The Singeing of Chrispin Cherrybutt (Part 3)

The Singeing of Chrispin Cherrybutt

Part three (1 of 2) – Crispin meets the Brothers

When he first viewed the huge building, looking out of the darkness, Chrispin had imagined he had come across a castle, however, as he moved closer, he realised that it more closely resembled a religious building , although the absence of any religious symbolism seemed initially puzzling. He approached the large and heavy wooden door, and felt a sense of foreboding which he attempted to dismiss by reminding himself that he was a brave knight, who had only recently fought a dragon, his mind proud mind quickly seeking to draw a veil over his humiliating defeat, at the hands, or more aptly, the fiery breath of that beast.

He knocked on the door, and heard the rattle of his own knuckles on the ancient timber echoing in the corridors within.

After what seemed like an age, the door was opened by a cowled monk, who silently gestured him to enter, and then follow him down a long dark passageway, although he was a little unnerved by the monk's mute demeanour, his options were somewhat limited, and, as he kept reminding himself he was a brave knight, for whom there was nothing to fear in the dark chambers beyond.

The then came upon two further monks, who stepped forward to greet him. Although like the first monk, one of these two also remained silent, a third, who appeared to the more senior, did speak, a deep gravelly voice growling from within his face concealing cowel. “What brings you to our door Sir Knight?” he asked “Very few travellers come to this lonely place.”

“I have travelled far, Good friar!” replied Crispin “I came on a quest to slay a dragon!”

“The dreadful fire breathing beast, which has been terrorising the land these last decades?” asked the gravel voiced monk

Crispin frowned, at the mention of the dragon's fiery breath, and nodded. Although, he was anxious to regale the monks with tales of his daring do, the burning main in his rump was a more pressing priority, especially as holy men, such as these, were often in possession of balms and ointments, which might relieve his discomfort. “Sadly I have suffered an injury.” he said “And I hope you could be of assistance!”

Despite his embarrassment at the location of his “injury” he turned and showed his scorched bottom to the monks. The two, previously silent Monks, murmured sympathetically, whilst the friar with the deep voice first sucked air through his teeth before saying gently “My my, Sir Knight, that must be giving you some distress, but fear not, we have many remedies for burns and scalds sch as those, we will have that handsome young rump of yours back to it's painless white purity in no time!”

Crispin sighed with relief, that was the good news he was hoping for. “I will be forever grateful to you good friars, if you can ease my pain!” he said.

The monks lead him into an inner chamber with a very elaborate but somewhat Byzantine looking altar and a number of disturbing wall paintings. Chrispin again, briefly pondered the lack of familiar religious symbolism, but concluded that the gentle brothers must belong to a sect with which he was not acquainted.

The monks, assisted the young knight in removing his heavy armour, and when he was naked asked him to lay, on is stomach, on a high table in front of the strange altar.

The speaking monk, looked down at Crispin's rosy upturned bottom, and, as if unable to resist temptation, raised his hand and gave Crispin's sore bottom a gentle slap. “That does look sore Sir Knight!” he said

“OWCH!” snapped Crispin, looking angrily over hios shoulder.

“I do apologise Sir Knight!” came the reply, Crispin could not see the monk's face, but an intuition told him that deep under the folds of his hood, the man was grinning.

That fleeting thought vanished, as a second monk appeared carrying as container of musk scented oil, and allowed a few drops to fall onto Crispin's bottom. The gravel voiced monk then proceeded to massage the oil into the red and scorched skin. At first Crispin gasped at the pain caused by the older man's hands on his tender skin. 

 Then slowly, as the monk continued to rub the oil into his flesh, he could feel the burning sensation gradually fading. He realised that the pain he had been living with for many hours was fading.

“What is that wondrous balm?” he asked, the relief palpable in his voice

“This oil is much prized for its mystical healing qualities and and efficacy as a pain reliever Brother Samuel brought it back from his travels in the northern lands, where it is greatly valued.” replied the friar as he continued to almost lovingly massage the oil into Crispin.

Later that evening, one of the silent monks, ushered Crispin to a small bed chamber off one of the passage way, where first he fed him with newly baked bread, washed down with a flask of blood red wine. 

Then the monk bathed the handsome young knight gently washing away the dust and sweat from his long arduous journey and the residue of the oil left from the earlier treatment.

Although Crispin was not inclined to enjoy the touch of another mail, he tolerated it for the relief it brought. When the Monk gently washed his behind, it was not the agony it would have been an hour before. The young knight's bottom still stung and tingled, but it was no longer the searing pain the dragon had left him with.

Finally, the kindly monk, anointed the young Knight's body with cologne, and gently dressed him in the clean black robes of a postulate, before bowing out and leaving him to sleep in the newly prepared bed.

However, sleep was the last thing that Crispin intended to do. As he had bed led through the passage ways earlier, Crispin had chanced to glance into a number of the chambers as they had passed, and he had seen the monastery's glistening treasure. Golden bowls and ceremonial goblets, gold and silver candle holders and incense burner's encrusted with gem stones.

Such items would bring him wealth if sold, or melted down upon his return to his home town, and that was exactly what Crispin planned. He might not retun with the fame of a dragon killer but he would have the compensation of being a rich man.

The generous monks might have taken him in, treated his wounds, fed, washed and clothed him, and given him a bed for the knight. However, he felt no sense of gratitude to them, they owned the treasure he lusted for, and he intended take it from them.

The monk had spoken of the brothers travelling to far away lands, so, he concluded, the monastery must have a stable, from which he could steal a horse and escape with his booty, before the monks knew it had gone.

In the middle of the night Crispin slipped out of the tiny bedchamber where the gentle monk had left him, and crept through the dark passage way, carrying a sack he had fashioned from his blanket. He did not have to search for long before he reached a room he had spied earlier, and could the precious items glimmering in a beam of moonlight shining through a small window.

The young knight hurried about his work, grabbing at the gold items laid out on a large wooden altar, and stuffing them into his rudimentary sack. 

One particular item was a large golden goblet, which he held up in the moonlight to get a better view. It was a magnificent object of pure gold, with the stem encrusted with precious gem stones, which had been lovingly crafted by some artisan goldsmith possessed of incredible talent.

However the greedy young knight did not see the beauty or artistry in the object he held, he only saw it's monetary value, and the wealth it would bring to him when the gold was melted down and the glittering stones sold on for jewellery.

“My My, You are a naughty young rascal are you not Sir knight!” a familiar deep voice boomed from the darkness behind him. Crispin was briefly frozen by shock, he dropped the goblet, as a muscular, sackcloth covered arm encircled his waist, and a large calloused hand gripped the black cotton of his gown lifting it up to reveal the knight's long bare legs and, still pink, and tender buttocks. 

Then before Chrispin could react the monk's free hand descended with considerable force onto that same vulnerable bottom, causing our flawed but handsome hero to cry out in pain.

“Now we will show you what happens to naughty young knights who try to rob the poor!” boomed the angry friar, with a tone in his voice which made very clear, Crispin would not enjoy what happened next.

TO BE CONTINUED

More of Singeing Crispin Cherrybutt will be posted tomorrow