They say a little knowledge
is a dangerous thing and ignorance is bliss. For example, would you like to
know when you die? It’s a harmless enough question on its own but without
context? Well, that’s a different story – one that I’ll unfold here and now.
The travelling fayre had
come to the sleepy little village of Staplefield and taken residence on the
village green, much to the delight of everyone. Mime artists, minstrels and
giants, jesters and wizards and dwarfs; all there to entertain and delight.
There were all sorts of confectionary on sale too, from tostee’s to tartes;
graylede’s to fritters, there was almost too much to choose from and the smells
were just beguiling. Alcohol flowed perhaps too freely and it may have been
this more than anything that led five youths to visit my tent that fateful eve.
I am not one for partaking of fermented roots and fruit; I prefer to keep my
connection to the ethereal clear and concise.
(There are some that say
they do their best work ‘under the influence’ but their lives are run by the
wrong kind of Spirits. Strangely enough I learnt long ago that ‘fate’ has an
uncanny habit of happening regardless whether the medium is influenced or not.
The individual has such a desire to ensure what they are told comes to pass
that they will undoubtedly make it so –even if they are, themselves, unaware of
what they are doing.)
I tend to enjoy my fortune
telling sessions on a one to one basis; far more time to build a rapport and
in-tune myself to what that person wants to hear. Fortune telling is more about
reading a person that it is the
future. The future is easy to discern –any fool can tell it, indeed everyone
knows their own future but they spend every waking moment trying to supress
that information, hence why they stumble and fall so much! But not everyone
wants it confirmed, and there are many ways to impart the same information; it’s
the way you tell it.
These youths were a mixture;
two men of supposed high standing and their three waifs. It was obvious that
the men were part of the manor and looked down on all around them; they were
there purely to impress the three girls. Immediately I felt sorry for the girls;
whether they were also of high birth it was difficult to tell –I make it my
business not to care about courtly fashion and do not care for rich things. I
felt that there was some rivalry between the two men though and that delighted
the women; well, at least two of them it did.
“You shall tell me my
future, old woman!” The ‘lead’ male said imperiously as he sat down in front of
me. He was arrogant, full of himself –puffed up chest and stomach; reddening
full cheeks and not an ounce of intelligence. However, there was a cruelty
behind the eyes; he was a spiteful one, I could tell that easily enough.
“Humphrey, that’s not very
nice.” One of his female companions exclaimed and I liked her immediately. She
had a kindness in her eyes that had not been diluted by the inebriation. “I
must apologise for my…friend.” I nodded serenely. The lady had a fuller figure,
one that I might have coveted in my youth, but her demeanour was charitable and
demure; she would be hurt if she stayed with her current company.
“Bah, what do I care, Alice?”
Humphrey spat back boisterously. “She’s just an old gypsy, it’s what she’s here
for, right, Walter?”
“I wouldn’t have put it
quite like that, but that is what we’ve come here for. Will you tell us our
fortune, woman?” Walter asked me, though he wasn’t as brash as his porcine
friend he was just as arrogant. The other two girls giggled inanely. I kept
quiet, simply stared at these two bullish braggarts.
“Well, woman? You try our
patience!” Humphrey slammed his hand down on the table. “Do I have to force you
to tell us? Will we have to destroy your shabby caravan?”
“Bravo.” “Oh super!” Cried
the other two slatterns, neither possessing much in the way of charm or
intelligence; to me they seemed little more than bit parts in a narrative
they’d never truly understand, let alone their own lives. Their appearance was
bloated by the alcohol possibly, but the make-up was shambolic and was more
akin to the theatre of the absurd than alluring. The only thing that was eye
catching about either was the ample cleavage that was perhaps of an inverse
ratio to their intelligence.
“And what if I choose not to
tell you your future then, my Lord?” I ventured. I was not one to be goaded by
such ill-mannered louts. I knew I had nothing to fear from either of these
sops.
“Then you shall taste my
steel –see how I pierce the wine skin on your wall!” Humphrey announced and
produced the most pathetic blade I have ever seen. It was like him, lopsided
and ineffectual and he brandished it with the same skill as a child might. He
thrust at the wine skin and missed by a foot, imbedding the blade in the
caravan wall. Try as he might he could not withdraw it. “I’ll leave it there as
a warning to you, of what happens to those who make fun of Sir Humphrey of
Herstperpunt! Now tell us our futures.”
“I will do as I am told,
Master Humphrey.” I acquiesced. I had had enough of this bravado and knew how
to end it quickly. I motioned to my partner who sat in the next room; he was my
confederate and made it his business to keep an eye on me and change the
ambience when it suited. (I knew that these louts could never have harmed me,
my confederate would have stopped them easy enough) At my nod he altered the
wicks on the oil lamps so it suddenly became darker. “I will tell you all your
futures. It is a simple enough thing to prognosticate. All but one of you will
die ere the dawn, and there is nothing… NOTHing you can do to forestall this
moment.”
At another nod my
confederate blew the oil lamp out, plunging the caravan into darkness allowing
me to slip out through my secret trap door. When the light suddenly flickered
back on I can only imagine the look on their faces!
I am not a psychic and know
the cost of walking such a path, but I have been able to piece together quite a
bit myself. I consider myself quite a study of people, after all, and I had
come across many a sot such as Lord Humphrey of Herstperpunt!
As they came to grips with
the empty caravan the ladies were unsure of what to make of the news. The
vacuous blond whose name could only have been Cecily started to cry. “I don’t
want to die.”
“It’s one inevitability we
can all agree on.” Alice drily chipped back. See? I told you there was a reason
why I liked her; she shared my sensibilities! However Cecily was none too
mollified by this news and her sobbing increased.
“Oh, do be quiet Cec!” Walter
snapped. “My sister, though correct in her observations, is just trying to get
a rise out of you.” Alice sighed and walked out of the caravan, unperturbed as
to where I might have gone. Had she seen the trapdoor? Possibly. The others
followed her as best they could, Humphrey pausing long enough to wrench his
prized, but ineffectual sword from my wall.
“It is a connumb. Connun..drum
though, to be sure.” Humphrey drunkenly conceded. “If we are all to die tonight
there is but one way to go.”
“And what way would that be,
my dear Humphrey?” Walter shouted back.
“Further debauchery!”
Together they lurched out of
my caravan and stumbled through the crowds that were still making the most out
of the fayre. I have no doubt that there was no definite destination in mind;
they all lived within a stone’s throw of each other and the village green so it
probably depended on who had the most drink in the house. It was a moonless
night, but balmy; there was a fog arising and it made them huddle together
closer as they walked up the road towards Handcross.
“I don’t know how you any of
you can be so calm though.” Cecily said, breaking the muffled silence. The fog
was getting thicker and swallowed them whole, making it impossible for them to
really orientate themselves. They heard nothing of the fayre now and it was
very disconcerting, was as if they were adrift in a world of their own.
“It’s very easy under the
circumstances, Cec.” Walter replied matter-of-factly. “It’s too cold, it’s too
late and I’m far too sober to be listening to you prattling on!”
“Walter, please.” Margaret
remonstrated, slapping him on the arm. “I do wish you wouldn’t treat Cecily
like that.”
“I’m sorry, Mags –but she is
dreadfully dull when she gets in her snits.” Walter said, suitably chastened.
“Well, you probably shouldn’t
have married her then, eh?” Humphrey interjected, snidely.
“We’re going to die… I know
it; we’re going to die in the fog.” Cecily carried on.
“Well, all but one of us is.”
Humphreys laughed. “And if it’s going to be you then you’d best hurry on and do
us all a favour!” Walter tried to put his arm around Cecily to steady and calm
her down but she just became more agitated and pushed herself away from the
group.
They never heard the
horse-drawn carriage until it was far too late; Cecily was raving too much.
Although she managed to avoid being trampled she was knocked flying by the side
of the coach, and ended up lying like a ragdoll at the side of the road.
“Cecily!” Margaret and
Walter cried out, almost in unison and rushed out to her, but it was far too
late. Alice was strangely silent, almost accepting of her fate. Humphrey was
going to have none of it.
“That crazy harridan was
right…” He snapped. “We are all going
to die tonight. Well, all but one of us… and it’s not going to be me!” He pulled out his sword, turned to Alice and
ran her through with the sword in one swift motion. Alice crumpled without a
word.
“Alice!” Shouted Walter, who
launched himself at Humphrey and knocked the sword out of this hands. “You mad
bastard, I can’t believe what you just did!”
The dawn was slowly casting
an eerie glow on the fight that unfolded, but Margaret was having none of it. She
knew that regardless of who won she was going to be next. She would never be
able to take them in a fight, her only hope was to run away from them, so she
darted into the woods.
“Don’t run too far, dear
Margaret!” Humphrey shouted to her. He knew that although Walter could easily
take him in a fair fight, this was not one of those occasions. There was too
much at stake for Humphrey to lose. He shammed defeat, falling weakly to his
knees as Margaret disappeared from view. Walter backed away, knowing that it
would be too easy to succumb to the same madness that inflicted Humphrey. That was
his last mistake.
He hadn’t seen Humphrey pick
up the boundary stone and never actually felt the blow that killed him. He
barely saw Humphrey’s strike, it was so fast. Walter may have been
concentrating on Cecily and Alice’s bodies, but it didn’t really matter; he was
dead.. which left only one more person. In a perverse way Humphrey was going to
enjoy this.
All Margaret had to do was
get to safety. She knew that in every other way Humphrey had the upper hand; he
was far stronger than her and he had the determination and will to kill her.
Even knowing that her life depended on it she knew that she could never bring
herself to kill him, which meant getting back to the village of Handcross as
fast as possible. That meant running through the woods which would have been
unthinkable twenty minutes ago but the sun was rapidly emerging making it a lot
easier to see where she was going.
She didn’t realise that it
was also making it far easier for Humphrey to chase her.
Twenty minutes later she had
reached the base of Puck’s Church; an outcrop of sandstone rocks they used to
play around as children. She remembered that it wasn’t so long ago that the
outcrop had been used as a place of worship and devotion. She prayed that she
might be spared from the nightmare. She paused to get her breath and looked
behind her to see if Humphrey had caught up with her. There was still a slight fog lifting from the
wood behind her but she could see no sign of him. There wasn’t much further to
go and, God willing, she might get home.
“Too little, too late; dear,
sweet Margaret.” It was Humphrey, but where was his voice coming from? The
realisation came too late. By the time she looked up the boulder was already on
its way down and she never had the chance to move out of its way. She was dead,
like the rest.
The sun was higher in the
sky now and Humphrey could feel no remorse for what he had done. It was
necessary; surely it had been foretold thus? He knew that had Walter but
thought of it before him it would have been his body at the bottom of the
rocks. He turned back to the path but was stunned by what he was now facing. He
was horrified to see the shuffling form of Alice walk out of the lifting fog,
holding out a bloodied hand to him.
“You… you killed them all…”
She moaned and came closer. “Why? Why would you?”
“No…” Humphrey said,
blanching of colour. He took a step back as the pale form inched closer. “No.. I killed you too..” He backed further, each step laboured with
trepidation “You should be dead.. you should be…” So intent was he on evading
the ghost he saw before him he failed to look how close he was to the edge. The
fall was swift and the end quick. His body lie crumbled against the boulder he
had thrown. Dead.
Alice walked to the edge of
the rocks and saw his twisted form and spat at him. “You always were a terrible
swordsman.”
