This was written many years ago for a tribemate who wanted a creative way to ask Atlantian Royal if they were willing to indenture him for Pennsic. It was sent to Queen Niobe, and I just found it in a forgotten drawer, long after I’d given it up for lost. Anyways, it gave me a nostalgic chuckle and I thought I’d share, so hope you enjoy it.
Your Majesty,
Please forgive the length of this missive. I have a bit of explaining to do, I’m afraid.
My name is Lord Edmund of Canterbury, and I believe I have something that may belong to You, and with the Great War approaching, I feel You may be in need of Your property in Your camp.
I must needs confess, my Sovereign, that my great vice is gambling. I was involved in a riddle contest one evening with some of my fellows, in which we made bets on who could come up with the best riddle based on some object that could be found on one’s person. I am afraid, my dear Queen, and for this I beg Your forgiveness, that for this purpose I borrowed an orange-fruit from Your table without Your leave.
When it came my turn I came up with a riddle so funny, so clever, and so inappropriate that I could not help but win. I will forego repeating it here for the obvious reasons.
The next day, while enjoying the fruits of my wit in a local public-house, I attracted the ire of a young bravo of the sort that gives Your own good Rapier scholars a bad name. I became involved in a duel with this villain. Majesty, I had no quarrel with this boy, and the whole thing had unsettled me. I was not at my best, and ale had made my opponent bold. He thrust at my chest.I sloppily parried the thrust down into my own side. I felt it connect, then penetrate, but oddly felt no pain. My opponent fled, fearful the constables would find him over my corpse. I looked down at myself. Orange juice dribbled out of my doublet. Your orange-fruit had saved my life!
A few days later I found myself indulging in my vice once again in a game of Whist. My fellow and I were evenly matched in our wager, until I upped him the orange-fruit. He looked at me as if I had gone mad and declined to accept it. I said to him, “Wait! This orange-fruit is charmed. It saved my life!” Then I told him how my luck had changed since gaining the fruit.
He thought about this and agreed that indeed, it must be a special thing indeed, but he wished to match my bet and call my hand. “How about I put up my indentured man, a jongleur and musician of some skill?” says he. I did not like that idea. My orange was charmed by the Gods of Luck, after all. I did not wish to bet against lesser value.
“But no,” says my fellow, “my jongleur once stole my dinner from the kitchen. It was revealed the food was tainted, and he grew grievous sick from it. He almost died. Had he not stolen my dinner, it would have been me that almost died. So he almost saved my life. He’s very nearly as good as your orange!”
So, true to my luck, I did indeed win the game of Whist, and with it this Jongleur, who is named Alwyn Fether the Foolish. But alas, my guilt at robbing You of so valuable a prize as that orange-fruit gnawed at me like a worm. I set about plans to return Your property to You at once and beg Your mercy and forgiveness.
Majesty, I am horrified and in much anguish to have to report to You that this Fool, which I have won in this game of Whist, has eaten Your orange-fruit. May pestilence rain down on me all the days of my life for this to have happened in my house, especially when it may have served You so well during the War.
So I humbly ask if Your Most Gracious Majesty will accept this Fool Alwyn Fether the Foolish as an indentured servant to lieu of Your irretrievably lost property. He is in fact very talented. He is an unequaled dancing-master and can teach and lead court and country dances of all variety. He is a skilled musician. he is a fine juggler, drawing gasps of wonder from one and all as knives and flames whirl around his head. He can do miraculous feats with burning flame, lighting torches with his bare hands and with his mouth as would a very dragon! All this, and he is terribly useful in a kitchen or encampment, making himself valuable to your own servants. He is a skilled cook! He is of agreeable temperament and fair of face and form. In all, my friend spoke true- he is indeed nearly as good as Your orange.
Do beware, however, that he wears about his neck on a cord a small red wagon wheel painted round with the yellow gilly-flowers. If I am not mistaken, I believe that is the mark of the local tribe of ‘Gypcians around here in Cyddlain Downs, although I am convinced the man is not of the black blood himself. Perhaps under Your guidance he could be salvaged from the vile life of a vagabond before he ends up in prison or at the end of a rope.
I realize that it is a bit of an expense to carry such indentured servants in one’s entourage, but it would be a small price to pay to gain a bit of entertainment and personal help in one’s kitchen or encampment. I understand that he has some experience being indentured at past Wars, so your Steward would hardly have to train him at all.
If you are interested, I would be honored if Your Steward would contact my Steward. And I again thank You for Your mercy regarding my most dishonorable theft.
Your Humble and Devoted Servant,
Lord Edmund of Canterbury
