New Jersey Yankee In King Arthur's Court

by Robert P McAuley

  “Hey! You’re not ghosts! You’re kids!” Feeling that his plan of being a hero was about to come true, he grabbed the leg of one of the smaller knights as he shouted, “Got ya! I got ya, an’ now ya goin’ ta jail.”

  What happened next shocked the man as one of the bigger knights removed his helmet and tackled him to the ground.

  “Let him go, dude! I’m tellin’ ya, let him go,” shouted Arty over the din as the man seemed to hold on even tighter. Suddenly a girl helped the knight and pulled the man’s ponytail as she screamed, “Let him go you bully!”

  “Me?” said the man defensively, “I’m not a bully. You guys broke in here not me.”

  The pile of boys, all clad in steel, were a jumble of interlinked arms and legs, and at the same time that Lance’s steel encased leg touched a steam pipe that went from the basement to the top floor, a bolt of lightning struck the building.

  The sudden bright light caused them all to close their eyes and, as they opened them, they found that the bright light didn’t go away. Not only that, but the cool damp cement floor was replaced by warm, hard packed dirt. Their screams at being caught by the handyman suddenly lost the reverberations the cellar produced and was lost in the vastness of an open space. They slowly stirred and looked around. They were sprawled in the middle of a road that was made of packed dirt with green grass bordering both sides of it. There were tall oak trees on one side of the road with a small brook that meandered along with yellow, red, blue and white flowers all around it as butterflies flew about.

  Arty stood slowly and said in a low voice, “Where the freak are we?”

  “It got ta be some kind of a weird security system,” said Percy as he undid his armor.

  “Well,” said the handyman, “if it is they didn’t tell me about it.”

  Now they all looked at him and, with looks of confusion, all started to question him at once.

  “Wait a minute,” said Arty as he approached the still seated man. “Hey, Dude, where are we an’ how do we get the heck outta here?”

  The man’s eyes were wide with fear as he answered in a quivering voice, “I-I don’t know. They didn’t tell me about a new security system. In fact when I said the basement window should get a new lock, they said nobody would ever rob the place.”

  “Well,” said a visibility upset Jennie in a scolding voice, “You better get us home, mister. Mrs. Grinnel will be real upset if we’re late for dinner.”

  “Mrs. Grinnel?” he asked as he put a hand up to shade the sun from his eyes, “Is that Mrs. Grinnel from the Orphanage?”

  He was answered with somber looks until Jennie said, “Yes! We are from there. Is there anything wrong with that? Anything wrong with being an orphan?”

  The man shook his head and said, “No, of course not. It’s not your fault.”

  “Well, those kids in town seem ta think it is,” said Lionell as he rubbed his chin whiskers.

  “The kids in this town,” answered the man, “were all born with a silver spoon up their respective butts. I know because I wasn’t one of them.”

  The kids all laughed at this and Arty offered a hand, “C’mon. You seem to be in the same boat with us. No sense in sittin’ around.”

  “So,” asked Garret as he pushed his hand through his tangled red hair, “where the freak are we?”

  “Yeah,” quipped Triston doing deep knee squats as he flexed his muscles out, “an’ who the freak do I punch in the face for this new security system?”

  “Boys, boys, and girls, er girl,” said the man looking at the angry group of kids, “I-I really don’t know nothin’ about this-this security system. I swear it! They never told me anything about it. And,” he said suddenly sharing their concerns, “I’m upset too!”

  “Listen up, gang,” said Arty as he shrugged his shoulders, “there’s no sense getting’ mad at, at, ah,” he looked at the man and asked, “What’s your name, dude?”

  The man answered in almost a whisper, “Merryl.”

  “Merryl?” asked Bruno with a big grin on is face. “Merryl! Man, and I thought we had some funny names. Merryl. Bet ya had some rough times over that one, didn’t ya, Merryl?”

  “Yeah,” answered Merryl with a slight grin of his own. “I had a fight or two over it.”

  “Well,” said Arty, “like Bruno said, this crowd has some funny names too, so it don’t make a darn what they call ya Merryl. Just so ya help us get back to the . . . the place.”

  “Well,” answered Merryl, hands on his hips as he arched his back, “I suggest we walk down this road until we get to town.”

  “That way,” asked Jennie as she pointed straight ahead, “or that way,” she added pointing the other way.

  Merryl shrugged his shoulders and said pointing down the road, “This way’s as good as any, I guess.”

  “Hey,” said Arty as he started to remove his armor. “No sense in wearing this tin shop uniform into town. The cops will spot us and ask questions before we get to Grinnels.” He nodded towards the trees and went on, “I say we stick them behind those trees.”

  They removed the armor and stashed them behind a stand of oak trees. When they were sure the armor couldn’t be seen from the road, they started walking and before long Arty was in the lead, his motorcycle jacket over his shoulder.

  After walking a couple of miles, Arty motioned to Jennie who walked next to him. “Hey, Jennie,” he said as he pointed ahead, “is that some people coming this way?”

  She squinted and said, “Yes. Looks like a bunch of teenagers.”

  “Town-kids, most likely,” said Lance, “if they start any crap I’m gonna rap one real good.”

  “Me too,” chimed Gerry Haad. “I’m tired o’ their talking down to us. I say we kick some butt!”

  “Maybe,” said Arty. “If they start in an’ we’re still far from town, I say we let them know that we live in Keansburg too.” He put his jacket back on and his walk became more of a swagger, as they got closer to the approaching group of kids.

  Soon they were passing the teens. The group consisted of eight boys and both groups stared at each other. Arty stopped and just gaped as the kids on the other side of the road walked past. The passing group of boys wore tight-fitting leotards, soft leather shoes and shirts. On their heads they wore an assortment of hats from simple leather skullcaps to ornate tri-corners with a feather in it, set at a rakish angle. One carried a bow and arrow and three had long poles they used as walking sticks.

  “What the heck are they wearing?” he asked in a whisper to Jennie. The answer came from an unexpected source: Merryl’s voice was heard above the shuffling of feet on dirt.

  “My gosh! They are dressed in period costume! Early five hundreds I’d say, and they are dressed as English serfs or pageboys! Perhaps they are in a play?” He waved to them and said across the way, “Excuse me, lads. Are we heading in the right direction to get to Keansburg?”

  Laughs and snickers answered him as the group kept up their pace.

  “Hey,” shouted Arty, “ain’t ya got any manners? My friend asked yez a question: are we headin’ towards Keansburg or not?”

  A tall, muscular boy removed his hat and his hair fell into a pageboy as he did a mock bow at his waist and answered: “Be yee new here abouts? Yew dress as though yee know nothing of style and yee have manners not unlike a cat after bein’ caught in a rainstorm.”

  Arty looked at Merryl and asked as he hunched his shoulders, “Hey, Merryl. Did that punk just make fun of us?”

  This time it was Merryl who shrugged his shoulders as he answered in an unsure tone of voice, “I’m not really sure. I mean he seems to be in a play or something and, in period talk, he could have insulted you.”

  Arty’s eyebrows arched as he said, “You mean us! If he insulted me, he insulted all of us. That’s how we play it at Grinnels, and, you are walking with us, so welcome to the group . . . at least for now.”

  “Then yes, he did insult us.” He looked at the boy across the road that
had stopped his group and stared back with grins on their faces. “You, young boy, should heed the advice of a learned man and not try to insult others while you yourself are still a dolt.”

  The boy looked back in shock. “Dolt? Thou calleth me a dolt? Why, I shall whip you soundly. What say yee of that old man?”

  Arty stepped forward and said as he took off his thick leather belt and wrapped it around his hand, “Hey butt-wipe! You challenge my friend and you are challenging me. C’mon over here an say that you dumb . . . ah, dolt!”

  The boy took a staff from one of the others and started over.

  He was still in the middle of the road when from the rear of the group Percy shouted. “Hey, butt-head!”

  Distracted, the boy turned and looked at him momentarily and was flattened by Arty who caught him with a right cross on his chin as he looked away.

  “Thanks Lefty. I should break this stick over his head.”

  “Pray sir, hurt him no more for in fact he is a dolt.”

  Arty was shocked to see a slim, pretty red haired girl standing before him, her blue eyes pleading. “Where did you come from?” he asked.

  She pulled off her hat and a mass of red hair fell past her shoulders. “Sir, I walked with these fine fellows as this one is my brother and better for me to be dressed as a boy than a girl at times for one can never tell who resides in these deserted areas.”

  “Are you all in a play or something?” asked Merryl now holding the staff.

  “Play? What play sir? I fear I know of no play near Essex.”

  “Essex? Where in New Jersey is that?”

  She shook her head as she answered, “New Jersey? Kind sirs, never have I heard of such a place. Be it near Surrey?”

  Merryl stood there with his jaw hanging open. A stirring at his feet and the boy Arty had clipped sat up rubbing his chin.

  “Sirs! I beg you fine gentlemen, hurt not my sister for I have been placed in charge to bring her safely to Cornwall.”

  Arty offered his hand and the boy took it as he got to his feet. This time his bow at the waist was genuine and Arty slapped him on his back.

  “Hey, don’t grovel, pal. Let’s let by-gones be by-gones. Okay?” He noticed that the other boys were talking to his guys and all were checking out each other’s clothing. “It looks like all’s cool with your boys.”

  “Yes,” answered the boy as he rubbed his chin, “all’s cool, as you say.” He looked at Arty’s leather belt still wrapped around his fist. “A new type of weapon? I’ve never encountered such a simple, yet potent weapon. And one keeps it wrapped around one’s middle?”

  “Ahhh,” said Arty as he put his belt back through the belt loops, “Yeah, we carry them around our, ah, middle as you say. My name’s Arty what’s yours?”

  The young man did another bow and said, “My name, sire, is Ron.” The young man then turned to his sister to check on her status.

  Arty took the moment to ask Merryl in a whisper, “Hey Merryl. Is this guy for real or what? Maybe they’re from another country and that’s why they dress and speak so funny. What do ya think?”

  “I’m not sure, Arty. I have a theory, but I don’t think I should even say it out loud right now.”

  “Say what you want, but take a look down the road. Here comes another group of out-of-towners.”

  Merryl looked and knew his theory was correct, for coming at them was another group of about a dozen people and leading them was a man on horseback.

  “Quickly,” said the girl. “Off the road. Yonder come a gentleman and his serfs.”

  “Off the road?” asked Arty in disbelief. “Why should we get off the road? It’s a free country.”

  “Sirs, I beg yee leave the road as sir knight will thrash you soundly should you not give way.”

  “No way do we leave the road for some goon on horseback. I’ve seen them ride through town before but never on a road. Naw, we stay right here and he can call a cop if he wants.”

  “Arty,” said Merryl in a whisper. “I think we must yield, er, I mean leave the road.”

  “No way, Merryl.” He turned to the guys who were lined up behind him and asked, “Right guys?”

  In unison they answered, “Right, Arty.”

  Within minutes the group approaching took shape and Arty shook his head as he said, “What the heck’s goin’ on today? Everyone seems to be dressed like out-a-towners.”

  A pull on his jacket got Arty’s attention. It was Ron. “Sir, my sister Faye, is right as sir knight will never yield his right of way and may thrash us all should we not heed him.”

  “Well,” said Arty as he patted his butt, “sir knight can just heed this.” He looked back to make sure his group had seen him.

  “Blasphemy!” said the girl as she covered her eyes.

  All conversation was cut short as the knight stopped twenty-feet away. He looked at them with a puzzled look on his not-so-handsome face. He had a thin mustache that was crooked and his eyes were small and slightly crossed. He called out to them from his perch high up on a big white horse and said, in a booming voice, “Move peasants, and let a knight pass so that he may do his duty for the realm.”

  Arty burst into laughter and was followed by the other boys. “Hey guys, do you hear what I hear? I bet he’s been practicing that voice ever sense he saw Hulk Hogan in a WWF match.” Arty answered in his best Hulkster imitation voice, “Screw-est thou, Sir Fraud. And keep-est moving along-est before me and my friends whoopest thine butt.” He pointed to the man’s entourage and continued as his group roared in laughter. “And takest thine friends with ya too.”

  Merryl noticed that Rob, his sister and a few of the new boys joined in the laughter.

  The knight shouted again in his best scare-tactic voice, “Peasants, this be yer last time to be told of my God-given right to pass without another in my path. Move, I say, else, prepare ta be thrashed soundly.”

  Arty looked at Merryl, then at the others behind him and said in a puzzled tone of voice, “Is this guy for real? I mean does he have the right-of-way? I don’t see any sign saying this is a horse path. Besides, he has a bunch of guys walking on the same road as us.” He turned back and crossed his arms as he went on, even more determined, “And that butt-head called us peasants! Screw him. We stand right here.” There was a chorus of ‘yays’ behind him that made Arty’s mind up to stand firm.

  The knight said something to one of the boys dressed like the guys he had just met, and the boy took the knight’s lance. The knight then lowered his visor and withdrew his long sword. Suddenly, Ron and the crowd of new guys screamed and ran off the road. This caused the knight to put his sword away and lift his visor back up.

  “Best that yew peasants came to thine smarts as I was set to give one and all a sound thrashing.”

  Arty looked at the new guys on the side of the road and said, “What’s with you guys? This guy’s a nut on a horse that thinks he’s some kind of a knight. And, he called us peasants and that means that he called you peasants too. How do ya like that?”

  “Sir,” called Ron, “we be peasants as the good knight states.”

  Arty shook his head and looked at his group standing with him. “You guys okay with this?”

  “We’re with ya, Arty,” said Bruno.

  “Yep,” chimed in Garth. “I’m tired of all these butt-wipe, townies crapping on us. Let’s kick some butt.”

  Arty turned back to the knight and said with his blue eyes half closed, “Hey, Knight Dolt! Ya better put yer facemask back down an’ pull your sword, ‘cause we ain’t movin.” He turned and said over his shoulder, “Guys, ‘sticks and stones will break my bones’, right?’

  The knight became furious at hearing someone call him a dolt and slammed down his visor, grabbed his sword and dug his heels into the horse’s side. The sudden spurring set the horse up on his hind legs and Arty grabbed the walking stick and stood ready as the knight regained control and charged him. Arty stepped slightly aside and his friends unleashed the
stones they picked up at Arty’s, ‘sticks and stones’ urging. They pelted the armored knight and his horse while at the same time Arty swung his staff at the sword of the suddenly confused and infuriated knight. The staff was cut in two, but the knight dropped his sword and quickly rode back to his young attendants and put out his hand for his lance. He lifted his visor as he prepared for another attack.

  Seeing that the man intended to take his time, Arty shouted, “C’mon guys, swarm him,” and he ran across the twenty-feet and grabbed the horse’s reins. The knight was startled to find himself suddenly surrounded by a screaming hoard of, what he took to be, peasants. They pulled him every which way and he couldn’t defend himself and was finally pulled from his horse. The man landed heavily on the packed dirt with a clang as the boys pelted his armor-clad body with sticks and kicks until it became clear to all that he was helpless.

  Arty stood with one foot on the chest of the panting knight. He noticed that the man’s entourage just stood there watching and more than one was laughing.

  He addressed them. “Hey, guys. Does he call you peasants, too?”

  A few nods got Arty thinking as he went on, “Then, why follow this nerd? He removed his foot and said to the knight, “Stand up, Sir Dolt.”

  The knight tried and finally said to his group, “Help me up, dolts! Dost thou not see how this peasant hath desecrated a holy Knight? Help me up that I might smite him.”

  The boys turned to Arty and one asked, “Sir, should we chance ta follow thou, would yee have us?”

  “I don’t . . .”

  “Yes,” said Merryl suddenly stepping in, “he will have yee. Fear not on that account.”

  “Then,” said the boy as he kneeled down in front of Arty, “I am known as William and we shall follow thee sir . . . sir . . .?”

  “Sir Arthur,” said Merryl in a booming voice that got all the other kid’s attention and they followed the kneeling boy’s actions.

  Arty looked at the group of kneeling boys and girls and with a grin said, “Hey Merryl, when the cops get here the crap’s really gonna hit the fan, so let’s just boogey on outta here. Okay?”