The Maiden at Comfry

*** If you enjoyed my sci-fi series Space Relations, this novella has a similar format. It is less about the sex in this one, and more about the innuendo and the story. ***

Sir Longenhard sat brooding at the tavern bar, swirling the last of the swill at the bottom of his mug. He drank the rot, at the same time recalling better times when the ale tasted proper and satisfying. Those better times were long past now.

The forty-year-old knight slammed his mug on the tavern hard enough to cause several of the other patrons to turn in his direction. He glared at the tender. "One more mug of your filth, cretin. I dare say your worthless ale was fermented by your own piss."

"Ha!" The tender scoffed. "I'll chew on some cinnamon next time I have me-self a drink, then. That should fix up the taste of my ale, ay? Once I've emptied out me cock into the barrel? If you've still got a few pennies left, I'll be more than glad to serve you up another piss-ale, or ale-piss, as you please."

Longenhard reached for the small purse tied to his belt. He grimaced as he took in its meager contents, before spilling out a plethora of pennies, ha'pennies, and farthings onto the short counter. "Here's all of it. Keep the ale coming until it's all gone."

The tender came and looked over the collection. The old knight probably didn't know he had damn near a crown sitting on the bar, the greedy tender thought. It would be very easy to short-change him in the drunken, depressed stupor he was in. The man had just reached out to sweep the coins into his large apron pocket, when a short sword came to rest on his forearm. The tender looked up to see two strapping young knights in fancy, sleeveless jackets, tunics and long stockings, staring back at him.

"Take what is due to you, and not a penny more." The knight who'd drawn his sword said. Although his voice was gentle, there was an underlying current of menace present beneath it.

The tender smiled, for he much valued the use of his arm. "O'course, 'at's what I meant to do. Care for anything for yourselves?"

"Some mutton, a good bread and some cheese, for the two of us." The knight requested, as he withdrew his sword from the tender's limb and sheathed it away into its leather frog.

"Only the finest." The tender nodded and quickly stepped away.

The two young knights took seats besides the older one.

"I knew how much I had on the bar." Longenhard commented, as he began collecting up his currency. "No simple-minded tender who sells piss for ale would have gotten the best of me."

"We had to make sure." The young knight smiled. "I'm Brom, and this is Frendel."

The men shook hands. All three had very strong grips.

"Longenhard." The old knight replied. "That is my name."

"What ails thee, old man?" Brom asked. "We heard the anger in your voice as we stepped in."

"Nothing but the present, dismal state of the world." The old knight admitted. "When I was younger, the unconquered territories teemed with adventures and maidens needing rescue. Now, everything has been conquered and there is nothing new left under the sun."

"We sympathize with you, old man." Frendel nodded. "We ourselves are on our way to the northern end of England, for we hear that the Vikings have begun raiding our settlements there again."

"Have they now?" Longenhard asked, once again reminiscing better times. "Vikings. Now there's an enemy worthy of proving your mettle against. If I were ten years younger, I'd join you myself, but I'm afraid I can no longer dodge a flying axe the way I once did."

"Tis only a rumor, anyway." Brom added. "Perhaps there is nothing to it."

"Imagine traveling halfway across the country of England on a wild goose chase." Frendel shook his head. "We wouldn't have any currency left to make it back."

Longenhard laughed. "It's happened to me, lad. More than once! There is nothing like being stranded in a priory full of feeble monks, with no women to be found for a dozen miles in any direction."

The bartender came back with three full mugs. "Here you go, Longenhard, and two for your new friends as well. Complimentary, o'course."

"We thank you for the hospitality." Brom said, graciously. "Perhaps we'll consider recommending your tavern to any travelers we might run into, on our travels to the north."

"In that case, let me get you some of my better ale." The tender turned abruptly, without dropping off a single mug.

"I knew he had better ale hidden somewhere." Longenhard grumbled. "The soulless cur."

They continued to converse, pausing when the tender came back. Three mugs were left in the man's wake. This time, the three knights were quick to grab them.

Longenhard took the first sip. "Well, it doesn't taste like the usual piss, although it does have a certain flavor, as if it has been farted upon for an entire night."

The other two men laughed.

"A good maiden to be rescued, that's what I need." Longenhard winked. "To get my spirits up, if you know what I mean."

"Interesting that you should mention that." Brom replied. "We ran into a minstrel a day or two ago. He made a curious mention regarding a maiden."

"Wettanreddy." Frendel said. "That was her name, wasn't it?"

"Yes, it was." Brom nodded, turning toward the old knight. "It is a curious tale, if you'd like to hear it?"

"Of course. Please go on."

"Are you familiar with Comfry?" Brom asked.

"I have passed through that country, a time or two."

"Well, the town was too far out of our way, so we didn't get close enough to confirm any of this." Brom went on. "But according to the minstrel, it seems that a new lord has taken over the land. His name was, what was it again, Frendel?"

"Rodolfus Garvel. Better known as Rodolfus the Toad."

"Frendel is so much better at remembering names than I am. Well, this Toad person has taken over the land through some sort of skullduggery. He's done what these corrupt lords always do; steal land from the poor and raise taxes and all that. In order to become the envy of his subjects, this Toad has appropriated for himself the most beautiful damsel in his new kingdom. The maiden's surname is Wettanreddy. As it happens in these cases, the maiden does not love her lord. The result is that he's locked her up in a tower in his castle."

"The scoundrel!" Longenhard snapped. "It seems as if they build those towers expressly for the purpose of locking up damsels within them! When will this tragedy ever end?"

Brom continued. "According to the minstrel, this Toad has placed a chastity belt on the maiden. He's recently gone abroad for some reason or another, leaving the damsel under lock and key."

Frendel cut in. "Rodolfus means to trade his excess flour for spices, if what the minstrel said is true."

"The result is that the maiden is waiting there in the tower, good and ripe for a knight to come to her rescue." Brom finished off. "We would have gone after her ourselves, except we don't know whether or not to believe the storyteller's story. And as I said before, Comfry lies in a completely different direction than our intended destination does."

"If we did rescue her," Frendel joked. "We'd be fighting over who would be the first to take her virginity."

"There is that." Brom agreed. "Better to fight against the Viking horde, than to end up maiming ourselves over a single woman. Where is the honor in that?"

"Did the minstrel describe this damsel?" Longenhard asked.

"Ah, yes." Brom nodded. "And very well, he did. Tresses like the rays of the sun, a face like Eve's, lips like wine, and my favorite, breasts like small, twin moons."

The old knight sighed. "A pity I'm so old and ragged, else I'd be tempted to find out if all this were true or not for my self."

"You should brush up on your poetry, old man," Frendel said. "For the minstrel did in fact say that in the damsel's dreams, she had foreseen a man coming to her aid, and that he was long and hard for her."

The young men were teasing him now, the old knight grinned.

A sudden realization came to Brom. "The minstrel did say that, didn't he? He said those very words, long and hard. And what a coincidence because your surname is Longenhard! I swear to you, old sir, on the Legend of the Round Table of King Arturos, that is exactly what the minstrel said."

Longenhard chuckled, but the truth of it was, he didn't know quite what to make of the story. "Your tale bears pondering, I suppose."

"The maiden also said that her rescuer would come not with a short sword but with a lance!" Frendel recalled, proud that he had remembered so much, when Brom had not.

Brom happened to glance down at Sir Longenhard's crotch. "That's quite a codpiece, old man."

(A codpiece is an accessory shaped in the form of a phallus, which knights of old wore around their waist to promote their virility. Certain African tribes still wear codpieces to this present day.)

Longenhard looked stricken.

"What is it, old sir?" Brom sniggered. "Have I drawn attention to something you'd much rather not have exposed? Have you a wee Willie, Sir Longenhard?"

"My codpiece is not merely for show."

"Right." Brom nodded. "Your codpiece has got to be ten inches long and as fat as my wrist. Do you really mean to tell me that your cock is that size?"

Without another word, Sir Longenhard stepped off the stool and undid the strap holding his codpiece to his waist. The codpiece fell to the floor.

Both Brom and Frendel gasped in terror and jumped back so fast, their stools fell to the ground. The rest of the crowd glanced over to see what had transpired, and came upon the sight of Sir Longenhard's kingly piece. A collective "Oooooohh." could be heard in the tavern.

"By the royal crown, put that thing away!" Brom insisted. "Do you really use that thing on women?"

The old knight shrugged. "Part of it, anyway. The other part has nowhere to go. I'll have you know as well that I've been calling it The Lance ever since my balls dropped."

"The maiden's dream was a prophecy!" Frendel suggested. "You are the long and hard knight she dreamt of, because your surname is Longenhard. You bring the lance with you instead of the short sword, just as she said you would! It cannot possibly be a coincidence!"

The old knight slid the long codpiece back over his cock and considered the words. "I must dwell on this."

"No, you cannot." Frendel said. "You must act and act at once. The minstrel also related that this beautiful damsel is at the point of taking her own life, because she so abhors the thought of her betrothed forcing himself upon her! This is prophecy, man!"

"What do you suggest?" Longenhard asked. "I have no horse and I must supply myself with provisions for such a long journey. As you saw yourself, I have less than a crown left in my purse."

"If you have no horse then you must get a horse!" Frendel resolved. "And the same with your provisions. But now, at once, you must let the damsel know that you exist, or you risk that she might be dead by the time you reach her!"

Longenhard stared hard at the two young men. "May your horses drag you down a rocky hillside, if you are lying to me."

"We cannot lie!" Brom replied. The man fumbled with his collar until he pulled out a necklace. On its end was the symbol of the Round Table. "We have sworn fealty to the code of King Arturos, to uphold what we know is true. We are forbidden to lie!"

In Longenhard's mind, the matter was instantly settled. He turned toward the crowd. "Is there a courier in the tavern? I need a courier at once!"

One hunched man crept forward. "I am a courier, sir. Forgive me, sir, but I was eavesdropping for the entire conversation. I have keen ears, ya know."

"That is well, for it saves me the trouble of retelling the entire account." The old knight dismissed the fault. "Will you go to Comfry in my name, for four shillings?"

"I will indeed, sir."

"Are you versed in ink and paper?"

"I am not, sir." The man shook his head. "But I do have an excellent memory. I will repeat your words to the lady exactly as you have spoken them to me. I promise I will. May you remove my tongue if I am wrong."

"Very well, I shall hold you to that statement." Longenhard nodded. "Take this message to the lady Wettanready at Comfry." He took a deep breath. "My lady, I send this missive to inform you that a knight such as the one that haunts your dreams does in fact exist. I am Sir Longenhard of Aberfeld. I carry not a short sword, but a great, golden lance. I will have you know this: Whether it be by horse or on foot, I come for thee. Let not the mountains, nor the valleys, nor the threat of thy betrothed forbid my travels, nor hinder my speed and fervor. Let the fire that now burns within my loins for thee, my dear maiden, spur my body to advance to the tower where thou has been imprisoned. As the cock crows upon the morrow, I shall set off for thee. That is all, courier."

All at once, the patrons in the tavern stood up started cheering and clapping. Even the crusty bartender wiped a grimy tear from his eye.

"That was an excellent message, for an old man." Brom complimented him.

"I do have some experience in this sort of thing." Longenhard grinned. "I have studied quite a bit of the language of Forsooth."

"Wait, can you start again?" The courier scratched his head. "I got as far as 'take this message'."

Longenhard frowned.

"A joke, sir." The courier had a good laugh. "Ha ha ha! I've memorized the entire message, don't you worry about that."

"You are a strange one." The old knight eyed him warily. "Now, let us be off to the map-maker. I will have two maps made to mark my route, so that you may better find me upon your return."

Once he dismissed himself from the two young knights, Longenhard and his messenger left the tavern. The old knight was happy that at long last, he had a worthy challenge ahead of him.

The following day, Sir Longenhard settled his account at the inn and bathed in the horse trough. Since the purchase of a steed or even a mule was beyond his means, he simply began walking south and in the general direction of Comfry.

Luck was with him, for a straw merchant happened by at the time of the sun's zenith in the sky. The old knight offered the merchant a sixpence to ride in the back of his carriage.

"Have you a good sword, old knight?" The merchant asked.

"I have." Longenhard patted his sheathed weapon, which was secured to his side.

"I hear there may be bandits in these parts." The merchant pointed at the road ahead. "But I cannot afford to hire a swordsman to fend these thieves off. If you would pledge to defend my carriage, I will allow you to ride as long as you wish."

"I give you my word." Sir Longenhard agreed. "I will defend your carriage with my life."

"Very well." The merchant nodded. "You may ride along."

By evening, they'd reached the township of Lynn, which had a stone wall bordering its northeastern half, and a wide, fortified ditch on its southeastern end. The entire west end of Lynn faced the ocean, and two rivers ran through it, making it a hospitable place for travelers and merchants. The merchant, a man by the name of Wayland, paid the toll at the town gate. The toll was for the privilege of passing unencumbered through town, as well as for sleeping safely just inside the township's south gate for the night.

As the darkness was falling upon them, Wayland reached the south gate and parked his straw-laden wagon next to a row of similarly loaded vehicles. A constable came by and introduced himself, stating that sentries would be on patrol the entire night. The guards would make sure that the merchants and their goods would not be disturbed.

"This is a good town." Wayland nodded, as he led Longenhard to a large campfire. Food vendors from Lynn and merchants from abroad all congregated together.

The two men ate a pottage of oats, beans and turnips, and drank some fairly tasteless and watery ale. They heard a few harrowing tales of wagons being attacked just south of the city. One of the merchants asked Wayland if he were afraid of bandits.

"I am not." The man replied, after which he pointed at the old knight. "I have hired a great warrior to protect me from thieves. This is Sir Longenhard of Aberfeld. Though he may be a bit long in the tooth, he still has a fighter's instincts. He will be more than a match for any bandits that we may come across."

The merchants all turned to stare at the sturdy looking knight.

"Of course," The merchant went on. "For a small fee, you yourselves could benefit from Sir Longenhard's battle prowess and ride along in my caravan. We shall depart from here at the break of dawn."

Longenhard couldn't help but smile, as he knew that Wayland was doing what any other savvy businessman would be doing in his place.

Once the two men returned to their carriage, Wayland leaned close to whisper, "Of course, I will share a small percentage of my earnings with you."

"Of course." The old knight nodded in agreement, for he had long ago grown accustomed to the ways of the world.

The next morning, no less than seven additional wagons had joined up with Wayland's. As they set out, Longenhard calculated that such a large contingent would undoubtedly attract bandits by the hordes. He quickly assessed the combat skills of all the drivers, and organized the strongest ones at the front and rear of the caravan.

All was going well, until Longenhard spotted a lone horseman at the crest of the hill. The old knight had been scouting ahead on foot, but now jogged up to Wayland's carriage to order the merchant to halt.

"Why stop?" Wayland complained. "You saw one man and nothing more."

They'd been traveling through a wide, grassy plain, the old knight explained, when he pointed at a great copse of trees half a mile down the road. "That, my friend, is the perfect place for an ambush. Let us stop here and let these bandits come to us instead."

Three sturdy merchants came to his side, armed with maces and short swords. From the copse, no less than ten mounted bandits came out of hiding.

"Stay here, men." Longenhard stated, as he bravely walked out to face the bandits.

The ten thieves halted at a few yards from his position. As they scrutinized him, the old knight was scrutinizing them as well. Some were brutes, he noticed right away, but some were lean and hungry men, whom he figured had simply drawn a bad lot by the simple act of being born.

"Do you mean to stop us by yourself, old man?" The biggest brute sneered.

"I do." Longenhard replied. "It has been some time since a minstrel has dedicated a song in my honor, and I mean to have a new song written for me to-day. I am Sir Longenhard of Aberfeld. I hail from modest means, and I can see that many of you men come from such humble beginnings as well. I have risen from my surroundings, however. I was following the Knight's Code well before the name of King Arturos has been brought back from legend.

"Know that under the Knight's Code, I cannot lie, and I am not lying when I tell you this; I was with King Alfred at Edington. I assisted in repelling the Viking hordes at sea, when Alfred attacked them with Britannic ships. I helped slay the last of the dragons with Oswalt at the Devil's Causeway. Come at me one or all, it matters not, for any of you that draw your sword today will continue to be felled as long as the blood courses through my veins and the breath expels from my lungs. I stand ready."

He drew his sword.

The large brute simply laughed, but his laugh was cut short as he turned to witness his fellows. Several men were backing their horses away, as if attempting to dissociate themselves from the rest of the pack.

"What?" The brute shouted back. "We will kill this man as we've killed others!"

"This is a man of honor." One of the other ruffians countered. "This is not a corrupt lord or one of his stupid minions, or even a greedy merchant. Men like this one defended my village from marauders when I was a child. They saved my village many times."