Apologies to Chaucer fans and for any anachronisms in the story. I hope you enjoy it...and would love your vote (and comments!).
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"When April comes with his sweet, fragrant showers, which pierce the dry ground of March, and bathe every root of every plant in sweet liquid, then people desire to go on pilgrimages."
So begins Chaucer's "Canterbury Tales", a story of twenty-nine pilgrims on the road in April. There were actually more pilgrims on the journey, and this tale concerns one of the other members to join the group, "Thee Aprille Foole"
Unbeknownst to the rest of the group a new member joined the group as they made their pilgrimage to Canterbury, a small man of indeterminate age who claimed to have been a member of the royal court at one time and who, in his modest manner not only was a fair singer but was the wittiest soul alive. According to himself. His tale should prove most interesting if and when we get to hear it.
Quick of wit they said he was, ladies especially liked his tongue and not just for the words that sprang from it was the common story, said with a wink. Dressed in bright colors, it was said he had performed at court and at several of the better land owners. Whether that was true or not, one can only imagine as he, Thomas, neither confirmed nor denied what others said.
"Will you be going all the way to Canterbury with us?" the Miller's assistant asked him. The large man sized the Foole up and down. "If ye are, make yourself useful and entertain us along the way, won't you?"
Thomas tilted his head as though he was thinking it over. "Perhaps I will, but mainly I will try to entertain myself. I often find these travels provide a wealth of fodder for my future songs and stories. I find if I am not amused, neither shall you be." He returned to his walking along the road, mingling among the wagons and other travelers, humming some and observing all.
The Miller's assistant, Aron, watched Thomas leave. He liked to think of himself as the assistant to the Miller, but really was more of his brute. If something needed force, Aron was the man of choice. In times when water was low to turn the mill wheel, Aron could add 'encouragement'. Suffice it to say that nuance and subtlety was not his forte.
After the sun had set and all the camps had been made groups gathered by the fire for a bite, a drink and most of all company. Those of wealth dined in small groups in quiet fashion while near the edge of the camps the less endowed gathered in larger, louder clumps. Aron and Thomas found themselves together again in one of these groups.
"I figured you for one of the betters' camps, milord. What brings ye to us this fine night." Aron growled at Thomas between long sips of beer and bites of dark bread.
Thomas sat across the fire from the large man. "Truth be told, my friend, these fires have a better flame. More heat and more to see. I prefer the company here. Less chance of my back being pricked. Any threat will usually come straight on."
Aron let that sink in. He nodded. "That is true. We'll tell you to your face when you're an ass. I'd asked you before if you could entertain us. Do you think you can? Who wants a song?" He looked around to see who was with him. The group of men and women nodded and raised a glass. They were in the mood for some cheer.
"Very well, if you wish. I believe I have a song or tune remaining in this lute." Thomas stood and began to pluck at his instrument. "A quick song for the maids among us."
'Here dwells a pretty Maid whose name is Miss.
You may come in and kiss
Her hole, her whole estate that is. 'Tis sevente'en pence a year.
Yet you may kiss her if you come but near.
He struck a final chord and bowed to the group. One young woman in particular blushed at the words that accompanied his song. He continued with another and another, singing songs which mainly contained words with several meanings. To some they were playful, to others encouraging.
Finally as the fire began to die Thomas sat and drained a cup that Aron presented. "Ye did not disappoint. I wonder how you remember all those words. And the strings to touch with them. You are a marvel, Master Thomas. A glass to you!"
"A master I am not, but not without my hopes and talents. I appreciate your toast. May we have a safe and pleasant journey!" Thomas held out his glass for more and Aron obliged. "A sip or two more and away with me. A long day today and promise of more tomorrow." Slowly all those by the fire came to the same conclusion and slipped off into the dark.
The several cups took there toll on Thomas and while the moon was still high he felt the need to go and relieve himself of a cup or more. While away from the camp doing his duty, he heard a rustling from behind a bush and went to see what it might be. Who knows, it might be a rabbit for the morrows' stew?
As he quietly moved around the foliage, he spied the Miller's man with the maid from the camp. It appeared they were wrestling and she was not about to win the match. Thomas watched as the thick hand of Aron cupped the maid's breast and squeezed the milky skin in the moonlight.
"Nooo, I beg thee. I gave you a kiss as you asked, but you are wanting more than I can give." There was desperation in the words the young woman whispered. "Please, no more." She tried to move, but she would have had more success had she tried to move the tree beneath which they lay.
Thomas watched a moment more then cleared his throat with a "Huh-huh..." Announcing his presence, he stepped around the bush into the clearing where the entangled pair squirmed about. "Oh, my pardon. I thought I heard tomorrows' dinner moving about here. I was clearly mistaken." He saw Aron turn his head to see who dared interrupt. He saw the maids' eyes grow wide.
