Royal Dinner

Fulbert returned to consciousness in a puddle of ale. He had produced this puddle earlier by passing out mid-urination, catapulting his tankard and it’s contents all over the stone floor of the loo. He groaned a raspy groan as he recalled the circumstances which brought him here. He had been invited by the king himself to attend a dinner party in the royal castle- an unexpected, undeserved invitation. A victim of the king’s high taxation, Fulbert had been forced into peasantry, and now spent most of his days under the sorcery of ale, cursing the king loudly in the streets, wreaking of piss and rubbish and-- to be redundant-- ale. His foul stench had garnered him the nickname, ‘Fulbert the Foul’. In short, he was a notorious drunkard.

He stood up slowly, garnering a dull ring in his ears. As it subsided, it was replaced with the sound of other dinner guests mingling outside the door. Still dizzy and quite inebriated, he spilled out of the loo’s doorway like sludge, contaminating a hallway with his presence as he passed through it to reach the dining hall.

The hall was immense. The centerpiece was a long, oak table surrounded by artisan dining chairs, and littered with silver and gold utensils, plates, bowls, and platters. Every confection imaginable was displayed for the guests, from roast boar, cabbages, and grapes to beautifully bottled wines and silver tankards of ale.

Contributing to this image of finery, were the other guests:

There was Prince Egelbert, the one and only heir to the throne, spoiled to oblivion, raised in political luxury his entire life. He sat, swirling a bejeweled chalice of magnificently red wine, looking bored and ungrateful.

Next to the prince was Connard Gourmand, a famous french merchant draped in jewelry and fine, colorful silks. He slouched into his chair with a nonchalant charisma and confidence. His hands, which seemed a moot for colorful rings, swung about flamboyantly as he spoke.

The woman he spoke to was Lady Matilda. She was a countess from a neighboring land. She wore a long, emerald green dress, and her posture was one that inspired respect. She was a highly valued friend to the royal family, and she was very beautiful.

Fulbert produced a burp.

At the end of the long oak table sat the queen, Lady Rowena. Her chair was taller than the others, and gold-trimmed. She had a powerful stature about her, something one accumulates the longer they remain in royalty. She had a reputation of holiness and piety, and to the kingdom, her word was regarded with similar weight to the written word itself.

Beside her sat the king’s knight, Sir Dewey.

Normally, Sir Dewey donned a sword and a set of iron armor, designed for a fearsome appearance. Tonight, though, he only wore his dinner attire. He was tall and broad-shouldered, and had a no-nonsense look about him. He was intimidating.

Standing in the corner away from the guests was a meek girl named Mila. She was a steward, and with her was a man named Heggis. Heggis possessed perhaps the most unique occupation of anyone in the kingdom. About two years prior, the king’s knights had imprisoned a troll: a large, ferocious, bear-like creature with hands and feet like an ape’s. This troll now remained in a deep, dark, remote part of the castle dungeon. The king, afraid of letting the troll go unwatched, had assigned Heggis to feed and keep it, and never take his eyes off of it. So, for the last two years, Heggis had been in the dungeon, growing pale and sickly, forgetting how to converse normally with other humans. He was only allowed away from the troll on special occasions, such as this dinner party.

As a juxtaposition, Mila was healthy, young, and vibrant. She was tiny in stature. Her demeanor was inoffensive, and she was quite shy. She stood next to Heggis with her fingers locked awkwardly. Every few seconds her eyes would glance over at him, then quickly retreat back. Heggis would do the same. They did not notice each other doing this.

Fulbert the Foul approached the dining table, his mouth watering for mutton as the ale continued to make the world spin. The other guests parted as he shuffled closer, offended by his very existence. Lady Matilda asked the queen through a whisper how the bum had managed to procure an invitation. Queen Rowena replied that it was her idea. As a show of good christian morality, she had convinced the king to invite Fulbert to the festivity. This would serve as an example of God’s mercy to the kingdom. Also, it would hopefully get Fulbert to stop cursing the king for his cruelty and high taxation in the streets.

Fulbert chomped away at a mutton leg, sloppily oiling his beard with its juices.

While the guests continued to mingle, a squire came running down the stairs which led up to the balcony. “Oh lord! Lord in Heaven, it mustn’t be!” he cried. His eyes were wide with terror.

“What is it, Squire Bedlam?” Inquired Queen Rowena as she began to sit up.

“Oh god! Oh no!” He shouted as he ran towards the front gates of the castle.

The other guests began to stir as they noticed something was wrong. The king’s knight stepped forward. He spoke in a deep, carrying, voice. “What is the problem, squire?” The frantic young man ignored him, continuing toward the front gates.

“Open the gates!” shouted Squire Bedlam.

Heggis and Squire Mila ran over to a large iron lever on the wall, and began pulling at it. The lever clicked once and then slammed down as the colossal doors of fortified wood and metal swung open. Two of the King’s guards came running through them, sharing the same expression of panic with Squire Bedlam. They ran in a straight line, with one in front and the other behind. Between them, they carried a large, wool blanket.

The blanket was covering a carcass.

As they placed the wool blanket on the floor and prepared to unveil the body beneath it, the dining hall was silent. Squire Mila and Heggis skittered over to rejoin the gathered guests. They all watched attentively, aside from Fulbert who was focusing on not falling over.

The two men unrolled the blanket, drawing a collective gasp from the guests.

It was the king!

His lifeless body lay before them, soaked, pruned and swollen. He had been stripped to his underwear. There were deep scratches across his discolored chest. His eyelids were purple and clammy.

Squire Bedlam collected himself slightly, still out of breath from his frantic running. “Flip him over!” he said.

As the men began to turn the king over, the squire explained: “We found him floating in the moat! Our king! Someone murdered him and tossed him over the balcony!”

“Are you certain this was murder?” chimed Sir Dewey.

As he said this, the king’s corpse flopped over onto its stomach. Three bloody holes were revealed on his back-- presumably from blades or arrows-- as well as two three-lined scratches, starting beneath each of his shoulder blades, and extending down to his rib cage on each side.

The knight’s jaw fell open as the Queen dropped her face into her hands. Lady Matilda ran to comfort her. The guests winced and shuttered at the site.

Fulbert held back another burp.

“Lock it!” Commanded Squire Bedlam.

The two men ran to the gates, leaving the body of the King lying on the floor. They expelled themselves from the castle and heaved the doors shut. From inside, the guests heard a loud, dull bang. It was the sound of a massive metal bar sliding into place, locking the guests within. There was a burst of confusion among the guests. The Queen lifted her head, concerned. “What is the meaning of this lock-in, Squire Bedlam?” she questioned.

“Your holiness” he replied, “the king’s killer is amongst us in this very castle! A few hours ago, his highness sat here dining with you all. Now he is dead! Allowing anyone to leave would mean potentially setting free the man who murdered our king.” He then pointed to the king’s body. “His fine silks, his jewelry, where have they gone? Who has taken them? The holes in his back. Are they a product of arrows? Of a sword? There are questions that must be answered. We must identify the murderer among us and bring them to justice for this treasonous act!”

“If there is a murderer amongst us, squire, you must allow us to leave!” replied the Queen. “It is for our safety!”

A voice emitted from behind the oak table: “Why so eager to leave, your holiness?”

It was Fulbert the Foul. He had walked over to grab another leg of mutton.

“Perhaps you murdered your husband.” he said as he took an unflattering bite. “Spouses murdering one another in this kingdom is no seldom sight, after all. I’ve seen it happen on the streets, in my chasm your king condemned me to”

“Enough--” began the knight in her defense.

“I would not be so quick to blame”, interrupted the queen. “For I am not the one wearing the deceased king’s very crown on my head!”

Fulbert’s eyes widened and the color fell from his cheeks as he realized that he was, in fact, wearing something on his head. He slowly reached one arm up to touch his scalp. Surely enough, his hand was blocked prematurely by cold metal. Embarrassed, confused, and still very drunk, he pulled the crown from his head, and silently observed it. His memory took him back to earlier in the night. He had grabbed the crown from the king’s empty seat, and put it on as a gag, a mockery to the royal family which he so despised. Upset with himself, he realized that his recollection of this incident would not be enough to convince the other guests of his innocence. He wore the crown. It was too damning a sight.

As Sir Dewey accelerated toward Fulbert angrily, Squire Bedlam shouted: “Stop!”

The knight halted and looked over his shoulder at the squire, red-faced with anger.

“It could not have been the drunkard.” he continued. “He passed out in the loo before the king disappeared. I was keeping an eye on him.”

Sir Dewey turned back, looked Fulbert up and down angrily, and snatched the crown from him. He then reluctantly walked back to stand by the queen.

Squire Bedlam went on:

“Now, we could all stand here in this hall, hurling accusations at one another. However, I do not believe this would yield much fruit. Therefore, I propose a plan of action: Divided into pairs, we will search the rooms of this castle for any clues as to who the murderer may be. He has likely hidden a weapon somewhere. Then, we will bring what we find back here to the dining hall, and place our findings here, next to the king’s body. Once we have seen all the evidence, we may begin to accuse.”

“Very well, I will go with the queen,” said Sir Dewey.

“No you will not,” replied Squire Bedlam “The queen will go to the royal quarters with Fulbert, since I know him to be innocent. You, Sir Dewey, will go with Connard Gourmand to search the prince’s quarters.”

“My quarters?” inquired the young prince.

“Yes, prince Egelbert, your quarters. You are the only heir to the throne and you do not seem the least bit bothered by your father’s death. You are not clear in my eyes. Not by a mile.”

Prince Egelbert curled his upper lip in annoyance.

“I will go with Mila,” said Heggis, who had not spoken a word the entire night. Mila blushed.

“No,” refused Squire Bedlam “You have been shoulder to shoulder with her all night. I hesitate to trust the both of you together. You shall go with Prince Egelbert to search the stable. As for Mila, she and Lady Matilda will search the guest quarters. I will drop in on each of you to make sure there is no suspicious behavior.”

The guests paired up reluctantly, and headed to their assigned rooms to search for clues.

In the guest quarters, Lady Matilda began fervently searching the beds of the different guests. Mila stood by the door, visibly quaking. “Lady Matilda,” she asked quietly, “Who do you think it was? The murderer.”

Lady Matilda sighed in stress. “Well I doubt it was the prince or the queen.” she replied, “Neither of them seem capable of such a thing. I have known them for quite a while. I also do not believe it was you, you tiny thing, and it surely wasn’t Sir dewey. It could have been the Frenchman, or perhaps the pale fellow. That man sends a chill down my spine.”

Mila broke into a violent sob.

“My dear, my dear, what is the matter?” Lady Matilda asked, running over to comfort her.

“I am terrified, M’lady. The king has been murdered. Who is to say we will not be next?”

Lady Matilda led her to Connard’s guest bed, and they sat on it. She took Mila’s petite hands in her own, eclipsing them. “Mila darling, you will not be murdered. We will find the evidence, as Squire Bedlam says, and we will bring whoever did this to justice.”

Mila calmed her breathing and cleared her throat.”It could not have been Heggis.” she said.

Lady Matilda was surprised at this. “Why not, young Mila?”

“Lady Matilda, may I confess something to you?”

“Of course, dear.”

“I am in love with Heggis. I have loved him ever since we first spoke.”

“The troll-keeper?”

“Yes m’lady. Please do not laugh. I only say this to explain my trust toward him; and also my lack of emotion toward the king’s death. It is a terrible thing that has happened tonight. It truly is. However--”

“However-what, dear?”

“Perhaps the death of the king means that Heggis may be freed from his duty as the troll-keeper. Being down in that dungeon, I see how it destroys him. He is practically a prisoner himself. It is not fair, Lady.”

Lady Matilda had a look of concern on her face. “Mila darling, you were right to keep these feelings hidden. Such words could have you charged with treason.”

“I know Lady, I know; but it weighs heavy on my heart.”

“I know darling”

They embraced

“I hope to marry him one day.” said Mila, as the embrace continued.

After a brief silence, Lady Matilda broke the embrace. “Shall we search the place now? Perhaps you are right. Perhaps the troll-keeper is innocent. If so, we should look for clues to prove it.”

Mila nodded three quick little nods as she stood up to help search.

Meanwhile, up in the prince’s quarters, Connard Gourmand and Sir Dewey searched for clues.

“The dagger is clean, untouched” said the knight, setting the prince’s dagger back in its stand.

“Misure knight”, Connard started, “Your name. Welsh, is it not?”

“Aye”

“The Welsh and the English people, they do not get along, I understand?”

“For some, perhaps not. As for me, Frenchman, I serve the English king. My sword, my oath, and my loyalty lie with the English king.”

“I am not doubting your loyalty, misure knight.”

The knight went on searching as Connard leaned against the prince’s bed, still staring at him. Slightly annoyed, the knight indulged him further. “Why do you ask such a provoking question then, Frenchman, if you do not doubt me?”

“I suppose it just warms me, to know that I am not the only foreigner here.”

“I am no foreigner. This land has been my home since I was a boy”

“Do you believe that is how the others will see it, Sir Dewey? Nevermind your loyalty to the king. You are of Welsh blood. You know, best of anyone here, how to use a weapon. You have also shown your tendency to get a temper.”

“A temper? When?” Sir Dewey asked, raising his voice as he stepped closer.

“A few moments ago, with the drunk out there, as well as in this very moment as you approach me, Misure.”

Sir Dewey realized he was proving the Frenchman’s point, and calmed himself. “A shady merchant you are. Nothing more, Connard. You know nothing of honor, nor of keeping your word. Now help me search.”

Connard smirked.

In the lower level of the castle, there was an indoor stable. It was a basement, with its floor covered in hay, sometimes containing horses. Tonight, it was empty, aside from Heggis and Prince Egelbert, who were assigned to search it.

The two had barely ever spoken to one another, and it was awkwardly silent between them. The prince, who could never be bothered to do anything, sat on a bail of hay in a corner, while Heggis shuffled around in the center of the room. It was quite dark in the stable, with only one dimly lit torch illuminating it.

Heggis’ foot kicked something beneath the hay. He reached under and picked it up, it was a bedroll. As it was lifted, two bottles of wine rolled off of it. Heggis chuckled and looked over to the prince. “Your highness, look. The drunk has planned to stow away here.”

The prince perked up to look at the bedroll. It was indeed the bedroll of a homeless drunkard. “Clever for a man with half a mind,” laughed the prince. “I cannot say I blame him. Even this musty stable would be a welcome sight compared to his usual dwellings I am sure. That also explains the stench.”

“What stench, m’lord?” said Heggis.

“Do you not smell it? It has the odor of death.”

Heggis looked at the prince confused.

The prince’s smirk turned into concern. He swiveled on his seat, facing the pile of loose hay behind it. Heggis jogged over as the prince began digging into the pile. Beneath it was the figure of a dead whore! She was naked, with holes in her chest, matching the ones on the king’s back.

“It was the bum!” cried Prince Egelbert, “Murderous filth! The king was not his only victim!”

A short while later, the guests began to collect back at the dining hall, where Squire Bedlam had already arrived. Lady Matilda and Squire Mila were there, and they revealed damning evidence. It was the luggage of Connard Gourmand, and in it were the robes and jewelry of the king! At the presentation of this evidence, Sir Dewey leapt at Connard from behind, wrapping him in a choke hold. Connard, through sputtering breaths, attempted to explain himself. Suddenly, Heggis and Prince Egelbert arrived to reveal the dead whore and a bloodied dagger found beside her. They insisted that Fulbert had committed the crime, and not Connard.

This raised more questions than it did answers. Where did this whore come from? Was her murder separate, or related to that of the king’s? Chaos emerged in the dining hall. Squire Bedlam was at a loss. The evidence seemed too scattered, too unspecific to decide anything. He began to feel as if he were going mad. Accusations were slung about the room in a disorderly scuffle. Could the squire have been mistaken about Fulbert? Was he in fact guilty, and was Connard his accomplice?

Earlier that night…

The King chuckled at the end of the table as the guests told jokes and shared stories from their travels. Lady Matilda and Connard Gourmand bantered back and forth. Sir Dewey laughed alongside the King. The Queen spoke with Prince Egelbert at the other end of the table. All was merry. Fulbert lay in a drunken slumber in the loo, snoring away. Mila and Heggis stood a distance back, quietly enjoying one another’s company.

The King stood up, wiping wine from his smiling lips with the sleeve of his robe. “I will return shortly, Sir Dewey,” he said, “Please make sure our guests enjoy themselves.” Sir Dewey nodded gleefully. Prince Egelbert spoke to Queen Rowena, but she did not listen. Rather, she watched as the king ascended the steps toward the royal quarters. Her gaze did not unlock from the king until he had passed through the doors, leaving the dining hall. He entered a short hallway, continued a few steps, and turned to face the doors of the royal quarters. He pushed them open to see a naked woman lying sideways on his bed.

“I thought you might keep me waiting forever, Lord.” she said teasingly.

“Aldreda, you are as stunning as ever this night” he replied.

“Come to me, my King”. The king shut the doors behind him and began to disrobe.

After a short while had passed, Lady Rowena stood up and tossed her napkin onto her plate. She lifted her dress slightly to get around the table’s legs, and began walking up to the royal quarters to check on her husband. A tangible rage filled her body as she ascended the steps. What she was about to walk in on, she already expected.

The doors burst open loudly. The king was on top of Aldreda, his back exposed to the Queen. The Queen snatched her husband’s dagger from its stand next to the doorway, and brought it down ferociously into the meat of the king’s back. He let out a muffled grunt. Twice more, the queen stabbed into him, twisting the dagger each time. The king fell on his side, limp, whimpering, and weezing. Aldreda’s chest was now exposed, and the queen’s rage-fueled arm sent two more stinging strikes into it. One missed her heart, the other did not. They both lie dead before the queen, who breathed heavily and slowly, watching over the scene.

Then, quickly, she turned around to see a figure in the doorway. It was Connard Gourmand. The Frenchman had witnessed it all. The queen quickly stood up on the foot of the bed, wielding the knife threateningly.

With his cold, unshaken demeanor, Connard stepped into the room and shut both of the doors. “I will not say a word, m’lady” he said, “In fact, I will hide the evidence for you, if we may cut a deal.”

Now, while the chaos escalated in the dining hall, and Connard struggled for the words to explain himself under the strong grip of Sir Dewey, and the other guests shouted at one another, the royal quarters were silent.

On the floor of the quarters sat the queen. In her hand once again was a dagger. She had a blank look in her eye. The front of her dress was soaked in red. Her hands also were completely red. Splashes of the red had reached her neck and chin as well. The red continued off of her to form a red smear on the floor. The red smear connected to a familiar figure, also caked in the red. It was Fulbert, in a puddle again, as he usually was. Only, there was no ale this time. The puddle was red.

The queen looked down at her victim. She saw his face. She thought she could make out the slightest upward curve at the end of his mouth, a barely perceptible beginning of a smile. She imagined that his last thought must have been one of irony– to have his last drunken nap here, in the royal quarters of all places.

A red bubble sat on Fulbert’s lips.