The Fat Spencer's Gym

The ships lumbered into the harbour on a foggy night, its rusty metal creaking with cold. General Nortrom, the French commander, stepped out of the commander ship, his eyes squinched with sleep. In the flesh General Nortrom was unprepossessing: squat, fortyish. Yet the sheen of success was upon him. His cheeks were plump and smooth, his coat uncreased, his body language subtly assertive. Along with General Nortrom was a temptestuous-looking young woman with slanting cats' eyes and a thrilling acreage of bare flesh, once again proving that the French are good with women.

Meanwhile, the English were preparing for the onslaught of the French. Knight Davion had ended up spending the few past nights on the training ground, among grey-faced soldiers slumped over their shields and swords and listless horses lying on the ground. It was a chilly night, and the hours passed in a fog of jumpy dreams, echoing commands and relentless internal voices that pursued him round and round. Nevertheless, his mind began to reminisce, about the princess, something he did not comprehend why.

Now Knight Davion was in this strange no-man's land in the sky, numbed by the life, sluggish from his life, dazed by his life, and he clearly knew that death would smile at him very soon, and he could just smile back. He just prayed that god would just grant him a wish, a wish that seemed impossible. He felt tired and sick at heart. He longed for oblivion, but the random scenes from the past few weeks played over and over in his head. He saw the princess bouncing on the four-poster gleefully hurling pillows, he heard her voice looming over his head. Most insistently of all, it was the stare from the balcony. A stare which he could never forget.

And he knew he would hav no chance to answer back.

Answers and explanations clamoured in his head, demanding expression. Knight Davion shifted this way and that on his seating position, edgy with frustration. Finally, he reached a conclusion. It was just a grave mistake.

However, a niggle of conscience told him that something about this was not quite right. But reality were now flooding back to him in a strong, stinging tide, filling him with rage and hopelessness.

He stood up to his feet, and then swinging his sword fiercely, with each swipe consisting of anger and rapture. Now he opened the floodgates, he needed to let his resentment towards reality rush and roar. He slashed, with a fierce, audible scratch of the sword into the air. He finally stopped and bit the end of his lips. And in that moment Knight Davion did reach down into the depths of himself. The seconds tolled past while his hand hovered, motionless. Then he slammed his sword, so hard that Knight Dwarven jumped in fright, and stared. Let him. He closed his eyes and sank his head back on the shield, which was acting as a headrest.

His mouth twisted with self-disgust. The real truth of life tore at his heart.

Knight Dwarven placed his hand on Knight Davion's shoulder, and heaved a sigh. "Davion, you are a nice chap. Sometimes we have to accept fate, because God is fair, he ripped on u sometimes, but he compensates u for what he had done. We have to face the French, not her."

Knight Davion reached out his big hand to smother the sand in his arms. He squeezed it in his fist, tighter and tighter, smaller and smaller.

He didnt blame her at all. He wouldnt.


To be continued...

A slow drumbeat began. Bong. Bong. Bong. Some maidens stopped what they were doing - and turned their faces wonderingly around. The drumbeat speeded up, and grains of rice began to shower onto the gravel road, a symbol of welcome and goodwill. The priests began to whirl and leap and stamp in a frenzied dance, while the falling rice caught the sunlight and sparkled like golden rain. It was a sight Knight Davion had never seen before.

The drum stopped abruptly. In the stark silence that followed, Knight Davion could hear the blood flowing in his ear. Into this silence stepped a male dressed in a saffron yellow loin cloth and carrying a wooden rake over one shoulder.

"He's Prince Thunderwrath, The heir to the throne of King of Scotland, isn't he charming?" Maiden Crystal muttered, fixing him with a slow burn look.

"Prince Thunderwrath?" Knight Davion enquired, feeling uneasy.

"Yeah, who were you expecting then, Priest Ezalor?" Maiden Crystal called back, giving him a baleful stare.

Knight Davion realised that Crystal Maiden smelt of make-up and sweat and excitement.

Peering at Prince Thunderwrath, straight white hair sprang from his forehead, the bare clothing revealed a rippled band of caramel skin, as charming as he was, Knight Davion pondered the purpose of his trip from Scotland.

The king raised his hand to signal for silence, and then capitulated with a sudden grin," I'm pleased to announce that Prince Thunderwrath, the Commander of the Northern Legion, the heir to the throne of Scotland, has arrived in our humble country. As many would have expected, Prince Thunderwrath will be marrying our very own Princess!"

There was an uproar of cheers and acclamation, shrieks of excitement rose above the general buzz, all except one.

Knight Davion stood rooted, suddenly realising that the Princess was squinting at him in a manner too familiar to him on the balcony. He immediately looked down, at the icy cold floor, and dazed by the sudden darkness and cold air in the hall.

Prince Thunderwrath was tall, athletic, masculine - all that stuff. Then there were those flashing blue eyes, that looked as if he had just thought of a marvellous idea or was about to make a joke. A fine young man like him will certainly brighten every woman's heart. Besides, the Commander of the Northern Legion had braved through wars and struggles, certainly earning many's respects and adore.

Knight Dwarven was chortling with laughter beside him, and with a cheesy grin on his face, he said," You're still a young lad, Knight Davion. I can see it - from your eyes."

Before Knight Davion could reply, the messenger scampered into the hall and exclaimed," The French had left the city of Dunkirk, and are heading towards Southampton, Here!"


To be continued...

Knight Davion took a tentative step into the Princess's room. Instead of the stale trapped air revolving in the castle, the air was instead streamed with fragrance, with a faint smell of polish rising from the wooden floor with its square of green carpet. He walked quietly and looked around him, feeling like an interloper. The painting hung on the walls exuded English confidence and calm, like a lush cultural oasis in the desert of gentility.

His attention was then caught by a large painting known as the Death of Love.

The picture depicts of a young man and a lady yielded together, with both in full, triumphant possession under a limitless sky, but the frowning eyebrows seem to tell otherwise. Knight Davion folded his arms and pursed his lips consideringly.

What is the secret of true love between a man and a woman, he wondered? Sex, certainly; romance, ideally, domestic stability, probably. With that, he could not come up with any more concepts, whatever it is, he hadn't found it yet. He rubbed his palms, suddenly cold in the winter air.

The princess was looking at him in puzzlement, " You have been so quiet from the beach, anything troubling you?"

Knight Davion just shot her a dazzling grin.

The princess frowned, and pouted," You are such an idiot."

Knight Davion could just shrug his shoulders helplessly.

He peered out of the window, with the blue afternoon shadows lay on the steep, wooded hillsides, the grass looking smooth and soft, and a dark, snaking line of pine and dogwood marked the course of the river. The country was beautiful, but exceptionally lonely. He suddenly blurted," Don't you feel neglected?"

The princess was taken aback, she squeezed her eyes tight shut and stammered," Get out of my room."

Knight Davion printed her eyes on her, knowing that he had crossed the line. He walked out of the room, saying goodnight, before letting the heavy door snick shut.

The princess let out a shaky sigh and blinked her eyes open.


To be continued...

The chapel was filling up. Above the dogged drone of the organ came the rustling, flapping, chattering, cawing sounds of gathering guests, with ladies adorned with brooches and priests and ministers buttoned tight into their waistcoats. Knight Davion stood alone by the side, with the commotion going by, as he had to ensure that all was in order, and beamed short-sightedly at the congregtion. He wondered, "Where's the princess?"

His thoughts were interrupted by a peremptory clinking of cutlery on glass, a signal for silence.

"Ladies and gentlemen, " the king began, surveying his guests with a benign smile. "I am a lucky man." There was a warm ripple of appreciation. "I have had the joy of watching my little girl grow up from a beguiling three-year-old into the charming young woman you see today. I remember..."

"Speeches," Knight Davion said curtly, a moment he dreaded most.

"Let the birthday party begin! Enjoy!"

The mood relaxed and the chatter resumed, but the princess was still nowhere in sight.

Knight Davion had a premonition, that the princess was in the vicinity. His eyes darted from one to another, but obviously to no avail.

Strangely, his heart led him to the beach. He had to climb a steep narrow track shrouded by vegetations, while the vegetation pressing close, closer, until he could barely discern the path, and jungly leaves batted his face and brambles scratching his pants. He was wondering whether to retrace his steps when he vaguely saw a figure fidgeting.

There she was, frolicking in the water, like a teenager void of childhood.

"Princess, you ought to go." Knight Davion gave her a broad smile.

"All right, but how do u know I'm here?" the princess asked, with the wind ruffling her hair.

"I... just know..."

"Hehe... well ok, let's go," she caught his eye and smiled. As she walked towards Knight Davion, the wind flicked her loosely white towelling robe and exposed a smooth, creamy leg.

Knight Davion clenched his eyes shut.

"Hehe, you must be a young naive knight." The princess snickered, and seized his hand and led the way back to the castle.

For a moment, memories kept pouring back into Knight Davion's mind.


To be continued...

Knight Davion marched along winding dirt-and-gravel roads, past apple orchards and Christmas-tree plantations, past tiny white-steepled churches and lonely farmsteads with their big red barns and grazing cattle. His helmet did shade his eyes from the sun, but not from the sweltering summer heat. The castle was stil miles away.

At last they reached the end of the road, and he paused to catch his breath. A magnificient view unrolled in all directions. Within miles away, the sea was visible in a shimmering strip beyond a small cluster of trees. Across the valley, the castle lay tranquilly on top of the mountain. It bore resemblence to his hometown Newcastle, the quiet streets of the elegant townhouses, red brick with green trim, all the small secret playgrounds and hidden playgrounds and hidden gardens trailing ivy. However, his life was entrusted to protect this castle from this very moment. He took a deep breath, and marched on.

The interior of the castle was breath-taking. The furniture, the ornuments, all enthralled him. He squinted his eyes at an angular piece of painting that looked like some skank feeding faeces, and the maidens, the priests, wore a listless expressions on their faces. Knight Davion apprehended that life in the castle would be a distinctive one.

There was a flurry of footsteps, and a figure whirled through a big wall and towards the knights.

"Welcome knights, the elites serving me, I'm pleased to acknowledge ur loyalty and valor, and from this very moment, your lives will see a complete change," the king gestured, glowing and gorgeous.

"The French will be assaulting us shortly, and your service here will be remarked as honourable and patriotic," he snapped, "for glory and love, serve me and live."

Knight Davion wasn't impressed. The nigger of confidence eluded from the king was somehow, uncertain. He swerved his eyes around the castle, until a lady dressed in a white robe caught his attention.

She was charmingly posed on the couch, eyes gazing at the window. She had ripe flesh that swelled and bounced in the right places, and she was definitely self-possessed and alluring. Knight Davion was somehow warmed by her appearance, and even though the white silk robe masked her features, she was stil glaring in glamour as the lady stroked her hair in a tender gesture.

Knight Dwarven tugged Knight Davion, and whispered demandingly," What the fcuk are you looking at?"

Knight Davion stammered," Well, the couch over there."

Knight Dwarven sniggered, " A young lad you are, Davion. She's the princess."


To be continued...