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

Another medieval Tale - The Devil Take You...

The summoner handing out a summons. From Ellesmere MS c.1400

As always the fortunes of one influence the misfortunes of another... The story i am about to tell has many variants, but this one is influenced by Chaucer's Friars Tale about a a Summoner who gets what's coming to him. The summoner whose job it was in medieval times to summon, to call those who were accused of doing wrong to the church courts. But like many in his profession, in his line of work, he was a greedy man and would take a fine, some coin from those accused of doing wrong, so that they would not have to go court and he would share the proceeds with his Bishop! And there were some like our man who were not satisfied with summoning the guilty to answer for their crimes, but would falsely accuse the innocent, those who had done nothing wrong in order to take a fine from them.... The summoner was a hated figure in medieval times, but he was in good company... For in other versions of this tale, he is ably replaced by a lawyer, bailiff and judge!

The Devil take You...
(Yet another late medieval tale demonstrating the growing dissatisfaction with a corrupt greedy church!)

Once on a certain day long ago, a summoner rode out to catch his prey, to summon those to court who had been accused of doing wrong, but more happy to take fines from those to scared or old to go there. Guilty or innocent, he did not care as long as they had money enough to pay him for his trouble. And as he rode out that day, happy at the thought of the days business ahead, happy at the thought of all the false charges he would make and bribes he would receive, he saw a well dressed man riding just ahead of him. A well dressed man wearing a gown and a broad brimmed black hat. And being in a good mood, the summoner greeted the stranger and invited him to ride close by a while...Good day to you stranger said the man in the broad brimmed black hat. Well met replied the summoner. Tell me friend says the stranger in the broad brimmed black hat, where are you going so early and on such a fine day as this?... To collect rents now due said the summoner, pretending now to be a bailiff collecting rents for his Lord. For it was bad enough to be a bailiff taking rent from those who could not afford it, yet much worse still to be a summoner taking fines from those who had done nothing wrong and the summoner did not want the stranger to know his true purpose, his work that day..

But tell me, says the summoner, since I have told you of my purpose this day, perhaps you would tell me yours.. I too am a bailiff of sorts says the stranger in the broad brimmed black hat, for I too travel the land collecting rents of sorts, although I travel much further than you to collect what is due to me.. And so the two rode on talking pleasantly of many things, and soon the summoner thought the stranger in the broad brimmed black hat to be a finer friend as ever he had had.. For being a summoner and hated by most, he had few friends by which to judge.

And after a while the summoner thought to know more of his new friend of where he came from, of how he worked and of his name... The stranger in the broad brimmed black hat began to smile a little. I am the Devil! says he, and I live down in hell... And as for my work, I travel the land collecting the souls of the dammed, of all those who have granted them to me. Whether by hook or by crook, by trickery, by force or by their own greed I take their souls for my own! And it seems to me says the Devil, that we are in the same trade, you take their money and I their souls...We both line our pockets with the misery of others!
Well, the summoner thought for a while and it was true, both he and the Devil were in the same business, which set him thinking.. Its true enough says he to the Devil, so why not this day we work as one. We will go about our business this day collecting what is owed. You take your share, what ever people give and I'll take mine and if one of us should get more than the other he'll share it with his new found friend. How would that be?.. Agreed said the Devil ) and both clapped hands together to seal the bargain...

And so it was as the day wore on they rode from village to village and the summoner went about his business taking a lot money from those who could little afford it... But the Devil he took nought, he took nothing.... And now the summoner grew weary for it was he who had done all the work this day. It was he who must share all with the Devil

But it was just then that both heard screams and shouts and old a woman appeared being pulled all ways by a pig she held tight upon a rope. The pig took the old woman this way, it took the old woman that and the only way the pig would not take her was the way the old woman wished to go. Enough! cried the old woman, I can take no more from you pig... The Devil take you! Well, hearing these words, the summoner lent over to the devil... Quick my friend take the pig, for the old woman says that it is yours... I would gladly take the pig says the Devil, but she did not mean it with her heart and if i were to take the pig the old woman would be sorry, for she is taking it to market to sell and without the pig she would have nothing.. And sure enough when the summoner looked again the old woman had taken up the rope and was tickling the pig playfully upon its ear...

And so they rode on from village to village the summoner ever busy taking a lot of money from those with little to give, but the Devil took nought, he took nothing and once more the summoner grew weary thinking of all he must share with the Devil..

But at that very moment both heard a child crying, screaming loudly and both saw that the woman holding it was crying too.. Enough! cried she, you are fed , you are cleaned, what more can I do to stop your tears... The Devil take you child!.. The Summoner turned quickly to the Devil..Take the child says he, for she has given it you.. Alas says the Devil, I have no right it, for its mother did not mean it with her heart and would not take two thousand pounds or more to allow me to get hold of her beloved child.. And sure enough when next the summoner looked the child had quietened and it mother sat singing and gently rocking it to sleep...

And so they rode on from village to village, the summoner ever busy taking a lot of money from those with little to give, but the Devil took nought, he took nothing and once more the summoner grew weary thinking of all he must share with the Devil..

But it was now that both saw a carter upon his cart loaded high with hay.. and his cart was stuck fast in the mud... the carter laid about the three horses that pulled his cart with a whip. The whip cracking loudly and the carter shouting louder still hup horses, hup, but the cart would not move and the carter shouted louder still. Enough! The Devil take you all body and bones, the devil take the lot of you , horses cart and hay!.. The summoner saw a bargain.. Quick Devil says he, take it at once, for the carter has given you the hay, cart and three fine horses too!...
I heard his words well enough says the Devil, but just wait and you will see he did not mean it with his heart, just watch... And sure enough with one more crack of the whip the horses pulled the cart free.. Hup, hup my fine fellows says the carter, and god bless you all my lovelies says he laughing now as he continued on his way...

Well now it was growing dark and the summoner had but one more stop to make at the house of an old woman, a widow with little to give... But it would not stop him taking what he could... It seems to me says the summoner to the Devil, that you need some lessons in the way of our business, for you have taken nothing this day, but fear not for I will show you how its done. For this old woman has little to her name says he, and even though she has done nothing wrong I'll threaten her with court if she doesn't pay me 12-pence this day. He beat hard upon her door and threatened the poor old woman as he had said he would.. Pay up old crone or you'll find yourself in court and if you can't come to court you'll find yourself in prison or worse, the Devil take me if I let you off this day!...

The old woman fell to her knees cursing the summoner... Never before have I been summoned to court she cried, never have I done anything wrong. I will not come with you, nor will I pay you your twelve pence.. Enough, stop beating upon my door... The Devil take you summoner, body and soul!..

And hearing her words, the Devil smiled... The Devil laughed... Now there was one who was serious says he, the old woman meant it with all her heart.. And with that he took the summoner firmly by the hair, he rose up high into the air and took the summoner body and soul d to Hell!

The end.