The 4th battle of Worral Towers

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 4^th battle of Worral towers.