"THE GRAVEYARD CHRONICLES!": EPISODE 30: "Seige!"

"I CAN SEE BUGGER ALL IN THIS BLOODY HELMET!"

Episode 30: "Siege!"

Sir Clarence D’ogbreath had arrived with his army on a lovely sunny morning, expecting a warm greeting from his beautiful wife; Lady Maude. But the drawbridge was up and the village deserted. “They can’t all be stuck in the fucking privy!” He muttered to himself and shouted loudly and demanded entry to his castle [and his wife!] – But life can be surprising sometimes, and the War Lord was well surprised when a bucket of horse piss landed on his head!

I watched from the front tower with Lady Maude and Sir Larde Phisole [Maude’s Uncle] and commented; ” Norman passed that this morning, it’s mostly alcohol.” Lady Maude grinned; “I hope they try and dry the bogging rat with a torch!” I gripped Maude’s hands and we smiled at each other – Sir Larde rolled his eyes and sighed; “Young love.” Then he smiled, remembering his own sweet first love, a goat called Caesar, happy days back then, until the heartbreak of finding that his father had served Caesar up as a second course, at the banquet in honour of the old King.

Still, his current wife Lady Petra did resemble his lost love – and strangely enough, smelt the same.

Sir Clarence tried negotiation – it didn’t get far.

"FUCK OFF YOU ENGHLISH PIG-DOGS....SORRY, FOOLISH COMRADES!"

My old friend Sir Frank Wankspank had agreed to negotiate with the evil War Lord and I think he did a cracking job. But he does have a strange accent and smells strongly of garlic - I have known him for years, we met when I campaigned with the King in Normandy, bumping into him sketching our soldiers and encampment one night. Sir Frank says he can't seem to lose his 'cockney' accent, having travelled from the East end of London to support our dear King in his latest genocidal day trip to France.

The King liked him, especially after Sir Frank gave him some parchment containing sketches of the decadent French Kings palace orgies. King Henry was well pleased until he spotted a woman that closely resembled his mistress at the time – Mrs.Virgina Buttlarge, a big woman from the small town of Liverpool, the King was shocked to discover that less people had the plague than had her – it caused a little rift in the Kings bedchamber and the errant mistress was banished to the horrors of England’s version of Hades: Hull.

I understand that she did charity work for the local sailors and fishermen and had been nominated for Sainthood by the local Bishop, who also had a fine reputation for doing good and anything in a skirt. They had made a great team until the King burnt her at the stake and sold the Bishop to the Irish tribes for a couple of whisky barrels – they ate him.

"THE KING! - GOD BLESS HIM!"

No-one could accuse our dear King of holding grudges………

Frustrated by the failure to negotiate the return of his castle and wife, Sir Clarence decided to siege us. Giant catapults were bought up and loaded with any peasants he could find locally, they were fired over our walls causing damage and havoc. A very puzzled Maude asked her dear Uncle; “Why doesn’t he use big stones or flaming barrels of tar!”

Sir Larde patted her shoulder and smiled at her innocence of modern warfare; “He doesn’t really want to damage the castle, Sir Clarence is behind with the mortgage and didn’t pay for siege insurance. He may be a crazed killer but he’s not that daft.”

A large peasant splattered near us, still holding his flagon of beer gripped tightly in both hands, he opened his eyes briefly and whispered; “Morning my Lady, I see your husband is back and in better mood than he left.” Then his head rolled down the tower steps with a strange grin on its face – Big Fester had remembered that the publican had forgotten to charge him tuppence for the beer, because he too had been dragged out to fill a catapults sling.

The skinny bar owner also landed nearby with tears in his eyes – he too had remembered about the tuppence.

"WELL, HE WAS BEHIND WITH THE MORTGAGE PAYMENTS...."

Well, the siege of Deathpit Castle lasted for some weeks and the castle garrison was reduced to eating dogs, cats, rats and the occasional horse - Norman escaped this horrible fate with a very clever trick: every time starving peasants approached his stable, he would call for help at the top of his voice and the peasants fled believing there were guards inside.

It especially worked when he had been at the beer, the peasants really did think there were drunken solders inside!

Old Bishop Crotchgrabber had escaped over the wall and was captured by Sir Clarence, he did return to us - via a catapult. Witches everywhere celebrated with a black Mass and turned the odd serf into a toad or worse: they found themselves in Hull.

Then on a bright sunny morning yet another army appeared: it was the dear King with his Northern army and he had a solution to the problem that didn't involve losing any more of his trained solders - the fate of the castle would be decided by a football match!

Thus a few days later the two teams assembled, the King had decreed no weapons and as both sides prepared to play, the King wisely had his own men search the participants. Within a hour there was a pile of swords, daggers, crossbows and axes piled up by the castle gate. The King gave Lady Maude a very stern look when two very sharp hair pins were found - she went a little red but nothing was said.

The referee was the Kings herald; Sir Basil de Nobsway, a knight famed for his honesty and loyalty, he had held the post for some years despite being blind and incontinent, many a battle had to be paused whilst he was 'excused'. The King had constructed a great pavilion from which to view the sport and insisted that Lady Maude take her place next to him, whilst Sir Larde ran up and down our players line with the magic bucket and sponge - it was full of ale, not water and there were dozens of buckets.

I had elected myself Captain and wore a bright pink armband that Max had found - Sir Clarence wore a black one and kept making 'throat cutting' signs to me - but we shook hands and the Herald tossed a peasant for who kicked off.

The serf landed with a skull thumping crash; "Heads!" yelled the old Herald, that was a good sign since Sir Clarence had called 'Arse's'. Our cheerleaders jumped about lifting their skirts and showing their bare arses to the opposition supporters, the local brothel Keeper Mrs. Kate Coxstanding had allowed her girls the time off to aid our cause.

The only Cheerleaders the opposition could muster was the local vicar, two fat old ladies, a donkey called Oswald and three Welsh hat makers dressed in bright pink tunics. I now know where Max purchased my armband.

The rules were explained; there weren't any.

"THAT'S FUCKING OFFSIDE...WHATEVER THAT MEANS!"

At 3pm the great football game of Deathpit Castle kicked off with about three hundred players a side. Half-time was at midnight and the following day we changed ends (well, it was villages actually.....) Two days later the final trumpet was sounded and someone had actually found the ball!

As we all lay around drinking ale and having our wounds dressed, the herald's men gave the result:

"NO GOALS SCORED BY EITHER TEAM! Sir Clarence had thirteen men sent off because they killed someone." The crowd booed at that.

The Heralds continued; "Sir Tom was allowed thirteen substitutes during the game." The crowd cheered that one. "THE RESULT IS A DRAW AND EXTRA TIME WILL BE PLAYED!"

Everyone cheered and two days extra time was decided. During the game I encountered Sir Clarence a couple of times; he tried to poke my eyes out with his long fingers so I kicked him in the testicles - now that's what I call a draw!

As with all great English sporting occasions; it pissed with rain and struggling in mud became part of the fun, then almost despair for the brave Castle side: Sir Clarence held the ball aloft and declared victory. There was total silence for a few seconds, then the Herald disallowed the goal - the ball was a peasants head cunningly wrapped in leather!

There was a huge cheer as the game continued and Sir Clarence sulked at the rear until the King put his boot up his arse and told him to get on with it. The King was being entertained by our "cheerleaders" and had definitely mellowed after Mrs. Coxstanding showed him the tricks she acquired at North Moor Abbey - the Monks there certainly knew how to pass long winter evenings with just string and honey for amusement.

Then a miracle! A real gold plated miracle! A sign from God himself!

As I washed the mud from my eyes and mouth, something hard bounced off my head and I grabbed it with both hands. To my amazement it was the ball!

I held it aloft and shouted; "Victory!"

Then as everyone started cheering, I noticed Norman sneaking back into his stable - he always did know how to kick bloody well......

Sir Larde and I was carried shoulder high to the King, who announced that victory was ours and that Lady Maude's marriage was dissolved, but we had to give Castle Deathpit back to old misery guts because he would sulk.

That's when the Royal messenger arrived, leaping from his horse and gasping for breath as he informed the King that God IV himself had arrived in the village of Little Bogging and was looking for a Sir Tomas de Pratt - A 'brown trouser' moment was an understatement.

Now what?