Writing for Fun
May 2018
Definitely, Maybe - Jan Norman
King Aga had guests – his cousin, King Otto Von Grotto and his Queen, Gouda, had come all the way from the Netherlands on a surprise visit.
As part of the entertainments for his visitors King Aga had decided to arrange a jousting tournament. He would match his brave knights of his nearly round table against the knights of King Otto’s retinue.
The day of the tournament dawned bright but very breezy. The first out on the tourney was Otto’s Sir Gotfried Fatwhiskers, a huge bear of a man clad from head to foot in black plated armour. Following him was King Aga’s knight, Sir Goes Berserk a Lot – a Scotsman with fiery red hair and whiskers. The home crowd clapped and cheered then gasped as they realised that their favourite and usually fearsome knight was not wearing full body armour. He strode out, his helmet and breast plate gleaming in the sun but sporting below only his kilt with armoured sporran swinging as he swaggered along. They were astonished. What was he thinking? Had he not seen the size of his opponent? Today he was either being a really brave man or had gone mad.
Both knights stood before King Aga and bowed. His Queen, Give it Here, had always admired Sir Goes Berserk a Lot and, eying his kilt, gave him a saucy wink before making him her champion by giving him her favour, a little red handkerchief. Sir Goes Berserk a Lot blushed the same colour as his hair and winked back. The Queen in turn blushed and simpered, annoying Aga immensely.
The excited crowd watched as both knights faced each other from opposite ends of the Tourney. Mounted and with lances aimed both watched the King’s hand drop and set off at a gallop determined to unseat the other and win.
A sudden gust of wind lifted Sir Goes Berserk a Lot’s kilt up and blew it over his face; the armoured sporran hitting him smack on the nose, bringing tears to his eyes and momentarily dazing him. The spectators gasped but in truth all eyes were riveted on the space where his kilt had been. Now was the moment of truth. Was it true? Did Scotsmen wear nothing under their kilts? The entire crowd of onlookers leaned forwards in their seats to get a better view. There was a crash and screams as the Queen’s Ladies in Waiting, in their eagerness to see, tilted their bench so far forward it collapsed leaving a row of dusty and dishevelled beauties sitting on the ground.
Amelia, the beautiful witch wife of Sir Goes Berserk a Lot, knew only too well what was underneath his kilt and to save his blushes muttered a spell and tapped her wand on the floor – very discreetly of course. Now all that the crowd saw was a splendid pair of hairy legs and chain mail underpants glistening in the sunlight. ‘Oh’s of disappointment echoed round the tourney.
Sir Gotfried of course had seen what was under his opponent’s kilt and, being truly shaken, took his eye off his aim. Scraping his raised kilt from his face Sir Goes Berserk a Lot gained composure and aimed his lance at his opponent’s shield and unseated him. The crowd roared in appreciation but had he won fair and square or had his opponent been unfairly distracted?
Standing once again in front of the King and Queen Sir Goes Berserk a Lot awaited the verdict.
Queen Give it Here screamed, ‘My hero. You have definitely won.’ But King Aga, not a little jealous of his wife’s worship of his knight, frowned and said, ‘Maybe.’
The day wore on. Sir Rust a Lot and Sir Bulging Biceps Von Stud took their places at the tilt. At the drop of the king’s hand Sir Rust a Lot with lance ready shot forward towards his opponent like a rocket. Unfortunately part of his breast plate finally rusted through and fell on his trusty steed, Droopy Knock Knee’s head forcing his horse’s eyes to water and his knees to buckle. In consequence, Sir Rust a Lot’s lance tilted downwards and stuck in the ground and, acting like a vaulting pole, catapulted the poor knight over his falling horses head and hurled him like a cannonball into the chest of Sir Bulging Biceps Von Stud and knocked him off his horse. However, the plucky Von Stud tried to get to his feet, drawing his sword as he did so, determined to fight on foot but Sir Rust a Lot was on his feet first and, grabbing his rusty sword, stood over his opponent. There was no fight as the rusty end of his sword fell off and pinned Von Stud to the ground. The King said Sir Rust a Lot has definitely won but the Queen, who admires bulging muscles, says, ‘Maybe.’
Sir Forget a Lot charged the wrong way and was disqualified. Both king and queen agree – he definitely loses.
Sir Cry a Lot was so upset he cried buckets as he charged and as the knights met his horse skidded in the mud and unseated him. Sir Von Rictus won by default; definitely, no maybe about it.
Sir Cost a Lot came out in full armour encrusted in jewels. As the two knights charged up the tilt the sunlight glinted off his myriad diamonds and rubies blinding his opponent and enabling Sir Cost a Lot to hit his rival first. The king, not seeing the sun shine off the splendid jewels, declares he had won, definitely. His Queen seeing the shine temporarily blinding Von Blockhead says, ‘Maybe.’
Lastly Sir Eat a Lot, as he sat on his horse ready to charge, felt hungry. Pulling a pork pie out of his pocket he rammed it whole into his mouth before realising that the signal had been given to charge. Racing towards his enemy he breathed in crumbs and coughed. The porkpie flew out of his mouth and hit Sir Frederick Proudly-Poor’s horse on nose. Spooked the horse reared and Sir Proudly-Poor felt his lance begin to tilt upwards. Being so near to Sir Eat a Lot it snagged his waist belt and flung him into the air like a metal missile. The crowd gasped as he headed for the awning above the King and Queen’s thrones. Not waiting to see where he would land the Queen dived to the ground making her gown filthy. King Aga roared as Sir Eat a Lot hit the canvas over their majesties. His pointed visor dug into the material and as gravity pulled him he could find no purchase and so slithered slowly down the awning and with a ripping sound dropped over the edge and landed with a plop at the king’s feet, grinning feebly. The Queen declared, ‘Definitely not!’ and the king, by now amused, said, ‘Maybe.’
The king, not having had so much fun in years declared, at the end of the tournament, that this time there was no maybe about it. All the contestants would win prize money as this time it had not been so much the winning but the taking part that had counted . . . definitely.