Part One: Round Table (Fire)

Part 2
Part 3
Part 4

I always liked it when there was a banquet. I got to watch and be involved in the preparations, helping set up the event, the evening’s spectacle. Merriment. In the making, and the taking. Although for me, the taking happened in the aftermath.

Gunther, my mentor was harsh but fair “The boy’s gotta learn discipline!”, he would say as, caught in my mischief, yet again, I was led to the scullery for extra duties when I should be resting or studying. There’s a lot of study required if you’re wanting to graduate from an esquire to a –.

“Hey, you! Boy!” came the shout that shattered my daydream and made me tumble from my stool, perched back indolently on two legs.

“Whaaat?!” I bawled at my unknown assailant who in a second turned out to be one of the companions of Lady B and no-one of any importance as far as I was concerned, despite his thinking otherwise. ”Where’s the King’s chief aide?” continued self-important nobody, speaking to himself as far as I was now concerned.

Picking up my stool, I intended to return to my reverie and watching of the many and varied maids at work, two habits that I managed combine to devastating effect in my continual efforts to avoid all other types of effort. I had got as far as the picking and perching when Mr. Humourless himself, deciding that to be snubbed by me was more of a loss of face than could be borne by his faceless self, decided to take it out on me. Or my ear, to be precise.

“Owwwwwwwwwwwww!” I yelped and twisting and kicking and punching, I sought to free myself from the vicious pinching on that most sensitive organ that I was quite attached to. It seemed that the numbskull who had interrupted me so rudely, not once, but twice, was actually a bit better at something than I had given him credit for: I couldn’t actually hit him and with every twist and kick he succeeded in giving me more yet pain. I resolved to challenge him as soon as I had earned my spurs.

In the meantime, however, I was at his mercy and realising this I sought to play dead, hoping that a loss of concentration on his part would ensue and then I could make my escape (with my ear still attached to my head). This simply had the effect of him kicking me, however, and I told myself that I would have to take this up with Richard, my tutor in the arts of unarmed combat and brawling: his teachings were of no use, despite the many bruises they inflicted upon my slender frame!

I had to submit with good grace, and so I did. Submit, that is; good grace isn’t in my nature, especially not when a narrow-faced, slim, greying bewigged fool gets the better of me. “Whaddya want?” I snorted, hoping to be rid of him as soon as I could be.
“Didn’t you hear me, boy?!” came the steady, menacing retort “I asked you where the King’s chief aide was!”

I peered at the beak-nosed curmudgeon in front of me and wondered if he was serious. Did I look like someone who would know such a thing? Or maybe I did?! That was a compliment! And so I thought a little less ill of the surly soricine fellow in front of me: perhaps he had something uncommon about him after all?

Which led me into another quandary. The fact was that I wasn’t that important, nowhere near, in fact, and now I had to bluff or lose my newfound status!
“One minute,” I said, rubbing my ear and dusting myself down. You’ve got to look the part when you’re important! “If you wait here, once I’ve finished my –“
“Wait!”
In fear of losing out so early in the game, I hurriedly bowed and minced obsequiously “Fair Sir! I will be but a moment and then I will take you post haste to he you wish to see!” vowing that next time I saw this errant fool I would kick his arse twice as hard for having now to kiss it.
“Hmmph,” was the retort and I was glad the bumpkin was all too easily pleased.
I walked through the nearest archway to my left and then fair ran to the kitchens. “Mary! Mary!” I hissed to one of the buxom women kneading dough, “Where is the King’s chief aide to be found?”.
“Why hello pumpkin! I’m busy right now, but if you come back tomorrow I-”
“No Mary!” I interrupted “This is serious!” Well, serious enough for an idle boy with too much time and too little dirt on his hands, but I wasn’t going to tell her that now, was I? Mary was, after all, one of those women who had decided I needed some ‘mothering’ , perhaps due to the slightness of my frame and while we both might have had different ideas on quite what that word meant, it was not for me to disabuse her and lose my advantage.
“Welllll…?” came the oh-so pondersome reply, “Do you mean the King’s manservant Randolph, or-?“
“Yes! Yes!” I shouted, remembering the name. Another popinjay I thought, perhaps vaguely remembering someone by that name, although in truth it could have been anyone with a ridiculous name: they were all the same to me. “Where is he?” I asked, hurrying her along before her mind could come to a pause and stop or, worse still, ask why it was I wanted to know and spoil my sport.
“Why, he’s in the main hall preparing the decorations for tonight, I would think,” was the all-too obvious reply and kicking myself as I ran for not having thought of that I pecked Mary’s cheek on the way back out of the kitchens and back to, I hoped, the waiting Lord Birdseed.
Still there, the powder-puffed fool was fair doing an impersonation of a scarecrow with no scare and little to crow about (my lessons in composing were not as advanced as they might have been) and seemed almost relieved to see me.
“This way, kind sir!” I trilled, ensuring he was kept in his place and began to walk towards the courtyard from whence he had first appeared.
From there it was a simple matter of a right, right, left, right and a few hundred yards and we were at our destination, I leading my dandified charge to Randolph not quite by the nose, but as good as. With the good slice of fortune of my picking the most miserable person as being the one in charge meaning there was no need for any elaborate lies, which I am particularly poor at, I must admit to my shame.
“Ah Sir!” began the fop and at this point I have to say I stopped listening, being distracted by a rather cute young lady who just so happened to be bending over right in front of me and…
“You boy!” again broke my train of thought and I began to curse those words, as I did when they were uttered by someone with punishment, my punishment, in mind.
“Hmmm?” I answered absent-mindedly, still desperately trying to focus on all good maids and all their goodly attributes while trying to avoid having any more of my extremities subjected to vicious assault.
“Take Lord Byron here to the East Wing guests’ quarters!” snapped Rudolph, who I immediately added to my list of self-important idiots to take down when I became King.
“Yes…er…” I stuttered, wondering what to call this man who was no knight nor lord but who was undoubtedly more important than I.
“Well, boy?” came the bird-faced fool’s enquiry and awakened once more to the dull realities of life I muttered a “This way sir!” and began to lead him to where he would be staying and thinking how I could turn this story into something that would impress the ladies.
“Boy!” came that horrid word again as we walked in what had previously been an uncomfortable silence and was now to be what, an uncomfortable faux conversation?
“Sir?” I replied, the gaiety of earlier having vanished like laughter at the grisly end to a beheading.
“What’s your name?”
“F-Felix”, I stammered, still unhappy with the choice my parents had made that had made my early life a little less pleasant than it might have been.
“Ha!Ha!Ha!” roared the pointy-headed one “Felix! That’s a name, isn’t it!”
Not wishing to quash the stupid fellow’s apparent lack of humour by pointing out that yes, it was a name because it was my name, I simply murmured “Yes sir!”.
“Well Felix, m’lad” quoth the now too-loquacious cretin behind me “Are you looking forward to this night’s proceedings?”
Not fully understanding why beak-face’s language had gone awry, but caring little for such questions I answered that I would but for the fact of my non-attendance, eventually telling all due to my aforementioned inability with the art of telling mistruths.
“I see” came the reply from the thin mouth of my persecutor and as we had arrived at our destination, I sought to leave with those words ringing in my ears; those both pinched and unassailed.
“In that case …” was the unexpected follow-on.
And that is how it was that I came to be at the banquet.
***
Serving.

That’s right. Serving. Didn’t think I was a guest, did you? Please now, kind ladies and sirs. That is the stuff of fairytales and while lucky I am no fairy, if you will!

But serving is good enough. It was a step closer to the dream and it allowed me to watch the knights and ladies of the court from a vantage point few in my position would ever enjoy.

As was common at the time, the table was oak, large and round. A sign of equality that was both true and not so. “Most interesting”, I thought, deciding that when I was King, I might do the same; as long as everyone remembered their place!

I had wine duty; a most agreeable task as it meant I got to circulate continually, observing each of the guests at close quarters.

There were not as many as you might think, but each had their own character, their own way of making what should have been anonymity their own. So I shall tell you of them:

The first is the Queen – just looking at her you can tell she knows wisdom through who and what she is, it clings to her like the essence of the perfume her ladies in waiting would spray for her to walk through, alluring.

Next to her is the Princess: “Let’s play,” she’ll say, and from impossible angles, dead on her feet situations she’ll pull something out of somewhere and escape, to win again. Appreciated more in that liveliness and vivacity that is her instinct, her very soul. You wonder if it is taught behind those doors the maids in waiting watch, apparently nonchalantly but really so carefully.

Third, the Physician – a ready wisdom that brooks no argument, based in fact, founded in knowledge and understanding. Some men have faces you can relate to; that mirror their calling in life and this was such one: inviting approach.

Fourth, the Chancellor. A man of few words, but all of them worthy of being spoken, he offered support when none was needed so none would be. And to think I had been so rude to him earlier….

Then came the Emerald Knight, earnest and honourable, he had no office as yet but was respected by all who met him. Great things will come of that one, was what people would say, believing it. Though he was not the youngest.

He was sat next to the much travelled Lord Chief Justice. A man whose knowledge of all things was equalled only by the many places he had seen. Surprisingly eloquent for one who spoke so little, he was considered a puzzle and a prize by all those clever enough to understand him.

To round off the first half was the mysterious artist known as, as, as….He was only known as the King’s Artist and seemed to keep himself to himself, much as a wizard does. Though why would the King have two wizards? Still some said he had to be, for what mortal could produce such works of art, such magics as he did, apparently out of thin air.

And next to him was, indeed, the Sorceress. Power incarnate was what she would profess to command and those who had felt but the sharp sting of her tongue would readily believe any claim she would make rather than suffer a lashing twice.

Opposite the Princess was her elder brother. A man of much learning and a veteran of many campaigns, despite his years he had a calm assurance and confidence that made it easy to believe all he said, and all that was said of him.

To his left was the Royal Bard, as in our kingdom we choose to recognise those so gifted with a place among the courtiers most close to the King. And gifted this one was, unlike any before him, with verse and song and rhyme and word. Truly a most powerful ally in times of war as well as peace.

After him came the infamous Lady B. Most comely too; it was said that if you were to take her eye, she would pay handsomely for its return….

Followed by the Admiral of the Fleet: a pirate no less. And very much more...let's leave it at that, shall we?

The Laughing Knight came next. One who would never give you a straight answer to a straight question, but disarm you with a joke and a smile so that you forgot what it was you had asked him. His deeds were legendary and it was even said that he consorted with, was friends with, those mythical wonderful creatures that were so far above we men it was any wonder they even knew we existed: dragons.

All the seats were filled save two. One empty, the other, the King’s. An empty seat, bedecked in his colours of blue and red and gold. I had caught a glimpse of him once when -

“You, boy!” came the call and instinctively I knew it was I: would it ever be another?

Turning swiftly to face my accuser, I noticed the Princess, ruddy-cheeked and emboldened by the wine gesturing in my direction. Assuming she needed replenishing, I hurried over to fill her glass.

“My! We are eager, aren’t we?” she teased as I tried to pour and stop myself reddening, feeling all eyes on me.

And the best way to stop yourself going redder is…? I do not know, for in truth, as eye upon eye turned to me I felt as though I had swallowed the very sun itself and was burning up from the inside, so hot was I. And so red, so very very red.

“Y-y-y-y”, I stammered, my cocky exterior melting under the heat that came from both out and inside of me.

“The princess’ lilting laugh was a counterpoint to the assembled chuckles and roars and snorts that accompanied my embarrassment. And all I could do was …well, what could I do? Run? Where? Attack? Who? How? Why? Defend myself? From what? No. All I could do was stand there and suffer. Sometimes it is all a man, or boy, can do: stand and take it. Hope that soon a new distraction will take eyes off him and he can skulk away to plot and plan how never again will that happen.

Oh to be so fortunate! One minute I was enjoying my good fortune and thinking myself lucky, with a tale to tell, no less. The next I was right in the thick of a hailstorm of derision and each barbed “ha ha ha!” struck harder than the last. Bruise on bruise on bruise. Don’t believe those who say the first cut is the deepest: it isn’t true. It’s the last that severs what remains; of your dignity, your pride, your manhood that hurts the most.

“Well, my fine young fellow!” said the Chancellor, once my new friend, now my hated enemy once more “I seem to remember your telling me you were in Master Eric’s band of choristers! How about you give us a song?!!”

Damn me and my runaway mouth! I resolved from then on to take my tutors’ advice and listen more, leaving the talking for those who knew what to talk about!

But for now, I was trapped. And this damnable shade of bright crimson I had seemingly adopted as my own was of no help: it made me stand out like a hillside bonfire on a clear night and kept me hotter than the kitchen furnaces!

“Er…, I…”, this was a most unfortunate situation and my voice, still unbroken, was deserting me. “Which it should have done earlier, not now!” I remonstrated with it.

“A song! A song!” chorused the assembly and I, in my head, cursed them jointly and severally.

Seeing there was no way out and praying for a swift death that a merciful God would grant (as he did not, I assumed it was his night off) I decided to take command.

My grand “My Lords, Ladies and Gentlemen” came out as a squeak, much to the amusement of my tormentors but even though this further setback made me inveigh myself as I was backed into a corner, all I could do was to try to get my ordeal over and done with before making a hasty escape.

So, in my shrill, little-trained and faltering voice I began to sing. And as I went on, I became a little more confident, even inwardly chastising myself when I went off-key and hoping that no-one was really paying enough attention to notice when the word order went a little awry. “Well! These things happen, what was to be expected?” was the running commentary that accompanied me, and which probably accounted for the mistakes I made!
And then, just as I was starting to think that I might be getting away with it, it was over. And I had.

And apparently it was well-received, judging from the applause. Although I knew wine had the effect of lessening the sensibilities of an audience. A point a jester had made when explaining why it was he made sure that he would commence his japing as late as possible in proceedings, and why it was he had lasted so long in that short-lived profession.

"Take a seat young man!" said someone; I was too flush with excitement to know who and those words..."young man". Not they "Hey Boy!" I was used to as my public persona.

And filling in next to The Laughing Knight, I sat down for a taste of my first banquet....

But all good things must come to an end.

Knowing that were I not back before midnight, I would be locked out of my quarters for the night and receive a punishment far worse than scullery duty, after a while I began to feel restless.

And so, while the Prince and Princess entertained everyone's attention with their sibling sniping, I slipped silently from my chair and out through the back door....