Today’s post is the last in this series. I hope you enjoyed it!
“William Geoffrey Dansforth the town bartender, owner of Dansforth’s ‘Good for what Ale’s ye’ Pub, stands before thy Lord. It has come to thy Lords attention that thou must extend thy hours late into the evening in order to please thee nobles’ wishes,” the town crier held. “Thy must hath forty jugs of ale on hand at all times, and thy must hath 50 barrels of thee finest wines, strictly for thy kingship,” Annoyed, confused, and angry, William hung a large rusted sign on the door of his pub, stating ‘Closed until the new lord is chosen’. Sir Jon had tried to talk him out of his brash decision, but William was fed up and could not be bothered to argue with the lord any further. Plus, it was mid day on Friday, and he had other plans.
As he approached the castle by horse-drawn carriage with his wife and two sons in tow, he nervously rustled his new tunic, fiddling with the soft, linen material. Thomas had sent velvet suits for the boys, of the same style as the Dukes, and Eleanor Mables had been sent a fine linen gown, with a slight fur trim, much like the Duchesses. Tonight the Dansforth’s would be amongst royalty, and treated as such. The castle was lit up by candles in every window, and they were dropped off outside the main fountain which portrayed a marble statue of Lord Chadwick the First and his noble henchmen. As soon as the Dansforths stepped off the carriage, William slipped. A great start to what would prove to be a great night.
“Ah, the Dansforths! I am ecstatic that you have finally arrived!” Thomas greeted them on the front steps. “Miss Mables, you look ravishing. And the boys! You two look like true Dukes!” He was all smiles, and shook Williams’s hand. “Glad you came, friend,” he said, tightening his grip.
“We wouldn’t dare miss it for anything. Who knows what this night will bring,” William said, dryly gazing at the castle. “Beautiful place. I trust you told only your best stories to be worthy of it?”.
“It’s only a subsection off of Chadwick’s legions proximity,”
“Oh? And what legion is this? Does it only contain you and him?”
Thomas looked into the distance. “Shall I show you inside, Miss Mables?” he said, lending his arm to court her. She was overwhelmed and happily obliged, without so much as a glance to her husband who sluggishly followed with his sons. Thomas Weaver ensured that the Dansforths were introduced to all those of importance that evening. He did exactly what he set out to, which was make himself look more charming, witty, and extraordinary as ever. Lord Chadwick entertained himself with the various jesters that had been hired and generally stayed out of the affairs. There was a band that never ceased playing. At all times one could hear the mandolin and drum players keeping a steady rhythm. William hung onto every word that spilled out of Thomas’ mouth that night. At one point, Sir Jon convinced him to tell his daring tale explaining his nickname “Weaver”. Thomas pretended to be too embarrassed to tell it, but within moments was up on the band stage silencing the accordions so he was able to be heard.
“There I was, in the middle of a hundred angry weavers. Milvex was known for weavers, they were everywhere! They were revolting for God knows what reason, and I decided that I could not let this happen. So there I was, with my father, Sir Thomas Phillip – a well known knight at the time – trying to knock some sense into those pesky peasants, when an arrow skimmed my head!” Thomas explained, drawing a large crowd. “I told my father, I said, ‘Jonathon Phillip Thomas, we mustn’t let these fools destroy our town’, and he agreed. So, we both drew our-”
“I thought his first name was Thomas, like yours?” exclaimed William. Thomas blushed slightly as the crowd murmured that they were confused as well.
“I apologize, I’ve had a tad to drink, you see,”
“And what town was this in that you grew up in?” enquired his eldest son.
“Dansforth, it is just outside of London. You should know that Geoffrey!” The crowd looked at each other in bewilderment.
“Your facts aren’t adding up, Sir Thomas,” stated the Duke of Wales sternly.
“So as I was saying,” Thomas continued, ignoring the Duke. “We drew our swords at these blacksmiths who in turn drew their mallets! It was quite the scandal in Dansforth. We won, of course, to keep a long story short. The Weavers then had to leave the town, as they were banished by Lord Mitchell!” Thomas broke out in hysterical laughter, saying he’s had one too many brews. The crowd, confused and unsure of who was standing before them as their town advisor slowly dismembered. They all left him onstage with a few Dukes who stayed to check if he was alright. William grinned menacingly as he overheard the guests speaking furiously.
“I don’t understand. Was there a great battle or was there not? Was it with the Weavers or was it with the Smiths? Was he even there? I demand to know his fathers name!” the Duke of Nottingham was saying.
“Lord Mitchell was in Dansforth. I know that for fact, my grandfather knew him well,” joined the Duchesses of Fallston.
William and his family didn’t stay much longer after that episode, as William felt he had completed his noble duty. In addition to that, storm clouds were hovering overhead, and seeing as how they had been brought by horse drawn carriage minus a cover, they decided to leave before the rain hit.
The next morning the forum was alive. All residents of Exetar had gathered once again before the Lord and his Noble right hand man. They were angrier than ever, all speaking at once as to try to be heard over their neighbour.
“He doesn’t deserve any of this! He’s a failure, a liar, and a cheat!” they were yelling. “Apprehend him!” Sir Jon and his fellow knights made their way to the back of the platform as Lord Chadwick attempted to silence the crowd. The crowd seemed bigger then ever, many of the people held weapons, or various tools. Ashamed and afraid of what may happen, Lord Chadwick ran off the stage. Thomas Weaver, pale as a ghost was cuffed and led off the stage by Sir Jon and Melvin the Blacksmith with a black bag covering his head.