The Sinner's Tale

Percival: "Nay lady, no forgiveness is needed. I hath sinned by mine eyes. It is not thee, but I who must beg forgiveness."

[Marigold walks to her sack, opening it, and retrieving victuals. She lays out aged cheese, unleavened bread, and salted meat on a blanket. She fills the ladle herself this time, and gestures for Percival to join her. He does, sitting across from her. They begin to share the meal and the water. By now it is mid afternoon, and the sun filtering through the trees makes for a lovely picnic atmosphere.]

Marigold: "Thou only thought ever of kindness, True Percival, and for that I hold ye to no blame. Surely thou will concede, no evil can there be in the honest admiration of another's body? As all things are made by the Most High in his beautiful way, so too our bodies are a reflection of his beauty. There is none offended lad, not I nor the Most High."

[Percival wrinkles his brow. He ponders her words as he eats, trying to mesh her statement into the preachings of Father Matthias.]

Percival: "If this be a lesson of the Most High from ye, then I am sworn to learn it and keep it by mine oath as thy vassal. Accept it though I do, may I pry further into thy new instruction with a question?

Marigold: "Pray do, student mine."

Percival: "I was many long years with monks in the prior, and indeed t'was in that study I intended to spend a lifetime, before it's destruction by those foul bandits. I spent many a night in faithful study of holy scriptures, and in lessons taught by the beloved Father Matthias. In those lessons I learned of the sins of the flesh, the deadliest of which is lust. Is it not, in thine wisdom, a sin to cast thine eyes about a woman's form, as I have with thee? Innocent of lust though I was."

Marigold: "In mine wisdom? Nay, mine wisdom is but trash on the wayside, Brave Percival. It is mine hope and wish to convey to thee the wisdom of the Most High. Nonetheless, it is indeed with mine wisdom that I must understand His, and so I impart to thee: Thou cannot commit sins in thy mind, as it is thy bastion and thy safety. If thou spy a woman, or a man, and in doing so cause them discomfort, then be on thy way, and in speech with them apologize. But in thy mind, to admire their beauty, or to wish for them because of their handsome body, surely is not a sin."

[At hearing this, Percival is amazed. He clearly remembers his lessons from the abbey. In his mind, the slightest admiration or lust is a deadly sin, deserving of eternal damnation. He cannot focus on eating. Would the Most High damn him for his lust, or was his new master speaking the truth?]

Marigold: "Thou art confused, Pure Percival. I fear thou hath been deceived in prior teachings."

[She smiles coyly.]

Marigold: "Or perhaps I am deceiving thee now? Ah! That is thine fear! I see it on thine face. How will thou determine what is true, Percival?"

Percival: "As thou hath said, I am confused. Thine words ring true, but mine teachings at Perwall Abbey were most thorough. Tis' undoubtedly a sin to admire a woman's body, as I have done with thee. But, I hath sworn an oath, and mine word must be true, to listen and heed thy instruction on the way of the Most High. In this, I find a conundrum."

Marigold: "Then spend thine time and prayer on it. Thou art under no haste to make a decision now. Indeed, now we must make camp. I intend to bed ere the sun sets, and will have thee join me about mine fire if thou will."

[He does. After sharing food and resting, Merigold pitches a tent, just large enough for both of them, and they rest for the night. She shares blankets and a pillow with Percival, who is slightly uncomfortable; he has never been this close to a woman before. In the morning Marigold awakens first, rousing Percival. He helps Marigold break camp and load her armor onto her packhorse. They begin to travel at a slow pace away from Perwall.]

Percival: "Beg thy pardon if I speak out of turn, Lady, but may I ask of thy destination?"

Marigold: "Thou may, Kind Percival, and no pardon is needed. I have no destination."

[Percival is silently confused as they continue. For some time, they walk casually along. Marigold seems to enjoy their walk thoroughly. She stops occasionally to breathe in some roadside flower, or gesture dramatically to a view of the rising sun splitting through the trees. She speaks often, and her manner is frequently whimsical.]

Marigold:

"Golden rays, a gentle kiss,

These morning lights, I would ever miss,

Were it true, that cold of night,

Were ever roused, and blot fair light.

What dost thou think of that, Percival?"

Percival: "...uh,Tis a beautiful lyric Lady."

[Percival,still confused, thinks maybe he has made a mistake. Marigold never ceases smiling, humming, and whistling as they walk. They pass several travelers on the road, and Marigold Cheerily greets them all, warning them about orcish raiders in the area and asking for news. At noon, they pause by the roadside for lunch. As Marigold rummages through her pack, Percival hesitantly plies a question.]

Percival: "Lady, if I may again ask, If thou has no destination, then for what reason art thou travelling?"

Marigold: "The will of the Most High, Percival. He wills me to travel. So I do."

Percival: "Dost thou search for someone?"

Marigold: "The Most High wills it, Percival."

Percival: "Where dost he will?"

[Marigold, for the briefest of seconds, scowls at Percival in annoyance. As quickly as the look appears it is gone, and she wipes her face as if to remove some embarrassment. She is smiling again. They sit for lunch.]

Marigold: "It is not a destination that is willed Percival. Only travel is willed. We are needed on this path, and not particularly in a hurry. That is all I have been told."

Percival: "The Most High has told thou this? Doth he speak with thee in words?"

Marigold: "Nay, in feeling only. Concern thee not with it. Thou has other thoughts to ponder. I admonish thee, dwell only on thy conundrum of yesterday. That is chief of thy concerns."

Percival: "Yes, Lady."

[Percival is curious about Marigold's contact with the Most High, but follows her commands. As they continue their journey, he thinks over the stark contradictions between Marigold's teaching and the Monastery's teaching. He cannot reconcile the two, and knows he must choose one. He prays silently, asking the Most High for a sign that Marigold truly is his servant. Marigold stops in front of him.]

Marigold: "Happy afternoon to thee, friends. Art thou in need?"

[Percival is snapped from his musing, and sees the scene that has stopped Marigold. A family is by the roadside. A man and several children. The children range in age from very young, perhaps three or four, to nearly grown, a girl of about eighteen. A small wagon has been lost in the roadside ditch, its front wheels pitched into the air at a difficult angle. Nearby a packhorse chews the grass of the bank. The children look at Marigold, who is easily heard, but the man ignores her.]

Marigold: "Art thou in need of help? I say! Can thou hear me?"

Man: "Aye, thou art plenty loud! I need not thine counsel or aid, woman. Mine beast Hath taken leave of it's faculties and wrecked mine carriage! Art thou blind?"

Marigold: "No. Perhaps I can aid thee, if thou will simply allow it."

Man: "Thou art a fool if thou believest thou can unstick mine wagon. Not with the backs of three strong men could this cursed fucking thing be moved."

[He kicks the wagon, and one of the children, a young boy, recoils reflexively. Percival recognizes the reflex, as his classmates in the Abbey would frequently respond the same way at the movement of a Monk. Percival feels empathy for the young boy.

Man: "Nay, I haven't the time to waste on a thoughtless tart and her servant waif!"

Marigold: "Get thee from thy rut I will, and time thou have is thy concern only. Move."

[Marigold pushes past the fuming man and slides down the steep ditch to the back of the wagon. It is teetering on the edge, the front wheels off the ground, and the back still a bit off the bottom of the trench. She eyes it for a moment, then calls out. The family watches nearby, curious.]

Marigold: "Percival, take hold of the top. Heave with thy back."

Man: "Fool. Cunt! Whore. Thou art nothing. I would lay mine hand across thy face if thou were mine wife!"

[Percival grips the wagon. He digs his heels in, pulling as hard as he can. From the ditch, Marigold grips the bottom of the wagon at about chest level. She bends her knees slightly and springs up, throwing the wagon with a jerk above her head. Once on level ground, Percival is easily able to drag the wagon fully onto the road. Wordlessly the man shoves and pushes his children back into the wagon. As Percival is helping Marigold from the ditch, the man is hitching his packhorse again to the wagon. While Marigold dusts herself off, one of the young girls looks back at her.]

Young Girl: "Thank you, Lady."

[The wagon begins to pull away. The man does not look back.]

Marigold: "I wish only that I had a chance to throttle that foul blaggard, but I fear I may dirty mine hands beyond cleansing, were I to touch his stained soul. Alas, his cruelness of speech was not reason for violence."

Percival: "I fear he may beat his children. Flinch did they, and fiercely, at his kick. I saw it many a time in the Abbey, when a monk would swat a fly and a boy would jump in fear."

[Marigold's eyes narrow. She smiles.]

Marigold: "Ah. That is good news."

[Percival looks at her, bewildered. He is shocked that Marigold would be so sharply excited at the prospect of this father's mistreatment of his children. His face is still coiled up in confusion as she explains.]

Marigold: "Ah, thine transparent visage, Percival the Good, how I adore it! Nay, I rejoice not at his cowardly mistreatment of children. Rather, I take a selfish joy knowing what this potential evil could mean. If it is as thou say, I may have cause to do violence, and I will relish it greatly. Come, we must follow, but at a distance. If yon children are poorly loved, then thou will enjoy their rescue."

[Marigold sets off, the stride of her long, powerful legs nearly leaving Percival behind as he struggles to keep up. She is exuberant and energetic as ever. They follow the slow moving wagon, careful to remain out of sight. At last, the wagon comes to a small muddied side path. Here they cut through the woods at Marigold's insistence, leaving behind her horse and armor. She brings with her only her heavy falchion. They follow through the forest for some time, coming at last to a clearing with a small house. A plot is laid out for gardening nearby, and a stable for the horse in the rear. Marigold drops to her knees and bids Percival do the same. They watch as the father orders the children out of the wagon. He unhooks the animal and leads it, cruelly twisting its head, to the stable, where he kicks it brutally as it enters the stall. He returns to the house with the children.

Marigold has twisted a young sapling clean in half as she grits her teeth in rage. Percival is frightened by her visage, as until now he has seen only smiles on her face. They wait silently for a few hours, and the rain picks up. The sun begins to set. Suddenly, Marigold speaks.]

Marigold: "For me, 'tis proof enough how he treats his horse. I would have his head for that. Yet the Most High is not so spiteful as I, and forgives more gently. Perhaps he does not treat children so cruelly. But I fear he does. Get thee to yon house windows, young Percival. Spy what thou may and let me know how he cares for those children when he hides in his home."

[Percival is nervous, but obeys. Cautiously, he creeps to the edge of the house, his image shrouded by a darkening dusk and his footsteps drowned by the patter of the rain. He moves to the window as commanded. Inside, he sees the same man with a tinderbox and striker, attempting to light a fire in the house's old stone chimney. Children are about the room, and two of the younger ones are playing, a boy and a girl, perhaps five and six. He screams at them as they tumble on the floor.

Man: "Quiet thee down! Dost thou wish to freeze? Selfish fools. Thou distracts me, and would freeze thy family to death for thy play!"

[An older sibling, the girl who spoke on the cart, interferes, pulling the children apart and quietly chastising them. The children fall quiet, and the father sets again to the stiker and tinderbox. With each strike, a small scatter of sparks dances across the brush, but does not light. He curses, growing more and more enraged. Within a few minutes, out of sheer boredom, the children begin to play again, irritating the man. In their fight, one kneels down on the finger of the other. And though the older sister moves to separate the fight, it is too late. A squeal is let loose, and the father turns his wrath at the tinderbox on his child. He is up in a flash, yanking the one child roughly from atop the other and dashing the young girl into a corner violently. He draws back a hand and strikes her across the face. She squeals again.]

Man: "SIMPLETON. FOOL. DEVIL'S CHILD. I WARNED THEE! THOU LIVES IN DISOBEDIENCE!"

[He strikes her again. Percival is frozen, memories of the monks pouring through his mind. The child begins to cry, and the oldest girl collects the remaining children to herself. They watch in fear.]

Man: "SELFISH! SELFISH! SELFISH! THOU WOULD RATHER PLAY AND THY FAMILY FREEZE!"

[Percival finally acts when the man raises a fist to the child. He waves frantically to the woods where Marigold lays, as the sound of the abuse continues to flow. Though it is dark and rainy, Marigold sees him, and does not hesitate, launching from her hiding place with sword drawn. She covers the yard in seconds, blasting through the front door as if it were paper. Percival watches through the window. Marigold sees clearly the man standing over the cowering little girl, His face curled in anger and his fist raised. The father turns to face Marigold, but he is too slow. Lightning from the storm crackles, showing the silhouette of the huge, muscled woman. Even without her armor, she is a terrifying and powerful warrior. She is on him in an instant, knocking him to the ground with a mighty punch. She waits for him to get up, but he does not, rolling on the floor and clutching his face. Marigold calls out.

Marigold: "Percival!"

[Hurriedly, Percival enters the home through the scraps of the front door. He stands awkwardly behind Marigold as the children stare in silent awe. There is no joy in her voice, only cold anger.]

Marigold: "Watch over the children. I must take their father out behind yon stable."

[She grips the man's hair, dragging him out of the door as he whimpers and shrieks in pain. They are gone in a moment, leaving Percival alone with the children. The eldest girl collects the crying child from the corner, speaking to her soothingly. Unsure of what to do, Percival collects the striker from the floor and deftly lights a fire, adding kindling and building the heat.]

Percival: "Hath the poor child fared well?"

Eldest Girl: "She is terrified and bruised. We have all suffered at his hands thusly. She will recover."

Percival: "I hath suffered many such beatings when I followed a different master. I very well understand their pain. What is thy name?"

Eldest Girl / Ruth: "I am Ruth, and these are mine siblings. Ezekiel is the eldest boy, and Adam is the youngest. These two,"

[She indicates the children who were playing, including the girl who was beaten.]

Ruth: "Are Esther and Matthew. They are twins. Our father is called John."

[Percival does not respond. An uncomfortable silence sits in the room.]

Ruth: "What is thy name, pray, and who is the Lady? Is she set to kill our father?"

Percival: "Ah, I, I am Percival. The Lady is Marigold, and though she is fair and kind, I fear for your father's life. She is filled with a most terrible rage, and she is mighty beyond reckoning."

[Ruth stares into the fire, holding her younger sister and rocking the girl gently. Her eyes are cold.]

Ruth: "He would not be missed."

[Outside the rain continues to pour, accompanied by distant lighting and peals of thunder. Eventually, Marigold returns, the man's motionless form draped over one shoulder. She enters through the destroyed door, forced to crouch through the doorway. She dumps the man on the floor roughly, and Percival recoils at the sight of his face. He is beaten almost beyond recognition, swollen, bloody, and cut. Marigold watches him for a second. He does not move or speak, and she kicks him roughly.]

Marigold: "WELL?"

[He speaks through destroyed teeth, each breath a raspy word, each sentence a laborious effort.]

Man / John: "I... am... an evil... father. I do not deserve to beg mine children for forgiveness."

[He coughs weakly, and for a long time. He continues speaking.]

John: "I will ... leave and never return hither. I ... forfeit all mine lands... and rights to mine children. May the Most High send me... to whatever hell I hath carved for myself."

[Marigold grips him roughly by the neck, lifting him to his feet. He cannot stand and begins to fall, but she catches him. She thrusts him outside in the rain, and though he has not yet gained his legs, he begins to crawl.]

Marigold: "I believe not a word of it, craven. Child abuser. Thou would tell any lie to save thy skin. Thou would sell thine mother for a pence."

[She turns to face the children and Percival.]

Marigold: "I am not pleased with thee, Percival. I would have words. But first go and fetch Petunia, if thou please. Return to me also mine armor and zweihänder."

Percival: "I shall, though I know not who Petunia is, nor the nature of a zweihänder."

Marigold: "The horse and the large sword."

[Percival does as he is asked, fetching the horse from up the road. On his way back, the father, John, is nowhere to be seen. When he returns, Marigold's long blond hair is braided and tossed to one side. She is wearing only her simple, wrist length tunic and men's trousers. She is playing with one of the younger children, who squeals with delight as she tickles him. For a long time, they talk with the older children, or play with the younger (Percival is no stranger to children, as he frequently babysat in the monastery). Marigold is the delight of the whole household, bringing smiles to all and earning hugs and kisses from the younger group. In this time, Marigold seems to have calmed down significantly. As the night goes on, Ruth busies herself setting the youngest to bed, before rejoining them. Seated by the fire, they speak of more important and less happy things.]

Ruth: "In the morn, mayhaps he hath left, but I fear return when he senses thou art departed, Mighty Lady."

[Marigold sighs, stoking the fire and staring into the flames.]

Marigold: "Aye. I feared that as well. I had thought to kill the brute, but to the Most High's wrath. That is not his fate, I fear. 'Tis a pity. Yea, the scoundrel will not return. So fearful is he and so wounded, He may yet be unable to walk. Verily, Young Percival nearly had to carry the brute to town!"

[Percival's eyes widen at the thought, and Marigold laughs, nudging his arm.]

Marigold: "I jest, Percival! Thou art serious as the grave in all things. I fear for thy sanity."

Percival: "Assuredly, Lady, thy jest is welcome. Thou art a refreshing and kind master indeed. Mistake not mine coldness for unfriendliness, as ever do I work to understand thy intents, and thy ways for demonstrating thy affection for me. Thou art appreciated.

But pray, kind Liege, I wish to speak with thee on thy wrath. Thou spoke, saying thou were displeased with me, and wished to have words. I would seek now thy council or chastisement."