The Squire's Tale
Preface
In April when the hills are filled with daffodils, and the thrush peeps and the chaffinch trills, then folk do long to go to Wales to see the jousts and tournaments. And so I set out on the road to Chepstow Castle. At Chepstow I would meet my Master, Sir John, and begin my service as his squire. In three months I would reach my sixteenth year, for I was christened Thomas on July 3, the feast day of the Apostle.
I made as fine a figure as ever a squire who mounted palfrey, in scarlet doublet and blue chausses, and with a feather in my cap. And my hair was the color of honey and fell in waves about my face to my shoulders. And I combed my wavy hair with a fine ivory comb, and every squire envied me and all the pages looked upon me admiringly, wishing they could touch my honey-colored locks.
And I was well equipped to take on any highwayman.
My traveling companions were Sir Joffroi and Sir Michael and their squires, also a pardoner, a cleric, and others I cannot recall. And as we rode, our host proposed that we should pass the time by telling tales.
I shall tell you mine.
It is a tale of knights and their squires, and of my service to my Master, Sir John. There are other stories in it too, of magic and enchantments, and mystical visions and of love between men. And I shall tell you of the friar and the blacksmith and the wood sprite, and all the events that befell at Chepstow Castle in the year of our Lord 1270.
Chapter 1. Squire William
At the gate Chepstow we heard a celebration from within the castle. The cries grew loud as we passed through the barbican. The bailey teemed with squires and pages. Their snorting chargers pawed, and scores of servants bustled about.
And a cry went up -- Sir John!
The towering Norman knight entered leading his caparisoned gray destrier. His surcote was red and blue, and he wore a cape of fine white wool. His head from the back of his skull to his pate was a field of bristles, for it had been shaved clean some days prior. And from his dome golden strands spilled forward, covering his forehead, falling upon his brows. Suddenly a sun ray lighted upon him and a thousand sparks lit his locks and bristles, and it was as if a glistening aura lighted up the air around his head. A wind lifted his cloak and it billowed like wings from his broad shoulders. And from the battlements the trumpets sounded loud that I started, and my blood roared in my ears.
Surely, thought I, this knight is an archangel. Surely God has chosen me to serve his messenger!
Come now, said the Marshal's man. Are you going to stand there like a statue with your jaw agape? I will have your palfrey and pack horse taken to the stables. And he summoned a a wizened servant in a uniform of blue trimmed with shearling. This man set out, half darting, half hopping like a hare, and led me into a small chamber in which was set a long wooden tub. A local lad in russet was busy emptying buckets of well water into the
And soon as I had stripped and lowered myself into the cool water, a richly dressed youth entered.
Hail fellow! said he.
God save you! I replied.
Without another word he took off his boots and clothes and soon stood naked. He was a stout, strong fellow, some inches taller than me. His thick hair was nearly black and was cut evenly all around above the level of his ears, which stuck out like cup handles. I judged him to be of 17 years, for fine hairs sprouted on his chest and arms and legs and he had a thick glistening bush that overhung his cock like a storm cloud.
He let out a long sigh of pleasure as he sank into the tub. Our outstretched legs touched as we faced one another.
Part thou thy legs, said he in a commanding tone. And with that he moved his right leg between my thighs and pushed my legs apart.
And who art thou, said I, to command me? For know that I am Thomas, and Sir John is my Master.
Yea, he replied in his deep voice, and I am William Bigon, squire to Sir Joffroi de Boynge. He looked me in the eye as if to challenge me, smiled slyly, and locked his hands behind his head, showing black tufts of hair under his arms.
Here then, Thomas, since thou hast the soap, thou mayst wash my chest, said he.
I confess that I yearned to touch his well proportioned form, and quickly leant forward to rub my soapy hands across the twin mounds of his breast. These he tightened til they felt as hard and smooth as cuir boulli. His heart beat like a muffled drum as he watched me soap his chest. His erect nipples poked through the white soap suds like two bull's eyes. My fingers circled these proud protruding mottes. As I did so, William moved his right foot further toward me until his sole was pressed against my stiff upright member.
I think we shall be good friends, Thomas, said he. Move thy soapy hands further down, unto my thighs. Ah, yea. Now hold my prick in thy hand and I'll grasp thine, and we shall see whose is the biggest.
I had little doubt that I should win this competition, for my cock was of uncommon dimension. Yet when William grasped my erect cock, and I his, upon my honor I had to admit that though the lengths were comparable when both hard, his girth exceeded mine.
Then I shall take my reward, said he. His thick black eyebrows nearly met as he furrowed his brow and narrowed his almond-shaped eyes. He pressed his lips together, and a look of resolution filled his handsome face.
Here is my heel in thy ballocks, Squire Thomas. You will remember it.
And he pushed his heel against my ballocks with force.
Nay William, take thy foot away, I cried. Yet he pressed harder with his strong leg and held his heel in my ballsack until he had his satisfaction over me.
And he said, Thou hast two masters now -- Sir John and myself. For this tub tournament has proved that I am William thy Conquerer.
With a whoop of triumph he jumped from the tub. His wondrous cock was now half stiff, and swung between his legs as he vigorously dried his back and limbs. He turned from me to dress, revealing his plump round buttocks. It shall not be long before I know the firmness of those cheeks in my hands, I thought, and felt no guilt in thinking so. For in my philosophy the beauty of man's form attests to the glory of Creation. Nor can I renounce my lust for other men, for I know my hard prick is an honest gauge.
We shall grapple anon, Thomas, said he.
Yea, said I. And then thou shalt be known as the William the Defeated and shalt kiss my foot.
He said nothing, but raised his middle finger to me, spat on the floor, and strode off.
With cock still hard as stone, I fastened my braies and chausses, buttoned my freshly brushed red doublet and pulled on my high leather boots. For I wore the colors of my Master's herald, gules for courage, and azure as the hue of honesty. And never has there been a knight more courageous or honorable than Sir John.