Sir Bertrand and the Dragon

Sir Bertrand was stretching his bulging muscles in his hall after a hard day of hunting when the king's herald was ushered into his presence. Sir Bertrand guessed immediately that he was going to be summoned on yet another quest. He sighed; had he not already dispatched the wild Wyrm of Wyndham, the diabolical Demon of Darkwood, and the gruesome Gryphon of Gowondaland? Could he not catch a break?

The herald cleared his throat, preparatory to delivering his message, when Sir Bertrand interrupted him.

"Good herald," he said, his tone weary, "thou art commanded to deliver me a quest, no doubt, and one of the first importance; for when are they not of the first importance? But I would point out to you that your master and our liege lord has yet to pay me for my consultancy work on the Mad Medusa problem, nor for my previous work in eradicating the various threats to the kingdom."

"'Tis true," the herald replied, a shifty look on his face," that my master is a bit lacking in ready coin, but he can offer you something much better that golden ducats. He offers you half the kingdom."

"A princess quest," said Sir Bertrand, his expression deadpan, "I hate princess quests. I presume there is a dragon?"

"Aye, 'tis fierce and fell, and has burnt divers villages to a cinder in the furtherance of its protection racket."

"And the king has offered his daughter to make the ravaging stop but now regrets his bargain. And wants me to rescue her."

"In a nutshell, Sir Bertrand."

Sir Bertrand looked across to his faithful squire, Hubcap.

"And what think you, Hubcap? Can I reject this quest and remain true to my chivalric vows?"

"Sorry, my lord," replied Hubcap, the young handsome squire shaking his head, "whilst this latest request is taking the piss, given your unpaid invoices that have piled up in the king's treasury, you are bounden to rescue the weak, most particularly women. Basically, you're screwed. And because I'm your faithful squire, I'm screwed too."

"There's no loophole?"

"No, my lord, the code of chivalry is particularly clear on this point. And now, if you will give me leave, I will fetch your armour."

Sir Bertrand inclined his head graciously and Hubcap left the hall, shouting for the servants to prepare several packed lunches for the journey.

"So, sir herald, tell me about the princess. I presume she is part of the bargain."

"Of course, Sir Bertrand," replied the herald, laughing, "who ever heard of a knight not receiving the princess's hand in marriage after ridding the kingdom of a dragon?"

"Is she comely?"

"She has hair the colour of summer wheat," said the herald, warming to his task, "and eyes the colour of corn-flowers. She is slender and an accomplished dancer, and verily, elegance drips from her fingertips."

"So she's hot stuff?"

"Indeed, brave knight, she's a ten."

"Well, if I must 'tis better that she were a babe."

Sir Bertrand and Hubcap rode over hill and down dale, aiming for the dragon's lair. The journey was long and upon the first night, just when it seemed that they would sleep upon the open ground Hubcap espied the top of the tallest tower of the castle of Gimcrack. Sir Bertrand urged his horse onwards, followed by his faithful squire and just as night fell they gained admittance to the castle.

They were met by a very fair young maiden in the courtyard. Her hair fell in tumbling tresses, and when she walked towards them her breasts preceded her. As she reached Sir Bertrand she fell upon her knees and tears sprang from her wondrously beautiful eyes.

"Oh sir knight, you are truly the answer to a maiden's prayer! I am kept here by my unworthy, wicked uncle, who seeks to deprive me of my lands. He will not free me until I give up all that he demands, and his requirements are most weird, particularly the stuff with the vegetables that I may not repeat lest I blush. Free me and I will grant you your heart's desire," and she winked as she lifted up her skirt to reveal a shapely leg.

Sir Bertrand sighed as he slumped in his saddle; another quest to complete although at least the promised reward would while away a pleasant evening. He could not help noticing Hubcap gawping at the girl, and he made a mental note to tell his squire to put his tongue back in when they met damsels in distress.

"And where is your wicked uncle, fair maiden?" Sir Bertrand asked, sizing her up as he did so, and deciding that he could happily spend some hours being ministered to by the fine young woman.

"He arrives even now!" The young woman started in terror as a trumpet blared and hooves could be heard galloping over the drawbridge.

The wicked uncle was wearing black armour and Sir Bertrand took an instant dislike to him; black armour was so tedious and he was getting sick of wading through clichés. Couldn't the uncle have gone for something in a startling red? Green would make a change. But no, it had to be black. Why he didn't just carry a banner proclaiming him as an evil robber-baron was beyond Sir Bertrand.

"Sir Knight!" Sir Bertrand said theatrically, "you have unfairly imprisoned your sweet niece, who is a fine bit of stuff who should be gracing the king's court. Wherefore I shall free her and restore her to her inheritance. Stand aside or pay the price."

"Not bleedin' likely, mate," said the wicked uncle, lowering his lance and spurring on his steed.

"Your funeral!" said Sir Bertrand, as he too spurred his horse and lowered his lance, ready for battle.

The steeds thundered towards each other, razor sharp lance points held steady for the collision. Sir Bertrand and the wicked uncle closed on each other, their horses hooves a blur, as the fair young maiden held her hands to her mouth in nerve shattering anticipation of the fight to come (and let us be truthful here, she was also getting one hell of an erotic charge out of seeing two big, burly knights fighting over her).

The clash resounded around the courtyard as the warhorses neighed and plunged. Sir Bertrand shattered the wicked uncle's shield then drew his sword. A thousand blacksmiths hammering on their anvils would make less noise than that battle. First the wicked uncle held the upper hand, and then Sir Betrand, 'til finally he found the gap in the wicked uncle's armour and the false knight fell, dying, from his horse.

Sir Betrand walked his horse back to the fair maiden who was waiting at the side of the courtyard. Her eyes were aflame and her manner thankful as Sir Bertrand dismounted and knelt in front of her.

"My lady, I have freed you from your wicked uncle, faithful to my knightly vows. Will you now reward me as you promised?"

A cough from behind the young lady attracted their attention.

"I am most frightfully sorry, my lord," began Hubcap as he leafed through a thick tome bearing the title 'Code of Chivalry', "but your prior vow to rescue the princess invalidates any contract made with this lovely young woman whose rescue is not, per se, a quest in itself but falls into the category of 'incident on the road'. Under rule 7.8 of the knightly code, the young woman is hereby released from any vow, promise, guarantee or pledge."

"Err..." said Sir Bertrand.

"Further, and I must tell you this with the deepest regret, my lord, but your prior vow to rescue the princess also prevents you accepting any form of reward for said 'incidents on the road'. In short, my lord, you can't shag her."

The young maiden was looking a touched peeved at this information but Sir Bertrand suspected it was correct. He stood and took the book from Hubcap and leafed to the relevant page.

"'Tis true. I'm stuffed on this one. And I was so looking forward to getting my end away."

"Have no fear, sir, " said Hubcap, "squires are exempt from these rules."

And he looked ardently at the young woman, who returned his lustful gaze with interest.

"Knight? Squire?" she said, "it's all the same to me when they've got muscles like yours. Yep, you'll do. Away to my chamber and let's play the two-backed beast! But no funny stuff with root vegetables, understood?"

"I would not dream of it, my lady," said Hubcap as she grasped his hand, leading him into the Keep and up to her chamber.

Sir Bertrand found sleep difficult that night, wrapped in his cloak as he sat in a chair in front of the dying hearth fire in the Great Hall. He was grumpy to begin with following Hubcap's revelations, and the extended sounds of moans, groans, whimpers and a creaking four poster bed did little to improve his mood.

Hubcap was in fine spirits the following morning as they rode out of the castle, Sir Bertrand less so, particularly as Hubcap detailed the fine delicacies the maiden had plied him with between their bouts of strenuous love-making. Sir Bertrand had had to make do with a packed lunch.

The ride on the second day proved to be as long as the first, and signs of human habitation were few and far between. Sir Bertrand was already looking for a place to camp when Hubcap spotted a tall tower in the distance. They cantered towards the setting sun and arrived at the tower as dusk was gathering. They rode around the base of the tower but there was no sign of a door. They called up to the single window but no reply had they. Finally Sir Bertrand found a long, thick strand of hair, and motioning to Hubcap to join him, began to climb up.

Hubcap fumbled for his flint and steel as they stepped into the darkened tower room. He stuck the flint several times and finally lit a small flame with his tinder. A small fire was soon burning in the fireplace and Hubcap lit some candles. In their light Sir Bertrand saw a most beautiful young woman lying asleep on a bed in the middle of the chamber. Hubcap had clearly seen her too, as the sound of his lips as he smacked them was most disturbing to Sir Bertrand.

"And what does the code say this time?" asked Sir Bertrand, keen for his squire to focus on something other than the perky nipple peeping out of the young woman's nightdress.

"As I thought, my lord," said Hubcap as he found the relevant page, "you must kiss the maiden to awaken her."

"And does the code mention anything about not accepting rewards?"

"I'm sorry, my lord," said Hubcap with what Sir Bertrand felt was a slightly shifty tone, "it's most damnably dark in here. If you continue with the rescue I will endeavour to shine some more light on the small print."

Sir Bertrand stood over the young woman, feeling his desire stir as he gazed down at her long blonde hair (the very same that curled across the floor and out of the window, thus providing them with a rope) and her fine figure, clearly outlined against the thin muslin of her nightdress. He felt his fingers twitch, and he dearly hoped to be able to disrobe her in the near future, accepting his due reward (several times, from the looks of her).

He bent down and took her cheek gently in his palm, turning her face towards him as his lips hovered over hers. His kiss was ardent and gentle, powerful and pure, and the young woman opened her eyes wide in wonderment as sleep left her.

"Oh, sir knight," she said breathlessly, "thou hast me all hot and bothered."

"And you, sweet lady, have me yearning most tenderly," said Sir Bertrand before a gentle cough stopped him short, "and yet I fear my good squire may be the bearer of ill-tidings."

"Indeed, my lord," said Hubcap, and Sir Bertrand swore he saw a leering grin on the squire's face, "I'm afraid that subsection 8D of the code is quite explicit. A young woman imprisoned in a tower attains priority in a knight's esteem with the exception of those occasions when he is travelling to rescue a princess from a dragon," and Hubcap pointed out the particular clause. It was airtight.

"And is there another chamber here, my lady, one with perchance a comfortable bed and a large steak?"

"Sir knight, thou hast strange desires. And as for this tower, I have been asleep these past one hundred years. Mayhap the servants have rearranged the place and there may be an extra chamber. But I know not."

Hubcap pulled Sir Bertrand to one side, a serious look in his eyes.

"My lord," murmured Hubcap, setting out his stall, "this young lady has been deprived for a century, as we hear from her own lips. She has been awakened and is all a-quiver, yet the code prohibits you from fully satisfying her."

Both men looked over at the young maiden as she stretched her body, her breasts standing proud as she freed herself from the aches of a century of sleep.

"Let me," continued Hubcap, "fulfil this last part of the rescue. If I do this for you then honour will be satisfied."

"And I'm sure it will be such a hardship for you," Sir Bertrand said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

"Well," said Hubcap as he gazed at the woman, who was now standing in front of the fire, her figure clearly seen through her flimsy garment, "I'm sure it will be tiring, but if you are to face the dragon you must be in tip-top condition. And the code is clear on this point."

"Who wrote this bloody code, anyway?" grumbled Sir Bertrand.

"The wise ancients, my lord."

"Well, bugger them!"

Sir Bertrand poked around in the shadows and looked behind the tapestries but no door could he find. Hubcap was already enfolding the maiden in his embrace when Sir Bertrand returned, hrumphing to attract their attention.

"I'm terribly sorry, miss, but I appear to be stuck. May I take the liberty of climbing down your hair. Unless, that is, you wish an audience," Sir Bertrand finished hopefully.

"Oh. Yeah. Whatever." And the maiden locked her lips against Hubcap's as Sir Bertrand carried her surplus tresses to the window and cast them out. He took one last look at his faithful squire, the maiden's nipple now firmly grasped between his forefinger and thumb as she gasped in pleasure, and swung his leg over the window sill and disappeared.

If there was one small mercy, Sir Bertrand considered it to be that the horses had strayed and it took him half the night to find them and bring them back to the tower. But there the mercy ended, for even as Sir Bertrand wrapped himself in his cloak and lay on the cold hard ground he heard the sounds of moans, groans, whimpers and a creaking four poster bed. To make matters worse, he unwrapped the last of his packed lunches only to find it was corned beef sandwiches. Yuk.

Sir Bertrand awoke to find Hubcap standing nearby, humming and dancing a little jig.

"Good morrow, my lord!" Hubcap called out cheerfully.

"Hubcap, we must needs have words over your behaviour."

"Yes, my lord?"

"I fear that you have been taking advantage of my good nature and cupidity."

"Perish the thought, my lord," and Hubcap appeared genuinely shocked.

"And yet, Hubcap, I have spent the last two nights in discomfort whilst you, my supposedly faithful henchman, have enjoyed the rewards of my chivalrous endeavours."

"Yes, well, my lord, it's the code..."

"Hubcap, I have my eye on you."

Sir Bertrand vaulted into his saddle and galloped off, leaving Hubcap to struggle onto the back of his own horse, a pleasing ache hindering him somewhat. The ache became less pleasing during the hard ride that Hubcap endured, attempting to keep pace with his infuriated master. Finally, as the third day of the journey eased towards night Sir Bertrand slackened his pace.

The bold knight reined in his horse as he reached the crest of a hill, and Hubcap joined him a touch wearily. Beneath them in a narrow vale lay a village with the telltale sign outside a tavern. Sir Bertrand hummed a little tune in his happiness, for a tavern meant a bed, and warm food, and a chance to make his squire sleep in the stables for a change.

However, as they rode into the village it became clear that all was not well. Of villagers there was no sign, nor even of dogs and chickens. Sir Bertrand glanced at Hubcap and let his hand rest on the hilt of his sword, and his squire did likewise. Outside the tavern they dismounted, tethering their horses. Sir Bertrand carefully opened the tavern door and peered inside, then relaxed and pushed the door wide open.

Inside the tavern were the village men, clustered around the bar, morose expressions on their faces as they nursed their tankards of ale. The air of depressed gloom in the tavern was palpable and Sir Bertrand was on the point of turning and leaving, better to find himself a cheerful tree to sleep beneath when the innkeeper bustled over to him.

"Brave sir knight," began the innkeeper, "you are well met indeed."

"What is it? Werewolves, or vampires, or ghouls?"

"Vikings, bold sir. They have captured our women folk and hold them for ransom at the Blasted Oak. But the ransom they seek is way too high. Particularly with the recent downturn in the economy. There's no way we can get our hands on that kind of moolah."

"Hubcap, I presume that I must rescue said women folk?"

Hubcap was already leafing through the Code of Chivalry, nodding to himself as he sucked in the air between his teeth.

"Forthwith, my lord, I am afraid."

"And I presume that the Blasted Oak isn't, for example, the name of a tavern in the next village."

"Indeed not, sir knight," said the innkeeper, his eyes widening in fear, "it is the lone tree in the centre of Harpy's Heath."

"Yes, it would be. Come then, Hubcap, we have work to do," said Sir Bertrand, with considerably less enthusiasm than the assembled patrons in the tavern expected, "do you have any idea the last time I slept in a bed?" This last was to the confused innkeeper.

The moonlight cast fantastical shadows across Harpy's Heath as Sir Bertrand and Hubcap rode towards the Blasted Oak, its outlines clear even from a distance. The raucous sounds of a Viking knees-up echoed across the heath and our brave heroes were regaled with such ninth century hits as 'You're going to get your fucking head kicked in' and 'How's it feel to have no legs?' Clearly this would degenerate into a battle royal.

Sir Bertrand and Hubcap dismounted some distance from the Vikings and crept closer. The Vikings were clearly visible, sitting around their fire and quaffing copiously from horns of mead. The village women were a little distance from them, locked in a large wooden cage. The Vikings had got around to discussing which of the women they would have once the villagers failed to cough up the ransom on the morrow. Obviously, it was time to act.

"Hubcap, you take the six on the left whilst I..." whispered Sir Bertrand.

"Sorry, my lord, but I can't," Hubcap whispered back.

"How so?"

"The code is explicit. When facing a horde of Vikings the hero must defeat them single-handedly. It's underlined twice so I suspect it is a point of vital importance."

"And how can you read the code in this light?"

"I checked before we left the tavern. I'm only really here to hold your horse."

"Bloody typical," whispered Sir Bertrand as he stood, his mood fouler than in many a year. He drew his sword and stepped forward into the firelight.

Hubcap marveled at just how much pure fury can influence the outcome of a battle between one man and a shipload of Vikings. Occasionally he had to duck as an arm, leg or head flew close to him. Sir Bertrand was raging and even the boldest Viking could not stand against him. As the last gurgling death cry faded across the heath Hubcap stood and went forward to congratulate the knight.

Sir Bertrand was already freeing the women, whose gratitude was clear.

"Corr, look at the arse on that!"

"He can sheath his sword in me anyday!"

"A-hugheda-hugheda-hugheda!"

These and other similar compliments were swirling around the heath and Sir Bertrand was finding his armoured codpiece a touch uncomfortable, and certainly most unforgiving in matters of 'stretch'. A particular tone of cough, one he had learnt to dread, attracted him to the regretful expression on Hubcap's face.