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A Dialogue On The Art Of War Compared With Tourney Fighting By Stique Mac Jacques While In His Cups At "The Seasick Mermaid," His Favourite Tavern.

Related By Thomas Buttesthorn Who Tried To Get A Word In Edgewise

One evening, after a recent war, I was passing by "The Seasick Mermaid," and thought to purchase therein certain liquids known for their medicinal value. It seems that particular forms of malt, especially in their unblended state, are I most efficacious in easing aches from old war wounds.

Just as I was opening a complaining, rusty hinged tavern door that smelled of weeks old spilled ale, I heard a familiar voice within raised over those of what sounded like at least I twenty others.

"Ye whey-faced sons of runt-pups, ye know not of what ye speak! If I had the training of ye, though little it might profit me, ye would learn I soon enough of the business of war. Now leave off thy lambs bleating and let a warrior enjoy his stout. Go follow some shepherd who would lead.ye, like as naught, to the slaughter."

I entered the dingy tavern (stumbling over one I of its denizens) and as my eyes (and nose) I adjusted to its atmosphere, I heard, "Buttesthorn ye old war dog! It does these old eyes well to lay them on ye! What news of the war? Did ye profit thereby?"

"Well, Old MacJacques," I said, "it is good to see you again. It was a small bickering," I continued, although I managed to lift a few purses and trinkets from some who had no further: need of them. It will keep me in whiskey for a few months."

"Well enough," he cried. "It does seem that the moment will soon be ripe for a business venture or two. Have ye heard aught from the Prince or the King? Are they ready to I call their dogs in for the hunt?"

"Not as yet," I replied, "although I would not be surprised to hear the call to 'Boots and Saddles' ere a few months have passed. But tell me Stique, what was this row as I entered?"

"Al," he cried, slamming his fist on the table. "There is ever some popinjay, who, because he hath won a few of these tourneys of which some are overfond, does fancy himself the King of Warriors! "

"They do strut about in their finery and their spotless surcoats which hath never seen an honest day's work and do reap great fame as warriors. Yet," he continued, "I tell thee that though they may gain therein fame and the fawning of young cubs who know even less of the business of war, yet they oft live in rue their ignorance should they find themselves in the midst of one."

Before I could speak, he went on: "The proper training for war is war, and should ye hear otherwise, ye will know the teller of such lies to be a fool! When ye do lay eyes upon one of these tourneys, what do ye see?"

"Well ... ," I said. "Aye, ye are right!" he exclaimed. "They do bow and salute everyone, all as if they were about to partake of tea and not slaughter one another. And, to what profit? Rarely do they even win a prize worthy to be called one. No ransoms to be had or churches to be looted and to what end? Mayhap, if there were jousting betwixt armies and some fat castle to plunder and sack for a prize, then ye might find old Mac Jacques trying his hand at this child's play which they call tourneys.”

"But also, as ye may know, these pups that would have ye believe that they are warriors do not fight in great armies but only one with another, and aye, they might have a pretty fight. But if MacJacques were to graciously bid his enemies to bide their time so that he might fight one of them at a time, he would most certainly become the laughing stock of the Knowne World.

"Should any milk-fed whelp attempt to become a true warrior, having grown aweary of this tournament fighting, he would find soon enough that if he do but attempt to fight in this tourney manner on a stricken field, he would ere long find himself peering out through an extra eye slot where a pike did come a-callin!

"As ye well know, the waging of war is as different from this tourney fighting as a tender maiden is to a proper saucy wench. And, if ye would win her ye would be best to learn in what manner to woo. But, aye, these popinjay tourneyfield warriors who are but fresh from their mother's side and nursed on small beer would scarce know of that.

"I am minded of one such fool who had built such a reputation of prowess in this foolishness that he did fancy himself the greatest of warriors. In point of fact, he did fancy himself of such puissance, and his fame had grown so great in the minds of his fellowfods, that he scorned even to wear armour into battle. Aye, I see the mirth in thy eye, but what I say is sooth. He did but wear his bascinet (like as not to protect his curls) and his greaves so as not to risk soiling his fine hose. Mayhap he did bethink to himself that his spotless surcoat with its noble charge would keep him from harm as he was the King of Warriors. I know not of that but, aye, it is sooth that the archers of the enemy did find him a pretty sport and he soon did resemble milady's pincushion. Me thinks that all this glory had cause a swelling in his brain that did cause his bascinet to fit too tightly, thus addling his wits. I have heard that physicians oft speak of such in these would-be warriors."

Having remembered some pressing commitments, I have been edging my way toward the door for some time. The last thing I heard as I made my escape was, "In my mind, the best that ye could do with these tourney warriors is to gather them like so many posies and ... "

Just them the door closed and I thought it best not to return and find out what MacJacques had said.

A Disclaimer:
The names and facts in this story have been changed and otherwise twisted to protect the innocent and others. Any resemblance to living persons are merely a product of your imagination and are probably grounds for a challenge. The opinions stated above do not reflect those of the editor and publisher of this newsletter (Thank you Lord Thomas, ed.) or probably anyone else. It should be read in the spirit in which it was written, or whatever spirit is available!

Lord Thomas Buttesthorn

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