Macgillicuddy
Written over a few days. Short piece of humour for genrechallange. Nothing too serious… i wrote it just because i’m between novels at the moment and felt like writing a bit of fluff. Macgillicuddy was a fun character to play with for a few hours.
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I am Macgillicuddy, loyal chamberlain and devoted guardian of the estate of Lord William Innsbury, Knight of the Court of England, and oldest bachelor in the land. At the age of 27 he still searched for a girl suitable to be his wife. I’d tried scores of tricks to make my lord a husband but not one had been successful. Though, the peasant girl I’d dressed up in court finery and to whom I had given manners lessons had come quite close.
“She’s just not fair enough,” William had said.
“I’m sure the pimples will fade with age, my lord,” had been my insincere reply. He hadn’t bought it.
So you can see how I was at my wits’ end by the time William announced he would call a banquet and invite all the upstanding gentry of England. It was the spring of 1684, dreary, wet and cold, and William wanted an outdoor banquet. Wonderful!
“Might you not wait a season, my lord?” I asked nonchalantly.
“I cannot wait even one more season. My marital status is the joke of Britain.”
“Of course, my lord.” I agreed because it was my job to agree. But really, few of the gentry in Britain even knew of Innsbury, let alone that her lord was unmarried.
“I want invitations sent out to every house of rank before week’s end. The banquet will be held next week.” Then he nodded. “On Friday.”
Oh yes, I thought. People must come because it’s a Friday. The invitations would be read, questions would be asked as to who Lord Innsbury was, answers would be found, and invitations would be tossed on the fire. “Innsbury,” they would say. “That’s the most isolated town in England.”
I sighed inwardly. Once William fixed on a decision it could not be changed, not even by the most persuasive man on Earth. Still, I had to try.
“Do you not think an indoor gala would be more pleasant, my lord?”
“No,” was the decisive reply. “It must be an outdoor banquet. Not everyone would fit inside the keep. I will have candles and torches arranged in the garden, a canvas erected between the trees and spring flowers set around the grounds. We shall have food, drink and merriment under the stars and I shall woo my bride-to-be.”
Kill her from pneumonia would be more likely, but what did I know?
“But the weather, my lord.”
“Will be perfect. God wants me to marry; the weather will be fine.”
“Of course, my lord,” I said, giving in. “Your will be done.”
“Yes, Macgillicuddy, it will.”
And then he looked at me as if to say: none of your tricks, now, I’m watching you. I gave him one of my most innocent looks. Tricks? I have no idea of what you speak.
I would sabotage the banquet, of course, I just needed a plan. But before I could even begin to formulate one the double doors of the great hall burst open and a handful of guards backed into the room, holding a horde of scruffy, ragged, dirty, smelly peasants at bay. Here to debate the high taxes, no doubt.
William gasped, I rolled my eyes, one of the servants fainted. I wanted to say: I told you this would happen. But I held my peace.
“Halt,” William shouted, his voice pitched to carry across a battlefield. I rubbed my ears, easing the pain of close proximity to such a shout. The peasants halted, the guards sheathed their weapons, the servant who had fainted picked herself up off the floor.
“One representative step forth and explain this mob,” William said.
An old man disentangled himself from the mob and stepped forward until he knelt before William.
“My lord,” he said. “The taxes are too high. We ain’t got anything to eat. Please, lord, ease up a bit. At least return the food in our pantries.”
I shook my head slowly. William would need that food for his banquet.
“I cannot return items already taken as tax, but I will consider your plea for the summer tax.”
“Consider it, sir? We’ll all be starved dead and you’ll have no one to tax.”
“I will consider this second matter as well,” he said in all earnest. “But hear this: the baron puts as much pressure on me as I do on you.”
That brought forth murmurs of “ooh, that baron” and “damn his greed” and generally unpleasant commentary.
“Now leave,” William said. “I have business to oversee.”
Mutters of “all right” and “okay then” drifted from the crowd. Then one voice spoke up, the cracked voice of an old farm-wife. “We ain’t gonna leave ‘til this revolt’s seen through and we gots our food back.”
Shouts of agreement and general rowdiness burst from the crowd. They pressed against the barrier of guards who prodded at them with sheathed weapons, about as effective as spit against a raging fire.
“Get out!” William roared. “I will consider your woes.”
The peasants stopped dead and sheepishly retreated from the hall.
William got caught up in organizing invitations for his banquet, and conveniently forgot about their plea. Three hours locked in a small room with his scribe and he had the neatly folded and packaged parchments ready for delivery. He strode from the scribe’s room with untempered zeal; the scribe emerged with shaking hands and a drawn look on his face. He headed straight for the ale casks. Poor man!
“Macgillicuddy!” William said, his voice raised in a summons even though he stood beside me.
“Yes, my lord,” I said, wincing slightly. What would be his torture for me? I glanced to the scribe and watched him doggedly drain a tankard. I suppressed a shudder.
“I want these invitations delivered post haste. I want you to prepare my messengers and see them off. Spare not horse nor man. I want these to arrive today.”
“Yes, lord.” I flicked through the bulky stack of invitations. Some were farther than even the fastest horse with the lightest rider could reach in one day. But no matter, I had an idea. I took my leave, sending a servant to round up the messengers and to tell them to meet me in the stables.
The four boys that formed William’s messenger service awaited me in the stables. I swore them to silence and gave them a handsome gift for their loyalty. They rode from the stables bearing empty sacks and promised to return tomorrow morning exuberantly proclaiming the messages delivered. As I walked back to the hall, I stopped at my room and, somewhat not at all accidentally, threw the invitations on the fire.
The week passed in a busy rush of preparations. The lawns and gardens needed trimming, the bunting needed sewing together, the canvas needed to be hung from the trees (shelter from the elements, William called it). I blanched at the lengths to which William went and almost felt guilty about burning the invitations. Almost.
Wednesday before the banquet and still no replies had come from the nobles. William batted not an eyelid, so sure that his endeavour would be an excellent success. Things had gone too far when he ordered me to call in the Master of Ceremonies to organize the seating arrangements.
“We don’t yet know who is coming, my lord,” was my unheeded protest.
“They are all coming, Macgillicuddy. Have some faith, man.”
“Yes, lord.”
So it was with a hanging head I went to deal with Humphries, the Master of Ceremonies. This man could not be bought, sold or otherwise bartered. No plan came to mind by which I could get him to ignore the banquet taking place on Friday, but maybe if I could get him out of the way William would finally see sense and call the whole thing off.
Humphries lived in a little cottage in the castle bailey. He answered the knock on his door promptly.
“Humphries,” I said with an utterly fake smile plastered on my lips. “Might I have a word?”
“Indeed. Please come in.”
“Thank you.”
My smile wilted. As I walked past him he turned and closed the door behind me. Without giving him a chance to turn back, I heaved a tome off his study desk and whacked him over the head with it. He went down, instantly limp. I pulled a twist of string from my pocket and lashed his arms and legs. I gagged him with one of his socks, wrinkling my nose a little at the smell.
I waited in his house, the door locked, shaking with every knock that rapped on the door. The surety that each knock signalled the guards coming to arrest me for my desperate plan ate at me, dragging out the minutes.
Night fell, with me still a free man. I hefted Humphries from the floor (still unconscious; a little worrying, that) and dragged him to the stables. There I dropped him into the back of a stall and covered him in hay.
I returned to William, with lies of looking all over the castle from the highest tower to the lowest well, but no sign of Humphries.
“It’s a bad omen. Call off the banquet, my lord.”
“Nonsense! You can sort out the seating, Macgillicuddy.”
My bowels loosened. “Me, lord?”
He handed me a rolled scroll. I looked at it. “Orders of Precedence.” I unrolled it: one foot, two feet, three feet. All told, eight and a half feet of rolled parchment lay unravelled on the ground. One long list of who sat next to whom. I looked at William with pleading in my eyes. You can’t make me do this, they said.
“Brace up, Macgillicuddy. It’s not that bad.”
A short, high-pitched laugh that sounded more like a duck in pain was the only response I could give.
The smell of burning pitch blessedly saved me. Shouting accompanied it, coming from outside. The hall doors burst open and a group of scruffy, ragged, dirty, smelly peasants strode in, carrying pitch-forks and torches.
“We gave you a week to consider our complaint, sire. We heard nothing back. We demand an answer.”
William considered a moment. “You will have to take this up with the baron,” he said. “I can not speak for him.”
“What? No! We want an answer now.”
“And you have had your answer. There is nothing else I can do.”
That brought forth a round of grumbling and muttering.
“To the baron!” someone shouted.
As one, the mob’s spines straightened, their torches rose into the air and they shouted, “yea!” They turned, rather raggedly, and walked out. But not before they had given me an idea.
“I’ll see them out, my lord,” I said. “No knowing what they might burn on their way.”
“Yes. Good thinking, Macgillicuddy.”
I ran after the peasants and accompanied them outside the castle walls.
“My lord has changed his mind. Come back at the cry of four in the afternoon on Friday,” I said. “And wear your best.”
They looked at me as the condemned would an executioner
“It’s not a trap,” I said. “We’ll have food to give you.”
They nodded their acceptance but remained as wary as a stray cat. I returned to the keep and took my leave of William, suggestively waving the scroll of Orders.
“You won’t see me tomorrow, lord. I need to get this done.”
“Very well.”
I retired and spent a good portion of the next day in bed, luxuriating in a day off. Everything would turn out well, and even though William wouldn’t have a wife there was always summer.
I did venture outside once to release Humphries. He thanked me profusely and promptly handed his resignation to William.
Friday morning dawned bright and sunny. William beamed his excitement around the castle gardens. Everyone carried out their tasks smiling and humming to themselves. The musicians practiced their tunes, servants dressed the tables, and everything seemed perfect. But as the day wore on and no guests arrived the mood soured. William started pacing across the lawn, then kicking odd bits of furniture, but as four in the afternoon came around his energy waned entirely. He slumped in a chair, defeated. The strings of my heart strummed a guilty tune.
“Why did no guests arrive, Macgillicuddy?” he asked.
Before I had a chance to answer the gates of the garden screeched open and a hoard of neat, well dressed, clean, fresh peasants strolled in.
“We ‘erd you was having a picnic, sire. You are so generous to invite us.”
William’s mouth dropped; I hid my smile behind a cough.
“Yes,” he said with a strangled voice. He cleared his throat and repeated himself in a more manly tone. He flashed me a wicked look that said, I’ll speak to you when this is over. I tried to smile; it came out as a grimace.
“Cook,” William shouted. “Bring out the food!”
Platters of food arrived and the servants served the guests as if they were nobility. William’s sour mood lifted as the afternoon progressed, and as dusk fell and sunlight faded to torchlight he laughed heartily at the peasants’ tales of village life. As the mirth faded a servant went over to William and whispered in his ear.
“Well, don’t leave her outside. Show her in. Have a seat brought up beside me.”
The servant nodded and ran off. What was this, I wondered. A moment later a lady in a simple but fine dress approached William.
“Lord Innsbury,” she said. “You are the most generous knight in England. Your care for your peasants raises you above the king in my eyes.”
I blinked, William blushed, a servant fainted.
“You pay me too great a compliment, my lady.”
“My name is Elizabeth.”
“Elizabeth,” he whispered. That perked my interest. This could be promising.
The night passed quickly, with William and Elizabeth keeping exclusive company. By the time the last of the peasants had gone home the stars had travelled quite a distance of their nightly journey. Servants cleared away the last of the banquet and the few remaining peasants took their leave with bags of left-over food clutched in their arms. William and Elizabeth had run out of words and sat gazing into each other’s eyes.
I coughed. “There is always tomorrow, my lord and lady.”
And there was tomorrow, and the next day, and the day after that. The weeks drifted into months and on the first day of summer William proclaimed that Elizabeth had accepted his hand in marriage.
And that was how the oldest bachelor in England found a wife. All thanks to me, Macgillicuddy.