to be on his way out, but he changes his mind at the last minute. He puts the case down and sits on a stool while he ponders things.]

Reckon he can wait for this. Not long, but some.

[He starts debating with himself about what he'd like to happen next.]

How 'bout we meet? Accidentally, on purpose? Reckon it's 'bout time I got invited to court anyways. Don't wanna get hot an' heavy, no way. Scare him off, most like. Flirtin', nice an' easy. Some chat, pay him some attention … Kinda make him feel special.

[He finds himself shifting uneasily on the stool.]

Kinda cruel as well, I guess. Me, I gotta do what I need to.

[He sounds as though he's having some trouble convincing himself. He gazes off into the distance – his expression is wistful.]

[After a short while, he gets up and fetches the enchantment package. It remains unopened and he just sits and holds it, turning it slowly in his hands. His eye's caught by something written in small lettering on the packaging. He looks closer.]

Aw fuck, Perce! Ya gone sold me old stock. … Best before last Michaelmas? … Just hope the hell it works.

[He scratches an ear while he tries to think this through.]

Reckon I'll use it. Shouldn't need the full range anyways. Mean, it's not a 'use by' date …

[He convinces himself it'll be all right and puts the enchantment carefully back where he got it from. It's now late morning and the bard decides he's kept the knight waiting long enough; he heads out.]

~~~~~~~~~~

[The knight is, as usual, sitting at his desk. It's midday and he's eating a take-out leek pottage. A cup of wine is close by. He's eating while his mind is clearly on other things. He's reliving the earlier visit from the queen. He's smiling to himself and clearly thinks it went well.]

Wonder why she came? All we did was talk about me, really … Do I read for pleasure? Do I play or sing? Where do I see myself in five years time? Why should a queen wish to know anything about me? I'm nothing special …

[He takes a gulp of wine.]

Maybe, now I stand a chance of doing something other than this bloody guard duty. I know it's gotta be done, but it doesn't have to be me doing it all the time. Now … what could I do with the queen's favour?

[He's off living another fantasy life, when a loud knock on the door drags him back to reality. A soldier comes in, clutching the bard's scroll case.]

Sir. This was 'anded in few minutes ago. Bloke refused to give 'is details, sir.

[The knight recognises the case from the last time.]

Describe him, soldier.

Err … Well, 'e's nuthin' special, sir. Not local, though. Could 'ardly understand 'im, sir. Foreigner, like.

[The knight smiles to himself.]

I know the man. He's OK. That'll be all, soldier.

[He quickly finishes his meal and goes outside. The bard is there, hanging around the entrance to the tavern once again. The knight looks in his direction, seemingly keen to make a connection, but the bard has his nose in a book. He's absorbed and doesn't look up. The knight loiters for a minute or two longer before he turns round and goes back inside. He picks up the scroll case and looks at it.]

Hmm … wonder what he's come up with this time?

[He sits down, extracts the parchment and starts to read it, ignoring the growing pile of unprocessed stop and search reports. He stops halfway through and shakes his head in frustration.]

Oh, for god's sake. Am I just a cypher? Some romance-born exemplar rather than me? Is he actually interested in who I am or just some generic, two-dimensional illustration?

[He reads out some of the offending verse.]

Your shoulders and your arms must aim

to set my tinder heart aflame,

for in them I may rest secure,

and all my restless fears they tame

All very pretty and nice, but eff all about me.

[He sighs, puts down the scroll, and grudgingly thinks about work. His hand stretches out for the next stop and search report but then, he suddenly changes his mind. He jumps out of his seat and dives back outside. He scares the soldier on duty at the gate.]

Sir! Anything the matter, sir?

[The knight realises he needs to get a grip.]

Nothing's amiss, soldier.

[He tries a joke.]

Just making sure you're alert and ready for anything.

[The soldier laughs dutifully but doesn't look too bothered. He merely rolls his eyes when the knight's not looking.]

[The knight walks through the gate and out the other side for a short distance. He looks, as ever, towards the tavern. The bard's still there – he's no longer reading, but now idly watching the world go by. Something makes the bard look towards the castle gate and the knight. He sees the knight smiling in his direction, a little tentatively.]

That for me? Reckon so.

[He smiles back. Their eyes connect - only for a moment or two but it feels quite special.]

Way to go! Reckon my plan's workin' real good.

[The bard now waves a hand. Nothing showy or attention seeking – just how he'd wave to a good friend. It works. The knight's whole demeanour changes as he becomes more confident and hopeful.]

He's happy. Awesome. OK … time to eat.

{The bard breaks the connection between the two of them, and goes into the tavern for some food and drink. He doesn't look back.]

~~~~~~~~~~

[Back in the guard room, the knight is happy and excited although there's also some caution mixed in as well.]

What do I actually know about him? He's American, the queen's bard, although he's not in the highest favour at the moment … And … he's so cute. Sexy …

[He hums a little tune to himself as he slips back into another of his daydreams. He stands in the middle of the room for a short while until he moves himself. He sits down at his desk without really knowing what he's doing. After a moment or two, he shakes himself out of his abstraction briskly and gets to work.]

[He applies himself to the work for some time and makes a significant dent in the number of reports he still has to process. He stops for a minute.]

Glad it's not bloody market day. Might even get caught up …

[He looks hopefully at the diminished heap.]

Yep, looking distinctly possible. And, I might get some time in at the tilt-yard. God, when was the last time I had a proper workout?

[He sighs ruefully.]

At this rate, I'll be getting flabby, unfit. My horse won't remember me. … Course, I won't have a proper partner for the sword fighting. Funny how they all melt away when I appear. Don't they realise I'm not a fucking disease? Bastards.

[He's getting riled again.]

Maybe … I will ask the queen about getting a scrivener.

[He chews his quill feather and scowls at the inkwell. A thought occurs to him.]

Can't spend too long on the workout, though. The queen expects me at court this evening and I'll have to wash and change before I go.

[He looks at the clock, obviously trying to plan out the rest of his day. Another thought occurs.]

If I've got to suffer this evening's entertainment, least I can do is invite him to suffer it with me … It'll be a good chance to get to know him a little. Get a sense of who he is, and if he's right for me.

[The knight looks pleased with his idea.]

Now, where are those invites she left me?

[He finds them under his empty take-out pottage bowl. They're small, expensive squares of the finest paper, with the invitation already written out by a scribe with a very good hand. He selects one and starts to fill out the blank spaces.]

Wonder if it'll impress him? Maybe he's used to seeing 'By the queen's command …'? Know I'm not.

[He places the completed invite in the bard's scroll case, where it's rather lost. He goes in search of yesterday's urchin.]

~~~~~~~~~~

[The bard celebrates the continuing success of his plan by having a small hunk of cold pork with his barley bread. He too is happy. That is, until he has to pay yet another farthing to the same brat for the return of his own scroll case. It feels empty. Then the bard hears something loose inside. He opens it and peers in until he catches sight of the invite. He pulls it out, his eyes open in surprise and then, a wide grin breaks out as he reads.]

Oh, wow! Awesome! Clothes, I need clothes. I send my court clothes to the cleaners and this happens … Fuck!

[He gulps down the rest of his ale and rushes off in the direction of the river.]

[Once there, he looks for his usual washerwoman but she's nowhere to be seen. He's visibly anxious, chewing his fingernails and muttering to himself. Then, he spots a thin, wiry man with what appears to be his clothes, under his arm.]

Hey! You! Those are my clothes.

[The man looks both puzzled and annoyed. He's carrying the clothes as if he has a perfect right to do so.]

Yes, mate. How else they gonna get washed and dried?

[He looks at the bard as if he's talking to an idiot. He brandishes a washing paddle at him as proof of his trade. The bard stares back – he doesn't understand.]

Where's Maggie gone? Why're you here?

[The man rolls his eyes.]

Look, mate. Maggie sold up day before yesterday and I bought the business, goodwill'n all. Walter's the name. Walter's Wizard Washes.

[The bard still hasn't quite taken this in.]

So … OK … She sick?

Nah … Said she fancied a pilgrimage, all of a sudden. 'Travel broadens the mind.' she said. Dunno what she meant by it, though. Anyway … how can I help?

[The bard points at his clothes.]

I gotta have those this evenin'. Mean, I gotta be wearin' those clothes this evenin'. Dude, can you help me?

[He's sounding faintly desperate. Walter senses a good chance of making a profit.]

OK mate, OK. The expedited, deluxe service is tuppence. That includes the use of the best mutton fat soap, pressing and drying. Guaranteed by sundown today or your money back.

[The bard looks stunned. He's briefly lost for words.]

How much? … You gotta be jokin'.

[The washerman stands there with the smug expression of one offering a service which the buyer can't obtain elsewhere. The bard opens his mouth to protest further but then closes it again. He knows he's being screwed but he can't see any way out. Defeated, he opens his purse and withdraws two silver pennies and drops them onto the washerman's open palm.]

Pleasure doin' business, sir. I'm sure you'll be more than satisfied with the result.

[The bard manages a nod, but can't bring himself to reply. He leaves and trudges moodily back home.]

~~~~~~~~~~

[It's now evening. The bard is putting the finishing touches to his ensemble. He's still in his favourite blue and green but the colours are stronger and there's the occasional hint of gold. The fine, woollen cloth hugs his form attractively. He's pleased.]

Reckon I look real neat. God bless Walter and his washing skills – even if it was way too expensive. Sir Knight don't stand a chance …

[He stops for a moment and reflects a little. Then he grimaces with some sadness.]

It don't feel right, usin' him like this. Guess it's too late for second thoughts …

[He sighs but then tells himself to get a grip.]

Jeez, course it is. But, hey, who heard of a poet courtin' a knight? In real life, that is. Can't risk losin' my position. Anyways, I need that money.

[He makes a visible attempt to get himself into 'court entertainer' mode. He does a few vocal exercises.]

Wonder if the queen'll ask me to recite somethin'? … Sure hope the mule arrives on time. Can't be gettin' dirty again – reckon there's way too much ridin' on this.

[He sticks his head out the front door and sees that his transport has arrived. The mule's operator, a teenage lad, chirps up.]

Mule for Mr Bard?

[The bard nods. He stares suspiciously at the animal.]

I'm not used to ridin'.

[The lad gives him a professional smile. He's used to nervous riders.]

Mild as milk, this one. That'll be a penny, ta.

[The bard sighs his usual sigh. He mutters as he opens his purse.]

Way too much. Everything's way too much.

[He hands the coin over, and clambers aboard.]

[The lad leads the mule at a brisk walking pace, occasionally breaking into a trot. The bard manages to hang on and is pleased to be seen overtaking those trudging along on foot.]

Awesome. Reckon mules'll feature plenty in my life from now on. When I'm loaded …

[He arrives at the castle in good order. He's outside the servants' entrance and a group of kitchen staff see him on the mule, dressed to the nines. They're not impressed.]

Blimey! Look at 'im! Hirin' mules now, are we? Lah-di-dah.

Bloody Yanks! Always more money than sense.

[The bard tries to ignore them as he dismounts but the taunts continue.]

Hopin' to land yersel' a princess, Mr Crooner? Or should that be a prince?

[General merriment. The bard attempts to conceal his irritation but doesn't trust himself to say anything.]

See yeh got yer glad rags on. Lookin' to score, are yeh?

[More laughter. Various names – male and female – are bandied about. The owners, who are hanging around, are either ancient or diseased. The bard gives them all the finger before quickly diving indoors. He hasn't said a word.]

~~~~~~~~~~

[The knight is waiting to be announced before entering the great hall. He too has his best clothes on. The russet and rich earth browns of the fabrics suit his colouring. He is very fit and the fine woollen garments are very well tailored.]

God, it's so good to be out of that bloody chain-mail. I forget how effing heavy it is until I wear something normal.

[He watches as the two knights before him are announced. As the names are heard, heads turn in the throng. They're greeted warmly on all sides and soon disappear into waiting groups of friends. He sighs.]

OK … Let's play spot the difference, shall we?

[Then he's announced in exactly the same way. There's no break in the general hubbub and those people who do look in his direction are not being friendly. He's not shunned exactly, but there are no groups of welcoming friends or relations.]

[Any group he approaches doesn't make any effort to include him in their conversation, although they're careful not to exclude him too openly. As he's doing the circuit, he's constantly looking around.]

Where is he? He can't have turned me down? Surely? … Fuck! … fuck …

[He's starting to lose hope when he catches sight of the bard's kingfisher colours on the other side of the hall. He's about to head off in that direction when a fanfare announces the arrival of the queen. The crowds immediately make way and, for once, the knight is in a prime spot.]

[The bard has just emerged from behind the scenes when he's spotted by the knight. He, in his turn, can now easily watch his quarry. The knight is standing in full view as the queen makes her way through the hall towards the raised dais at the other end.]

[The knight bows gracefully in anticipation of the queen's passing. Instead, she stops and speaks directly to him. There are smothered gasps and cries of astonishment all around the room and many of the gathered throng crane their necks to see what exactly is happening.]

[The bard isn't immune, either. His jaw drops.]

What the fuck? Huh … Reckon he'll get along just fine without me holdin' him back … Jeez. Shut the fuck up, will ya?

[He's telling himself off.]

Me and him mean nuthin'. Sir Knight's kinda useful and that's it. Reckon I stand more chance of fallin' for that enchantment. Anyways, I just need the dough, lots of it.

[His pep talk isn't quite having the desired effect – he still looks rather down. Before he can try to reach the knight, everyone is taking their seats at table. His own seat is as far away from the knight's newly promoted position as is possible.]

~~~~~~~~~~

[The knight is replete with good food and wine. He's bewildered but excited as well. The meal's just ended, as has the bard's entertainment. He's delivered his quota of verbal pap and is now surrounded by his female groupies. The trestles are being cleared to allow for dancing. The knight has moved to the side – he's standing in the half-light, musing over the events of the evening thus far.]

Seems my luck's turned. Least, I think it has … Hope it's not a dream. … Will it continue, though?

[He shakes his head in amazement.]

First, a sweet, cute guy shows me he's interested, and now, I have the queen's favour. Dining at the top table? Didn't think I'd make that in a million years.

[He grins mischievously.]

Wouldn't have missed the expression on that prelate's face for anything. He was about to burst, he was so puce. So, get over it, mate. The queen saw you as well, you know. That'll be one bishopric which won't benefit from the queen's patronage. Tough. I only ever expect to be given the same chances and opportunities as everyone else.

[His ruminating is interrupted by the arrival of the band. He's not best pleased when he sees who they are.]

Oh, bloody hell! She's only gone and invited the town waits⁴ again.

[He rolls his eyes.]

Another heavy reed night ahead. Knew I should've brought my earplugs with me.

[The musicians start warming up their instruments. They're mostly shawms⁵ of varying sizes plus a couple of rauschpfeife⁶ for added volume, but there's a rhythm section as well. The penetrating, raucous buzz of the shawms gets going, underscored by the thumping beat of a couple of tabors.]

[The knight rolls his eyes.]

No deep, meaningful conversations in here tonight, then.

[He looks across to where the bard was holding court. He's just finishing the last autograph or two when he too looks up. Their eyes meet. The knight smiles a little uncertainly, then nods his head to one side, in the direction of a somewhat quieter spot. The bard flashes him a quick grin of agreement. The knight watches as he quickly but charmingly divests himself of any remaining admirers. The bard then heads off purposefully for the assignation.]

~~~~~~~~~~

[As the hordes flood onto the dancefloor, the band cranks itself up to full volume. The loud, fibrous, wooden squeal of the shawms seems to drown out pretty much everything else.]

[Finally, the bard and his quarry get to meet. The background row is now so loud that conversation is nigh on impossible. The knight still seems a little hesitant, but the bard clasps him in a side-on embrace and is obviously delighted to meet him in person.]

[They move off, away from the hubbub – they're sure they won't be missed. Once away from the general gaze, the bard grabs his companion's hand and laughingly pulls him along until they reach an empty side chamber. Here, the music is merely loud rather than deafening. After a minute or two's unheard conversation, the bard pulls his companion into an empty space in the middle of the room. He starts by mimicking some of their dinner guests – the fat, waddling gait of the prelate, the macho strut of one of the other knights. The knight applauds, and they both end up having a fit of giggles. Now more relaxed in each other's company, they start dancing together in the dim, shadowed light.]

[They start out by following the music's lively beat and dance a sort of jive. Then, over time, their dancing slows and they gravitate towards each other, their mutual attraction proving irresistible. The sound of the band is now slightly disjointed, off-key, and unheard by the pair, as the two of them pursue their own desires. They end up closely entwined, dreamily moving only to their inner, private music. They now look to be oblivious to their surroundings.]

[The bard kisses his companion for the first time. He accepts the kiss and returns it with interest. They separate briefly to look at one another. The bard reaches out and caresses the knight's face. He turns his head to kiss the hand, and then, captures it in one of his own. He uses it to draw the bard back into a close embrace. They kiss. Hands wander everywhere they can reach, creating images, memories. The knight strokes his companion's hair, as the bard nuzzles his neck. They kiss once more. Every now and again, they exchange unheard words, endearments, comments, requests. Whispers in the velvet-soft night… Their gently-swinging embrace looks as though it could last forever … ]

[All of a sudden, the band in the great hall stops playing. The ensuing hush, followed by loud applause, somehow causes the bard to jerk into action. The spell has been broken. Reality now has him in its grip. He looks as though he's just surfaced from a trance. He stops their dancing and gently but firmly, breaks free from the knight's embrace. He finds his voice once more.]

Jeez … Hey, sorry, buddy. I just remembered I gotta be someplace else. … I know that sucks, but it's kinda late and we both got early starts. … I guess that means I gotta be outta here.

[The knight is still lost in their dream-world. He stands there, silent, not really taking in what the bard's saying. Now, he looks hurt, robbed of something, maybe. Almost against his will, the bard takes pity on him and gives the knight one final hug and a lengthy kiss. He smiles at his companion.]

I'll see you tomorrow, right? Just, I gotta go do some things, important things.

[He's thinking of the enchantment – he's now certain that tomorrow's the day. He looks keenly at the knight. He's gradually catching up, although he's still not sure quite why the bard is leaving him so abruptly. A smile of sorts hovers around his lips and his eyes search the bard's face for clues.]

Yeah … of course. Why don't we …

[The bard interrupts briskly.]

Alright. Guess it'll be first thing in the morning? Figure you can show me where you work and all. I think I'd like that.

[Again, he smiles at the knight, and leans in to give him a quick peck on the cheek. Then, without saying anything else, the bard hurries towards the great hall and the exit. Once again, he doesn't look back.]

[The knight is left all alone. Suddenly, the room seems merely empty and dark, shadowed, gloomy. No longer an ethereal, twilight place of dreams and desire. The music now mocks him, rather than beckoning him to dance. He's still struggling to make sense of the last few minutes. A tear trickles slowly down his cheek – he can't help feeling abandoned. He wipes the tear away with his hand and then tries to rationalise the bard's behaviour.]

He's artistic, a writer. That's why he's so mercurial, so bloody unpredictable. His mind works in a different way from mine, I suppose. … He's fucking self-centred as well, though. But … he wasn't faking it earlier, when we were dancing. You can't kiss like he did, if you're pretending? Can you? … We both fallen for each other, I'm sure of it. … God, it was wonderful. Why did it have to end?

[He sighs, deeply, then he too leaves.]

~~~~~~~~~

[Later the same evening, the bard is back home. He's changed out of his court clothes into his usual, well-worn stuff. He's again sitting at his table, this time looking at the enchantment package. It's clear he's about to open it. The knight and everything that happened earlier seems forgotten about.]

OK … well, I figure it's 'bout time I started learnin' whatever it is I gotta learn.

[He fights his way through the outer layers of the package until he reaches the central cavity. There, he finds a tightly rolled piece of parchment. He picks it up cautiously and holds it in front of him for several seconds. Then, he unties the ribbon, opens out the parchment and starts reading.]

'A spell to charm, coerce, and chastise.' Hmm …

[He makes other appreciative noises as he continues. Then he reads out another bit.]

'This spell is a powerful tool. The manufacturers accept no responsibility or liability for any loss, damage or injury incurred by its improper or irresponsible use. Caution. Failure to deploy the spell exactly as set out below, may result in unforseen consequences.' Jeez!

[His eyebrows shoot up. He continues reading. The ink has faded in certain places, making it hard for the bard to decipher the words accurately.]

Huh. Guess that comes of it bein' old stock. Fuck you, Perce! Reckon you're a tight bastard. Man … this sucks.

[He continues to grumble under his breath intermittently, while also trying to learn what he hopes are the correct formulae.]

[After quite some time, he manages to recite the complete enchantment, less the activation word, without stopping. Satisfied, he prepares for bed. Once there, he tosses and turns sleeplessly. His mind persists in replaying snatches of the earlier assignation, over and over again. Their kisses, the

heat and scent of the knight's body up against his. The warmth of his breath. He can still feel the pulse of the music deep inside him. His body can't help but respond exactly as he doesn't want it to. In the end, he gets up.]

Aw, fuck. Can I really have a crush on Sir Knight. Why the fuck did I dance with him so long? Guess, I kinda got carried away there. Should'a seen it comin'.

[He shakes his head in frustration – at himself and at the knight. He goes to his table, sits down and wearily pulls a piece of parchment towards him. He loads a quill with ink.]

Well, OK, let's see if writing it out helps. Figure it should. … Leastways, that's what I heard.

[He doesn't sound entirely convinced but, still, he writes assiduously until he's filled the parchment. He stares at it, then picks a stanza at random and reads it aloud.]

Now up, upon the whited plain to sport,

for we might nobly grapple and perchance,

to joust with me, and in your inmost court

I'll taste the steely stiffness of your lance.

[Just reading that bit makes him flush and shift uncomfortably in his seat. He sighs and grimaces – it's not working that well.]

Gotta keep focussed. It'll all be worth it when I get what's mine. Reckon Sir Knight'll find his true love someplace else. Course, he will – easy, no problem … Man …

[His voice trails off as his mind replays yet more from earlier in the evening. He continues dreamily.]

His ass is to die for and his lips … God, he's so fit …

[He gives himself a mental slap across the face.]

Jeez! What the fuck's the matter with me? Get a grip, you jerk! You want that money, right? Course, you fuckin' do. After Sir Knight's let me in? Zip, finito.

[He frowns and looks as though he's about to destroy the parchment. At the last minute, he can't bring himself to do it and instead, he leaves it on the table. He goes back to bed and manages to get to sleep, although his dreams are full of a certain knight.]

~~~~~~~~~~

[The next morning, before cock-crow, the knight has just woken up. From the state of the bedclothes, it's clear that he also hasn't had a quiet night's sleep. He's still thinking of the previous evening. He stretches his hand out and touches the unoccupied space beside him in the bed.]

Wish I could find someone to wake up with. Share my life with …

[He grimaces]

So, what the fuck happened yesterday evening? We'd really clicked. At least, I thought we had. If he's really attracted to me, why'd he suddenly bugger off like that? … We're meant for each other, I'm sure … God, I loved holding him, kissing him … He's just so cute. I really thought we were on the same page. Would we've ended up here? Possibly …

[He smiles wistfully and allows himself a short, erotic daydream. Then he hears the rooster and grudgingly forces himself to get up.]

So, what the fuck am I meant to think now? We're not gonna be able to have a serious talk in the guardroom, but I've got to ask him about it, about us. I've got to know where I stand.

[He laughs humourlessly as he gets dressed for another day in the guardroom.]

Pathetic, really. Here I am, a crack soldier … yet, when it comes to relationships, I'm bloody useless. … I think I do love you, you know – despite you trying to come across as a selfish prick.

[He can feel the sadness coming on again. He rubs his eyes angrily as if to deny his feelings. Just in time for the serving girl who brings him his breakfast.]

Mornin', sir. Bright, beautiful mornin' 'tis, too.

[The knight can't bring himself to do anything other than nod. He takes the cup and platter from the girl and turns away. The girl's surprised by his silence but a quick look at his face has told her all. She smiles sympathetically and, on her way out, she can be heard muttering to herself.]

Poor sod. He's in love. Or, thwarted in love. Bugger, either way.

[The knight is so wrapped up in himself, he doesn't hear her. In fact, he hasn't noticed her leaving at all. He gulps down his breakfast without apparently tasting any of it, and heads off to work.]

~~~~~~~~~~

[The bard, muleless this time, is striding along the road which leads to the castle. For a change, he carries nothing with him. He's whistling under his breath, and his general jaunty air gives the impression that he sees only good things ahead.]

[He reaches the usual tavern and stops for a minute or two, so that he can see what's going on around the gate opposite.]

Hope that bastard of a non-com ain't there. That'd be a great start, a real great start.

[It appears that the sergeant isn't around. He decides to take the plunge.]

Guess I better speak British English again. Didn't work great last time but, hey, who knows …

[He walks confidently up to the guard at the gate. The soldier is sleepy, bored and not in the best of tempers. It's still very early.]

Yes?

[This is followed by a jaw-splitting yawn. The bard smiles pleasantly at him.]

Morning. I have an appointment with the officer in charge.

[The soldier blinks sleepily and looks surprised.]

Blimey! Bit early, innit? … What about?

[The bard just raises an eyebrow and declines to answer further. The guard doesn't like this attitude particularly.]

State yer name and the nature of yer business with the officer. Don't like awkward sods.

[He sounds a little suspicious and certainly more awake. He peers at the bard more closely.]

Feel I should know you. You look familiar, some'ow.

[The bard decides that honesty is the best course of action. He plays the part of an absent-minded soul who's done something a bit daft.]

Well, I've been here a couple of times this week? I've delivered a couple of things to the officer and last time, I forgot to wait for my property to be returned to me. Stupid, I know. He was kind enough to contact me and say he has it kept safe in the guardroom.

[The soldier sniggers quietly and shakes his head at the bard.]

That wasn't very clever, was it? Still, I need a name. Standing orders, otherwise I'll be on a charge.

[The bard frowns.]

I am the queen's bard. You don't need my name.

[The guard inhales sharply and looks surprised. Still, he turns slightly to address another soldier standing on the other side of the gate.]

Oi, Wilf! Got a right one 'ere. Stick yer head round the guardroom door, will yer? There's a Mr Bard here to see the officer. That's if 'e is expected. Ta.

[The other soldier does just that.]

~~~~~~~~~~

[The knight has given up any pretence of doing his work. He paces up and down or, every now and again, he stops suddenly to go over yet another aspect of the previous evening's rendezvous. Either way, his entire mind is consumed by thoughts of the bard.]

Thought he said 'first thing'? Maybe he doesn't subscribe to the famous American work ethic? … He'd send a message, wouldn't he? If he wasn't coming for some reason? …

[He sighs in frustration.]

Oh well, this isn't getting the bloody paperwork done, is it?

[He finally manages to get himself to sit down at his desk. He fidgets. Then, there's a loud knock on the door which makes him jump.]

Come in!

[The soldier enters, with the message from the sentry.]

Sir. Sentry says there's a Mr Bard at the gate. Got an appointment, or so 'e says. Sir.

[The knight can barely restrain himself and he can feel his colour rising.]

Finally. Yes, thanks, he is expected. Tell the sentry to let him through, then bring him here.

Yessir.

[The bard is escorted in and then left on his own. Gone is the earlier cockiness; he's now a picture of concerned contrition. He turns and makes sure he and the knight are alone, and the door is firmly closed. The knight has moved in front of the desk and is watching the bard, all sorts of emotions flitting across his face.]

[The bard hurries up to him and pulls him into a full embrace – chain-mail notwithstanding. He also kisses him hungrily. The knight, startled, lags behind a little but then, quickly catches up. When they separate enough to speak, the bard starts on his explanation and does his best to sound sincere.]

Jeez, babe, I'm real sorry 'bout last night. You musta thought I was way outta line … or, just plain crazy. I mean, leavin' you was hard but those things were real important, else I'd still be there, with you. Baby, I'm so sorry. … Please?

[The bard looks imploringly into the knight's eyes. The knight feels his some of his irritation ebbing away. He's less uncertain but not entirely mollified.]

I thought it was just me. We were getting on so well … It was … bliss. Then, you suddenly upped and went as though I hardly existed. D'you know you didn't look back once?

[Of course, the bard does. He thinks quickly of a suitable response.]

Babe, if I'd so much as looked back at you, I'd have been back in a flash. You've no idea how hard it was to leave you there. It sucked, big time.

[He gently strokes the knight's cheek. He's still not satisfied.]

You abandoned me, you mean – and it seemed quite easy to me. You can be a selfish bastard – I'm learning that pretty quickly.

[The bard looks a little hurt.]

Baby, I'm real sorry. Sometimes, I get so focussed on something, it kinda takes me over? It won't happen again. OK? … Friends?

[He kisses his companion once more. He doesn't wait for the knight to reply, but instead, decides it's time to move things along.]

So, OK, you got any wine or somethin', babe? I'm parched and I'm guessin' you are as well.

[The knight goes off in search of a fresh flagon of wine. The bard seizes the opportunity to have a swift but thorough look around. On one of the shelves behind the knight's desk, he finds something beyond his wildest dreams. He can scarcely stop himself from squealing in delight.]

A day pass. A signed day pass. Yay! Reckon I won't need the enchantment 'til the queen herself. Guess that'll make the spell stronger? … Awesome.

[He snatches the pass from the shelf, and then makes sure he reads the small print.]

Fuck! This is way too small. How does someone write this shit, anyways?

[It's worth his while, as he learns how to complete the pass. He keeps his eyes and ears open for any sign of the knight's return. He takes a quill from the desk and fills out his name, a brief description, and, for those who can't read, he does a rapid sketch of himself from the shoulders up. He looks critically at the self-portrait.]

That me? Who the fuck knows? The millpond's no looking glass, that's for sure.

[He spends a moment or two reminding himself of the spell's wording, muttering the odd phrase under his breath. The knight is still nowhere to be seen or heard, so the bard decides to take his fate into his own hands.]

OK … Reckon it's now or never.

[He scribbles an insultingly jaunty note of thanks to the knight and leaves it in an obvious position on the desk. He hurries to the door, opens it slightly and peers round. There's no-one to be seen on his side of the gate so he slinks out. He keeps in the shadow of the guardroom until he reaches the open spaces beyond. Clutching his day pass, he starts walking purposefully towards the castle green and so, the castle keep itself. He tries not to look as though he's in a hurry, but he still covers the ground at an impressive rate. He makes it to the castle keep without being challenged. He can't quite believe it.]

Jeez. Like, where is everyone? This is way too easy. Where's the challenge, the thrill? Fuck, but it's gonna be like stealin' candy from little kids.

~~~~~~~~~~~

[The queen hasn't been up long. She's breaking her fast with one of her favourite foods, sops. She absent-mindedly dips the bread into the wine as she contemplates the day ahead. She's in her private room without anyone in attendance.]

God, this is my favourite time of the day. The calm before the storm … Blimey, the band played a great set last night – pretty much danced myself into the ground. … It was bloody loud, though. That buzz goes right through you, if you're not careful.

[Having finished the bread, she picks up a plum and starts to eat it. Then she stops, and listens hard. There are sounds coming from just outside her room. Somebody is moving around and reciting something which isn't in English.]

[Before she can even think of summoning help, the door bursts open and the bard stands on the threshold. He points at the queen and shouts…]

Abracadabra!

[The queen is rooted to the spot with shock as the triumphant bard marches into the room. He walks right up to her and opens his mouth – obviously with the intention of making his demands. Only…]

Chirp … chirp, chirp … chirp

[The bard's face is a picture of total bewilderment. He tries again.]

Chirp … chirp … chickadee, chickadee chickadee …

[He shakes his head briskly, and opens and closes his mouth as if he's testing it for faults. Desperately, he tries again.]

Cu-coo … Cu-coo, cu-coo

[The queen is outraged by the bard's intrusion, but she's also baffled, and possibly, faintly amused. She stares at him, wondering what the hell has got into him. The bard's face is now mirroring the horror he's feeling. The spell has obviously gone badly wrong. The queen finds her voice.]

Bard? … Bard! What the hell are you doing here? I didn't summon you. Did you hear me give you permission to enter? Whatever new-fangled trickery this is, you take it away, now. Immediately!

[The bard's frustration and anger is growing. His face and neck turn bright red as he cranes towards the queen.]

Cock-a-doodle-doo!

[There's a short, astonished silence. Then the bard crows again, and again. He's becoming more forward, more aggressive – as if the spell is increasing in power, as time goes on. His eyes, though, tell a different story. He's terrified and what's happening is beyond his control.]

Cock-a-doodle-doo!

[The queen has had more than enough.]

Silence! I command silence! You shall obey my command, you insolent cur.

[She stands up and makes a move towards the door.]

I shall summon the guard, then I'll decide on a fitting punishment for your impudence.

[Far from being silent, the bard suddenly switches persona and starts growling. He stops, coughs as if trying to clear his throat, and tries again. He migrates from growling to yapping and beyond.]

Ruff … ruff, ruff … Rooff! … Ar-rooff! … Rooff … ruff, ruff … Ar-rooff!

[He blocks the queen's way and continues barking. The volume and intensity of the barks slowly increases.]

Ar-rooff … Ar-rooff! … Rooff … Rrowff! Rrowff! … Rrowff!

[The queen backs away slowly, always keeping her eyes firmly fixed on the bard. She manages to put a small table between them. He has stopped barking but is now growling again and showing his teeth. The queen finds that more menacing than the barking.]

[There's a stand-off. It's not clear why the bard doesn't press his advantage. Maybe, the last vestiges of his self-control are stopping him from doing something so suicidal. Sounds can be heard in the corridor outside – people are gathering and talking, drawn by the noise and the queen's loud voice. One man dares to put his head round the door and peers in. The bard half-turns and shows the intruder his bared teeth. He growls and starts to bark loudly again. The head retreats rapidly and the door is slammed shut.]

~~~~~~~~~~

[In the corridor outside the queen's room, a small group of royal officials are arguing. The chamberlain is the only one who's seen what's happening inside.]

The bard's completely mad, or enchanted. Or both … He's dangerous, he could be armed.

[One of the others snorts with derision.]

The bard? He couldn't fight his way out of a wet paper bag. I vote we go in and sort him out, good and proper. The queen'll be so pleased that there'll be honours all round.

[Another, more cautious, individual replies.]

We don't know what's really going on in there. He could be rabid, for fuck's sake. Bugger all use honours are gonna be if you're dead from rabies.

[The chamberlain tries to exert his authority.]

I shall send for the knights. Their armour will give them all the protection they'll need. We'll go in once they've finished doing … well, whatever they decide to do. It's what they're bloody paid for.

[One courtier seems to be heading off to do his bidding, when he's stopped in his tracks by another's comment.]

Don't bother, mate. I saw them heading out earlier. Pig-sticking, hunting? Something along those lines, no doubt. Seems they've given themselves the morning off – lazy gits.

[The chamberlain starts to turn an interesting shade of puce at this turn of events.]

The queen will have to be told.

If she's still alive to be told, you mean.

[The arguments start up again. Help isn't going to come from this quarter anytime soon.]

~~~~~~~~~~

[The knight sits at his desk in the guardroom. There's a fresh flagon of wine sitting on top of some of the stop and search reports. He's holding the bard's note in his hand but he's long since finished reading it. He's staring into the middle distance with an expression of disappointment and intense hurt. He's also pretty pissed off. There's no-one else there – he starts talking to himself.]

Thought he was better than that. Much better … So, was he just using me? That effing letter gives that impression … bastard. … But it wasn't like that last night – it wasn't. He was up for it as much as I was. What changed? Yes, he buggered off without really giving a reason but …

[He frowns and thinks deeply.]

This morning was odd, though. Didn't really occur to me at the time – but all those 'babe's? I don't even like being called 'babe'. And the excuses were too glib – maybe he'd rehearsed them?

[That thought makes him scowl. Then he sighs deeply. He resumes talking as if the bard is present.]

I just don't know what to make of you … but I'm pretty sure I've fallen for you – more fool me. … Where do we go from here? Who the fuck knows.

[He runs his fingers through his hair.]

D'you know how much trouble I'm gonna be in? Do you even give a fuck? Nicking that day pass is gonna make my name mud – just as things were looking up for me. What on earth did you need it for, anyway? … Fucking hell!

[He slumps forward and rests his head in his hands. He just wants the day over with.]

[Suddenly, he's roused by somebody hammering on the door. Without waiting for an answer, the door bursts open and the same young herald as before runs in and stands in front of the knight, panting hard.]

Sir … you're … needed … at the … castle keep … Now! … The queen …

[The knight manages the switch from love-lorn romantic to full-on soldier in no time flat. He gathers up all his kit and is putting it on as he talks to the herald.]

Right. Where, exactly? What's happened? How's the queen involved? Come on – you need to brief me. Now.

[As the herald tells the knight of the little actual information he possesses, the knight stops what he's doing and his mouth falls open in disbelief.]

He did what? Why? … Oh … for fuck's sake.

[He's can't believe that the bard's been so reckless, so insane. Now fully tooled-up, he's about to get going, when the herald replies.]

Rumour has it, he hasn't been paid for ages. Money was getting very tight, or, so it's said.

[The knight shakes his head in despair.]

Stupid, stupid bastard.

[They leave and sprint towards the castle.]

~~~~~~~~~~

[The knight reaches the corridor outside the queen's room. The gaggle of palace staff is still there, and they're still arguing. He looks at them with astonishment and contempt. He spies the chamberlain having a heated discussion with several others, and pulls him out, by the simple expedient of grabbing him by the shoulder.]

Right. Situation report. Now.

[The chamberlain opens his mouth to complain at his treatment, takes one look at the knight, and decides against it. Instead, he tells almost the same tale as the herald. The knight can barely contain himself. He looks at the entire, squabbling group and addresses them in a penetrating whisper.]

Silence!

[One by one, the voices trail off, as they turn to look at the new arrival. Then, they all realise there's no noise coming from the queen's room. They look at each other, processing what this might mean.]

[The knight's had more than enough. He strides up to the heavy, wooden door and, using both gauntleted hands, he slams the door back on its hinges. He uses so much force, that the door nearly comes loose. He doesn't rush in. Instead, he stands on the threshold and takes a moment to assess what he sees.]

[Whatever threat the bard may have posed, is long gone. The queen, pale and rigid with anger, is standing over him. He's kneeling with his head bowed – in supplication, perhaps. The queen looks up as the knight makes his entrance, and he now feels the force of her basilisk stare. Waves of anger and outrage are pulsating out of her.]

[The knight has to make a split-second decision on how to act. Should he seize the bard? Perhaps to drag him off to the deepest dungeon … He moves in that direction but instead, he bows low to the queen and, without waiting for permission, he speaks.]

Madam. I am overjoyed that my lady is unharmed …

[The queen stares icily at him.]

The fact that I am in one piece, is no thanks to you or the rest of those lily-livered cowards in that bloody corridor.

[She raises her voice.]

Don't think I didn't hear you! Cowards!

[It's suddenly very quiet outside. Then, after a few moments hush, the occupants of the room can hear the blame game getting underway.]

[The knight knows he has to tread very carefully. He spies the cup of wine from earlier and the remains of the queen's breakfast. He takes his gauntlets off, and bows again.]

Madam. If my lady will take a seat, I shall pass the cup of wine.

[He unobtrusively helps the queen to sit down and makes sure that she takes a drink from the wine cup. She slowly simmers down. She gets some colour back in her cheeks. Which is more than can be said for the bard.]

[He is an unhealthy shade of grey. He is still kneeling, his eyes focussed unseeingly on the floor in front of him. He's shaking slightly, and, certainly, nothing remains of the jaunty, over-confident individual who left his house earlier that morning.]

[The knight, having settled the queen down, moves backwards until he's level with the kneeling bard. He places a hand on the bard's shoulder and squeezes gently. He daren't do more. This steadies the bard a little. He dares to raise his eyes and looks in the queen's direction. The bard coughs, and then croaks. The queen looks up in alarm, but the knight hastens to soothe her.]

Madam. Perhaps the bard wishes to beg the queen's forgiveness? To plead for mercy?

[The bard nods his agreement. His eyes direct a wordless supplication at the queen. She looks at him thoughtfully, then beckons him to come closer. The bard clambers to his feet painfully and shuffles the few feet to stand in front of the seated queen. He doesn't bow – rather, he just stands quietly, back straight, head bent. Waiting for her command.]

I don't know that there can be an explanation for your outrageous behaviour. Threatening the queen? Detaining her against her will? It'd better be good, bard. You know what awaits you, otherwise?

[The bard swallows hard, but otherwise, keeps control of himself. He takes a deep breath and starts talking. He can't help making the occasional 'chirp' as the last of the spell wears off.]

Madam. I have been in the queen's service for five years now. It is an honour and privilege beyond any I've had before. But, my lady, honour alone doesn't feed me, clothe me …

[And so, he launches into the whole, sorry tale – the pardoner's spell, the lot of it. He doesn't try to lessen his culpability, but it's abundantly clear that he regrets everything about the past few days except for one, new relationship. When he gets to the part about duping the knight and apparently leading him on, toying with his affections, the queen interrupts, angrily.]

You … you … played this brave, honourable soldier for a fool? You knave. How dare you treat him in such a way.

[The bard flinches slightly, but holds his ground. The knight is about to reply but the bard gets there first.]

Madam. I freely admit, I started out with that intention.

[The queen inhales, sharply. The bard hurries on.]

But, him being who he is, he very quickly stopped being a dupe in my eyes. Yes, when I allowed my madness, my avarice to rule me, he was the one who suffered from my cruelty. But, your knight, madam, now occupies my mind, day and night. His honour, his beauty, his integrity place him far out of my reach. Yet, I dream of a time when that might not be so.

[He turns to the knight and smiles at him – a look which is tinged with sadness.]

He inspires me in ways beyond anything else in my life. The poetry I've written for him is some of the best I've ever produced.

[The queen stares at him coldly.]

So, your queen does not inspire your best verse?

[The bard gulps, but doesn't hesitate.]

No, madam.

[There's a short silence … then, the queen laughs shortly.]

You're honest, bard. In this, at least.

[She turns to look at the knight.]

So... What do you think of this man, this toad who has so wronged you?

[The knight moves next to the bard. He bows deeply to the queen.]

Madam. For all his faults, I believe I love him. He is a good man in essence, I think. Not the bravest or the most honourable, indeed, but no-one is perfect. I believe that everyone has the capacity to improve, and I'm sure that this man now sees the error of his ways. As for his actions in this room – the spell was entirely to blame. I ask for the queen's mercy on his behalf, as one of your faithful, loyal knights.

[The bard dares to hope. One of his hands is gently grasped by the knight as they wait for the queen's decision.]

[She lets them stew for several minutes before giving her judgement.]

Bard, you are fortunate in him who pleads for your life. Anyone else? Hnh … Well … It is the queen's command that you strive to deserve the love of this knight. You alone know the true extent of the work ahead. This knight is high in the queen's regard and this is the only warning you shall have. Should you fail? There would be consequences.

[She grimaces and eyes the bard carefully. His relief is clear on his face. Now, he bows and murmurs his thanks. The knight does the same and gets a rather more favourable reception. They both take their leave.]

~~~~~~~~~~

[The knight has lovingly escorted the bard back to his house. The bard is worn-out, physically, mentally, emotionally. The knight gives him a hug and then takes charge.]

Bed, for you, I think. Even if it is only midday. You need a nap, at least. We'll talk when you're in better shape. OK?

[The knight gives him a gentle kiss and helps him to get ready for bed. The bard is close to tears for all sorts of reasons.]

My own … My own, special hero. Thanks for everything. Reckon I don't deserve you. I …

[Again, the morning's tumultuous events threaten to overwhelm him.]

Shhh... You're OK, you're OK.

[The knight comforts him, then lets the bard get himself settled. He waits, sitting next to the bed,

until the bard's asleep and then goes into the main room. He stares in disbelief at the artistic chaos, on and around the bard's desk. One particular piece of parchment on the desk catches his eye for some reason. He picks it up and reads it – first silently, then out loud.]

Behold the knight, his shining sword unsheathed

will spar with his opponent on the field

yet one of these with laurels will be wreathed,

the other lies beneath, and so must yield.

To battle then, your hardened sinews stir,

and meet the worthy adversary thus,

for I salute your beauty and hauteur,

which with our weapons we may yet discuss.

Now up, upon the whited plain to sport,

for we might nobly grapple and perchance,

to joust with me, and in your inmost court

I'll taste the steely stiffness of your lance.

And I would willingly give way

if you, my knight, upon my field would play.

[Now, he's the one close to tears although he's also smiling. He carefully puts the parchment back down on the desk, and then quietly makes his way back to the bedroom. He bends over the bard, smooths back his hair and gently, lovingly kisses his forehead.]

Sweet dreams, my love. Sweet dreams.