The Pardoners Tale - Three foolish youths and Death himself

Adapted from Chaucer's Canterbury Tale

Hopefully one thing you will take away from any of my stories is that although life could be hard in medieval times our ancestors still knew how to laugh albeit in a moral way! They liked their jokes and jests just as we still do today and they needed to be able to laugh, for life could be very hard indeed. War, famine and disease were never far away and so people had a greater intimacy with Death than we today, they knew Death well enough. In all the churches of the land at this time the people would have seen depictions of hell and Death, which served as warnings to all. Pictures of monstrous animals and demons consuming the sinful, eating all those who had lived a bad life. All those who had lived lewd lives and died of diseases like the Black Death. In my own home town of Norwich there were 3 outbreaks in the 1300s and there are some as say that up to 25,000 people lost their lives to it. Oh how they suffered before they died, large black buboes and boils some said to be as big as apples under the armpits and elsewhere, a violent fever and sickness, 3 to 6 days of melancholy and misery before death and being tipped into a common grave shared with many other unfortunate victims of the pestilence that plagued the land. And what could be done, for no one knew the cause. Was it the wrath of God upon a sinful people or ‘arsenical’ fumes, polluted gases erupting from the very earth beneath our feet? No one knew what caused the plague and so there was little that could be done to protect against this terrible disease. But as you will hear there were some as tried…….

For my tale begins in Flanders - a distant City, but not that different to Norwich. For like Norwich it suffered greatly from the ravishes of the disease and like Norwich it had its fair share of alehouses, pubs, taverns, call them what you will. And like Norwich, Flanders had its fair share of drunkards and fools who lived within the taverns drowning their sorrows now that the plague was upon them……

For in Flanders there was such a company
Of youngsters wedded to such sin and folly

The folly of gaming, of playing dice and cards and drinking too much and swearing outrageous oaths. For they swore in the medieval fashion…

By Gods precious blood!’ and ‘By Gods nails
By the blood of Jesus kept at the Abbey of Hails
My dice scores seven, yours only three
By Gods two arms, if you try cheating me

And as they swore they drank some more and as they drank some more they swore some more! For it is a common known fact that the more a man drinks, the more foolish he becomes and the more foolish he becomes the more he drinks and so on and so forth. As it was with these three young men….

The three loose livers of whom I tell
Along time before the first church bell
Had seated themselves in a tavern drinking
And as they sat, heard another bell clinking

But it was the not church bell calling all to a service, It was but a solitary hand bell and it let forth a sad, a sorrowful report, whilst in the distance a lone voice could also be heard….

Bring out your dead. Bring out your dead. Bring out your dead.

And through the window of the tavern the three youths saw a corpse being carted. A dead man being carried on his last journey, to be rudely tipped into a common grave, there to lay with the other unfortunate victims of the plague. Well all three now wished to know who had died, for which unlucky soul the bell now tolled. And the serving boy of the tavern told all three that it was a friend of theirs and that Death had taken him suddenly just the evening before. He died as the boy said whilst he sat making merry upon that very bench where they now sat.

And whilst he sat there blind drunk, there came
A softly treading thief and Death was his name!

It was Death the thief who steals the life from all eventually. Be they rich or poor, old or young, all are the unwilling victims of his crimes! But now their host, the landlord spoke and he reminded the youths that Death had already taken thousands whilst the plague raged in Flanders and he warned all three to be on their guard lest Death should come a creeping and steal the very life force from them.

Death the thief! A strange idea to you and I, but remember that the people of medieval times had an intimacy with Death that we do not have today. They knew Death well enough. In all the churches of the land at this time the people would have seen depictions of hell which served as warnings to all. Pictures of monstrous animals and demons consuming the sinful, eating all those who had lived a bad life. They knew Death well enough because it could be all around them! That doesn’t mean that men didn’t fear dying, for like you and I most wanted to live long happy lives, but not it seems our three drunken friends in Flanders. They were much offended by the demise of their friend. He had been a fine friend who had drunk many a quart of ale with the three young men and now they wanted revenge! They were not scared of Death, for he was nothing but a common thief who steals the life of men as if it were no more than a few base coins in a poor mans purse and as a common thief should not he be punished for his crimes?

And so it was pondering upon these thoughts they drank some more and as they drank their anger like their foolishness grew. Anger at the loss of a friend, but anger fuelled by drink, which was the worst kind of anger, because it could not be controlled. Anger at that ruffian Death, that common thief. Should not he himself be put to death for all his evil crimes? Why yes of course he should agreed all three and all three drew their daggers and brought them down into the very bench upon which their friend had died. And each swore this very oath….

Each of us will hold his hand up to the other
And with this oath become his brother
And we will kill this black betrayer Death
And we will kill the killer, by Gods Holy breath

Each swore the oath upon his life that all three would act as one and be Death's executioners. They would punish Death for all his thieving ways. And so it was all three set forth from the tavern upon their foolish quest. And it was a foolish quest, for they were as drunk as drunk could be and it is a common known fact that the more a man drinks the more foolish he becomes and the more foolish a man becomes then the more he drinks and so on and so forth! And it was a foolish quest because none of them knew not what Death looked like or from whence he came. Although they did know that he had been hard at work in the City, especially in the poorest quarter of Flanders. Death had been especially busy there and many had died and so they thought if they were to find Death anywhere then sure it would be there.

But they had not gone as much as half a mile
And just as they were about to cross a stile
When they a met an old man who greeted them
He said ‘God save and keep you Gentlemen

But their greeting back to him was less kind and all three looked with suspicion upon the old man. For why was such an old frail man abroad on such a cold night as this? And how come such an old man as he was still alive when so many young folk were dead of the plague? How come, they asked him had old man as decrepit as he not yet shuffled off this mortal coil, how come he had not perished of the foul pestilence that was upon the land? And he answered thus

Although I have walked the length and breath of this land in many a town and village and even to the end of the earth, I have never found anyone on my travels who would exchange his youth for my old age. I’m so tired and like a prisoner trapped upon this earth. Upon this earth which was is heavens gate I go knocking from early till late Saying, my dearest earth let me in See how I wither, flesh, blood and skin. But mother earth will not let me in and though I yearn to exchange my poor mans shirt for a linen shroud, it is not yet to be.

But, the three foolish youth were not convinced by the old mans words. Surely they thought this old man he must be in league with Death, perhaps he was Death's spy looking for his next victim. Perhaps he had even struck a bargain with Death, that would explain how an old man as he were still alive. Why he might even be Death himself for all they knew, for the foolish youths did not know what Death looked like or from whence he came. And even if he were not Death they still felt certain that one so old, so close to death as he would know where thief Death might be found. And so they asked him…

Old man says they, old man. It is Death we seek and so prey tell us where he is?

Now the withered old mans dull eyes flashed brightly…

Well gentlemen said he if you’re so keen
I’ll tell you now that death I’ve seen
To find death, follow this crooked road
For upon my word, I left him in that grove
Under a tree and there he will abide
For all your boasting, he’ll not hide

So follow the crooked road to the oak tree yonder and there you will find Death!

Thereupon all three foolish youths began to run. God be with you the old man shouted after them, but they did not reply. They were already near the tree running toward their destiny. They ran and they ran….

Until they reached the tree and then they found
Gold Florins, gold coins, fine and round
Near eight bushels of them, or so they thought
Thenceforth it was no longer Death they sought
For each was happy at the sight
Those Florins, those coins, so beautiful and so bright

The sight of such a precious hoard of treasure meant that all three now forgot their sworn oath to punish Death. But know this, Death had not forgotten them although all three were happy for now for…

Upon them fortune had bestowed his treasure
So they might live in luxury forever

But wait. How could they claim this treasure for themselves? If they were to carry it away now whilst others were still abroad they might see the treasure. They knew that they must wait until the alehouses and taverns were closed and non but the vilest rogues were still abroad. They must wait until the veil of darkness had descended so no one could see them carrying away the treasure to their houses...

This treasure must be carried away at night
As quietly and slyly as it might

For if they were caught, people would say they were thieves and for their treasure they would be hanged. They would have to wait, but waiting could be thirsty work. So all three drew straws to see who among them would go to town to fetch some wine and some bread, whilst the other two kept a sharp eye upon the gold. And as it happened it fell to the youngest of the three friends to leave, for it was he that drew the shortest straw. And so it was he that set off for town.

Forth toward the town he went, anon
But almost as soon as he were gone
One of the two who stayed said unto the other
You must knowest well you are my brother
Well, I’ll tell you something you won’t lose by
Now our young friend has gone awry

Why asked he, should we share the gold between three?...

How would it be, if I could work it with you
That we only shared the gold between us two?

Both agreed that they were two and two are stronger than one. And both agreed that upon their young friends return they would wait until he settled and when he sat down they would leap upon him as if having fun, as if making sport, but with their daggers they would skewer him right through the back! It seems then that two foolish youths were taken by greed. But greed is a disease just like the plague, for like the plague it is very infectious and not many are immune. For the youngest of the foolish threesome, the one heading into town, he too was thinking of the gold…

Those lovely shining Florins, new and bright
‘Oh Lord!’ said he, ‘if I only I might’
Keep all the treasure for myself alone
I be the happiest person beneath Gods heavenly throne

And to that end he went first to an apothecary, a chemist if you like and upon the excuse of needing to kill some rats, he bought poison. And It was a good strong poison that no living creature could withstand, for as the apothecary noted, it was so strong that anything that drank but drop the size of a grain of wheat…

Then it would die, in less a while
Than it takes to run an even mile

Satisfied with his poison, the young man bought some bread and three large bottles of wine and then hiding in an alleyway nearby he uncorked two of the bottles and poured the poison into them and then made his way back to the tree. Well what more do I need say, for there was to be no going back, the die had been cast. No sooner had all three sat down and broken the bread than as if to make sport the two attacked the one…

And before he’d a chance to be well fed
They jumped upon him and killed him dead

But killing a friend can be thirsty work and just as their dead friend had planned they drank from the bottle of poisoned wine. And just as their dead friend had planned, they both suffered slow agonising deaths. The murderers were murdered by a murdered man! And so it seems the old man had been right all along, for it was Death the three foolish youths had sought and he had indeed been waiting for them at the foot of the great oak tree…..

For although they found not Death, not he
Death found them and claimed all three!

Don't Count Your Chickens

'Henwife'. Taken from the Luttrell Psalter c. 1330

Don’t Count your Chickens

I can often be heard saying that there are no new tales in the world and we storytellers simply grow new corn from old fields. We take those old tales and make them our own. We impose our culture and our beliefs on them and in that way they travel around the world. Don't Count Your Chickens is a story that is a good example of this, because it is an ancient tale in both the East and the West. In the East more often than not the main character is a young man who is the fantasist, but in West it is a woman who plays the fool (Although even here there are exceptions like Johnny Wopstraw and the Hare) There are then many different versions of this tale, some of which can be found in the Hindu Hitopadesa, The Arabian Nights, Rablais Gargantua and La Fontaine’s Fables. Enjoy...

Once there was young woman who was fair of face and soft of thigh and a girl who had many an admirer. But she cared little of the attentions of local lads, for with a purse full of naught but head full of dreams she was a flibberty gibbit. A lass who was never in the here and now, for she was always in next week, next month, next year… For she was a girl who always wanted more….

Well once a year she had to take her honey, or rather the honey of her mother’s bees she kept in her small garden to market. Once a year she carried that precious load from her mother’s hives to the autumn fayre to sell. The girl trudged the long road to market and as she walked on this fine late summers day with the pot of honey set with a basket upon her back, she began to dream of how she would spend her mother’s profits, the coin from the sale of the honey….

First, she thought to herself, I will sell my honey and this very day buy me a dozen fine and goodly eggs And I shall take those twelve eggs home and set them under my mother’s fat brown hen, and in time they will hatch and I shall have me a dozen little fine and goodly chicks. And when those chicks become chickens, perhaps two cockerels and ten hens, I shall sell them all and buy myself some fine and goodly lambs. And when those lambs become sheep, I shall shear their backs of wool. Fine and goodly wool it shall be. Wool to be spun into fine and goodly threads. Fine and goodly thread to be woven into fine and goodly cloth. That’s it yes, she thought, fine and goodly wool, which will bring a fair price at market and so lots more coin. And with that coin I shall buy myself some fine and goodly cows and they shall feast upon the lush, fine and goodly grass in the churchyard and their milk it too shall be fine and goodly and folks shall travel from miles around to buy my milk and I shall be rich!

And so it was she dreamt of how she would become richer than her neighbours, how she would, be able to marry the handsome son of a Lord from here or there or even somewhere else for that matter. How she would live in a fine house and marry her fine and goodly sons, all twelve of them to fine and goodly wives and how they would sing and dance each night to beat of the tabor and fine and goodly pipe….

But the young woman who fair of face and soft of thigh was so taken with her fine and goodly thoughts that she really did begin to dance… skipping this way and that, clapping her hands to the beat… she leapt into the air so high that suddenly the jar of honey was thrown from her basket. It flew high into the air and along with her dreams was smashed upon the floor. For want of honey she never did get her fine and goodly eggs, nor her two cockerels and ten hens, her sheep with fine and goodly wool, her cows, her handsome husband, twelve sons and their fine goodly wives. All were all lost. All were left naught but a sticky mess upon the road.

No Tale to Tell

Inside the Cardinal's Hat, Norwich!

No Tale to Tell
Adapted from an Irish Story

The nights are drawing in and so its time for all storytellers out there to turn their attentions to those darker Devilish tales. Tales like this one, although all you storytellers spare a thought for all those who do not have a story; men like the Pedlar you'll meet below who didn't have a tale to tell....

Once long ago there was Pedlar who went from town to town, village to village and house to house selling his wares, crying, what do you lack, what do you lack, what will you buy from the pack on my back... wherever he went. And one day he came to Norwich walking here and there, there and here, from Ber street to Bishopsgate bridge, from Westwick Street to Whitefriars and on the market place as well, selling his wares.

But times were hard in the City. It was winter, food was short, prices were high and plague was rife and carts loaded with bodies were carted to mass graves to be buried with out care or much in the way of prayer. Whilst others suspected of the great pestilence were nailed up in their houses to await their doom. And so it was the Pedlar did little trade and with little coin in his pouch and winters icy grip reaching deep inside him, he went from inn to alehouse seeking a cheap bed for the night. And after many wrong words his search brought him to the Cardinals Hat, an inn well known for harboring all manner of rogues and knaves . A house of ill rule if ever there was one! The landlord was a giant of a man, red faced and roaring but with smile in his eyes that put the Pedlar at his ease.

He told the Landlord of his needs and the landlord smiled, he sat the Pedlar down and fed him upon hot soup and ale heated with a poker fetched from the fire. He offered the Pedlar a bed free of charge for the night, for all the landlord wanted in return was a story. A story from the Pedlar. But the Pedlar did not have a story. Why even my own story is of little worth, says he, I was born, I was raised and I took to the road like my father and his father before him, and so I have no tale to tell. But the landlord merely laughed. He patted the Pedlar upon the back, lit a candle and led him to a room. Have the bed anyway, says he as he bowed to the Pedlar and bid him goodnight.

Well the Pedlar was well pleased with his room and the bed was the softest he had ever slept in and soon he was drifting off to sleep. But there was a noise, feint at first, a tap, tap, tapping upon the window pane. The Pedlar peered over the covers and saw nowt and so thought it must be a branch from a tree swaying in the wind, for the weather had worsened and there was snow on the way. And the Pedlar thought the tap, tap, tapping so annoying, he would sleep very little that night. He rose from his bed, he padded to the window and opened it to see what he could see. He peered into the darkness but could see no tree nearby, he saw nothing.... Save only a hand attached to the ragged remnants of an arm.... A hand pointing at him. The hand grabbed the Pedlar taking hold of his throat it dragged him through the window, the nails tearing at the flesh of his neck and now another and another hand, many hands took hold of the Pedlar taking his hair, his arms, his feet, dragging him to a churchyard nearby.

And there in the churchyard was pit half dug with a great pile of bodies mouldering nearby. A spade leant against a nearby tree and hanging from its branches was a winding sheet flapping in the breeze. A winding sheet waiting a body to wrap tight. The hands pointed into the pit and a voice that came from void said, Dig. And other voices they too whispered, dig, dig, dig, as the hands pushed the Pedlar into the unfinished grave. To say the Pedlar was scared could not do his feelings full justice, for he was terrified and he knew that the winding sheet flapping on the tree was his, but still he dug. Seeing no way out he dug and he dug and he dug his sobs mingling with the melancholic cawing of crows; crows who sat upon the tree and cackled like old crones, laughing at the poor Pedlar forced to dig his own grave.

The Pedlar dug for what seemed an age whilst the snow fell heavily, making the sides of the pit cold and slippery to the touch. The Pedlar stop crying, resigned now to his fete. But the crows they too had ceased their scathing mocking calls and the whispering cries of, dig, dig, dig, they were no more. The Pedlar set the spade across the top of the hole and pulled himself up, eyes half closed terrified of what he might see. But he saw nowt except the thick snow laden clouds passing across the moon. The hands were gone. The Pedlar slowly pulled himself from the grave and crept through the graveyard making his way towards the gate set in the churchyard wall in front of the porch. Closer and closer he crept as silently and as slowly as he could. Feeling for the gravestones he got closer and closer... But a hand from nowhere took hold of his leg, then another and another. The Pedlar screamed tearing the hands from his body . He threw himself through the gate running as fast as he could towards the Inn, not looking back he leapt onto a cart that sat beneath the open window of his chamber and from the cart he leap towards the window, hooking his fingers over the ledge, pulling himself up. Heaving his aching body into the room, he slammed the window shut, he crawled into the corner of the room and curled up like a frightened child...

And that is how he remained for the rest of the night. Sitting with head between his knees and arms wrapped about him, rocking backwards and forwards until the sun began to rise, the cock crowed and there was a knock at his door that set him jumping again. The Pedlar got to his feet and slowly, very slowly he opened the door just enough to peep through and there was the innkeeper before him. The Pedlar broke down and sobbing he told the red faced man all that had happened in the graveyard, of the crooked crows, hurtful hands and the winding sheet waiting for him. And the Innkeeper looked at the Pedlar still with a smile in his eyes, except now it was a wicked smile. His face that too was much redder than before and now the Pedlar saw that he had hooves for shoes, hairy legs for trousers and a tale that lish lashed, lash lished behind him. For the Innkeeper was the Devil himself, the biggest rogue, the biggest knave of them all. Last night when you came to my Inn, says the Devil to the Pedlar. You told me that you did not have a tale to tell. Well, says the Devil to the Pedlar, well says he.... You have now!

Of the Knight and the Widow

Of the Knight and the Window

Taken from Aesop’s fables and other medieval folklore

Image from William Caxton's Original Illustrated edition of Aesop's Fables (1484)

Most people think of animal stories when they think of Aesop' Fables. Animals like the sly fox who took on the bad characteristics of we humans. But not all of the fables involved animals, although they were still about the darker side of life. Stories like the Knight and the Widow, for I have always enjoyed telling merry gestes; short jokey tales with a great punch line and that's why I like this story. It's also a story that you can really work with, making it as gruesome and as silly as you please!

Once long ago there lived an alewife. An old woman who divided her time between the selling ale and the finding a new man to wed For the alewife had had many husbands in her many years. More husbands than there were days in the week, and weeks in the year. All had felt the sharp end of her tongue, and Death's cold bony fingers upon their shoulders. And in truth all were happy to go, for the alewife was the most troublesome, the most noisome women any of them had ever known. And so it was her last husband had died this very week and she was already searching for his replacement.

Well it was at this time that a notorious rogue, a thief and murderer of many years standing was hanged by the neck for all his terrible crimes. Hanged at a crossroads and as was the custom of the day, he was left hanging in chains to rot to serve as an example to all those who sought to steal and kill. But such was the hatred and notoriety of the hanged man that the local Lord ordered a young Knight, new in his service to guard the body. To protect the body from any who sought to attack it or even steal it away and sell to others. To those who might use for who knows what!

Well the young Knight wanted to please his new Lord and so he followed his orders faithfully. For three long days and three longer nights the knight guarded the corpse and never once left his post. But he grew tired, he grew hungry and thirsty and besides no one had tried to touch the body of the hanged man, save only the crows that pecked at his eye and his flesh. Surely thought the young Knight no one shall touch the hanged man now, for it was summer and the body was already beginning to stink. Surely thought he, no one will mind if I slip away for a while and have an ale or two or maybe even three. And so it was the young knight left the body hanging at the crossroads and went quickly to an alehouse nearby; the alehouse of the alewife who divided her time between the selling of ale and the finding a new man to wed!

Well the alewife was pleased to welcome the handsome young man to her house and even more pleased to pour him an ale or two, an ale or three, an ale or four and many, many more! So many in fact that the knight spent most of the night at the alehouse and only as the first cock crowed in the early hours did he remember his duty.

But when he returned to the cross roads all was not as he had left it. Something was wrong, for all was not right and where once the body had hung; now only chains remained. Well straight way the young knight returned to the alehouse. He knew only a few people of the town and he trusted even less and the alewife had treated him kindly and the Knight thought that an old woman such as she must have a good supply of wit and wisdom about her. He fell to his knees before the old alewife and pleaded with he. Good Mistress says he. You must help me. For if you don’t I must leave this place, lest they take me for a knave hang me in the rogue's place. The alewife could not believe her ears, it could not be, for she had taken quite a fancy to the young Knight. She thought him a lusty young fellow and was not about to give him up so easily. And the young Knight had indeed been right and she had wit and wisdom enough for the both of them.

Fear not gentle Knight says she. For if you follow what I say and do, you shall be safely delivered. And with that she fetched a spade and lantern and made straightway for the graveyard where her last husband was three days since buried. And whilst she held the lantern high the old alewife set the young Knight to digging. Fear not gentle Knight, says she, for we shall hang my husband’s body in the rogues place!

And so it was they dug up her dead husbands mouldering corpse and set it high on the gallows in place of the murdering thief. And the knight was much pleased….. But wait says he, something is wrong, for something is not right. For the murdering rogue that once hanged here had but one leg, for the other was lost long ago when he fell beneath the wheels of a cart. The old woman merely laughed. No problem, says she, and she went quickly, fetched a saw and sawed off her dead husband’s leg!

And the knight was much pleased.... But wait, says he, something is wrong, for something is not right. For the murdering rogue that once hanged here had no eyes, for the one was lost long ago when he got into a fight after cheating at cards and the other was lost just the other night when a crow took it for its dinner! The old woman merely laughed. No problem, says she, and she went quickly, fetched a dagger and plucked out both her dead husband’s eyes!

And the knight was much pleased.... But wait, says he, something is wrong, for something is not right. For the murdering rogue that once hanged here had a brand upon his cheek, a mark burnt into his skin to show all that he was a thief. The old woman merely laughed. No problem, says she, and she went quickly, fetched a poker from the fire and burnt deeply into her dead husbands flesh!

And the knight was much pleased.... But wait, says he, something is wrong, for something is not right. For the murdering rogue that once hanged here had but two teeth in the whole of his head, for the others had rotted away long, long ago. The old woman merely laughed. No problem, says she, and she went quickly, fetched a hammer and knocked all but two of her husbands teeth from his mouth!

And the knight was much pleased.... But wait says he, something is wrong, for something is not right. For the murdering rogue that once hanged here had but three fingers upon his right hand, for the other was lost long, long ago, when he had been bitten by the Lords best hunting hound. The old woman merely laughed. No problem, says she, and she went quickly, fetched an axe and chopped off her dead husband’s fingers!

And the knight was much pleased.... At last the alewife’s husband was a goodly match for the murdering rogue who had once hung there. And so pleased was the knight that once again he fell to his knees and thanked the old woman for her help and promised her any reward that it was in his power to give. Well, says the old woman, I wish to be wed, once more to marry. So how would it be that you become my husband and I become your wife?

The knight, he slowly raised himself to his feet and rubbed his chin as if in careful thought. No fear mother, says he, for I have seen well enough how you treated your last husband. I’m off! And with that the young knight jumped upon his horse and galloped off into what was left of the old night. And he was never seen in that locality again.

And as for the alewife’s last husband? Well, he was left to rot.

And as for the alewife? Well, some of those who have told this tale are not certain, but I feel sure that she served many more pots of ale and wed many more a foolish husband. Of that I have no doubt!

Riddle me this...

Like many storytellers I like to add a riddle or two to my sessions to add a bit of interest. They are particularly good when waiting for a crowd to arrive. I often use them to set up a particular tale and as a means for an audience to 'earn a story. If they get the riddle right, they get a story or two. If they cannot answer the riddle, they must stay behind till the end, help me pack up and carry all my skins, tent and other stuff back to Norwich!

Some riddles like many of the Saxon examples collected in the Exeter Riddle Book are very complicated. So complicated we don't now know the answers to all of them. But others are easier and far more silly like this one adapted for a week of storytelling in Sherwood Forest this coming August...

Friar Tuck was baking some pies for Robin of the Hood and his very Merry Men. But what did the Friar Tuck and his helpers put in the pies to stop them going rotten?

The answer to this riddle is cunningly hidden on my latest blog post about the travels of an itinerant storyteller in the New Forest....

The Cuckold and the Ring- An tale for adults!

One thing that really frustrates me as a storyteller is that many people still assume stories are only for children. But I know from my own research finding authentic tales from medieval times and before that many stories were not intended solely for children. Many were intended for a family audience to be told around the hearth. Many developed from moralising sermons for all in the church. But some clearly grew and grew in ribaldry as they were told and retold in the alehouse and were perhaps never ever intended for children's ears at all!

Stories like this one adapted from a thirteenth century French fabliaux; a fable told to amuse. And what better way than to mock the old fool who chooses to take a young wife - a stock character in many a medieval tale.....

Once….

Long, long ago and in a land far, far away from here there lived an old merchant. A man rich in coin, but poor in all other respects. For the old man was ugly both within and without. For the old man loved little beyond the pursuit of wealth and was not interested in anything that money could not buy….

But there is not much that money can’t buy, even a wife. For there was another merchant of the town who had himself a beautiful young daughter… She was a peach, a poppet, a daisy… Prettier still than the pear tree in full blossom. In the words of Master Geoffrey Chaucer, she was as skittish as a newborn colt and as slim and as supple as weasel and all the men of the town loved her and wished to occupy her attentions.

But she was destined for the old man. For even though she had no love for him her father gave her no choice, for he was to do very well from the contract. And so it was the old man and the young woman wed and the old man took the young woman to his house and kept her there as a prisoner. For the old man new well enough that others lusted after his young wife, that they wished to give her the twinkle from their eyes and he knew well enough that others would come sniffing at his door whenever he the old man was out. So jealous did the old merchant become, that he stopped going away on business, he stopped going to his shop.

But soon his business began to suffer, his money began to dwindle and the old man knew he must go away; travel to his creditors if his business was to survive. But the journey was a long one, too far for his young wife unused to the hard road and besides he would have no time for her. But what could he do, for if he was to leave her behind, then others would come sniffing at his door and he should surely be made a cuckold.

The old man could not decide what to do. And so it was the night before he was due to travel he tossed and turned in his bed and sleep would not easily come to him….. But then he saw a strange light from without his chamber… The door opened and there stood an Angel, clothed all in white; a bright blazing halo atop his head and a gold ring held in the palm of his hand. Fear not old merchant said the Angel as he gave the ring to the old man. For as long as you wear this ring your wife shall not be unfaithful. As long as you wear this ring, you shall not be made cuckold. And with that the Angel vanished.

Well, the old man frightened as he was, was much relieved and assured by the Angel words… He slipped the ring on his finger and fell into the deep, deep sleep of a happy and contented man…..

The following morning the old merchant woke early and now greatly refreashed and reassured he made to rise from his bed, but he could not. For where his feet and legs led his body, his arm, his hand would not follow. For the old man's ring finger was stuck firmly up his young wife’s arse. For it was true, whilst the old man kept that particular ring on his finger, his young wife was never unfaithful. Whilst he kept that particular ring on his finger, he was never made cuckold!

The End.

The Tale of Till Eulenspiegel

My last story was a devilish tale and ably demonstrated a moral tone that can be found in many a medieval Tale. The devil then, served to highlight the faults of others. But in that role he was not alone, for what the devil could do well, many a trickster could better. Indeed, the world over there are many examples of tricksters and trickster tales, but one of the best known in Europe was Till Eulenspiegel....

Till Eulenspiegel , from a 16th century manuscript

He was a trickster who traveled the land in disguise and delighted in his own wits. He was a con man, who stole from rich and poor alike but a person whose practical jokes however harsh serve to benefit mankind by exposing the vice, greed, foolishness and hypocrisy of others! He is said to based upon a real person who died about 1350, although his various tales don’t appear in extant print literature until 1515 in Germany. Prior to this the stories were most likely passed on orally; in songs and ballads and tales. And like many stories some of Till’s adventures are shared with other characters from other places and times. His name translates as Owl-Mirror or Owl-Glass and he is often depicted with an owl and mirror as above, although there are some that suggest in the original 'low German' his name translates as 'arse wipe'! Perhaps you should all read one of his tales and decide for yourselfs....

The Miracle Cure

One day Till Eulenspiegal came to a town disguised as a Doctor. A Dr of Physic who could cure any ill, be it sweating sickness, pestilence or the pox, Till assured one and all, all and one that he could cure them... At a price of course and he posted a large notice upon all the church doors of the town that said as much to all. Well all those who could read anyway.

Well its just so happens that the director of the local hospital heard of ‘Doctor’ Eulenspiegal's great skills at medicine and having many patients staying at his hospital and non of them seeming close to a cure he went to see Till and asked for his help. Till Eulenspiegal... Dr Eulenspiegal agreed… I’ll cure all your patients says he, be they sick with the sweat, the pestilence or the pox, I’ll cure them all… But at a price of course, and he made the director promise him 200 gilders, a fortune if he could cure them all. Indeed, says Till, If but one of your patients is not cured, then I won’t take a penny!

Well this seemed like a good deal and the director of the hospital agreed. And so it was Eulenspiegal went to the hospital and was given a small chamber in which to examine his patients and he set to seeing them one by one. He listened carefully to all that each one had to tell him, nodding sadly as each and every one told them their tales of woe. Of their foul fetid ulcerated legs and their fetid and foul boils. Boils upon their bellys, boils upon their backs and boils upon their... Boils everywhere! And Dr Eulenspigal listened patiently; he shook his head and tut, tut, tutted in all the right places, and he scribbled and scraped with a quill pen upon parchment.. But then at the end of each interview he drew the patient close by him… Listen carefully says he, for what I am about to tell you is a secret, I should not be telling you and for your own benefit you must tell no other. And each and every patient promised, they swore to Eulenspigal that they would not tell a soul! Good says he. Then know this. If I am to cure the lot of you then the only way I can do it is by burning one of your bodies and mixing the ashes into the medicine for all the rest of you to drink. If I am to cure you all then I need to pick the sickest one amongst you to burn!

Well, having told each and every one of the sick the very same thing Dr Eulenspiegal went out into the hall of the hospital and ordered a great fire be built and lit. And then summoning all the patients, Dr Till Eulenspiegal called out, Let he who is sickest amongst you step forward… But non stepped forward and so it was Eulenspiegal went from one to the next asking them one after the other if they were the most seriously ill, but all said they were not. Indeed, all agreed that were not sick at all; all agreed that they were cured, that they were as fit as fiddles! And even though some had not walked more than a few steps in many, many a year, all now ran as fast as they could from the hospital!

The patients were cured for a day or two at least and the director of the hospital was happy for a day or two at least... And Till Eulenspiegal? Well, he was even richer for many a day and more!

The End