The Canterbury Tales – A Retelling

by Peter Ackroyd

  Ladies, forgive the next bit. I am a rude man. I cannot gloss over the facts. As soon as she had mounted the tree, Damian pulled up her smock and fucked her.

  When Pluto saw that this great wrong was being wreaked upon January, he gave back the old knight his sight. It was better than it had been before and, of course, the first thing he wanted to look upon was his lovely wife. So he glanced lovingly up at the tree. Whereupon he saw Damian thrusting away. I will say no more about it. It is not polite. I have already said enough. So January sets up a roaring and a crying, just like a mother who has lost her only child. ‘Help!’ he shouted. ‘ Harrow! Havoc! Alarm! What are you doing, you little whore?’

  ‘What is the matter with you, sir?’ May replied demurely. ‘Have patience. Be reasonable. I have just cured your blindness. As God is my witness, I am not lying. I was told that there was one way to bring back your sight – if I were to struggle with a man up a tree, you would be healed. That’s the truth. God knows my intentions were honest.’

  ‘Struggle?’ January replied. ‘I saw his cock inside you! I hope to God that you both die of shame! He fucked you. I saw it with my own eyes. May I be hanged otherwise!’

  ‘It seems that my medicine did not work,’ May said. ‘If you really could see, you would not be using these words to me. You have a glimpse, or squint, and not perfect sight.’

  ‘I can see as well as I ever could, thank God. Both of my eyes were open. I am sure – I thought – that he was fucking you.’

  ‘You are still dazed, good husband. You are imagining things. And that is all the thanks I get for curing your blindness. I try to be kind, and then -’ She burst into tears.

  ‘Now, wife,’ January said, ‘let us forget all about it. Come down from the pear tree. If I have slandered you, then I am well punished for it by your tears. I really did believe that I saw Damian having sex with you. On my father’s soul I believe that I saw your smock against his chest.’

  ‘You may believe what you like,’ May replied. ‘But a man that is suddenly woken from sleep may not grasp a situation straight away. He has to be perfectly awake before he sees things clearly. You were asleep, in one sense. You were blind. Do you expect to see perfectly the very moment your eyes are opened? You have to wait a day or two. Until your eyesight has settled down, I am sure you will be deceived by other illusions. Be careful, dear husband. Men are fooled by their visions, or their fantasies, every day. He who misunderstands, misjudges.’ And with these words she leaped down from the tree into his arms.

  Who could be happier than January? He clasped her tight and kissed her all over. He ran his hand against her belly. Then, rejoicing, he walked with her back to the palace.

  Now, good pilgrims, I hope that you are also content. So ends my story of May and January. God bless you all.

  Heere is ended the Marchantes Tale of Januarie.

  The Merchant’s Epilogue

  ‘God in heaven!’ Harry Bailey exclaimed. ‘Keep me away from a wife like that! Do you realize how many tricks and deceits a woman can use? They are busy as bees, morning and night, trying to fool us. The last thing they want is the truth. The Merchant’s tale proves it. I will tell you plainly. My own wife is faithful to me. I know that. But she is a shrew. She may be poor, but she is rich in insults. She has plenty of other vices, too. Well, I can’t do much about it now, can I? Forgive and forget. But do you know what? Between you and me, I wish that I were not wed to her. Of course I would be a fool to repeat all of her faults. Do you know why? It would get back to her. There would be gossip by one or two members of this company. I do not need to name names. You all know who I mean. Women have a way about them. They know the market for their wares. I haven’t got the wit to carry on with a long story, in any case. Farewell to all that.’

  Then he turned in his saddle and addressed another pilgrim.

  The Squire’s Prologue

  ‘Squire, come nearer to me. Come. Do us a favour. Tell us a love story. I am sure you are an expert in that field.’

  ‘I don’t think so, sir,’ the Squire replied. ‘But I will do my best. I will not disobey your order. I will tell you a story. But don’t think any the worse of me if I mess up. My intentions are good, in any case. Well. Here goes.’

  The Squire’s Tale

  Here bigynneth the Squieres Tale

  PART ONE

  At the city of Tsarev, in the land of the Mongols, there lived a king who made continual war on Muscovy. It was a struggle in which many brave men were killed. The name of this king was Genghis Khan. He had achieved such glory by force of arms that there was no more renowned leader in the entire region. He lacked nothing that pertains to kingship. He faithfully observed all the laws of his religion; he was doughty, wise and rich. He was as pious as he was just. He kept his word in honour and in kindness. He was as stable as the centre of a circle. He was young, too, and full of life. Like any other bachelor knight, he prided himself on feats of arms. What else is there to say? He was a happy and a fortunate man, and maintained so royal an estate that no one else could hope for a better.

  Now Genghis Khan had, by his wife, Elpheta, two sons. The oldest of them was named Algarsyf. And the younger one was called Cambalo. He also had a daughter, Canacee by name. I could not begin to describe her beauty to you all. It is beyond my abilities. I would not be able to stammer the words. My English is insufficient. It would take an excellent orator, knowing all the arts of his trade, even to attempt to portray Canacee. But I am no orator. I am a poor squire.

  So it happened that, in the twentieth year of his reign, Genghis Khan proclaimed the feast of his nativity throughout the city of Tsarev. He celebrated that day every year. It was in the middle of March, I believe. The sun was powerful and strong in those climes. It was already in the first ten degrees of Aries, sign of heat and dryness, so that the weather was warm and refreshing. The little birds sang in the sunshine. Their notes rose up into the air, as if they were a protection against the keen frosts of winter.

  So Genghis Khan, wearing the vestments of lord and king, was sitting on his throne in the royal palace. He was holding a feast to commemorate his birthday. There was so much of everything on the tables that I will not describe the array. It would take a summer’s day to go through the entire menu. There is no point, either, in reciting the sequence of dishes brought from the kitchens. I will not mention the swans or the young herons, all boiled or roasted. I know that tastes vary. What is considered a delicacy in one country is scorned in another. In any case I cannot comment on everything. Time is running on. It is almost nine o’clock. I will resume the story where I left off.

  The feast had come to the third course. The king and his courtiers were listening to the sweet music of the players, performing before the dais, when there was a sudden clatter. A knight appeared at the doors of the hall, sitting astride a horse of brass. In his hand he held a great glass mirror. He had a broad ring of gold on his thumb, and a gleaming sword hung down by his side. He rode up to the king’s table. No one said a word. They were all astonished by the sight of this knight. Young and old looked on.

  This knight was in full armour, except that he wore no helmet. He gracefully saluted all the company, king and queen, ladies and nobles, in order of rank. He seemed so full of reverence and modesty, in looks and speech, that Gawain himself (if he emerged from fairyland) could not have equalled him. Then, as he stood before the assembled company, he delivered his message in a calm clear voice, full of strength. He followed all the rules of discourse and enunciation, just as the orators teach us, fitting his gestures to his words. I cannot imitate his high style, of course. That would be too great a challenge. But I can give you the gist of what he said, if my memory doesn’t fail me.

  ‘The king of Arabia and India salutes you, great lord, and sends you greetings on this solemn day of festival. In honour of your birthday he presents you with this steed of brass. I, who am your willing servant, was asked to bring it into your presence. This horse can, in the cou
rse of a single night and day, carry you to any place on earth. Wind or rain does not deter it. Wherever you wish to go, there it will take you unharmed. If you want to soar through the air like an eagle, this horse will carry you. You can fall asleep on its back, and still come to no harm. Do you see this pin here behind his ear? If you twist it, the horse will return you to your starting place. The inventor who made this horse was a very cunning man. He waited until all the planets were in the right aspect before he began work. He knew all the secrets of his craft.

  ‘Now let me tell you about the mirror I am holding. It has much power. When a man looks into it, he will see whatever misfortune awaits him. It will show you, sire, any harm that threatens you or your kingdom. Friend and foe will be reflected in the glass. If any gracious lady has set her heart on a man, she will see in this mirror if he is false to her; she will see his unfaithfulness as clear as day. Nothing will be concealed. On this auspicious spring day, my lord and master sends this mirror and this gold ring to your excellent daughter, Canacee.

  ‘May I tell you about the virtues of the ring? If the noble lady cares to wear it on her thumb, or carry it in her purse, she will understand the language of the birds. She will be able to speak to them as they fly above her. She will also understand the language of every herb that grows upon the earth, and will know which of them heals or cures the most grievous wound.

  ‘I will now explain the power of the sword that is hanging by my side. It has the ability to smite through the heaviest and greatest armour. It will cut through metal plates, thick as oak trees, as if they were made of butter. It has one other power. Any man who is wounded by this sword will never be whole again – unless you take up the blunt side of the weapon itself, and lay it upon his body in the place where he is hurt. Stroke the wound with the sword, and it will close up. I swear that all this is true. This sword will not fail you.’

  As soon as he had finished speaking, the knight rode out of the hall and leaped from his horse. This animal, its brass shining as bright as the sun, stood absolutely still in the courtyard. The knight himself was led to a chamber, where he was carefully undressed and given meat. Meanwhile the gifts he had brought with him, the sword and the mirror, were taken by royal officers to the high tower of the palace. The ring itself was solemnly presented to Canacee as she sat at the high table. The horse of brass, however, could not be moved. It seemed to be glued to the ground. None of the courtiers or soldiers could dislodge it – not with pulley, or windlass, or mechanical engine of any kind. How could they? They did not know its secrets. So they left it in position until the knight in shining armour, as you shall hear later, told them the trick of shifting it.

  Great was the crowd that swarmed about this horse. It was so tall, so broad, so strong and so well proportioned that it seemed like a steed out of Lombardy. It had all the qualities of a horse. It was the horsiest horse anyone had ever seen. It could have come from Apulia, in fact, rather than from northern Italy. From its tail to its ears, it was a model of its kind. Everyone agreed that neither art nor nature could have improved upon it. And of course everyone was astonished that it was made of brass. How could the knight ride it? Some said that it was a wonder of the fairy world. Some said that it was the work of magicians. Diverse people offered diverse opinions. There were as many theories propounded as there were heads. The people murmured like a swarm of bees. They came up with elaborate fancies, based upon the stories they had read. Some said that it resembled Pegasus, the horse that had wings. Others said that it was the twin of the wooden horse that brought destruction into Troy. They knew all about these animals from the old books.

  ‘I am very afraid,’ said one of them. ‘I am sure that there is an army inside the belly of this beast, waiting to destroy this city. Why can’t we find out? Why can’t we know?’

  ‘He’s quite wrong,’ another whispered softly to his companion. ‘This is an apparition shaped by magic, just like the illusions created by conjurors at great feasts.’

  So the company was besieged by various doubts and fears. This is the way of common people when confronted by something beyond their experience or understanding. They come to the wrong conclusion. They panic.

  Others among them were wondering out loud about the mirror that had already been carried into the principal tower of the palace. They wanted to know how it worked. How could all these things be seen within it? One of them said that it might be a natural phenomenon. It was a question of perspectives and angles and reflections. There was one just like it in Rome. Then they all started talking about Alhazen and Vitello and Aristotle, who had written on the subject of mirrors and optics; they had heard of these authors, even if they had not actually read them.

  And then again they wondered at the magic sword that could cut through anything. They talked about King Telephus, who was wounded and then healed by the wonderful spear of Achilles. It had exactly the same miraculous properties as this sword, as you have just heard. So the company talked about the ways in which metal could be hardened. They spoke of the especial solutions that could be used to temper steel. They debated all the whys and wherefores. I myself know nothing about them.

  When they had satisfied themselves on that matter, they turned their attention to the gold ring given to Canacee. They all said that they had never heard of a ring like it. In all the history of rings they had never known one – except perhaps from the hand of Moses or Solomon, who were supposed to be masters of magic. They gathered in little groups and muttered to each other. Wasn’t it queer to learn that glass was made from the ashes of fern? Glass doesn’t look a bit like fern, does it? Or like ashes? Since it is a matter of fact that glass is made from the ashes of fern, they soon stopped asking stupid questions. They were like people who wonder all the time about the origins of thunder, or the causes of tides, or the webs of spiders, or the gathering of mist. They want to get to the bottom of everything. And so they questioned and debated and puzzled until the time that Genghis Khan rose from the high table.

  The sun had left its meridian, and the lion was ascending, when the great king left the hall. It was two o’clock on 15 March, in other words. The minstrels walked before him, playing loudly on the gitern and the harp, as he made his way to the presence chamber. The music was so sweet and solemn that it might have issued from the halls of heaven. Venus was sitting in majesty, exalted in Pisces, and all her children on earth were dancing. She looked down at the revellers in the palace with a very friendly eye.

  So the noble king is set upon his throne. Very soon the strange knight is brought before him. And, look, he is dancing with Canacee. All is joy. All is harmony. A dull-witted man like myself cannot describe the scene. It would need a love-struck genius, filled with the spirit of spring, to do justice to the occasion.

  Who could explain to you the intricacies of the native dances, the subtle rhythms, the smiles, the devious looks and glances passing between the maids and the young men? Only Lancelot, the knight of love. And he is dead. So I pass over all the playfulness. They danced and flirted until it was time to dine.

  Then, as the music played, the steward of the household called for the wine and spiced cakes to be brought in quickly. The ushers and the squires left the hall, while the revellers feasted on the food and drink. When they had finished they all trooped into the temple for a service. Once that was over, they fell upon their suppers. Why say any more about it? Every man knows that, at a king’s banquet, there is enough and more than enough. No one goes hungry. There were more dainties there than I can describe. When the feast was complete, the king and his entourage walked out into the courtyard in order to view the miraculous horse.

  There was more amazement at this animal than at any time since the siege of Troy. The Trojans were astonished at the appearance of a wooden horse; the lords and ladies at the court of Genghis Khan were even more astounded by a metallic one. Eventually the king asked the knight to explain the properties of this horse. He wanted to know how strong it was, and the best wa
y to ride it. As soon as the knight put his hand upon the reins, the horse began to frisk and dance. ‘Sir,’ the knight said, ‘there is nothing more to tell you. When you want to ride anywhere, you just twist this pin behind the ear. When we are alone, I will tell you how to do it. You simply mention to the horse the city or the country you wish to visit, and it will take you there. When you wish to stop and walk around, just twist this other pin. That is all there is to do. It will descend and wait for you until your return. Nothing in the world will move it. Or, if you want the horse to disappear, use this pin here. Then it will vanish out of men’s sight, and will reappear only when you call him. I will give you the secret signal later on. So travel where you like. Ride the wind.’

  The king listened carefully to everything the knight told him; as soon as he had understood the instructions, and the method of riding, he was delighted. He went back to the feast, and the horse’s bridle was taken up to the tower. Thereupon the horse itself vanished. I don’t know how. I can say no more about it. I know only that Genghis Khan stayed at the revels with his nobles until the following dawn.

  PART TWO

  The kind nurse of digestion and appetite, sleep, began to descend upon the party. Hypnos, the son of Night, let it be known that after much toil, and after much drink, it was time to rest. So he kissed them all. He yawned, and bid them all to lie down. Their blood was thick and heavy. ‘Cherish your blood,’ he said. ‘It is nature’s friend.’ By now they were all yawning, too. They thanked him for his advice, and laid themselves down to rest. It was the best thing to do.