Father Malone's "stories" concerning the Knight, Galaden, and his Squire, Boffin, take place in the year1360. Galaden has been sent on a quest to recruit the "Old Kings" for assistance in relieving Constantinople. Galaden has just been tricked by the Headman of a village and assaulted. He easily overcame the three foes.
"At times you worry me, My Knight."
"If I require your worry, I will inform you, Squire." Galaden whipped the willow wand out of his belt and handed it to Boffin.
"What need is this, Sir?" said Boffin, puzzled.
"I brought it to beat the Headman, Boffin, a task you shall now undertake. Galaden took Boffin by the arm and marched him to the Headman. As they walked Galaden said, "And remember my caution of this afternoon. Question me not, Boffin."
"Aye, sir," said Boffin.
Boffin strode to the Headman swishing the willow wand. In Boffins smaller hand the wand looked considerably stouter than in Galaden's. The Headman stood in worried anticipation. Boffin reached him first and hurriedly whispered. "Worry not, Headman, I am a friend of your daughter. Be a friend to me and I will treat you lightly."
The Headman harrumphed and glowered.
"Be so kind as to grasp that rail of the fence yonder. No need to let loose your breeches."
The Headman harrumphed even louder and glowered even more darkly but he did as Boffin bid while the Knight looked on.
He grasped the rail with both hands and looked behind him at Boffin. "Do not think of fingering my daughter, evil boy. I scoff at your ministrations." He set his jaw in defiance and readied himself for the switching.
Boffin planted his feet and the wand whistled down on the back of the Headman who blurted a muffled oath. Boffin turned questioningly to Galaden. The Knight stood apart, a meaty hand stroking his beard.
"How many, Sir Knight?"
"How speaks he, Squire?" Galaden inquired softly. "Is he resolute in his sin against his people or is he compliant, contrite and willing to make amends?"
"How say you, Headman?" asked Boffin.
"Fornicate with a sow, you monstrous child!" His face was red with rage.
"He appears to be less than contrite, Sir Knight."
"Then I say this, Squire. You will beat him with that willow wand until you tire. When you tire, if he is not yet contrite, select another, preferably one he has wronged in some trade encounter. Tell that man he will beat the Headman until he, too, has exhausted his arm. Then he shall ask the question again."
The Headman, hearing this, released his grasp of the rail and turned suddenly, his face red and his mouth set in a great "O". "Good Sir Knight, I am verily contrite and abashed. I beg your mercy. I will begin immediately to set right the tasks allotted me. Just spare me this indignity." Tears started at the Headmans eyes.
Galaden took a step closer and in a strong but steady voice said the following:
"Headman and village," he announced. "Know you that I have the power of high and low justice endowed by our Creator through the Sacrament of Consecration. Know also that my word is immutable. Yesterday, I commissioned certain tasks. They were not accomplished. My stated word, that I would mete harsh punishment for malfeasance, was not heeded. Instead, three men were brought to murder me.
"Let me now speak. Let the Headman be bound to the rail and my described punishment be enacted to the letter. The Headman's impudence relieves him of his status and instead thrusts the responsibility for my orders upon each and every one of you, with the same penalties for failure. When the Headman's punishment is finished, seek his council to the degree of efficacy I demand. I extend my stay for a day to ensure satisfactory compliance."
Galaden reentered the Inn and requested wine and "a small bit of that apple trifle, if you would, young miss."
In the street, the wand whistled unabated amid shouted curses, threats and bombastic imprecations. Boffin leaned down and whispered, "Feign contrition, Headman! I tire. Recant or I shall select that great bruiser lounging yonder as my replacement." Boffin nodded toward a malicious looking lad of perhaps twenty years with strong arms, rubbing his hands as if in anticipation.
"Go to hell, you bastard Squire," was the Headman's only reply.
Boffin gave a few half hearted strokes then turned to the crowd and admitted defeat. The Headman laughed maliciously. "Any man here who dares touch me tonight, I'll kill in the morning," he shouted, red-faced. Spittle dripped from his swollen lips.
"I ask you, in all mercy, for contriteness and compliance, Sir Headman," said Boffin. "This is my last request." The Headman only grunted.
Boffin stretched his arm and motioned to the youth who trotted over enthusiastically.
"This man has threatened your life for this act you are about to commit," said Boffin to the youth. "Since we leave in three days, my Knight cannot guarantee your safety."
"Then give me the willow wand and go and cut another for I will wear this one out quickly. You may leave in three days but I leave this very night for the Barony to fulfill my military obligation. Yonder cur beat me when I was a lad for the theft of three apples. I will happily return the favor of correction and be gone when he is again able of wrath."
"Then hear and heed my Knight's instruction. You are to beat this man with the willow wand until you tire. When you so do, and not before, ask for his contrition. If it appears not seemly, you will enlist another to continue your task. Is my instruction clear?"
"Indeed, young squire," the youth grinned. "Yon Headman is visible evidence that the Knight's command is not to be scoffed at."
Boffin walked back into the inn. He sat with the Knight and ordered wine. The whistle and slap sounds of the switch seemed ominously louder than when the smaller Boffin had been at task. The muffled grunts soon turned to groans and then to shrieks.
"He is a strong boy," said Boffin. "This could last a while."
"It is God's will," said Galaden.
After a while the shrieking stopped but the whistling slap of the willow wand continued. When it stopped, Galaden and Boffin retired to their rooms.
Galaden encounters the Grail (From Book 1: The Way It Works):
The Gradale, a huge dead raven dotted with maggots resting on its lapis center, still shone and its pearl rim still glimmered.
Gendrich the Adept scuttled forward and grasped it and then ran from the room, kicking aside the chittering imps. His gray robe flapped around him. A thin youth dressed in rags scurried after him. The youths head and body seemed ravaged by open sores. The four crones and the old man in tatters watched in horror as the two fled and then slowly and painfully arose and shuffled in the direction of the kitchen.
Conspiracies "R" Us
