I’m going to …’ She struggled to find an elegant turn of phrase. ‘Perform my ablutions. Please don’t come behind the tent.’
‘She’s not wrong, is she?’ said Conrad to Humphrey, as Elaine disappeared around the side of her tent.
‘No,’ said Humphrey, his eyes on the space where she had been a moment ago. ‘She’s not.’
Eleven
Despite Elaine’s misgivings, they continued to stop at all the forges along the road towards Sir Alistair’s home, which was located at the far end of Tuft. Apart from checking on the buyers of black armour, Humphrey knew that smiths had loud voices – not only in that they had to shout above the tumult of the forge, but also in the sense that with so many travellers stopping to have their horses seen to, news travelled fast from smithy to smithy. If there were any rumours about the identity of the Knight in Black, a forge would be a good place to pick them up. Unfortunately, what happened was that word of their quest preceded them on the forge grapevine, making the smiths more recalcitrant and forcing the cost of bribes up.
They all hated visiting the forges, Humphrey included. Forges were stuffy, noisy and cramped, clouded with thick smoke that choked their eyes and throats and left their skin smeared with soot. But the more restless Conrad and Elaine became, the more Humphrey insisted on stopping at each and every forge, refusing to be in the wrong. Humphrey thought it was a bit rich for the two of them to complain; they weren’t the ones who had to fight duels with every black-armour-wearing miscreant in Tuft, sometimes several in a day. When Conrad moaned that he was getting blisters from having to chop down so many trees to make lances, Humphrey stripped to his britches to show them both the huge yellow and purple bruises he was covered in from having been knocked off his horse so many times. Whatever hemight claim, fifteen years without a quest made even the best of knights quite rusty when it came to jousting.
Meanwhile, although they still tried to ride incognito, they could hardly camouflage the individual who – to his vast irritation – was becoming known as Sir Humphrey’s monster-riding jester. They were assailed at every turn by people who wanted to see Jemima for themselves, or who had heard that touching her thick grey hide would cure any ailment. Others, knowing that there was a knight travelling with the famous monster, chased after the group with quests of their own, which they hoped to entice Humphrey to take on.
‘This,’ Humphrey told Elaine, ‘is why I don’t travel in armour. A knight’s work is never done. Rescuing damsels, fighting sorceresses, getting cats out of trees, opening tight jars. And all for honour, God’s least fungible reward.’
And yet he was in no hurry to finish this quest. Back at Camelot, he’d got up late, eaten, drunk, gambled, caroused, got bored, got fat. That was his life. He hadn’t realised how much he’d missed this: being on his horse, out in the world, with a sense of purpose for once. Even the fights were becoming exhilarating, as the more practice he got, the more often he won. As for having Elaine riding beside him – beautiful, funny, smart Elaine, who not only sang along with Conrad’s dirty travelling songs but made up extra verses – who wouldn’t want that to carry on for as long as possible? Of course, he reminded himself, she was betrothed. But perhaps, if it took him a long time to complete the quest … long enough for the kidnapper to tire of Sir Alistair …
What, and so the kidnapper kills him
?
That’s your happy ending
? He tried again. What if he never found Sir Alistair …
So he stays locked up for ever, while you deflower his bride
? There was no satisfactory answer. But for as long as he didn’t find Sir Alistair while still being able to demonstrate that he was looking, he felt that could enjoy being with Elaine without guilt.
Elaine, however, was growing more
‘She’s not wrong, is she?’ said Conrad to Humphrey, as Elaine disappeared around the side of her tent.
‘No,’ said Humphrey, his eyes on the space where she had been a moment ago. ‘She’s not.’
Eleven
Despite Elaine’s misgivings, they continued to stop at all the forges along the road towards Sir Alistair’s home, which was located at the far end of Tuft. Apart from checking on the buyers of black armour, Humphrey knew that smiths had loud voices – not only in that they had to shout above the tumult of the forge, but also in the sense that with so many travellers stopping to have their horses seen to, news travelled fast from smithy to smithy. If there were any rumours about the identity of the Knight in Black, a forge would be a good place to pick them up. Unfortunately, what happened was that word of their quest preceded them on the forge grapevine, making the smiths more recalcitrant and forcing the cost of bribes up.
They all hated visiting the forges, Humphrey included. Forges were stuffy, noisy and cramped, clouded with thick smoke that choked their eyes and throats and left their skin smeared with soot. But the more restless Conrad and Elaine became, the more Humphrey insisted on stopping at each and every forge, refusing to be in the wrong. Humphrey thought it was a bit rich for the two of them to complain; they weren’t the ones who had to fight duels with every black-armour-wearing miscreant in Tuft, sometimes several in a day. When Conrad moaned that he was getting blisters from having to chop down so many trees to make lances, Humphrey stripped to his britches to show them both the huge yellow and purple bruises he was covered in from having been knocked off his horse so many times. Whatever hemight claim, fifteen years without a quest made even the best of knights quite rusty when it came to jousting.
Meanwhile, although they still tried to ride incognito, they could hardly camouflage the individual who – to his vast irritation – was becoming known as Sir Humphrey’s monster-riding jester. They were assailed at every turn by people who wanted to see Jemima for themselves, or who had heard that touching her thick grey hide would cure any ailment. Others, knowing that there was a knight travelling with the famous monster, chased after the group with quests of their own, which they hoped to entice Humphrey to take on.
‘This,’ Humphrey told Elaine, ‘is why I don’t travel in armour. A knight’s work is never done. Rescuing damsels, fighting sorceresses, getting cats out of trees, opening tight jars. And all for honour, God’s least fungible reward.’
And yet he was in no hurry to finish this quest. Back at Camelot, he’d got up late, eaten, drunk, gambled, caroused, got bored, got fat. That was his life. He hadn’t realised how much he’d missed this: being on his horse, out in the world, with a sense of purpose for once. Even the fights were becoming exhilarating, as the more practice he got, the more often he won. As for having Elaine riding beside him – beautiful, funny, smart Elaine, who not only sang along with Conrad’s dirty travelling songs but made up extra verses – who wouldn’t want that to carry on for as long as possible? Of course, he reminded himself, she was betrothed. But perhaps, if it took him a long time to complete the quest … long enough for the kidnapper to tire of Sir Alistair …
What, and so the kidnapper kills him
?
That’s your happy ending
? He tried again. What if he never found Sir Alistair …
So he stays locked up for ever, while you deflower his bride
? There was no satisfactory answer. But for as long as he didn’t find Sir Alistair while still being able to demonstrate that he was looking, he felt that could enjoy being with Elaine without guilt.
Elaine, however, was growing more
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