Once again on the blood soaked
fields of Worral Towers (Rupert really must get his man to wash the grass at
some point) Knightly combat was fought with an unparalleled fervour of
restraint between Sir Over Knight, Sir Knight Gown and Sir Spicious, and for
those of you listening in black and white they were Mikey W, Rupert and John.
Mike and Rupert were the
protagonists with John being the gun (or should it be Gonne) for hire. Mike and Rup went a wooing and after failing
to entice John by using illuminated manuscript showing him in compromising
positions with a stag they resorted to the lowest trick in the book,
MONEY! With a shed load of the stuff
borrowed from Shylock the Jewish money lender (Oy Vey my lovely boy!) Mike
enticed John to join him leaving Rup to dig in next to a convenient river that
had bubbled up from a magical spring dug by Elven princes clad in mithril. Well actually that’s not quite true because
they were in fact a group of navies from Rupert’s estate working on a new
cesspit and the magical spring was a tonne of effluent disgorging itself from a
blockage further up the pipeline.
Rupert had in his employ
Beelzebub chuckles, the former guard slinger at the head of his peasant army. In the preceding months since their stolid
defence of the Toffee apple stall during the third battle of Worral towers
Beelzebub and his peasant horde had come over all religious and set up their
own sect. The followers were legion and
had proclaimed themselves as the monks of St. Atheist and the subjugation of
the original Sinners. These original
Sinners weren’t as some people had thought, Adam and Eve, but the entire
population of a small insignificant village not too far away from
Handcross. The story goes that the Dung
family, renowned Cattle and Horse thieves, married into the Heap family from
this very village. For many years the
Dung’s had terrorised the region around Handcross plundering stud and cattle
farms alike. It was during a
particularly fruitful raid when their son in law, Cuthbert, was caught flirting
with a particularly good-looking prize Bull that the concept of original sin
was thrown out of the window along with the snake, the apple and the book of
genesis. His act was thought so appalling
that Cuthbert was shunned from polite society and was made to go back to his
village, which was known to be particularly rough and unruly.
Upon arriving back in Crawley the
villagers couldn’t believe that Cuthbert had been stitched up and they were
convinced that he would never have committed such a desperate act. They went out of their way to prove his
innocence and invited the people of Handcross to witness a beauty pageant
where, so they said, they would behold a spectacle of such beauty and loveliness
that Cuthbert’s guilt would be absolved.
Unbeknown to the people of Handcross this spectacle would not be one of
wenches and handmaidens but one of cattle, sheep and other farmyard friends. The people of Crawley would prove that
Cuthbert couldn’t possibly fall for such an ugly looking Bull when his true
love had so much more to offer.
After witnessing such a horrific
spectacle the Kitten torturing Cardinal of Handcross and Staplefield called for
a Crusade against the sinful village to cleanse it of these demonic beasts and
their farmyard fancies. Beelzebub
quickly seized the gauntlet and after receiving the sacred standard of St.
Atheist from the Bishop he set forth on his quest. As will be remembered that Beelzebub
sustained a minor injury during the first battle of Worral towers so receiving
the banner without having the use of his long lost arms was quite a traumatic
experience for the Bishop. Not
withstanding Beelzebub empathised and using his one gnarled tooth and diseased
gums he plucked the standard from the bishops hands and spinning round held it
aloft to his expectant followers. After
making an arousing speech, which no one could quite understand, the crowd
cheered politely. Beelzebub was very
surprised how well it was received so when he asked if someone could take the
standard for a moment whilst he nipped off to the loo he was at a loss as to
why everyone just smiled and patted him on the back.
Back on the battlefield the Monks
were in lather when they heard that the perpetrators of the original sin would
be on the opposing side. However, they
chafed at the bit in agitation when they learnt that Rup planned to go on the
defensive rather than attack and they could see their opportunity to purify
Crawley slipping from their grasp.
Building a position akin to what
in 700 years time would be called the Atlantic wall Rup awaited the onslaught
from Mike and John. From his right flank
Johns Longbows peppered Rups own Longbows with a shower of sharp sticks to the
point where they routed from the field.
Before their demise Rups Longbows had done enough damage to one of John
units to force it to rout as well. With
a gap in Rups line as wide as the Grand canyon John now concentrated his
firepower on the feudal levies behind, the only problem was that the sharp
sticks were starting to run out so instead of a peppering, his archers gave the
levies more of a salt and shake.
Whilst this was going on Mike had
been steadily but surely worked his way up both of Rups flanks. The right flank saw a band of mounted
mercenary scum move forward and rout a unit of lowly futile levies before they
themselves were pinned by some even lower Welsh Spearmen. Seeing his chance Rup launched his Knights
into the fray routing one of the mercenary units. Further to the right Mikes other horde of
mercenaries crashed into another unit of futile levies. Swords and maces fell again and again as the
knights mashed the levies unprotected flesh to a pulp. Like a teenagers ripe spot erupting on the
bathroom mirror the Knights exploded into the rear of Rupert’s army. Resembling a pack of wolves on a feeding
frenzy they looked around for yet more flesh to devour.
On the left flank the main bulk
of Mikes army had been progressively eating up ground and as it swung onto what
it thought was Rups soft underbelly it saw before it the Monks of St.
Atheist. Faltering, the army screeched
to a halt, horses reared in panic, as each unit waited for the other to move
forward. Like a bunch of underage
teenagers plucking up courage to buy a drink at the bar they all looked to the
eldest and most experienced in the group, the Teutonic Knights!
Unaware that they were being
watched some of the Knights had started slowly retiring from the field whilst
the Grand Masters head was turned, others jostled for a position further to the
rear. Those that were in the Masters
view looked straight ahead sweating under their great helms and pretending not
to notice his instruction to attack.
Having witnessed what the Monks were capable of during the third battle
of Worral towers, where they defiantly held their ground around the toffee
apple stall against a unit of Feudal Knights, the Teutons were in no mood to
mix it with Beelzebub and his gang.
Eventually they became aware that
everyone was looking at them in aghast as they played out their cowardly
act. Not wanting to loose face those
that had not already escaped the field bunched together trying to get a berth
at the rear or further in the middle where they were less likely to come to
grips with the monks. Crossing them
selves on their chests and saying as many Hail Mary’s as they could in the
short time they had to live they advanced at a deafening walk moving as slow as
honour demanded.
In the mean time the Monks had
been looking at each other in disbelief.
Why wouldn’t the Knights close with them? Some smelt under their armpits just in case
they were too clean, others put their hands in front of their mouths and smelt
their own breath, some asked others to smell their backsides, many passing out
in the process, but nothing they did could pin point why the Knights were
acting so strangely. The leaders
gathered round the sect’s banner, “Sable on a Toffee Apple Stall gules between
three Toffee Apples Azure” to confer and see if they were in a position to
charge the Knights themselves. They
deliberated long and hard, but just as they were about to make up their minds
the Teutons advanced.
As they got closer the smell from
the peasants grew stronger. The horses
couldn’t work out why their masters were making them move at such a slow pace,
the smell was wonderful, so wonderful that it reminded them of a prize mare on
heat. The urge to get nearer grew
stronger as the inches passed under their hooves. They bucked and whinnied as their riders tried
to hold them back, but it was no good.
Like greyhounds let loose from their traps the horses sped toward the
aroma disregarding their master’s pleas to stop.
Unable to control their mounts
the Knights clung on for dear life and prayed to mother Teresa to deliver them
from the evil that was before them. They
could see the Monks leering at them in anticipation of the fun that was about
to commence. As the horses crashed in amongst
the monks the stench was overwhelming.
Some knights just passed out on the spot whilst others were thrown clear
of the fray. The horses went wild
bucking in ecstasy. Some Knights watched
in disbelief and their eyes watered as they witnessed a group of particularly
excitable horses mount a group of fleeing Monks. The clever horses pinned the monks to the
ground licking them with their tongues until their clothes were ripped asunder.
As this was going on many of the
Knights could hear the faint screams of the terrified monks and excited
whinnies of the horses in the distance as they quit the field. Many sought solace at the “Peasant stench
recovery centre” having been overwhelmed by the whirlwind of putrid turbulence
generated by the melee. It wouldn’t be
until 1915 that such a deadly gas would be used again and even by the standard
of the day it was far milder than that used at the 4th battle of
Worral towers.
