Anais Timbley - A deadly beauty

Chapter Nine: Honesty

Amidst the merry streets in Nottingham that day, an old puppeteer with his aged companions (the puppets, we would say) were performing a little tale for the children and people going to the market. Tale of a princess whose life and sword had been devoted to her people, a princess whom he was too familiar with. Amongst his audience was a cloaked man, whose fearful eyes just stared unblinkingly at the puppets. He was scarred, grumpy and abominable, no one dared to stand near him. At the middle of the play, an old minstrel, who seemed well-dressed and noble, suddenly appeared and joined his lute to the puppeteer's dancing puppets. The puppets danced to the lute's singing, and the children danced with the puppets. Coins rained down his tattered wooden box like autumn leaves. When the puppeteer concluded his little performance, the crowd dispersed as the sun went down the horizon, and the only ones remained at the spot were the puppeteer himself, to clean up his instruments and counted his earnings, the minstrel, and the mysterious cloaked man. The mysterious man picked up a puppet from the box and glanced at it silently; the puppet bore the likeness of a princess, which he held for a long while. Finishing strapping his lute, the minstrel bowed to the cloaked man a greeting, and said man replied the respect with a nod.

"Fancy seeing you here to-day, milord...", greeted the puppeteer to the strange man.

"Thou art not a little too rich to-day, my friend?", laughed the man to the puppeteer.

"I intend to perform a little bit more, to afford a visit to my master's grave next month, milord...", replied the puppeteer, shaking his seemingly full pocket after a day's earning.

"Milord?", said the minstrel in a moment of confusion.

"Well, let us keep this our little secret, shall we? But before I can tell thee anything, let us have a supper at our favourite forest, just like the olden days, as we avoid the eyes of the guards...", smiled the puppeteer connotatively.

Later, deep in Sherwood Forest, in an abandoned house, sitting by the light of a small candle was three men we had seen earlier. One man kept his face always hidden under the shadow of his cloak, while his fellows shared him a bowl of cabbage soup for supper, and there was the minstrel's constant glare at him with unanswerable questions.

"Okay, my old friend, canst thou explain for me what all this means?", inquired the minstrel.

"Well, firstly, let me pay a little respect to my guests here...", said the puppeteer, standing up and bowed at the two men respectively. "Sir Alan, it's too long since the last time I called you so and it's too long since the last time we dined together like this..."

"A knight no more I am, just an ordinary minstrel now. Wilst thou just call me old Alan-a-Dale, good fellow?", laughed the minstrel at his friend's sudden politeness.

"...And milord, I'm glad you are here with us to-night", bowed the puppeteer to the cloaked man.

"All right, wilst thou tell me who this man is? Now that we are alone and void of attention?", interrupted the minstrel, his eyes still staring at the cloaked man whom in his sight was utterly suspicious.

"Who am I? Wilst thou vow to keep my identity, and what thou wilst hear a secret to everybody, not excluding my daughter?", smiled the cloaked man, who then slowly pulled down his cloak, revealed his hardened and tattered with ages visage. Immediately, the minstrel had to hold back a scream which he was just about to let out.

"L-Lord T-Ti—", stammered the minstrel, which amused his friends. Not even after a while he regained enough of his consciousness.

"Surprised, ain't thee?", laughed the puppeteer.

"I— I thought you ha-have—"

"Have been a goner, correct?", chuckled the cloaked man. The minstrel just nodded.