Princess Royal At The Jousting Tournament
The Hysterical Chronicles: And So The Wars Began!
The Hysterical Chronicles contain the full history of the episodes following the outbreak of the wars, that, fortunately, did not last long. This is the story of the Jousting Tournament, abruptly ended by the landing of the Roman, Corona Virus, on our shores. He, not content with the writings of Rome’s philosophers and poets, was seeking our literary masterpieces. So ended the rumours concerning Princess Royal, and the plan to launch a new King of the Realm. Why, the very birds on the wing carried the whispers. Read on, dear friends, read on.
Intrigue At The Jousting Tournament.
The knights on their gallant steeds, decked in fine comparisons, held their helmeted heads high (for those who thrive on history, comparisons were the cloth drapes that adorned the horses, and featured the heraldic shields of the knights. Read about them here).
Skilfully wielding their lances, they made mock charges alongside the grandstand; the ladies, swathed in soft clouds of silk, began to take their seats as the time neared for the grand procession of the Royal Court.
The Royal Procession.
Pages, adorned in brocade, carrying whatever-it-was on little velvet cushions, lead the main procession. The Ladies-in-Waiting, indeed, waiting on every word and whim of Princess Royal, walked in the shadow of the lady to whom all eyes turned.
Lead by Lady Alex of Kilcannon, a contender to the prestigious ‘Writer of The Realm’ award, @Alex Kilcannon. Making up the elite company was Princess Charlotte Zobeir Ali, recently launched into royal social circles; here is a warning that you will have to negotiate clouds to find her when she’s not in attendance on the Princess. Then came Lady Selma of the Kingdom of Miracles, where cherry trees blossom all year round; she has useful information, currently favouring fables. Last, but not least, came Lady Pamela J. Nikodem, MS from the County of Creative Colour. Looking for quality quills and parchment? Look no further. To write with flair, the Lady Pamela has advice and supplies.
Princess Royal, An Enigma.
Princess Royal approached the main pavilion, a few steps behind the pages. A priceless jewel, she sparkled as she approached the grandstand in the main pavilion alongside the jousting arena. Princess Royal, Agnes Louis was well aware of the adoration in which she was held. Who would ever know her secret? Only one, a chosen one.
Her diamond-encrusted jewels glittering in beams of sunlight, she moved like a gazelle, her silken wraps drifting in the light breeze; luminous eyes glanced at the scene beneath the long lashes sweeping peaches and cream cheeks. A flutter of dark lashes, a sigh, perhaps? She was the picture of demure womanhood. In whose direction those eyes were directed, everyone longed to know; some, puffed up with pride, claimed they knew whom she favoured and to whose heart she belonged; but it remains a secret to this day.
The Princess made her way between the groups of minstrels playing Greensleeves, written by the King-once-on the-throne, Charles Roast, King Charles of Roast himself; so sure was he of his status, that he composed the tune, for kings, quoted he, like Henry the 8th, are musicians, are they not? Little did he know what lay ahead!
Demure and gentle, Princess Royal continued on her way; she appeared unaware of the currents swirling around the court, the whispers on the breeze and in the twitter of the birds. Princess Royal is an accomplished author, she writes, above all, about love; such a romantic princess is she; but remember, she carries a secret…
Wake Up And Smell The Roses! Intrigue Abounds, Twitter, Twitter…
The roses were everywhere, tumbling over embankments, lining the green fields, and adorning the stands; butterflies flitted from bloom to bloom, and the birds flew here, there and everywhere.
Aha, the birds, carrying little messages from north to south and east to west. Twitter, Twitter, Twitter: tune your ear and look up, you people! Watch the birds, watch the little signs, the gestures, the glances beneath those lashes, the hidden returns beneath the iron vizors of the knights! Maybe; maybe, there’s a clue.
One person watching the birds come and go was Timothy of Keystone Way, Holder of The Keys, holder of secrets? Timothy Key. If anyone was interested in events to take place that day, it was him. However, his only fans were unicorns and narwhals, poor, unsuspecting Sir Timothy. Was he in for a big surprise that day? He looked mighty sure of himself in extra-gaudy biggie-bottoms, laughing and talking as he walked to his pavilion, next door to that of his arch-enemy.
Rasheed of Hooda, Rasheed Hooda himself, stood before his huge pavilion; large billowing white pillowslips filled the air above his tent, proclaiming he was in attendance; mind you, you couldn’t miss him, in the biggest, gaudiest headdress ever seen at the jousting; enough to distract the horses in their gallop. You can be sure, he too, was watching the hand that held the handkerchief.
Don’t forget the cunning Woelf Dietrich, that sly one. He may be the one who knows it all! He is the reader of strange stories about old men and the sea, under the guise of ‘happiness.’
The Knights Begin Their Parade.
The knights began their parade alongside the grandstand where Princess Royal was seated, white handkerchief in her hand, discreet, yet visible to those in the know. (Another history lesson: the Lady of the Land threw her handkerchief to her favoured knight. That was the tradition.)
Meanwhile, the Admiral, T. Mark Mangum, ousting all before him and having proclaimed himself King, (the braggart!) had sailed away to the Bay of Literacy, but his real destination was The Spanish Main, robbing the Spaniards of their literary gold, the blackhearted pirate! What will the indomitable Queen of Spain, Daniella Mini have to say about that? Trouble is brewing on all fronts.
Writer’s Note: Royalty is excelling in authorship these days; the women especially, completely outdo the men who are too busy making war. The thugs.
Who Will Be The Be Chosen One?
Whoever received the white handkerchief was most likely to be the Claimant To The Throne, and the secret would be out! Only those who knew what to look for had any idea. The mystery grew as precious minutes ticked by…
All eyes were on Princess Royal. The knights, vizors down over their faces, their horses and armour gleaming, came alongside; every eye saw the white handkerchief leave the delicate hand, a well-aimed throw towards the chosen one; who was it? Who? Necks craned…Who would reach out and take the token from the air? It flew on the breeze…
Suddenly, the sound of trumpets broke loud and clear, sounding across the land. Everyone froze on the spot.
Hark! The Sound of Trumpets!
Sounded by The Supreme Commander of All Literary Forces on Land, Sea, and Air, Dr Mehmet Yildiz. Don’t miss the good doctor’s latest! Forget the current intrigues in the land, you need a break!
For one long second, the white symbol of the future hung in the air, and then…
The White Symbol Is Lost Under Flying Hooves!
The knights dug their spurs deep and their steeds turned, whirling and whinnying, manes tossing in obedience to the command. Hooves ground into the green turf, trampling a white handkerchief on which the destiny of the Kingdom depended, into the churned-up earth.
No one would know, not now, who was to grasp the symbol of freedom and reign as the next king! The secret was lost forever.
Corona Virus Has landed With His Legions: Proceed To Battle!
Sir Francis Drake, playing bowls on the White Cliffs of Dover, stopped midway in his throw; shading his eyes, he looked out over the channel. Then came the signal, as bonfires were lit from mound to mound across the land.
Writers Note: Historical characters can blend into any year in The Hysterical Chronicles to make our history complete; it doesn’t matter when they entered the fray; the years are of no consequence; the characters making the story are.
Call Boadicea!
She must turn her chariots and race to the coast, came the command. The knights galloped to Battle, for they heard Boadicea’s trumpets sound in the north as she turned her formidable forces southwards towards the threatening legions, to the field where in the future another great Battle would rage in 1066; but that lay in the future, and firstly, we had to defeat the dreaded Roman, Corona Virus, and for that we need Boadicea. He, not content with the great philosophers, story-tellers and poets of Rome, was here to seek our literary masterpieces.
The Outcome of the great Battle.
Who helped Boadicea and the gallant knights defeat Corona Virus and stand as Contender for the Throne? Would it be the man who was destined to catch the white symbol or would it be the hero of the battle? Or was he one and the same man? Who would oust the Admiral? Who would be King?
Here ends this roll of the Chronicle. I lay down my quill, admire the beautiful white parchment, obtain the Writer’s Seal, and send it on its way to the four corners of Illumination. Thank you, T. Mark Mangum for the Writer’s Prompt. I have thoroughly enjoyed writing this story.
Fellow Writers: If you would like to contribute to the Chronicles (What an invitation! Pray, consider it carefully.) Follow the links for updates and for writing your version, according to what you know of events following the Jousting Tournament and the great Battle. Feel free to add your version to the Hysterical Chronicles of Illumination, establishing our literary prestige as the greatest of all time. If you are not mentioned in this chapter and know something we do not, write to us!
Copyright: Duchess Lynette of Clements. The Hysterical Chronicles, June, 2020.
