Just the other day when I was returning to Edinburgh with
Lady Matilda Fitzwilliam's entourage via Sherwood, we were
captured by that terrifying and ragged bunch of wolfsheads
that you quite rightly detest so much. During the course
of proceedings I was forcibly restrained and tied to a
tree by that filthy Saracen and that vagabond Scathelock.
The latter was impudent enough to plunge his hand into my
cleavage to wrest my cunningly concealed jewels from me
and....I found myself enjoying it. In addition to this,
the Saracen's filthy leather trousers were exercising
an unhealthy fascination over me, and I found that I
was envious that Lady Matilda was being ill-treated
by Robin Hood himself. I have been dreaming about this
terrible experience ever since, and I feel so
loathsomely tainted. Please help me, Sir Guy! What
should I do? Should I enter a convent?
Helpless Lady-in-Waiting
Dear Helpless Lady-in-Waiting,
You must believe me when I tell you that you are in no
way attracted to these filthy cutthroats! These dreams
and longings you have been experiencing are the result of
their Pagan sorcery. When Scathelock rammed his fiendish
paw down your cleavage, he was also planting a potent
aphrodisiac, the scent of which has caused strange
longings and vivid hallucinations. Look, if they can
make me run from a bunch of trees, they're capable of
anything!
On no account must you enter a convent! Judging by
your...er...fantasies, you are obviously not meant
to lead a life of celibacy. Would I be correct
in assuming that you are a lady with a goodish dowry, a
fair amount of land and even fairer proportions? If you
match this description in any way, you must come to
me immediately! I think you have been "a-waiting" far
too long!! I'll force you to forget all about those
wolfsheads, under strenuous tortue if necessary. You
need to be taught that REAL men wear chainmail. Get
ready for the greatest knight of your life, lady!
GRRROWLLL!!!
I always thought you were a sensitive, misunderstood,
essentially chivalric soul, who just happened on
occasion to be a bit of a thicky. I much preferred you
to your brother Huntington. Please tell me what to
do . . . My ex-boyfriend keeps ringing me all the time,
and sending me email, and I don't want to talk to him.
I just want to hate him in peace since he cheated on me.
He also pulled himself a new floozy. Other men keep
harassing me too . . . men from my work, men from
parties . . . Men from everywhere! What can I do to get
rid of these importunate rogues?
Thank you ever so much you cute little Gissy-poo!
Lady Mary of Montague
Dear Lady Mary of Montague,
There just aren't enough ladies with true taste and
refinement like you around! I'm very touched by the
way you've managed to capture my my character so
accurately, even down to the "thicky" part. Bertram was
right. I have put on weight. I suppose I had better
let the Sheriff steal a little more food off my plate
from now on . . .
I have to admit that I'm a tad confused by your
reference to my brother Huntington. My dear lady, I
don't have a brother. In fact, I have absolutely no
idea what you're talking about. When you mentioned
Huntington, I thought, for a brief moment, that you
were speaking of Robert of Huntington! Then I thought,
no she can't be THAT confused! There's about as much
chance of that wolfshead being my brother as the world
being round instead of flat! Anyway, enough said about
that. Let's get to your perplexing little conundrum.
I've thought long and hard about this and my secretary
has come up with the answer. If you really wish to
repel those suitors, you must make yourself
thoroughly unattractive in their eyes. Now the ugliest
woman I know is Isabella de Angouleme, but the second
ugliest woman is Marion of Leaford. Think about it.
She is surrounded by six men with absolutely no interest
in playing hide the sausage with her. Oh, all right,
both Loxley and Huntington seem to adore her, but I'm
talking about real men, not boys with lovely, long
tresses! Lady Wolfshead attracts these kind of men
because she's so butch herself in comparison.
What you need to do is start wearing leggings and boots
as she has on occasion. Don't wear a wimple, but wear
your hair in a braid or loose down your back. If
possible, you should ride your horse astride and take
up a sport such as archery. The less you resemble a
lady, the less appealing you'll be.
Alarmed though strangely turned on by the diminutive,
Thank you so much for your kind help with my problem.
I am so relieved it was only sorcery that led to these
strange and unnatural desires. On your advice that I
may require strenuous torture and that I may have waited
too long I decided I must turn to my religion. I
enlisted the help of Father Dick, who kindly agreed to
wear chain mail, beat me soundly with a hawthorn stick,
and ravish me. So you see, there is no need for me
to trouble you further with my requirements. I now
practice flagellation once a day after bathing naked in
the icy moat and feel much recovered.
Yours in all affection,
Deflowered Lady-in-Waiting
Dearest Deflowered Lady-in-Waiting,
I'm really TERRIBLY sorry that you had to find religion!!
I've been fleeing from it all my life, which wasn't easy
with Lady Bible-Clutcher as a mother!! Oh,
Deflowered Lady-in-Waiting, why couldn't it have been
ME?!! I can flagellate with the best of them!! How
could you have turned to the cross when my spurs were at
the ready? You know, I once disguised myself as a monk.
I think the cowl was very becoming. Besides that
hawthorn stick, what could Father Dick possibly have over
me? Wait, you had better not answer that! Don't you
dare answer that!!
All right, I've been pondering the matter and I think
I understand why you chose the course you did. Good old
Guy was just too much for you. I frightened you with
my awe-inspiring virility, so you turned to this Father
Dick fellow as a substitute, albeit a rather poor one.
There seem to be very few women who can handle me!
They all turn and flee as soon as I enter the room.
You ladies can be SO shy! I must say I'm rather
disappointed in you, Deflowered Lady-in-Waiting, but I
shall learn to deal with it. You wouldn't happen to
have any friends in-waiting, would you...? If you ever
want to play damsel in distress, you know where to find
me! Until then, I bid you adieu.
For five months, I have been the hostage of my father's
enemy, Baron Ramon de Troyes. It looks as though they
are going to sign a truce. If that happens, I'll be
forced to return to my father. I'm only the third son.
My father plans for me to go into the church. I'd rather
stay here. Baron Ramon de Troyes is a rich and powerful
lord. He has said many times that if I lived in
his household he would make certain that I became a knight.
I'm already acting as a page. If I leave now, I'll never
be able to carry a full tray of wine cups! Oh, Sir Guy,
what shall I do?
Perceval
Dear Perceval,
You certainly are in a tough spot! If your father and
Ramon de Troyes reach a truce, the only cup you'll be
handling is a Communion cup. I see two courses of
action available to you. First, you can try to prevent
a truce. However, this could be difficult for a boy your
age. If things become ugly, de Troyes may not be as
generous as King Stephen was towards William Marshall.
The other option would be to negotiate with your father.
Appeal to his purse strings. Tell him that if de
Troyes raised you, it would be one less mouth to feed.
Your father could tell de Troyes that he leaves his son
to be raised in his household as an act of goodwill and
trust. If that doesn't work, your father could stroke de
Troye's vanity. Little Perceval has spoken of nothing but
you, my lord, and the wonders of your castle, etc. If
all else fails, run away. Inform de Troyes that your
father threw you out when you expressed your great
admiration for his neighbour, Baron Ramon de Troyes and
the wonders of his castle, etc. You seem like a clever
and industrious boy, Perceval. I'm certain you'll sort
things out. After all, you did turn to me for advice.
Greetings and felicitations to my lord of Gisbourne from
the Earl of Harkness,
I need some advice on tracking down a runaway. My ward,
a foolish, headstrong young woman, has taken against the
man I have picked out to be her husband and run off. As
if that wasn't embarassing enough, she has also taken
her entire fortune (left to her by my weak and
indulgent step-brother). I need to find her before
some wretched outlaw steals it, or she marries some
wastrel! I have tortured her maidservant, who says
she believes her mistress has run away to find an old
lover. I need to find her soon, or that fortune will
be forever out of my grasp. I am offering a reward of
100 gold marks for information leading to her capture.
I hope I can count on your help.
Sir Roger, Earl of Harkness
My dear lord of Harkness,
Please forgive the delay in this response. I realize
that this is a very serious crisis and we must take
immediate action. First, we need to discover the name
of this lover. With all due respect to your methods, I
feel your high position in society has not provided you
with as many opportunities to perfect your torture
techniques. If you will give me leave to speak to your
ward's maidservant, I shall soon pry the information from
her. Once I have the name of the lover, I shall do my
utmost to bring him to justice. If your ward is not with
him, I will arrest him.
In my experience, love causes young people to make
foolish mistakes. If your ward believes her lover is
in danger, she may be prompted to expose herself in order
to save him. There is also your generous offer of 100
gold marks for information leading to her capture.
I believe this will prove to be a suitable incentive
for anyone who might have knowledge of your ward.
I'm certain that you'll soon be reunited with her again,
my lord.
I'm so terribly desperate that I've come to you for
advice. Several months ago, I ended up in a feud
with Charles de Vache. He sent me his youngest son as
a hostage. We eventually called a truce and I sent the
boy back to his father. However, Perceval has run away
from de Vache and returned to my household determinded
to be a page! I mean, the only reason I agreed to sign
the bloody truce was to get rid of the nasty little sod!
You must imagine my horror when I found his grubby,
freckled face beaming up at me! I tried to send him back
to his father, but de Vache threatens to attack me if I do!
I've heard rumours that Perceval planned all of this
weeks in advance, that he had sought advice from some
idiot knight in Nottingham. All I can say is that if I
ever get my hands on that blithering moron, I'll demote
him to the same rank as Perceval...lower if I can arrange
it! Er...forgive me, Sir Guy. All of this is more than
I can bear!
Begging for assistance,
Ramon de Troyes
My dear Baron de Troyes,
I had no idea that Perceval was such a miserable little...
er...I mean, I had heard that he was a good and sensible
boy. I wouldn't punish this misinformed knight too much,
my lord. Rumours are rumours after all. I believe this
was all concocted by the boy and his father. I suggest
that since de Vache foisted Perceval on you, you thrust
Perceval on another unsuspecting noble. In fact, I've
got a candidate in mind. The Duke of Gloucester is
accustomed to clumsy, shiftless pages. I'd send Perceval
to him. I'm certain the Duke has managed to buy his
way back into favour with the King. Even if he hasn't
regained his land and title, he may still have need of a
page's services. The boy would be good company for him
in the Tower.
My father was a noble Norman gentleman of some import,
who died while off crusading with King Richard. He left
me as the ward of an unscrupulous man who is not
above pinching my dowry for himself. He has given me
a choice: either marry a sinister nobleman who dabbles
in the black arts, or be sent packing to a nunnery, there
to spend the rest of my days. But I have a penchant
for tall, devastatingly handsome young knights with
blonde hair and blue eyes. So what should I do? The
times being what they are, there are no college courses
for women, nor can I go into business for myself. Can
you please advise me?
Lady E
P.S. I do have quite a nice dowry, by the way!
Dear Lady E,
If this letter had been written back in 1195, I'd think
you were Marion of Leaford! So you're a child of
the Crusades as well, are you? That's one thing we
have in common! Do I know this "sinister" nobleman
who dabbles in the black arts? Does he have
a fascination for pentacles, or does he toss runes and
lumps of clay around? If this is the case, then I don't
care how "nice" your dowry is! I want nothing to do with
it! If your sorceror suitor doesn't commit
ritualistic sacrifices, or howls at the moon, then
the solution is simple. Marry someone else before
Sinister Sam can sink his talons into you, or
your guardian can ship you off to a nunnery.
I've read your description of a perfect match and I
do believe I have a suitable candidate for the office.
Meet me, er...I mean him...at Newstead Abbey Thursday
next after midday mass. There Father Matthew will join
you both in holy matrimony. Then you and your gorgeous
groom will head north as quickly as an Irish destrier
will go! Tally ho! You did say it was a "nice" dowry,
didn't you...?
[N.B. The fine Irish destrier turned out to be a NASTY
spell perpetrated on the intended groom by Puck! Lady E
and her perfect match never did get married...]
Yesterday I passed through Sherwood and was robbed!
I thought that all these stories about Robin Hood were
just that, but obviously they're true! I don't
understand why they've been allowed to live. Why don't
you do something about them? You could start by getting
my money back!
Sincerely,
John of Breckenridge
Dear complete and utter idiot,
While I'm at it, perhaps you'd like me to discover a
cure for leprosy, turn water into wine and grow an
extra limb? What do you think I've been doing the last
few years? Living as a troubadour and singing French
love ballads to beautiful, young noblewomen, I suppose!
God's Blood, I wish I had been! Besides benefitting
from the obvious advantages of such a position, I
could avoid listening to simpletons like you! I can get
your money back? If those wolfsheads had entrusted it
to Meg of Wickham, it might be a possibility, but
otherwise...you can forget it! Instead of furnishing
me with steady complaints, why not provide me with a few
tips as to where in Sherwood you were robbed? Perhaps
their camp is still there!
If you don't wish to be robbed again, then AVOID
Sherwood! Indeed, remove yourself from England
altogether. I don't think they've gone to France yet.
Why not try there? If I do come across your money,
I'll hold on to it tightly. I'll keep such a careful
eye on it, that no one but my tailor or Magnificient
Molly will ever lay eyes on it again!
Seeing you were sooooo helpful the last time I
requested advice from you, I thought I would consult
you once again about my current problem. I am, as you
well know, a sinful individual in need of regular
chatisement and correction. My confessor, Father Dick,
has always been there to aid me in this. However, he
has suddenly been overcome by missionary zeal and has
decided he must travel to the Holy Land! I don't know
who I can turn to if he leaves! Surely there must be
some way to recapture his interest? Do you think
I should purchase a crotchless chastity belt and some
fishnet hose?
Yours despairingly,
Lady Em
Dear Lady Em,
As the Sheriff once said: "It's not over. It will
never be over..." Darling, why are you still with
that clerical catastrophe, your feeble Father? If
you need regular chastisement and correction, you
could easily receive it from me at Nottingham Castle,
or any other location you fancy. Oh, but you'll never
leave your precious Father Dick, will you?
As attractive as a crotchless chastity belt and fishnet
hose would be, I don't think they'll be enough to cool
Father Dick's missionary zeal. These Church men are
a strange lot! I find it difficult to understand any
of them! However, I know one thing: material
possession means more to them than spiritual
or physical gratification.
If it was Abbot Hugo, I'd contaminate his fishpond.
In Father Dick's case, I think it would be enough to
run off with the church's plate, or some sacred relic
if you can find one, like the Cross of Saint Ciricus
(a wonderful way of getting attention!). That
should hopefully make the Holy Land pale a bit
in comparison. It wouldn't hurt to be wearing
the chastity belt and hose when he finds you with the
loot. It should inspire him to invent several
interesting forms of punishment.
I am having awful trouble with my blue cape. Now I
like nothing more than going down to the village of
Scum and giving all the inhabitants a good kicking,
but one finds that this is invariably a messy
business. My lovely blue cape, which I wear as
a tribute to your esteemed self, gets covered in all
kinds of stains, and dead peasant is very difficult
to get out using conventional powders.
I noticed that every time you yourself venture out
after that rascal wolfshead (and, may I say, your
failed attempts to capture him are only due to the
most atrocious bad luck, and not to any incompetence
on your part) your blue swishy garment is always
spotless. How do you do it? I would appreciate
any advice you could give, as I do not have
an endless supply of blue capes, and life here
in England is so damn muddy.
yours arrogantly,
Sir Bob of Chumfatty
My dear lord of Chumfatty,
I apologize for not addressing this crucial situation
sooner. I truly sympathize with you in this matter.
Although it pains me to admit it, I once also suffered
from the torment of...wearing an unclean cloak...I
would scrub it for days to no avail! I reached such
a level of despair that I almost abandoned
my beautiful cape altogether. It was indeed fortunate
that I discovered a solution when I did!
I was riding through Nottingham early one morning in
search of drunks and rabble rousers I could arrest,
when I suddenly beheld a most wondrous spectacle.
Outside one miserable hobble, there stretched a line
of the most pristine garments I had ever seen! I
was almost blinded by the dazzling whites and brilliant
hues of colour that hadn't faded with wash or wear!
I urged my horse forward and reached up to touch
the washing. The clothes were also soft to the touch,
with no loose fibres or horrid fuzzies! I
quickly dismounted my horse and barged into this
house, hauling an old woman and her two sons out of
their beds. She observed the sorry state of my cloak
and shook her head sadly. It was then that
I offered money for her services. She shook her head
again. The Normans had forced her to do many things,
but she would never do their laundry.
I tried to reason with her but she was having none of it,
so I arrested both her sons. When she learned I planned
to charge them with poaching, a crime which would require
a hand which could be used for washing, she grudgingly
relented. From that day forward, I possessed the
most immaculate cloak in all the shire! However,
clean cloaks require work...hard work from the
washerwoman you're blackmailing! And that washerwoman
is mine, Chumfatty, so you'll have to capture one of
your own!
