Weasel Overlord
19th January 2007, 09:41 PM
This thinger is the last one of my Creative Writing submissions. It is the first draft, so obviously it's in need of a big shiny edit. Buuut any comments, yadablahvlah, the usual. Grammar/spelling/vocab nitpicks especially please! Forgot to add, it was meant to be based around a reading of The Pardoner's Tale, by Chaucer.
^_^
Saul the Betrayer
It all started on that single sunny day which had been like a breath of fresh air in the midst of the darkest and dankest winter many folks'd seen in long years. Folks were out and about in the crisp, sun-tinted air for the first time in a season, enjoying the feel of the cold winter sun on their faces, they'd breathed in the heady scent of a winter nearly over; the last of the snowdrops had nearly faded away to bluebells, the splashes of pale blue hidden carefully among the rejuvenated grass.
Even the flowers seemed to welcome the warmth of the sun after such cold days they had endured, and their glad buds stretched to their full height, leaves swaying in the mild, freshening breeze as they drank in the life-giving sunlight.
It was through the dew-sprinkled meadow that the Pardoner walked, boots pressing footprints in the browned grass as he made his way into the village and to the stable; for his gentle mare had stumbled upon a stone which was now lodged deep in the pained beast’s hoof. And so he led her carefully, instead of sitting astride her as he should for his entry into the village. His first priority was the removal of the stone, for with a lamed horse he could travel no further than this village, Stockhampton.
And the pardons of the Lord must be spread, aye. And so Roland, his battered sack slung over his shoulder and the reins of Strawberry, the mare, clutched in his free hand, came to Stockhampton on that fateful, but sunny, day. He had nodded grimly at the stableboy as he rushed over and pressed an extra silver into the lad’s hand to ensure the good treatment of Strawberry and the expert removal of the stone that plagued her so, and then Roland wandered, a little aimlessly, about the small village in an attempt to find a place to stay the night.
He pushed open the door of an inn named ‘The Yew Tree’, its lonely sign swinging creakily in the slight breeze, the mouldered wood near to crumbling and the lettering near faded full away with a grimace. This village was a cheery enough place to be sure, but this inn seemed…tainted somehow.
Gathering his senses, Roland shook his head and strode through the door. He blinked as the stench of impurity assaulted his senses. A fog of sweat and curses swirled about him as he clasped a sleeve of his robe to his sensitive nose. Glancing around, Roland picked his way past tables full of roaring drunkards leering at the serving maids as they leaned over to fill tankards, giving each man an eyeful of breast and a seductive wink before sweeping off to the next table.
As Roland approached the bar, his eyes were insulted by the pagan signs which hung at each shelf, warding off evil spirits with their venerable wood. He gave a little shudder, wondering what sort of a place this was. It seemed very much in need of his pardons, and Roland knew he would have a lot of work ahead of him on the morrow.
But for now, he wanted a good ale and a room for the night. Signalling at the harassed-looking barman, he leant over the bar-top to speak in the ear of the rotund man.
“How much for a room good sir?”
“Well, three silvers a night it be surr. But for a little extra yer safety can be…assured, as they say. Five silvers a night, surr. I see you’re not armed…” He looked Roland up and down with a raised eyebrow. “What’s yer business in Stockhampton, surr? An unarmed man such as yerself shouldn be wanderin around all alone, ye know.”
Roland sighed inwardly. “I’ll have four nights without the protection. And a mug of ale. Good ale, please.”
“Right away surr.” The landlord busied himself with Roland’s requests, trying his hardest not to sneak glances at the sack clutched in the Pardoner’s hand. For it was certain that the man was a Pardoner. He had that zealous look about him that could cause nothing but trouble in Stockhampton. If, of course, he wasn’t inconvenienced somehow. Indeed Tom was certain that he could arrange something, and for not too much trouble either. Saul was always eager to get his hands on a preacher man. He said, with that strange smile of his, that it gave him so much more satisfaction if he could carry out his job on a man of God. Tom had always kept his inhibitions about Saul to himself. Something about the man’s strange eyes and that nervous twitch he got when he was excited made him uneasy; even the smell of the man was unnatural somehow.
Tom sighed as he knocked the bung through on one of his October best barrels. He regretted having to open this, but the Pardoner had insisted on a good ale, and Tom’s October ale was the best in Stockhampton.
With a dour scowl, Tom dumped the tankard in front of Roland and then yelled something at one of the serving girls. “Yer room’ll be ready soon enough.”
Roland nodded and tipped his hat at the landlord, giving an appreciative smile as he sipped the ale. He’d only drank about half of the mug when the serving girl returned and gave Roland a wink.
“Yer room’s ready love. Will you be wantin’ comp’ny tonight?” Roland blushed, made his apologies and turned his attention back to the ale, embarrassed. He’d not taken a woman since he’d made his vows to God, but now was certainly not the time. There were pardonings to give. And lots of them too, if the pagan symbols he saw above the bar were anything to go by.
Draining his ale before the girl came back; Roland waved the barman over once more. “Where’s my room? I’d better go and prepare for work on the morrow.” If he was short with the man, it was only because of the shock of the girl’s proposition. Roland was handsome enough, aye, that women and wenches alike would dearly love to enjoy his company, but his extreme shyness in that department and his calling to God prevented him from taking anything more than a professional interest in women, at best he tried his hardest to avoid them, for fear of temptation from the Lord.
Tom scowled at Roland before gesticulating off up the narrow staircase. “First door on yer left,” He growled. “Pardoner.” He almost spat the last word, narrowing his eyes at Roland as the startled drinkers started to take more of an interest in him.
Roland tipped his hat once more with an apologetic smile. “Thank you sir.” He tried to ignore the hostile stares as he walked up to his room but the eyes of every man in the Yew Tree were boring into his back, an uneasy silence hanging between them.
Pardoners were certainly not welcome in Stockhampton, and two of the men who were engaged in a game of dice rubbed their hands together in glee at the thought of the fun themselves and Saul were likely to have with this one.
Roland gladly retreated into his room, closing the door firmly behind him. He didn’t feel good about this village. Normally, people gathered around him as he walked and preached, desperately handing him silvers in exchange for a token from his sack. Some even gave him gold such was their sin and desperation for absolution and forgiveness by their vengeful Lord.
Slumping down on the hard cot, Roland placed his sack carefully into the gap between bed and floorboards, hoping that it would stay safe through the night. Heaving a great sigh, he lay back and attempted to find sleep, though it was early in the day he’d been travelling for a long time now; and hard as the cot was, it was still an improvement on the floor with a root sticking in his back.
-----*-----
The door of the Yew Tree flung open once more, allowing a freshening gust of air to float around before the sun was shut out once more by the hard slam of the big oak door. The tall figure who stood in the doorway, clad in imposing black, swept his long hair out of his eyes and glanced around impatiently. Tom had sent a boy to fetch Saul as soon as Roland had settled down with his ale; never one to miss an opportunity, he waved a grimy cleaning rag towards the door, beckoning the tall man over.
“Saul. It’s good to see you again, man.” Tom gave him a grin which he hoped was dashing and roguish, but instead it only made his chubby face look lop-sided and foolish. Saul returned the smile lazily, one of his piercing blue eyes twitching for a second before he mastered the reaction enough to speak.
“A Pardoner you say, Tom?” His rich, melodious voice flowed over the avid watchers as it always did. Saul was charismatic enough to have the peasants eating out of his hands like tame birds, but those who knew him truly were not fooled by the smiles or good looks. Saul was deadly with the short knives he always carried on his belt, never missed a target once he’d set his twitching sights on it.
Saul waved a hand casually at two of the listeners who started in surprise, before leaping up and scurrying to the bar in earnest, almost spilling the drinks off the table as they did. When Saul beckoned to you, you went as quickly as was humanly possible, for his wrath was a terrifying sight to behold and even more so if it was directed at you. His bold blue eyes regarded the pair with interest.
They would do. Stupid, as was necessary. Eager to do the bidding of the famous Saul, despite all that they knew of him. Greed glimmered in their eyes; they almost certainly knew of the rich rewards Saul handed out, stolen from his prey naturally.
He raised a hand to the pair, bidding their thanks into silence. “This job is simple, men. But you two are the best for it. You came recommended.” He tapped his nose and looked around slyly as the pair broke out into grins. “But it must be secret. You know the rewards I give for men who obey me…” Saul paused for effect. “And to those who disobey…” He made a threatening gesture imitating a knife running across his throat and smiled grimly. These two were perfect! They nodded like the imbeciles they most certainly were and tried to look menacing.
Saul clapped them on their broad shoulders before steering them outside to explain their job.
The Pardoner was carrying gold, the rumour had gone. Saul was certain of it, for what Pardoner didn’t carry gold? The offerings from each village as supplicants visited him, begging pardons for their sins. Only Saul had no cares for his sins. He was perfectly and exquisitely aware of every last one and they brought him nothing but pleasure. But even the pathetic villagers of Stockhampton, with all their paganism and their offerings to false gods could not escape that inherent need for pardoning. Which is exactly the reason why each and every Pardoner who visited this village was brought to the attention of Saul. Saul the deadly; Saul the fallen one, he had many names, but the one which rang with the most truth was the one which was least spoken. Saul the Betrayer. For all who found themselves in his services knew that they would not; nay, could not survive past sunrise on the next day.
But still they came, entranced by his handsome looks and sugar-coated words which they knew were poison; but still they came. The hapless pair he had chosen today would not live past dawn. Enticed by the promise of gold, they fell into Saul’s trap as easily as they always had done, for no-one could resist him.
Even the deadliest flowers are pleasant to look upon.
And Saul smiled as the single scream of Roland sliced through the night.
^_^
Saul the Betrayer
It all started on that single sunny day which had been like a breath of fresh air in the midst of the darkest and dankest winter many folks'd seen in long years. Folks were out and about in the crisp, sun-tinted air for the first time in a season, enjoying the feel of the cold winter sun on their faces, they'd breathed in the heady scent of a winter nearly over; the last of the snowdrops had nearly faded away to bluebells, the splashes of pale blue hidden carefully among the rejuvenated grass.
Even the flowers seemed to welcome the warmth of the sun after such cold days they had endured, and their glad buds stretched to their full height, leaves swaying in the mild, freshening breeze as they drank in the life-giving sunlight.
It was through the dew-sprinkled meadow that the Pardoner walked, boots pressing footprints in the browned grass as he made his way into the village and to the stable; for his gentle mare had stumbled upon a stone which was now lodged deep in the pained beast’s hoof. And so he led her carefully, instead of sitting astride her as he should for his entry into the village. His first priority was the removal of the stone, for with a lamed horse he could travel no further than this village, Stockhampton.
And the pardons of the Lord must be spread, aye. And so Roland, his battered sack slung over his shoulder and the reins of Strawberry, the mare, clutched in his free hand, came to Stockhampton on that fateful, but sunny, day. He had nodded grimly at the stableboy as he rushed over and pressed an extra silver into the lad’s hand to ensure the good treatment of Strawberry and the expert removal of the stone that plagued her so, and then Roland wandered, a little aimlessly, about the small village in an attempt to find a place to stay the night.
He pushed open the door of an inn named ‘The Yew Tree’, its lonely sign swinging creakily in the slight breeze, the mouldered wood near to crumbling and the lettering near faded full away with a grimace. This village was a cheery enough place to be sure, but this inn seemed…tainted somehow.
Gathering his senses, Roland shook his head and strode through the door. He blinked as the stench of impurity assaulted his senses. A fog of sweat and curses swirled about him as he clasped a sleeve of his robe to his sensitive nose. Glancing around, Roland picked his way past tables full of roaring drunkards leering at the serving maids as they leaned over to fill tankards, giving each man an eyeful of breast and a seductive wink before sweeping off to the next table.
As Roland approached the bar, his eyes were insulted by the pagan signs which hung at each shelf, warding off evil spirits with their venerable wood. He gave a little shudder, wondering what sort of a place this was. It seemed very much in need of his pardons, and Roland knew he would have a lot of work ahead of him on the morrow.
But for now, he wanted a good ale and a room for the night. Signalling at the harassed-looking barman, he leant over the bar-top to speak in the ear of the rotund man.
“How much for a room good sir?”
“Well, three silvers a night it be surr. But for a little extra yer safety can be…assured, as they say. Five silvers a night, surr. I see you’re not armed…” He looked Roland up and down with a raised eyebrow. “What’s yer business in Stockhampton, surr? An unarmed man such as yerself shouldn be wanderin around all alone, ye know.”
Roland sighed inwardly. “I’ll have four nights without the protection. And a mug of ale. Good ale, please.”
“Right away surr.” The landlord busied himself with Roland’s requests, trying his hardest not to sneak glances at the sack clutched in the Pardoner’s hand. For it was certain that the man was a Pardoner. He had that zealous look about him that could cause nothing but trouble in Stockhampton. If, of course, he wasn’t inconvenienced somehow. Indeed Tom was certain that he could arrange something, and for not too much trouble either. Saul was always eager to get his hands on a preacher man. He said, with that strange smile of his, that it gave him so much more satisfaction if he could carry out his job on a man of God. Tom had always kept his inhibitions about Saul to himself. Something about the man’s strange eyes and that nervous twitch he got when he was excited made him uneasy; even the smell of the man was unnatural somehow.
Tom sighed as he knocked the bung through on one of his October best barrels. He regretted having to open this, but the Pardoner had insisted on a good ale, and Tom’s October ale was the best in Stockhampton.
With a dour scowl, Tom dumped the tankard in front of Roland and then yelled something at one of the serving girls. “Yer room’ll be ready soon enough.”
Roland nodded and tipped his hat at the landlord, giving an appreciative smile as he sipped the ale. He’d only drank about half of the mug when the serving girl returned and gave Roland a wink.
“Yer room’s ready love. Will you be wantin’ comp’ny tonight?” Roland blushed, made his apologies and turned his attention back to the ale, embarrassed. He’d not taken a woman since he’d made his vows to God, but now was certainly not the time. There were pardonings to give. And lots of them too, if the pagan symbols he saw above the bar were anything to go by.
Draining his ale before the girl came back; Roland waved the barman over once more. “Where’s my room? I’d better go and prepare for work on the morrow.” If he was short with the man, it was only because of the shock of the girl’s proposition. Roland was handsome enough, aye, that women and wenches alike would dearly love to enjoy his company, but his extreme shyness in that department and his calling to God prevented him from taking anything more than a professional interest in women, at best he tried his hardest to avoid them, for fear of temptation from the Lord.
Tom scowled at Roland before gesticulating off up the narrow staircase. “First door on yer left,” He growled. “Pardoner.” He almost spat the last word, narrowing his eyes at Roland as the startled drinkers started to take more of an interest in him.
Roland tipped his hat once more with an apologetic smile. “Thank you sir.” He tried to ignore the hostile stares as he walked up to his room but the eyes of every man in the Yew Tree were boring into his back, an uneasy silence hanging between them.
Pardoners were certainly not welcome in Stockhampton, and two of the men who were engaged in a game of dice rubbed their hands together in glee at the thought of the fun themselves and Saul were likely to have with this one.
Roland gladly retreated into his room, closing the door firmly behind him. He didn’t feel good about this village. Normally, people gathered around him as he walked and preached, desperately handing him silvers in exchange for a token from his sack. Some even gave him gold such was their sin and desperation for absolution and forgiveness by their vengeful Lord.
Slumping down on the hard cot, Roland placed his sack carefully into the gap between bed and floorboards, hoping that it would stay safe through the night. Heaving a great sigh, he lay back and attempted to find sleep, though it was early in the day he’d been travelling for a long time now; and hard as the cot was, it was still an improvement on the floor with a root sticking in his back.
-----*-----
The door of the Yew Tree flung open once more, allowing a freshening gust of air to float around before the sun was shut out once more by the hard slam of the big oak door. The tall figure who stood in the doorway, clad in imposing black, swept his long hair out of his eyes and glanced around impatiently. Tom had sent a boy to fetch Saul as soon as Roland had settled down with his ale; never one to miss an opportunity, he waved a grimy cleaning rag towards the door, beckoning the tall man over.
“Saul. It’s good to see you again, man.” Tom gave him a grin which he hoped was dashing and roguish, but instead it only made his chubby face look lop-sided and foolish. Saul returned the smile lazily, one of his piercing blue eyes twitching for a second before he mastered the reaction enough to speak.
“A Pardoner you say, Tom?” His rich, melodious voice flowed over the avid watchers as it always did. Saul was charismatic enough to have the peasants eating out of his hands like tame birds, but those who knew him truly were not fooled by the smiles or good looks. Saul was deadly with the short knives he always carried on his belt, never missed a target once he’d set his twitching sights on it.
Saul waved a hand casually at two of the listeners who started in surprise, before leaping up and scurrying to the bar in earnest, almost spilling the drinks off the table as they did. When Saul beckoned to you, you went as quickly as was humanly possible, for his wrath was a terrifying sight to behold and even more so if it was directed at you. His bold blue eyes regarded the pair with interest.
They would do. Stupid, as was necessary. Eager to do the bidding of the famous Saul, despite all that they knew of him. Greed glimmered in their eyes; they almost certainly knew of the rich rewards Saul handed out, stolen from his prey naturally.
He raised a hand to the pair, bidding their thanks into silence. “This job is simple, men. But you two are the best for it. You came recommended.” He tapped his nose and looked around slyly as the pair broke out into grins. “But it must be secret. You know the rewards I give for men who obey me…” Saul paused for effect. “And to those who disobey…” He made a threatening gesture imitating a knife running across his throat and smiled grimly. These two were perfect! They nodded like the imbeciles they most certainly were and tried to look menacing.
Saul clapped them on their broad shoulders before steering them outside to explain their job.
The Pardoner was carrying gold, the rumour had gone. Saul was certain of it, for what Pardoner didn’t carry gold? The offerings from each village as supplicants visited him, begging pardons for their sins. Only Saul had no cares for his sins. He was perfectly and exquisitely aware of every last one and they brought him nothing but pleasure. But even the pathetic villagers of Stockhampton, with all their paganism and their offerings to false gods could not escape that inherent need for pardoning. Which is exactly the reason why each and every Pardoner who visited this village was brought to the attention of Saul. Saul the deadly; Saul the fallen one, he had many names, but the one which rang with the most truth was the one which was least spoken. Saul the Betrayer. For all who found themselves in his services knew that they would not; nay, could not survive past sunrise on the next day.
But still they came, entranced by his handsome looks and sugar-coated words which they knew were poison; but still they came. The hapless pair he had chosen today would not live past dawn. Enticed by the promise of gold, they fell into Saul’s trap as easily as they always had done, for no-one could resist him.
Even the deadliest flowers are pleasant to look upon.
And Saul smiled as the single scream of Roland sliced through the night.