Sir Thomas the Hesitant and the Table of Less Valued Knights

by Liam Perrin

  Ollie grinned as Thomas and Marie caught up. After they'd caught their breath, Thomas nodded, and Ollie rapped hard on the door.

  "Mum! It's me, Ollie! Can you come out here? I've got someone I want you to meet."

  There was a clatter inside, and the sounds of a body moving. Ollie's grin grew even larger. The rest of the boys shuffled around, spreading out.

  It was how the boys fanned out that set off half a dozen alarms in Thomas's gut.

  "Marie," he said. "Get out of here."

  "What?" she said.

  "Get–"

  The door slammed open, and an enormous boy squeezed through into the alley. He stood a head taller than Thomas, and twice as wide. His gut was enormous, his head was too large, and his hands were the size of small hams. One eye was larger than the other and twitched constantly. His lower lip hung loose and exposed far fewer teeth than there ought to have been.

  "Who's calling me 'Mum' again? I told you not to call me 'Mum'!"

  "Sloppy, this is Thomas, the bloke I was telling you about."

  Sloppy peered down at Thomas.

  "Thought you said he was a knight? Where's his shiny armor?"

  Sloppy grabbed Thomas's shoulder and half-turned him to look at his hip. "Where's his sword?"

  "He's a Less Valued Knight" said Ollie, still grinning. "I guess they don't rate that stuff."

  "It's being issued tomorrow," said Thomas shaking off Sloppy's hand.

  "Tomorrow?" said Sloppy. "Tomorrow ain't your problem mate. It's today that's your problem."

  "Where's Ambrosia?" whispered Marie. There was more anger in her voice than terror.

  "I'm off-duty," Thomas shot back in defense. "I was meeting my girlfriend in the park – who needs a magic sword to go meet their girlfriend in the park?"

  "Did you say 'girlfriend'?" said Marie.

  "I – what?"

  "Anyway," hissed Marie, "apparently meeting your girlfriend in the park is precisely the kind of time when you want to have a magic sword around."

  He knew he was being scolded, but he didn't care. "Now you said it," he said.

  "Said what?" she fumed.

  "Girlfriend," said Thomas and grinned.

  "Oh," she said and gave a tiny, embarrassed smile. "I guess I did."

  "I hate to break this up," said Sloppy who clearly didn't. "But I believe you owe young Ollie here a shilling."

  "Now see here–" snapped Marie.

  Thomas grabbed her arm. "Let her go first."

  Sloppy looked hurt. "We'd never harm a lady, would we boys?" He gave a theatrical bow and winked. "Never let it be said that Sir Sloppy ain't a gentleman."

  One of the boys guffawed, "Sir now is it?"

  "Shut up you," snapped Sloppy. All humor drained from his face, and he said to Marie, "You'd best be off now miss."

  Without taking her eyes off Sloppy, Marie took a step back. "Thomas?" she said quietly.

  "Go," he said. Thomas breathed a sigh of relief when she turned and sprinted off. When she rounded the corner, Sloppy turned his attention to Thomas.

  Thomas held up his hands. "Now, Sloppy–"

  "Sir Sloppy," retorted the overgrown ringleader.

  "That title is for knights, Sloppy."

  Sloppy looked him up and down. "Seems to me I'm as much a knight as you," he said and poked him hard in the chest with one big, fat sausage of a finger. "Now about that shilling."

  "The armor doesn't make the knight," shot Thomas. The boys shifted around him. Thomas scanned the alley for a weapon. One boy kicked an old rolling pin out of his path. It rolled up against another boy's foot who grinned and picked it up.

  "Oh it don't? What's it then? Your honor? Helping old ladies cross the street?" Sloppy sniggered at Thomas's surprise. "Your blessed Code?"

  The Code. There's got to be something in there for situations like this, thought Thomas. His mind began rifling through what he'd memorized.

  Article II. Know your limitations. Too late for that. III. Don't burn bridges. Right. Um, V. Always leave yourself a clear path of retreat. Thomas didn't have to look to know he'd blown that one too. He looked anyway. The six or seven boys behind him smiled. X. Choose your battles wisely.

  Thomas laughed at himself. That one's right out.

  Sloppy's face went red with anger. "Think it's funny? You and your kind cavorting with princesses, dining on crumpets and tea, walking about all day in... in... freshly laundered garments."

  Ollie shot Sloppy a curious look. Sloppy ignored it.

  "...while we're forced to wallow 'round here in our own muck and filth."

  Sloppy advanced, spitting as he ranted. Thomas stepped back and bumped into the boys behind him.

  "And when one of the least of these, one of the innocents, ventures out into your world to earn an honest shilling, you snatch it right out of his hand."

  "An honest... Now hold on–" said Thomas. But anything else he was planning on saying was quickly forgotten when Sloppy's balled up fist flew out of the air and hammered into his jaw.

  Thomas spun completely around once, and fell over.

  The boys cheered. Thomas expected to be piled onto, but it didn't happen. He peered up. Sloppy had backed up a step or two and stood there, fists clenching and unclenching.

  "Get up and fight," he said with a grin. "It's time to earn that shilling."

  Getting up was the last thing Thomas wanted to do. Thomas's vision swam with color. Shapes shifted and blurred. Overhead, the sun slipped passed a cloud, and the alley lit up briefly. In that moment, Thomas was reminded of the stained glass in St. Stephen's – Jesus wearing a crown of thorns, the solider striking him. Offer him the other.

  Thomas blinked and shook his head. His vision cleared.

  Thomas stood up slowly. "Sloppy, all I had to do to become a knight," he said, dusting himself off, "was ask."

  Thomas expected this to surprise or at least confuse Sloppy. Instead, Sloppy seemed to grow more enraged. Thomas ran the sentence back over in his mind.

  "Oh, that didn't come out right at all. I meant–"

  And there was Sloppy's fist again hurtling through the air. This time Thomas wasn't as off guard and was able to absorb most of the blow by turning his head. The punch still left him stunned and positioned perfectly to watch Sloppy's other fist swing around from the opposite direction and smash straight into his nose and mouth.

  Thomas was actually lifted off his feet for a moment before he crashed to the ground, battering his elbow and wrist in the fall.

  The boys erupted in hoots, hollers, and cheers.

  "Get up," said Sloppy.

  Thomas laid there for a moment looking at the sky framed by the dilapidated roofs and lines of old laundry.

  "I just meant," said Thomas, "that you're never going to be anything more..." Thomas pushed himself up. Everything hurt – it was becoming an all too familiar feeling. Standing and wobbling slightly, Thomas finished, "...than what you can imagine yourself to be."

  Sloppy stepped in and threw his fist at Thomas's head again. Just before it connected, Thomas thought he heard a horse whinny.

  §

  The world spun around Thomas. All sound had drained away. Eventually his field of view settled on the same square of sky he'd pondered before. This time though, the clouds danced and cavorted with the laundry in ways Thomas was fairly certain weren't usual.

  He was vaguely aware of the boys around him scattering. They climbed over heaps of garbage and fought each other to duck through cracks in the alley's walls and under a small fence separating this alley from the next. Sloppy was pulling at several boys, including Ollie, who'd jammed up at the one door in the alley wall.

  Sound flooded back into Thomas's world. He pushed himself up on one elbow, staring at Sloppy and trying to puzzle out what was going on. Even with the alley still tilting and shifting, he could tell Sloppy was scared of something. Thomas wondered if he should be scared too.

  There was another whinny and the sound of hoofs behind him. Th
omas twisted around, and there, framed in the light spilling into the alley from the more presentable parts of Camelot, was a knight. A real knight. His polished armor shot beams of reflected sunlight in all directions. His white steed, dressed in bright red quilted armor, stomped and snorted menacingly. The knight carried a shield that matched his horse's armor in color, and bore a five-pointed star. That alone was enough to identify him to Thomas and, Thomas imagined, Sloppy's gang. But the knight also wore a kilt, and that clinched it.

  "Gawain," said Thomas.

  "Ye cannae rrrun, and ye cannae hide Mister Sloppy Pants," roared Gawain. "Yer rrreign of terror is at its end.

  "Thanks m'lady," he added to a figure behind him on the saddle. "I'll take it from here." He helped her slip off the horse, and she stepped aside.

  "And Marie..." sighed Thomas, letting himself flop back onto the ground.

  There was clatter and the sounds of a brief struggle. Thomas didn't bother looking up. While Gawain apprehended Sloppy, Ollie, and most of the older members of the Sloppy Pants Gang, Thomas laid on the ground, testing his jaw and other bits of his face to see if anything was broken, and reciting Article IX to himself: It's not about you. It's never about you. Except, of course, when it would be better for your superiors that whatever it is be not about them.

  When the scuffle died down, a gauntleted hand grabbed him by his shirt and hauled him to his feet. Gawain gave him a vigorous slap on the back and caught him when he stumbled forward from it.

  "Timothy, isn't it?" said Gawain.

  "Er, Thomas, sir," said Thomas.

  Gawain dismissed the correction with a wave of his hand. "Good show lad." Gawain had his hands on his hips, surveying his work. The boys that hadn't managed to squeeze out of the alley early had their hands tied and were bound to each other with one long rope.

  Thomas rubbed his jaw. "I didn't really do anything," he said.

  Gawain slapped him again on the back. "Ha!" he boomed. "That's the spirrrit."

  Gawain swung up onto his stallion and trotted out of the alley, towing the Sloppy Pants Gang behind him.

  As he passed, Sloppy spat at Thomas, "All this over a lousy shilling. Hope you feel good about yourself."

  "But I didn't... Hey!... You were the one who..." As Thomas spluttered, Ollie passed by. He didn't look up, and Thomas felt an overwhelming sense of sadness move with him. Thomas watched him shamble along with the rest of the gang out of the alley and around the corner.

  Marie's hand settled lightly on Thomas's shoulder. "Are you okay?" she asked, peering up at him.

  She smelled as wonderfully as she always did. It made him realize how much he smelled like the floor of the alley with which he'd recently made acquaintance.

  He nodded.

  "You were very brave," she said quietly as she led him out of the alley. "Or very stupid. But for now I'm sticking with brave." She grinned.

  Thomas laughed and then moaned from the pain that invoked. While Sloppy had focused on Thomas's skull, gravity and the alley had done a number apparently on the rest of Thomas.

  "Thanks for getting help," said Thomas.

  She smiled, "Thanks for being my hero."

  "Is that what I was?"

  She looked puzzled.

  "Gawain looked pretty good there in the end."

  "Oh him," she said. "He's just a big show-off."

  Thomas smiled. "Well, we wouldn't have needed him if I hadn't messed with that boy, Ollie, yesterday."

  "Exactly," said Marie. "That's why you’re my hero."

  §

  Thomas assured Marie that his injuries didn't warrant a trip to the infirmary, and they parted ways on the palace grounds: Marie once again heading for the palace proper and Thomas making for the barracks. All Thomas wanted to do was to lie down and sleep. It was midday and he dared to hope that the barracks would be empty with the rest of the LVK off doing duty or drilling or simply not being in the barracks when they didn't have to be. Sure enough, the place was as still and silent as a tomb.

  Thomas made his way to his bunk and was welcomed by another letter – this one again addressed from Mother Farmer.

  Dear Thomas,

  I put an inquiry in at the post office and they assured me that my first letter was delivered – that you're alive in Camelot and are receiving room and board from none other than Arthur himself! I'm so happy for you. Do please send news when you can. I assume you're working for your keep, and if you're working for the king, it must be good and honest labor. I do hope it helps to convince Arthur to help William.

  Speaking of William, between you and me, the sooner we get him out of there the better – and not just for his poor mother's sake. Something is addling his brain in that moldy dungeon. I don't know why, he's eating better than all of us! Well, except probably for you there at the king's own table!

  As for us... As creative as I can be in the kitchen, I must admit there's only so much a person can do with root paste and only so much of it a person can take. We're all rather grumpy, some more than others. But we manage. Every day is a gift.

  William's friends Ackerly and Royden have stopped coming to visit us. When they were here last, they were talking of sailing to France to seek their fortune. Your father threw them out of the house – you know how he is about the French. Speaking of your father, he's been spending most of his time with Smitty and old Abraham Chisel. Abraham has a grandson your age you probably know. Anyway, with Smitty practically out of work, those three are bound to get themselves in trouble sooner than later. You'd think they'd get tired of talking about the war. I know the rest of us get tired of hearing them!

  Elizabeth is begging to write. I'll sit down with her this evening and help her and we'll send off her letter on the morrow. I do help all is well.

  Love,

  Mum

  "Jiminy Chisel," muttered Thomas to himself and shook his head. He collapsed on his bed and drifted off to sleep in a sea of memories from another life.

  CHAPTER XIX

  A Song & Two Letters

  "Wake up!"

  Thomas groaned. Half of him ached while the other half felt alarmingly numb. He felt worse than he had after meeting Accolon's lance and the jousting field's turf in rapid succession. He vaguely recalled the sun being on the other side of the barracks when he'd closed his eyes.

  Thomas rolled over, slowly.

  "Oi, what happened to you?" It was Philip's voice.

  Thomas yawned. It was a bad idea. His jaw didn't feel right at all. He made to rub his eyes, but stopped short. He could tell by the heaviness on one side of his face and the way the world was all swimmy on that side that at least one eye wasn't right either.

  "I was walking Marie back to the palace. A bunch of orphans wanted us to meet their mum except their mum wasn't their mum it was this big... kid. Sloppy."

  "Whoa. Sloppy... As in, The Sloppy? As in, the Sloppy Pants Gang Sloppy?"

  Thomas nodded.

  "They're singing about him."

  Thomas blinked, or rather, winked – his second eye refused to participate in such shenanigans after all it'd been through.

  "Who's... What?"

  "The bards. They're all over town singing about how Gawain took down Sloppy."

  Thomas frowned. "A knight of the Round Table taking down an overgrown orphan... That's something to sing about?"

  Philip laughed. "C'mon," he said, and dragged Thomas out of the barracks. They headed to the palace steps where a crowd had gathered.

  A minstrel sat at the top of the steps. His shoes were green, far too long, and curled. They matched his pants which were short and puffier than pants ought to be. Between his shoes and his pants, he wore canary yellow tights. The same green, puffy theme was duplicated on his epaulets. His vest matched his pants and shoes. Something white and frilly was spilling up his neck from underneath the vest – 'ascot' wasn't quite the word for it, and 'shirt' was way off. Whatever the thing was, and whatever it was doing, it was doing it at his wrists too.
<
br />   He was mustached and bearded. The sides of his mustache were grown out, waxed, and twirled. His beard was braided. His nose was too big for his face. His eyes twinkled. And on top of it all sailed a great, green, three-pointed hat complete with a long yellow feather.

  He strummed a lute expertly, smiled at the crowd amiably, and sang superbly:

  Listen oh, Camelot!

  Harken, hear tell.

  How virtue triumphed.

  How a ne'er-do-well fell.

  Camelot's cry

  and a fair maiden's plea

  Demanded a hero or two.

  Maybe three!

  To undo a great villain

  at Innocence' behest

  A single knight pledged

  himself to the quest

  Like sun on his armor,

  his bravery shown

  Into the dark labyrinth,

  he rode alone

  Oh who is the subject

  of my refrain?

  The glorious, the noble,

  the dear Gawain

  Gawain, Gawain, Gawain, Gawain

  The thieves' den held forty;

  two score and more.

  But numbers are nothing

  when righteousness roars

  Wild brigands, fierce bandits,

  Gawain bested them all

  Then Sloppy himself

  met our champion's call

  In the villain's dark fortress,

  the two titans fought

  In the end it was Sloppy

  who ought to have not

  Fear not dear Camelotians!

  Take courage, rejoice!

  Today hope has a fist,

  today virtue has voice.

  Oh who is the subject

  of my refrain?

  The glorious, the noble,

  the dear Gawain

  Gawain, Gawain, Gawain, Gawain

  The minstrel repeated the chorus four more times after executing a stunning bridge. The tones were lilting, the melody pure. A yellow finch landed on his shoulder during the final refrain. He smiled at it, and it chirped at him. When he'd strummed the final cord, he stood and gave a sweeping bow. Ox wiped a tear from his eye and gave the first loud clap. The audience erupted in applause. The bird fluttered off, and the minstrel moved about the crowd accepting donations in his upturned, oversized hat.