The Ninth Virtue
Chapter
(Paimpont Forest )
The drizzle, which had fallen for several days without end, stopped just before dark.
A horse’s hooves thud against the wet earth and moss.
Dense branches obscure the sky. Occasionally, pheasants and turtledoves swoop across the trail ahead—this is Paimpont Forest.
Arriving here means their trip is nearing its end.
Ganelon
- Company, halt—we’ll make camp here today.
- According to the dictates of our order, there is no need to fast today. The deer that Sir Roland hunted can be taken out and roasted.
Happy cheers arise from all sides. Only in one corner is there deep silence—there, a figure sits squat.
It is Sir Roland, the leader of their band and His Majesty Charlemagne’s most trusted defender—soon to be named the Margrave of Brittany to serve as their paramount lord and ruler.
Ganelon
- Sir Roland, we expect to arrive at the castle on the morrow … But sire, if you worry about an ambush, we might continue under the cover of darkness in order to arrive earlier.
- You know—in the eyes of many in Brittany, your head is now worth more than its weight in gold.
The seemingly downcast youth rises to his feet.
Roland
- No, Sir Ganelon, you mistake me.
- I’m thinking—
- What should I say if were to find a deer without any eyes?
The question alarms Ganelon, who shakes his head slowly.
Roland
- I have no-eye deer.
Ganelon
- …
- Sire, enough of these jokes of yours.
- As for deer, the buck you hunted will soon be prepared.
- Unless you wish to continue eating only bread and beans, I suggest you join us and have some.
Dusk is falling.
The knights cut down a few cedars near their camp—in the damp weather, only their dry and oily heartwood is sufficient for starting a fire.
Flames leap up, casting a warm orange glow. A young knight in their company brings over the prepared venison.
Knight I
- I’ve marinated the meat as best I could in our circumstances. If we had fennel and cardamom, we might sprinkle some on while it roasts. The heat would bring out the flavors nicely.
- Of course, the best spices would be black pepper and cumin …
- But such extravagance … We’ll probably only taste the likes of those spices again when His Majesty deigns to celebrate with us.
The knights skewer the meat at an angle over the fire pit.
The buck’s fat is rich and heavy. As time passes, it melts in the heat, releasing a wonderful aroma.
*Rumble—*
Knight I
- My lord, look at how the fat is dripping.
Knight II
- I can’t even remember the last time I had fresh meat.
Roland
- This morning.
Knight II
- This morning?
Roland
- Did our Lord not transform bread and wine into flesh and blood?
- Tis true. Our morning meal was not the Holy Communion, but if unleavened bread can serve as a fitting vessel for our Lord, it must surely be the equal of any venison.
A brief, eerie silence follows, only to be broken with a scoff.
Knight II
- Shall I laugh now, or wait until after the cardinal has your head on a pike?
Roland
- If I have offended, then I beg your pardon.
- But let me ask a new question.
Knight II
- Yes, my Lord Margrave?
Roland
- I’ve told not less than thirteen jokes today, and I must imagine that at least one of them was clever.
- Tell me then, why has no one laughed?
Knight I
- Sir Roland, I swear, that pun about the deer was the wittiest I’ve heard in some time! It was only that in the moment, I forgot to laugh.
- But I’m afraid I didn’t quite catch the meaning of the joke you made about “unleavened bread”?
Roland
- Is that so? The cardinal will be busy indeed, young sir. Have you forgotten that the bread of our Communion becomes flesh? So then, our bit of bread this morning could well become meat, if our Lord deigned it so. It is … a little blasphemous, I must admit.
Knight I
- Hahahaha!
Knight II
- …
Ganelon
- …
- The devil take you, Roland. These jokes of yours are—Not—Funny!
- A lie repeated a thousand times still yet does not become the truth—even if you told forty jokes, not a one would be funny!
Roland
- Ganelon, I think you must not understand the word “diligence.”
- As the proverb says, “Practice makes perfect.” Anything, if pursued persistently enough, will surely lead to success.
Ganelon
- Rather than discussing the definition of diligence, I would prefer you not turn yourself into a joke.
- “Many small streams make a river.” Knights, is there anyone here capable of telling some half-wise decent jokes to our Lord Roland?
Knight II
- I have one!
…
This was to be the very first instance of the “Comic Knight Festival.”
Born on a night in the 8th century, as feast among a band of true companions.
Each among them had come from different backgrounds and held various positions, but there was no doubt they could serve as excellent judges.
After all, a sense of humor doesn’t need to be taught. It precedes any rules and structure—the only truth is humor is what makes one laugh.
As one knight finishes his joke.
Another starts the next.
And on it goes until, at last, a sprinkle of fennel is scattered over the venison, forming a mouth-watering aroma of citrus and pine gum.
Knight I
- The meal is ready.
The edges of the meat are charred brown and sizzling with grease.
The young knight turns chef for the evening and smears fresh wild honey on the meat.
Knight I
- My turn.
- Oh, but if only we had a pound of Roquefort cheese …
Yet the savory aroma of roasted meat serves as more than enough. He swallows his piece with a satisfied gulp.
Knight I
- Unlike the rest of you, I will tell a proper joke with some theatrical flair, where I shall take on the dramatis personae of one among us.
- Though this joke may not be to everyone’s tastes, I would use it to express admiration and praise for a worthy hero …
Then, in a booming practiced voice, he begins his joke.
Knight I
- There once was a knight both true and faithful, whose great deeds much envy provokes! But where others would boast, his friends were most grateful, that the worst of his faults were his jokes!
- I speak, of course, of myself! Roland, your liege on the eve of our arrival in Brittany, for soon I will be named—
- That is this very day, I …
*whoosh*
Roland
- …!
—An arrow.
Knight I
- Ah—
An arrow has pierced through the young knight’s throat. The light fades from his eyes as he falls to the ground.
Ganelon
- We’re under attack!
Roland
- Knights, to your swords! Avenge our comrade!
(TO BE CONTINUED…)
(Somewhere in the Suitcase )
In the hall, a slender plant stands, with green flower buds clinging to its stalk.
Its branches sway in a metered rhythm.
Oliver Fog
- Here’s what happened.
- A few days ago, I asked A Knight to tell me the story of Pepin the Short.
- So I knocked on the door to his room, but no one answered. Then I went to check the patio, but he wasn’t there either.
- Next, I asked Vertin, but … She didn’t know either.
An-an Lee
- Ah! I understand, Sir Fog! So you want to know where Sir Knight has gone.
- Well, it is true I am the very best when it comes to ghost hunting! But Sir Knight is not exactly a ghost. He’s more of a haunting character …
Oliver Fog
- Apologies, I suppose I don’t quite understand your arcane skill, but … perhaps you still have a knack for finding people.
Oliver Fog fishes out a few Sharpodonties from his pocket.
Oliver Fog
- This is work. I know the rules.
- I did not prepare much, but maybe I can pay a deposit first.
An-an Lee
- Huh? What’s this?
It dawns on her.
An-an Lee
- Oh, how generous! In that case, I’ll certainly help you.
- Besides catching ghosts, asking Lord Lao Zi for a little direction is a simple matter …
She takes the two pieces from Oliver’s hand.
An-an Lee
- And it is a kind gesture to help out a friend …
- Hm, what was it that Grandma taught me again?
- Whatever. As long as you truly believe it, that’s all that matters!
An-an Lee cups three arcade tokens in her hands, clasping them together and shaking them forcefully.
An-an Lee
- Spirits of heaven and earth …
Oliver Fog
- …
- At first, I thought A Knight might have been on a mission outside … So, I specifically asked Ms. Vertin.
- But Ms. Vertin said that A Knight hasn’t been on any missions recently.
- But he had asked Vertin for several days of leave.
- I wonder if he has some important matters to attend to?
An-an Lee
- Hm … yes, I see him!
The young ghost hunter begins her soothsaying.
An-an Lee
- I see that Sir Knight is as he was before. He still loves telling those dreadful jokes.
- But—it seems he has been collecting something recently! They look like small colorful banners and trumpets …
- It’s not clear to me what he’s doing!
She stops her hands and examines the answer the coins give.
An-an Lee
- Hmm …
- The first hexagram, Lesser Yin; the second hexagram, Lesser Yang …
- The sixth hexagram, Old Yin … Changing to the Hexagram of Earth over Water.
An-an Lee falls silent.
An-an Lee
- Oh, ho!
She has learned her grandma’s exaggerated manner of shouting.
An-an Lee
- Oh dear, that’s terrible, Sir Fog!
Oliver Fog
- What does all of this mean?
An-an Lee
- The Hexagram of Earth over Water shows that Sir Knight is going to war and that the war will be both unpredictable and hazardous.
- And this changing of the Hexagram shows … there may be traitors among Sir Knight’s forces, so he must be extra cautious.
Oliver Fog
- Going to war?
- In the suitcase?
- This sounds rather more like a tall tale …
An-an Lee
- Hmm … The war indicated in the hexagram isn’t some mere skirmish.
The branches of the potted plant stop their rhythm and begin to tremble.
And though perhaps it is only old circuits, the fluorescent lights in the hall begin to flicker faintly.
The orange light in the vision pulses slowly, like twilight in a memory.
Oliver Fog
- Perhaps …
The pair look at each other.
Oliver Fog
- … Ms. An-an, do you know what era it is outside right now?
(TO BE CONTINUED…)
Roland wrings out the water that is pooling on the hem of his clothes.
Roland
- Rain again …
- Hmph … Where is everyone?
The trail left by their attacker had disappeared.
And his fellow knights had disappeared along with it.
Roland
- Hm?
Hoof beats tramp across the mud nearby.
He holds his breath and listens.
The figure of a knight appears in the distance, causing Roland to draw his sword defensively.
???
- … Roland?
Roland
- Oliver! You nearly drove me out of my wits!
Oliver
- Haha …
Roland mounts his horse, and the pair ride side by side in the rain.
Oliver
- So—
- Was it really Ganelon who suggested a festival of jokes? He doesn’t seem the type to enjoy comedy.
- Then no sooner than our comrade had called himself “Roland,” he was struck dead in the attack …
Roland
- It is as I said, there is great power in a joke.
- They can inspire morale while marching or on the eve of battle.
- I can remember many a time when a well-timed joke has done much to lift the spirits of a weary band.
Oliver
- …
- If I may speak out of turn, my friend. I feel I must tell you something.
- Roland, bosom friend, I think perhaps your jokes serve only one purpose.
- To inspire a timely retreat.
Roland
- I regret only that my love for comedy as yet outstretches my talent.
Oliver
- You should know, I suspect a traitor among our fellowship. If they plan to strike again, their next move will be in Paimpont Forest.
- They will not make the same mistake twice—we must move with haste.
- Regardless, I’m heartened to see you are safe—may our Lord continue to protect you, Roland.
He reaches out to pat his friend’s shoulder.
But in a flash, Roland draws his sword and swings in a fierce motion towards Oliver’s ear.
Oliver
- D**n it!
The blade catches the arrow mid-flight, cutting it in twain.
Roland
- Ride for the forest. We’ll talk about the rest later.
Hearkening to his liege’s orders, Oliver bends down, grasping the horse’s belly with his legs, and spurs it into a gallop towards the forest.
But a second arrow reaches them first, piercing the destrier’s leg and spilling both horse and rider on the ground.
Oliver falls hard on his leg and lays stunned on the ground.
Oliver
- —!!!
Roland
- …
Attacker I
- It’s Oliver!
The attacker grins and raises the sword in his hand.
Attacker I
- His head won’t be as valuable as Roland, still …
The lumbering figure’s shadow engulfs Oliver’s body.
Roland
- Careful—
Roland rides swiftly, holding high his Everlasting Sword. With a single stroke, he cleaves the shadow in two.
A short, stiff cry gives way to the sudden wash of warm liquid that spills out over Oliver.
Attacker II
- D**n it …
- Why are you retreating?! There are but two of them!
- Ulch—
There is a sudden coldness in the attacker’s throat.
His vision begins to spin, a dizzying sensation as he falls to the ground.
Attacker II
- …
From the ground, he sees his own headless corpse slouching off the back of his horse.
Roland
- Quick, Oliver, take my hand—
The salt from the blood is stinging his eyes. Oliver forces them to open.
In the blurred vision, he catches sight of Roland’s figure and reaches out his hand toward him.
Oliver
- They’ll be expecting us to move forward, further into their ambush. Don’t follow the path they’re driving us towards … Go around!
Roland grasps his comrade and hoists him up onto his horse.
Roland
- Not to worry, young Oliver. I’m no fresh squire.
The horse carries the two knights deep into the forest.
The rain grows heavier, and its rhythmic tapping gradually swallows up all other sounds.
Roland
- Ah, this little cave here will serve as an able refuge through the rain.
Oliver
- A cave? Perhaps you should check inside for wild beasts first …
The pain still keeps him from seeing straight.
Roland
- No need to fret. We’ll be safe in here. Come now. Let’s see about your shoulder and leg.
They stash themselves in the hollow cave, lying down on a bed of damp green moss.
Roland draws his long sword and severs the shaft of an errant arrow still clinging harmlessly to his armor.
Oliver
- Did you hear those hooves, not far in the distance?
- Almost twenty men were chasing us—every one of them equipped with armor, swords, and a cordon of arrows.
Roland
- But we’re still alive, Oliver.
Oliver
- … So? There is danger here, Roland—it’s not just about our immediate crisis.
- Someone wants you to die here.
An eerie silence falls over the forest, as if the rain has hushed itself.
Roland
- Oliver, look.
Oliver
- What?
Roland
- There’s an Arachne.
Oliver’s neck goes rigid.
It is a venomous spider critter, one that prefers to nest in damp, dark places.
He looks slowly in the direction of Roland’s gaze—
Roland has folded his hands together, shaping them like a spider, crawling through the air.
Oliver
- …
- Ro-land!
Oliver cannot stand it anymore. He slams his fist down hard on the ground.
Oliver
- How many times do we have to tell you—these jokes of ours are not funny!
- Our foes number twenty at least, likely more with reinforcements … And there are only the two of us!
- Tell me how you manage to conjure these horrid jokes in a situation like this?!
Roland
- I thought you needed something to raise your mood.
Oliver
- It’s only managed to raise my ire!
- Roland, my liege … allow me to suggest what we should do now …
A plan is forming in his mind, one that seems to ease his pain.
Oliver
- They know that you were to reach Brittany today.
- But they didn’t know that I would ride here to receive you.
- If the worst should come to pass, you may be able to escape by wearing my cloak …
There is a second flash of genius on his face.
Oliver
- Yes—
- This could well be our best opportunity to expose the traitor …
Though the traitor’s identity is not difficult for them to guess. He has known the answer for a while.
Roland
- It is a sound plan, young Oliver. But I refuse it. If I should do as you say, then only one of us can leave.
Oliver
- A plan that lets one of us escape is better than both of us dying here.
Roland
- …
Oliver
- Don’t tell me you’re going out there by yourself.
A familiar trumpet sounds far in the distance.
Oliver
- Enemies!
Roland
- Friends!
They shout in a clashing unison.
Roland
- Did that arrow hit your ear after all? That was clear as day the sound of Lady Oder’s trumpet call!
Oliver
- A trumpet is just an instrument. Anyone can blow it.
- Besides, what if Oder has been captured? What if the attackers and Oder simply have the same sort of trumpet?
Roland
- Forget it then. There’s no use arguing about something you can hear with your own ears. Besides, if not Oder, who else would blow a trumpet like that?
- She’s your sister, and still you cannot recognize her?
Oliver
- That may be her, yes, but is it not prudent to consider the other possibilities?
- Indeed, I dare not question His Majesty’s decree, but seeing you, our Lord Margrave, reduced to hiding in a cave, I must admit my fear for the future of Brittany.
The Margrave?
It dawns on him.
Roland
- You have the right of it.
Oliver
- Great, then we do as I suggested …
Roland
- Knight Oliver, I order you to stay here.
- Once the danger is gone and you are able, you are to travel to Brittany and relay what has happened here.
Oliver
- …
Roland
- Should events transpire that lead to my death, I will recommend that you succeed me as the Margrave of Brittany.
- Don’t worry. I’ll pen a letter to His Majesty, listing a few of the reasons for “making Sir Oliver your trusted Margrave.” I’ll use all the most colorful rhetoric at my disposal.
Oliver
- …
- I think you’ve confused our situation for a fairy tale, my Lord Margrave.
- Suppose you die out there, Roland, on whatever fool heroic you’re planning, and I survive to present your letter of recommendation to His Majesty’s Court …
- What do you earnestly think they would do if I were to show up in your place?
Roland
- I’m very sure, after reading through my glowing recommendation, they would grant you the title of Margrave of Brittany.
Oliver
- …
- I see now why His Majesty so appreciates your honest nature, Sir Roland.
- But think seriously, surely they would start to wonder why I decided to ride out to meet you.
- And the why-fores and whens of how you died, and how it came to be that there was no one else around to witness your death.
- If I were then to present a letter of your recommendation, how would it be received?
Roland
- You are suggesting they would think you forged the letter. Perhaps even that you orchestrated this ambush.
- You think too poorly of His Majesty’s Court. The Paladins of Charlemagne are good and just.
Oliver
- Roland, you can’t just split people into simple categories of “good” and “evil.”
- People are complicated, and men of power more complicated still—you should know that far better than I do.
- Besides …
He falls silent again.
The weight of the accusation bore on him, to accuse one of their brethren of treachery, he hesitates to continue.
Roland pats his shoulder.
Roland
- Go on.
Oliver
- The traitor must be one of the other Paladins, one of your brothers in Charlemagne’s court.
A sharp stab of pain throbs in his shoulder. Oliver takes a deep breath before continuing.
Oliver
- It is Ganelon of Mainz.
Roland breaks into a grin.
Roland
- That’s reassuring, Oliver.
- You finally learned how to make a joke.
Oliver
- …
Roland
- Oh … Don’t misunderstand. There is weight to your speculation.
- But, it’s a matter of proof …
The trumpet sounds out once again, now much closer than before.
Before long, a party of knights emerges from the surrounding forest, led by a woman.
Oder
- Oh—Sir Roland, how did you end up here?
- Don’t worry, old friend. My men made short work of your would-be assassins—we even managed to seize them alive, the lion’s share at any rate.
- The both of you look worse for wear; we must make for the castle quickly.
- But first … A question!
- What did the blanket say to the bed?
Oliver
- …
Roland answers without missing a beat.
Roland
- I’ve got you covered.
Oder
- Aha! Precisely! I’ve got you covered!
Oliver
- …
(Brittany Fortress)
The rain washes down the narrow streets of the castle town.
The smells of blood from the butcher shop, of ammonia from the tannery, and the reek of old sweat that had long lingered there are swept out by the arrival of the rain.
But no pleasant scent of earth and stone greets her. The reek of fish clings on in wet weather, as bits of fish covered in scales float on the puddles over Oder’s feet.
Oder
- We need someone charismatic to lead the interrogation. May I propose the Knight of Astorford?
- Should he fail to win them over with charm, then we must rely on Lord Reynaud to break them.
- But to have these two noblemen come to interrogate such a prisoner …
Oliver
- There’s no need to involve them, my lady. We have our own manner of guile to make the brigand talk.
- For now, let us take Roland to rest. I believe the journey has finally caught up to him.
Roland, at last exhausted from his journey and battle, begins to slump in his saddle. The voices around him grow fainter.
Until all sound blends into the patter of the rain.
He closes his eyes, and darkness swallows everything like a tide.
*thud, thud, thud*
Oliver Fog
- Oof!
(A Knight’s Room)
An-an Lee
- Whoa …!
The two of them barge through the door and tumble into the sunlit room.
APPLe
- Oh! You have some visitors.
An-an Lee
- Ah, Sir Knight, so you’ve been in your room this whole time!
- Hmph, then all that fuss about the lights was just old circuits. Ms. Vertin should hire an electrician!
A Knight
- There’s no need for concern. Someone is here, as they have been for some time.
APPLe
- APPLe can attest to this. We preferred to use just the sunlight in this room, as it created a very dramatic lighting effect for Mr. Knight.
- We’re holding a bit of a storytelling session.
A Knight
- Quite so. Someone was just in the middle of a story about Sir Roland … However, Sir APPLe here seems to believe that one’s storytelling skills are lacking—
- Someone has been attempting to portray the figure of a knight named Roland in order to immerse the audience in the moment.
The knight’s gauntlets spread and lower on both sides, approximating a theatrical bow.
A Knight
- Someone is pleased that you happened by.
(TO BE CONTINUED…)
A Knight
- Since you’re here, please take a seat. Someone could use a more … enthusiastic audience for this tale.
Just as Ms. Sotheby’s room is filled with collector’s edition Typhon dolls, and Ms. Eternity’s TV plays “The Night Show” all night …
In this room, there are various items that highlight their owner’s tastes.
Weapons in their scabbards and a yellowed book on the desk—recognizable from the cover as a collection of very old jokes.
In the corner stands a large pot of lard, and, next to it, the fireplace is burning low.
An-an Lee
- Sir Knight! You can’t put fat next to a flame! It’ll catch fire!
A Knight
- Don’t worry, Ms. An-an. This flame is only a memory. It is constant, gentle, and does not produce heat nor possess a desire to burn anything.
A Knight touches the flames with his hand, and they nuzzle his fingers like a tame colt.
An-an Lee
- Well, that proves little, Sir Knight. Of course you aren’t afraid of being burned. You’re only a suit of armor!
On one side of the room, there is a pile of assorted trumpets; the desk is covered with colorful flags—too many perhaps, rendering a messy scene.
A nimble hand grasps a carving of a green bird, gently adjusting its orientation.
An-an Lee
- What are all these ornaments for? Have you considered rearranging them? The Feng Shui of this room has a lot to be desired.
A Knight
- These are all things Someone has prepared in anticipation of the Comic Knight Festival.
Oliver Fog
- The Comic Knight Festival?
A Knight
- An event inspired by an old friend.
- Simply put, this is a joke-telling festival—everyone sits around together, drawing lots to take turns telling their jokes.
- If you can’t come up with a joke, then you must tell an interesting story instead.
- As for this wooden carving, there is a mechanism one can find on the bottom.
A Knight stretches out a finger and lightly fiddles with the tail feathers.
Resplendent Quetzal Carving
- *click, clack*
The small bird begins to move, rocking backwards and forwards. After a moment, the yellowish beak stops in front of Oliver Fog.
A Knight
- If this were the Comic Knight Festival, the next speaker would be Oliver Fog.
Oliver Fog
- It sounds as if it wouldn’t be a half-bad event.
- But everyone here has so many of their own matters to attend to.
- Ms. Vertin almost never has time off because of the “Storm.”
- I can’t imagine most people will have time to attend a comedy festival.
- Though, certainly, this place could use a little levity.
A Knight
- It is precisely because of the present state of things that Someone felt inspired to recreate this old festival.
- It has not gone unnoticed to anyone, let alone Someone, that the laughter and smiles that once frequented this hall have now all but disappeared.
- Someone was recounting to Mr. APPLe one’s recollection of the tales of ancient knights and the origins of the festival.
- Someone hoped that these stories could be shared to help everyone regain a sense of humor in the face of great danger—or, if nothing less, provide some momentary distraction.
An-an Lee
- Wow! So not just jokes but story-telling too?
APPLe
- Another event to add to the Comic Knight Festival!
- This APPLe certainly hopes it will inspire our friends to hear these tales of knightly heroics.
A Knight
- Undoubtedly so. Someone recalls a story that was recounted to Mr. X some short while ago.
- In that story, a slightly reckless knight, Sir Roland, along with his good friend Oliver, paid a visit to Bramimonde, Queen of the Moors …
- The journey was fraught with difficulty, but, fortunately, came to a happy ending.
- Hmm …
Sunlight scatters against the floor as a breeze blows through the treetops.
A Knight
- Such fine weather makes Someone think of ancient times past, on a sunny day in the south of Provence.
- Back then, Someone would often share a drink with old friends, whiling away the afternoon.
- One of them was a very heroic woman, one whom Someone greatly admired.
- Among her greatest feats was when she fought a battle against a giant named Felgert.
- Though the records of history did not record much of her story, a travesty most deeply unfair.
- In fact, Sir Roland was involved in the battle as well. Someone recalls it vividly. A dramatic tale, which Ms. Charlie herself suggested, may make a fine piece of theater.
- If you would, Someone would very much like to perform it with you.
(TO BE CONTINUED…)
A Knight
- Lady Oder is a brave and wise woman … Someone thought it would be an ideal role for Ms. An-an.
- The other character of this play is the brave knight called Roland.
- At that time, Sir Roland was still just a youth.
- Rather alike in age to Sir Oliver now.
Oliver Fog checks his timepiece conspicuously.
Oliver Fog
- If I must. But may I remind you that this is my leisure time? I’m under no obligation to stay.
- So I caution you not to make this little play of yours too long.
A Knight
- Naturally, this will be a short but glorious story of a brave and noble woman.
- As for the giant Felgert …
- He was 15 feet tall, morbidly rotund, mangy, and bald—
A Knight looks around the room.
A Knight
- Unfortunately, of those present here, only A Knight can be said to be of comparable stature to the grotesque giant.
- It falls reluctantly upon Someone’s shoulders to take on the role of the gruesome Felgert.
APPLe
- And what of brave and true Sir APPLe?
A Knight
- The play has run short of speaking roles. Hmm, but I recall Felgert often threw … rocks, as a means of attack.
- Knowing that Sir APPLe is well-versed in special effects …
- Someone swears not to toss you too roughly—
APPLe
- In that case, this APPLe would prefer to work behind the scenes.
- Perhaps you are in need of a lighting technician?
A Knight
- Superb sir! As Ms. Charlie has said, a skilled lighting technician can add tremendous value to a play.
“Narrator”
- Now, Someone will act as your humble narrator.
- At the beginning of this show, Lady Oder was not yet a knight.
- Yet she was born to a noble family of great esteem. Indeed, Someone’s own close friend, the Knight, Sir Oliver, was born into their house.
- At this time, high-born ladies could choose to wear luxurious dresses, wiling their hours away in the market with the other ladies, living as dainty things capable of fainting at a moment’s notice.
- Or they could choose to familiarize themselves with Latin, so that they might recite Scripture. They would learn proper etiquette and ballroom dancing to be fit as a properly studied lady.
- But no matter their choices, their lord father—who held the true power of decision over them—worried over only one thing.
- —That is, how he might marry them off properly and advantageously.
- Ms. An-an, stand tall, you will not be so fragile as these delicate ladies. For Lady Oder is of an entirely different sort.
- She was an unruly child, who only grew in her rebellion and courage, despite the sighing protestations of her mother.
“Oder”
- Is that so? Hyah!
“Narrator”
- Bravo! A swift and powerful thrust, that is indeed more like our Lady Oder.
- But her father had little patience for her rebellious ways.
“Narrator”
- He resolved that he must arrange a marriage for her early—before her rebellious spirit set in too deep. For to him, her value was as nothing more than what she could bring him as a bride.
- To him a noble daughter was like a Bordeaux wine, or a ruby red as pigeon’s blood …
- Things that he sneered upon as frivolous fancies behind closed doors, yet nonetheless had to rely on to maintain the prestige of his noble house.
- Messengers wore out their shoes with their coming and going, until her father struck a deal with some far-flung nobleman he had never even met.
- So that after the coming of our Lady Oder’s sixteen year, she would be wed to an aged lord well past his fifties.
“Roland”
- A rich old creep like that must have paid a king’s ransom.
“Narrator”
- “Roland,” you’re not on yet. Does Someone need to remind you of the importance of “quiet on set”?
- This story does not foreclose the exact terms of their arrangement.
- But it is said that during that time, Lady Oder’s father began to exhibit behavior quite different from usual.
- It may well be that to increase one’s worldly possessions is to enhance one’s self-esteem.
- For during those days, her lord father seemed to have taken on an air of levity and laughter, smiling even on slights that had once had set him to rage.
- Until one morning, when the laughter faded—
- For Lady Oder had run away towards Brittany, leaving her father only a letter.
“Roland”
- One can hardly blame her, though I for one, hope that she’d chop off the old man’s head—give ‘em the old Cromwell treatment.
“Narrator”
- An intriguing plot suggestion, to be sure.
“Narrator”
- In those days, the journey to Brittany was fraught with all manner of dangers.
- For in addition to the rougher sorts one may find in Brittany, one could also chance upon a roving band of Saxons, Lombards, or Saracens at any time.
- Fortunately, our heroine was an able rider—the equal of any experienced knight.
- And so it was that Someone first laid eyes upon Lady Oder, just as she arrived at the gates of the Castle of Brittany.
- She still wore the gown of a noble lady, though her skirts had been torn in the bushes of that rough country. Her many days of riding left her in utter exhaustion, so that as she leaped from the saddle, she nearly stumbled on the ground.
- But her eyes shone as brightly as a tempered blade.
- Ms. An-an, this is your cue.
“Oder”
- … Oh!
- “Are you Sir Roland? I see nothing so special about you as to be worthy of your fame.”
“Narrator”
- In her words, if not yet her deeds, she would soon transform from a young woman into a warrior.
- I must admit, she proved an unparalleled talent in battle.
- During those years in Brittany, she joined us in countless battles, winning one victory after another.
- Her achievements were remarkable. Her feats became a most dazzling gem on a scepter—impossible for any to ignore.
- There had been no precedent for a woman warrior such as her. But after much deliberation, the cardinals agreed to grant her knighthood.
- However, the day before the ceremony, she bade Sir Roland to free her from her service.
“Oder”
- “Sir Roland, I beg you to forgive me, but I cannot attend the ceremony.”
“Roland”
- “Why? Is it not your greatest dream to become a knight?”
- “Getting those old-fashioned cardinals to agree to knight a woman was no easy feat.”
“Oder”
- “Do you remember my lord father, Roland?”
- “He has learned that I was in Brittany and has been writing to me, urging me to return so that I might fulfill my long-neglected duties.”
- “He has sent me another letter, a final warning, saying that if I continue in my rebellion—”
- “He will send his champion, the giant Felgert to ‘ask’ me to come home.”
- “You can see how he describes this terrible giant in his letter.”
- “15 feet tall, covered in scabies and pustules.”
- “He keeps the company of witches and has impenetrable skin.”
“Roland”
- “So then, you’ll do as he wishes and return home?”
“Narrator”
- A most stirring performance, Ms. An-an. But we must see your smile; let it be fierce and true!
- Superb. The exact emotion on display.
“Oder”
- “Sir Roland, for as many years as we have fought side-by-side, it is a pity you don’t know me better.”
“Narrator”
- Mr. APPLe, the time comes to begin the scene of the climactic battle against the giant.
- Please adjust the brightness of the stage light, a bit brighter still, if you please.
- For the sky that day was a stark and brilliant blue, dotted with white clouds floating above like a silken canopy.
- A day that Someone returns to often in memory.
APPLe
- Aye-aye.
(TO BE CONTINUED…)
“Roland”
- “Hahaha, evil giant, tremble in fear, for today you shall meet Sir Roland in the field.”
- “Now your devil’s luck has run thin!”
- …
- Mr. Knight, are you entirely sure this is Sir Roland’s line?
A Knight
- Ahem …
- Someone reminds you that Sir Roland then was still a spirited young man.
- It was time now to face the giant.
- The giant was just as the letter warned and more, for Felgert was of a monstrous height, and his bare skin was covered with mange and pustules.
“Roland”
- “Allow me!”
A Knight
- Sir Roland spurred his horse onwards and charged Felgert.
“Roland”
- Uh, Mr. Knight, how can I spur my house? Do you see any horses about?
A Knight
- Hm … a fair point indeed.
- Perhaps Someone will seek the aid of Mr. Darley Clatter to play the role of Roland’s steed.
- Yet in the meantime, you need to only pretend to be riding a horse.
- As you say your next line.
“Roland”
- “Bedeviled giant, today you face your doom!”
A Knight
- Sir Roland cried out at the pinnacle of his charge.
- As he raised the Everlasting Sword high and brought it down on the giant’s ankle—
- The blade collided with the giant’s ankle, sliding as if across a sheet of uneven metal, sending forth a shower of yellow sparks.
- The blow had left the giant entirely unharmed. It served only to set the brute into a fitful anger.
- The giant reached out his hand, snatching Roland from his horse, and held him high in the air.
- Frightened, his warhorse ran off into the distance, never to be seen again.
- Just as the battle looked to be lost, Lady Oder furrowed her brow, drew her long sword, and charged.
“Oder”
- “Ah—”
A Knight
- She leaped from her horse high into the air, and drew a long slash across Felgert’s bulbous belly.
- Accompanying her strike came the self-same shower of yellow sparks.
- But this time the giant let out a gurgling hiss of pain.
“Roland”
- “The navel, the navel—”
A Knight
- Sir Roland shouted breathlessly.
- Oder heard him and turned to look at Felgert.
- There had been no trace of damage in her slash across Felgert’s belly, save for a hint of blood around his putrid belly button.
“Oder”
- “Aha, I’ve found the heel of Achilles!”
A Knight
- Lady Oder’s heart filled with hope at the thought. And she raised her sword again—
- But the giant’s rage was directed elsewhere. His grip on Roland began to tighten.
- Sir Roland gave out an agonized scream!
“Roland”
- “Arghh—”
A Knight
- But Oder’s sword proved the swifter tool, as she pierced the giant’s navel in the nick of time!
- The goliath shuddered and collapsed.
- But in death, the giant’s fingers remained tightly wrapped around the knight. And blood ran down his knuckles.
- Oder withdrew her sword from the belly of the giant.
- They had won the duel.
- Mr. APPLe, the story is finished. You may lower the lights.
The lights fade.
A Knight
- What do you think of the story?
Oliver Fog
- It ended too soon. Your Lady Oder defeated the giant. She should go back to be honored for her accomplishment and become a true knight.
- Really, you’ve omitted the most crucial part. Perhaps some ivory tower snobs might appreciate your ambiguity, but the masses will demand a satisfactory end for your heroine.
An-an Lee
- I agree! The story ends too soon! Lady Oder deserves more to her tale!
- She should return to the castle and be generously rewarded with land and riches!
- With enough wealth of her own, she might go back and build her own house—so that she could have a new future away from her father.
A Knight
- I confess, sadly, that Lady Oder never was to be knighted. For even after besting the giant, she chose to leave Brittany. She carried on, ever dedicated to the life of freedom she had long sought.
- She traveled far and wide across the land in those days, and when she could, she would write to Sir Roland and Oliver recounting her adventures.
- She won a castle in a duel, and ever unwilling to be tied to the land, she chose to distribute its treasure among the local peasants. A story of that persists in legend.
- Later still, she met Lady Berguin, with whom she shared many interests. They became lifelong friends and the closest of confidantes.
- Of course, her letters were the source of much inspiration, and many of Someone’s greatest jokes.
- Someone cannot truly know if Lady Oder was satisfied with this ending.
- Yet it is enough to say the story is true.
- Although, it must be confessed, for ease of narration, some slight adjustments were made.
Boo—
A Knight’s little audience are clearly unhappy with this ending. A Knight seems to pause, as if taken at a loss for words.
Oliver Fog
- Even if I disagree with the institution of landed nobility on principle, I see no reason why she couldn’t be knighted before she goes off on her travels.
An-an Lee
- And if nothing else, why was she never given a reward for killing that giant?! That’s not fair!
(TO BE CONTINUED…)
The old story has ended, and a new one is about to begin.
The undying flames of the candles cast warm yellow halos on the faces of the audience.
A Knight
- It would be best to move on. Allow Someone to introduce the rules of the Comic Knight Festival.
- First, there is need of a large space, one big enough for all the participants to gather around.
- The hall in the suitcase may prove suitable—hm, perhaps Someone ought to ask Vertin’s permission, as she is the owner of the suitcase.
An-an Lee
- Alright! It sounds like it will be fun!
A Knight
- Each participant needs to prepare some jokes … Any kind will do.
- Then, this little green bird will decide the order of show—simply put, whoever the bird’s beak points to will be the next to tell their joke.
A Knight points his gauntlet towards the little bird.
A Knight
- Someone has not arranged such a gathering with so many friends in many centuries.
- It must go over well. Someone must make sure of that.
- Yet, fashions and fads change with the seasons. How can anyone keep up with the latest in comedic wit?
- Someone had hoped to acquire new material worthy of the upcoming festival.
An-an Lee
- Sir, you’re right that fashion has changed. Maybe I can help!
- I think that these days people like to hear ghost stories! You should try telling a joke that involves ghosts.
- Something that might be both scary and funny!
A Knight does not reply. The armor sits motionless with a hand posing under an invisible chin.
APPLe
- This APPLe once heard Ms. Titor tell a joke about apples.
- “Nowadays, you are worthless in IT unless you have a byte.”
- This APPLe still doesn’t quite understand the joke. But Ms. Titor sure seemed to enjoy it.
Oliver Fog
- Programming, ghost stories, it’s all dull—dull, dull, dull.
- The only thing that makes me smile these days is an upcoming vacation.
Oliver Fog shrugs, staring distantly out the window before returning.
Oliver Fog
- Still, out of deepest respect to you, I’ll join in on your joke festival.
A Knight
- Someone could not help but feel honored.
Their discussion on stories and comedy soon begins to wind down, as the sky of the suitcase fades from sunset into darkness.
An-an Lee
- Sir Knight, I have to go. I have a field deployment tomorrow morning.
Oliver Fog
- I must leave as well.
A Knight
- Fare thee well, friends. Someone hopes that the coming festival will not disappoint.
The young guests shuffle their way out of the room, more content than they’d arrived.
The lights flicker, and the room falls quiet for a time.
A Knight
- Mr. APPLe, you’re the only one who heard both stories.
- If you were to compare them, which story did you like more?
APPLe
- This APPLe preferred the story in which Sir Roland visited the Queen of the Moors.
A Knight
- Why do you think that, sir?
APPLe
- It seems you had intended to create a light, humorous, and lively atmosphere for the story of Lady Oder …
- But whether you claim it to be the truth or not, its all-too-quick and sappy resolution clearly tells another tale.
A Knight
- …
- What a pity.
- So, what was the truth of her ending …
Roland
- —No!!!
The Everlasting Sword has failed to pierce Felgert’s body in time.
Doing his best to control his trembling hands, he draws his sword out from the crumpled giant’s belly, inch by inch.
Then, summoning all his courage, he looks towards the giant’s right hand.
The brute’s hands are balled in a tight fist, and crimson blood drips down its knuckles.
There is no life stirring within the balled hand, but no sign of Lady Oder either.
Roland
- … Oder?
For a moment, he feels some hope rising within him once more. With what strength he has left, he searches for any sign of Oder in the fields around him.
…
The giant has thrown his stone. Now only the wind remains with him standing in the field.
A bird flies up from the edge of the field, carrying Oder’s ribbon in its beak, soaring away into the vast blue sky.
The bird is green, with long tail feathers, but its belly has been painted in a hauntingly familiar crimson.
Knight II
- My Lord Margrave, we found a letter among Oder’s effects.
- It was addressed to you.
Sir Roland:
If you are reading this letter, then I have reached the end of my journey.
I must confess a secret, for Oliver confided in me that he has always enjoyed
our jokes.
Please, don’t be cross, Sir Oliver.
I could not bear to go to my death without revealing a punchline.
Roland, should you ever mention me to anyone,
please make sure there is a fitting ending to my story,
one fit for me—believe me, I’ll hear about it.
I wish you good spirits, humor, and happiness, always.
A Knight
A Knight
- Sir APPLe as an educated fellow, you must have read the Greeks Tragedies. The greatest of them, the most tragic, came from those who made no mistake but suffered anyways.
- Someone has always had a soft spot for tragedy. Something about the darkness of a true tragedy speaks to a young knight.
APPLe
- Truly? It seems to me that young knights would prefer courtly romances and the tales of dashing knight-errants.
A Knight
- You may think so, but in that time, those legends were only just being written, and it was the old knights who appreciated them. Perhaps because it allowed them to reminisce, or perhaps they enjoyed mocking the false endings the minstrels would invent.
- And they would compare, over grumbles, the rewards written about in those tales with those of their own.
- It seemed that imaginary monarchs were so often more generous than the real ones.
- No, it seemed the younger knights and squires preferred tragedy … Perhaps it was a fashion, or something that came upon them because so many had never seen true battle. Perhaps for them, it played to their …
- Hm … Today, it might be called … “Teenage angst”?
APPLe
- Perhaps it was a longing for meaning, the younger man’s foolish wish to die as a hero rather than an old man?
A Knight
- Oh, yes, longing. Their eyes said as much.
Without a doubt, many yearned for war.
Minstrels plucked the lire, their tongues as smooth as silk, painting war as a grand spectacle in their songs.
In the stories, blood would weave into a scarlet ribbon. Knights only needed to don it, and gold and glory would rain down upon them.
A Knight
- Sir Roland once believed that as well.
- Until the Battle of Roncevaux Pass.
A Knight
- The story of that battle is the last recorded tale of “Roland” in history.
- Sir Oliver had joined the ranks of the rearguard, standing alongside Sir Roland.
- He had advised against the stand they made that day … No, I will speak the truth. It was more than that. He was afraid.
- He had always been more adept as a strategist than a warrior.
- But the situation in that battle had grown dire, with thousands of enemies surrounding them. The life of their sovereign was hanging in the balance of their action, so he had to take up arms and charge ahead.
- In the heavy melee, his face was wounded, and he lost his sight.
- Sir Roland saw that he was injured and fought his way through the Basques to get close to him, intending to offer assistance.
- But he mistook Sir Roland for an attacking enemy and struck him with his sword.
APPLe
- What happened next?
A Knight turns towards the window.
A Knight
- Allow Someone to continue in the role of “Sir Roland.”
Mr. APPLe adjusts the lighting appropriately.
The story returns again to that day at twilight, as the battle unfolds in a distant land on a narrow pass.
There in that valley, the warrior Maganis comes galloping in on his warhorse, his lance ready.
He charges the lines of Sir Roland’s men, riding with such speed that the point of his lance pierces straight and true through shield and hauberk. Through and out the body of a young knight.
Roland
- Oliver!!!
Sir Roland scrambles to Sir Oliver’s side.
The young man’s injuries are severe. His body growing colder and stiffer by the moment.
A Knight
- Any knight knows perfectly well that there was no chance of survival from a wound such as this.
- There were to be no miracles for Sir Oliver. His body was like a shattered clay pot, the flowing water of life pouring out from within.
- Sir Roland would remember his last words to this very day.
- He said …
- “What do you say when you find a … a deer without any eyes?”
- It was a terrible joke, and yet … Someone laughed.
APPLe
- Was that another one of your adaptations?
A Knight
- No, this happened exactly as it was said. Someone was among that proud host of knights that day—every word of it is written indelibly on Someone’s soul.
APPLe
- My deepest condolences then.
A Knight
- Mr. APPLe, you needn’t apologize.
- Sir Oliver’s deeds of valor have endured—for him, too, death is far from the end.
- Someone must state their earnest belief: that there is far greater power in comedy than most imagine.
- Someone surely believes that the suitcase could have use of more levity in these dark times.
- So … would you be willing to participate in the next Comic Knight Festival?
- The festival date will be set on February 29.
- Someone will eagerly await your reply.
“Humility, honesty, mercy, valor, justice, sacrifice, honor, soul."
"And, of course, a bit of humor.”
(THE END)