A Squeaky Clean Renaissance: King Cecil and the Dragon

A Squeaky Clean Renaissance Chapter Six: King Cecil and the Dragon

This humble transcription of the Chronicles of Puritania is dedicated to Angela.

Incipit Liber Sextus

In the previous Book of the Squeaky Clean Renaissance, that history wherein Cecil Goodytwoshoes endeavors to bring the Sim world out of the Dark Ages, it came to pass that the following events did occur:

His Majesty’s hired assassin, Nicola Michaletto, analyzed the substance with which he was being poisoned, and determined that it was cantarella.

Robert Galenus the Physician accordingly formulated a cure which did not involve an inducement to vomit, nor leeches, nay, nor vomiting leeches, for the which His Majesty was profoundly grateful.

Prince Rupert the Charming awoke from his sleep of many centuries, claiming that Puritania was his by birthright--

And promptly lost it to King Cecil, proving once again that Puritania was truly his by means of Fortune and his own wits.

The Jacoban Arch-Shepherdess Duessa put into motion the final elements of her plot to rule the Puritanian Empire, to wit:

First, by breaking with the Jacoban Proxy and becoming the sole religious authority in Puritania--

Next, by marrying the kind and loyal yet gullible Knight Commander Redcrosse George, expecting to set him up as a puppet king in the place of King Cecil.

Third, by making a last attempt to seduce the King, thus making the final step of her plot unnecessary, for she did not care through whom she ruled, as long as she ruled.

But forsooth she could not have made a greater error, for the King hated lechery and anything approaching hanky-panky in any of its forms, and indeed the castle servants rumored that his Majesty pissed ice and had the soft and pliable romantic heart of a doorknob. And yea, once his suspicions had been aroused, it took little time to ravel the whole matter out.

It became clear to the King that the last step in Duessa’s plot would have been to give him a final, fatal dose of cantarella, and in the subsequent confusion, to place her malleable husband on the throne.

Signora Nicola confirmed that the poison had indeed been administered by Duessa.

Deeply ashamed of his stupidity, and horrified by his own role in a treasonous plot, however unwitting, Redcrosse threw himself on his Majesty’s mercy. King Cecil pardoned him, but the wound still stung, as he now knew his weakness and was reluctant that any woman should so fool him again.

Duessa, however, who had expressed her bloodthirstiness when condemning, she thought, some other person, he ordered to be cast into the Pit of Doom.

The mercy that was quick in us but late By your own counsel is suppress’d and killed. You must not dare (for shame) to talk of mercy, For your own reasons turn into your bosom, As dogs upon their masters, worrying you. But we our kingdom’s safety must so tender. Whose ruin you have sought, that to our laws We do deliver you. Henry V, II.ii.79-83, 175-77

Bubbles the Executioner was heartily glad that his Ermintrude at last would be receiving some healthy protein.

Ermintrude seized on the Jacoban priestess, but being out of practice--

--she allowed Duessa to escape, much to her own disappointment.

Fortunately, there was as yet no law forbidding a person being tried, convicted, and condemned twice for the same crime. This was a small oversight, but in this case, it was also very convenient.

This time there were no mistakes.

The bard Tarleton Somerset saved theatre in Puritania, with the King’s reluctant participation.

“We are, on the whole, rather pleased with Puritania’s achievements. There is little left to do, other than building up trade routes and taking Our culture to the few spots to which it has not gone. There are so few opportunities for personal renown.” “Messire, your reign is almost legendary.” “Ah, that ‘almost.’ “ “I cannot see what more you could do, other than slaying a dragon.”

Signora Nicola had meant that as a joke.

Thanks in part to the efforts of Tarleton and Master Robert, Culture and Knowledge were at their apex. There remained only two territories which had not become a part of the Puritanian Empire: Snordwich and Effenmont. In order to annex the former, it would be necessary to secure the assistance of a very unheroic hero.

“I do not think I am so very ugly,” mused Sister Una.

“Not so very ugly, although I cannot be as beautiful as she was.”

“I am giving way to vanity. Brother Bonaventure would be so disappointed in me. And to think of any such things so soon after—that is very wrong.”

“It is much better to keep my mind on holy things,” she told herself firmly. “Much better not to become worldly.” But even as she attempted to forget about the world, the world was remembering her.

She certainly did not expect King Cecil to ask her to assist with the annexation of Snordwich.

“Me, Your Majesty?”

“Yes, you, Sister Una. We specifically require your services.”

“But I can do nothing!”

“You have done nothing so far; nothing but preach of Peace and Love. We have asked nothing else of you up till now. You may now do something useful for Puritania, or you may preach of Peace and Love somewhere else.”

Put that way, Sister Una had little choice but to agree.

The Snordwidgian ambassador explained that Snordwich was desperate to rid itself of a supernatural problem, and that only a Peteran priest could help them. “We do not have Peterans in Snordwich, you understand, so it is that we have come to Puritania for a solution to our problem, yes? And we have agreed with your King that Snordwich shall then join your so famous empire. Only most unfortunately our problem has brought himself with us.” “And he is. . . .?” “An elemental spirit. A poltergeist. Perhaps a demon. Call him what you will, only please also to be getting rid of him, because he is now loose in Puritania as well.”

The Snordwidgian ambassador was right: the elemental spirit was already causing mischief in Puritania, and if he was not stopped, the entire kingdom would be in danger.

And so Sister Una asked the Ambassador to return with her unto the church, where it was more fit to hold such a conversation, and to tell her what manner of thing the evil spirit might be. “It strikes through greed,” she said. “Or desire—is that the word? Whatever you most desire. Most often it offers untold treasure to those who will make a bargain with it, for money and power is what most want.”

“But it lies,” the Ambassador added. “All it gives is death: death to the one who made the agreement and it spreads until all are in a sleep from which they never waken. We were the last who were not asleep—all in Snordwich are in the sleep of death, and if you cannot help, our kingdom is dead.”

“Most to be feared is a person who thinks he is clever and shrewd; one who believes it can outwit the spirit in his contract.”

“Have you such a person in your Kingdom?”.

Even as they spoke, the merchant Lucretzia Vanotti was purchasing gems from an odd-looking stranger at a very inexpensive price.

And yet, she was trying to talk him down still further. “zzzThey’re zzzthe finzzzzest of zzzzgemstones, Madam—zzzzz.” “I’m sure they are, but I can’t tell if they’re jewelry quality or not. I might be able to sell them to Blacksmith Fortis for setting in sword hilts, or maybe she’ll only be able to use them to polish things—or perhaps they’re appropriate for Wizard Blue Ball ™ components, but I can’t really judge just standing here.” “zzzOf course. zzzMaybe if we had a contract—”

Sister Una raced off to warn Lucretzia, realizing that the evil spirit was most likely to try making a bargain with her first.

She arrived too late. The demon had smitten Lucretzia down, and its evil influence was spreading to everyone she had made bargains with. Soon it would infect still others. Puritania was in the gravest danger.

She approached Robert Galenus first.

“Master Robert, the good people are lying in the town square. They are grievously afflicted.”

But he refused, saying that he knew nothing of these matters.

“Plagues, I can do. Poison, that too. Demons aren’t in my line. Demons are up to you or Busyrane.”

She went to meditate by the Watcher’s Pavilion, overwhelmed by her responsibility. There was no one who could face it for her. The kingdom’s safety was entirely in her hands.

“And I have nothing,” she lamented. “I know nothing and I have done nothing but convert a few kind people and tame some dire Chinchillas, and behold, they may not be as tamed as I should like to think, because did they not chew through their enclosure and terrorize the acolytes only last week? I have nothing at all.”

“Yes, you do,” a small voice piped up. “You have us, and we like you.” “And who are ‘we,’ young brother?” she asked curiously. “The little ones. I mean—children, of course, we’re children from beyond the village. But we like seeing how kind you are to the Dire Chinchillas. We don’t say much usually because we’re shy, but the others sent me to tell you that you don’t have nothing. You have Peace and Love, and that will be enough.”

“Now send him home.”

So Sister Una sent the disruptive spirit home. All who slept in both kingdoms awoke, but lo, Sister Una never spoke of how she had saved them, not unto her dying day. Nevertheless, all knew it was Sister Una’s work, and she was viewed with increased respect.

Sir Redcrosse put this admiration into words. “If no one else has said so, Lady, I will; what you have done showed great strength and courage.”

Sister Una disputed this, saying, “I have neither physical courage nor ability. I used only what I had. I did nothing but what anyone would do.”

“Everyone would not do so, Lady,” said the knight, “though it breaks my heart to say so. Everyone has not such generosity of spirit; I would they did. I say again: you showed great strength and courage.”

“But you slay bears! Fight challengers! Protect the Kingdom!” “Then perhaps you will acknowledge that I recognize courage when I see it. Slaying bears is easy, Una---Lady. To do that, one needs only to be strong and stupid, which I am afraid I am. But you have brought Peace and Love to so many.”

“You have brought them to me.”

There was an awkward pause, and then Redcrosse was gone.

Subdeacon Ambrose listened to this story, and lo, he expressed great impatience of spirit.

“I cannot believe things are going on so long. You love him. He loves you. Wherefore the delay? By the Watcher, it makes me want to throw things.”

“He loves me?” Subdeacon Ambrose repressed the urge to kick one of the ornamental pillars. “Yes. I am quite sure of it.” He did not add his suspicions that Redcrosse’s marriage had never been consummated, and therefore technically it had been no marriage at all. “It is too soon after his wife died. His heart must be quite broken. The people will whisper cruel things about him.” Ambrose knew full well how evil Duessa had been, more than most. He knew no one mourned for her. He said only, “I do not think so.”

“It is immodest in a lady, much less a priest, to make advances of this kind.” “Very well. Then do not make advances. Wait and do not reject his. I am sure he loves you,” he urged. “You were the first to welcome me when I was a stranger and a foreigner from Yacothia. Though I am a Jacoban and you a Peteran, you have been a sister to me. I want only your happiness. You preach Peace and Love, Sister. Now receive some of your own.”

To all appearances, Una did not seem to be taking Ambrose’s counsel. Instead, she gave herself to serious meditation at the Watcher’s Pavilion.

The fruits of her contemplation were passed to all who would listen to her talks and sermons in the open street.

Many listened now, if only to see the woman who had saved the kingdom by miraculous means.

Her intention was not to perform magic tricks. She had listened to Redcrosse after all. She had something worthwhile to offer, and it was up to her to develop it.

Dear Brother Bonaventure: Peace and Love. All is well here. I have told you of the spirit who was dismissed through the Watcher’s kindness, and of the recovery of the good people.

I am now engaged in a translation of one of the long-lost books of the Watcher, Perfugium Homicidae. It is most difficult and shows the goodness and mercy of the Watcher in a light that seems to my poor understanding to be somewhat perverse. I am sure the earlier translations must be incorrect and that the Watcher is by nature always benevolent.

I am working day and night on the translation, and I am afraid I am burning up a good deal of whale oil in the process, but I hope the result will have been worth it. I have asked the finest of illustrators to illuminate the final manuscripts.

Yours in the name of the Watcher,

Una

Sister Una greeted her friend, the Bard Tarleton Somerset, as he stopped in at the monastery for a somewhat rare visit. “Has theatre truly been saved in Puritania?” she asked. “Yes,” he said,” I think so.” “And will Fiona return to the stage?” “That, I don’t know.” “She is much missed.” “Yes, she is.”

“Would you assist me with my translation of Perfugium Homicidae? It is accurate, I am sure, but not elegant, and I want it to be perfect.” “Usually. I’d say ‘let the Theatre be the Theatre, and let the Church be the Church,” Tarleton admitted, “but I don’t see what harm it could do. If you provide the religious sentiment, I can make it sound pretty. Meanwhile, I came to ask a favor, Sister Una. I have a new song I’m working on, and at the Valiant Titmouse I’m interrupted all the time. May I work on it here?” Una agreed. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed the arrival of Knight Commander Redcrosse.

“Greetings, brother.” Redcrosse took a deep breath. “Yes,” he said. “I am your brother in the Peteran faith, although I hope not only that. Shall I be plain? I would throw my heart at your feet, but I would not be presumptuous. I would not destroy your peace for all the world. I am a simple man, and I do not understand what you would with me.”

“I know only that I can live no longer by thinking. Give me some hope, Una, or kill it forever.”

Una stood, stunned. This was what she had wished for, probably from the very beginning. It had been so difficult to discern between her love for him as a brother in the faith, as her earliest and most faithful convert, and her love for him as the man who before all others she wanted to marry. It had been so hard to give up all thought of him when he had married Duessa. Now he said he would throw his heart at her feet if she wanted him. It was overwhelming and she did not know what to say.

Meanwhile, Tarleton worked on his song.

“—the song of a knight and a maid, O! For he was very slow to act And she was even slower, O.”

The monastery began to fill with people who wanted to hear the new song. The moment had passed, and Redcrosse silently withdrew.

Sister Una rounded on Tarleton, hands on her hips. He had never seen her angry before.

“Have you no business elsewhere, friend Tarleton? Had you not better go?”

“Going, going.”

At last the artists had finished the illumination---

--and the great work was complete.

Una immediately went to Knight Commander Redcrosse.

“You have recovered one of the sacred books? By the Watcher, excellently done! But why are you giving me the first copy?” “You were the first person I thought of. I have some others I need to give away and then—and then I hope you will come see me at the monastery.” “Ah. For another religious quest, I suppose.” “No, because I enjoy your company, Redcrosse. Please come.”

“For you, Bubbles.”

“Me an’ Ermintrude can read it of long winter nights. We like havin’ somethin’ t’ do.

Naturally, Sister Una had to present King Cecil with a copy. He need not know he had received the third copy, not the first. And lo, his Majesty acquired free stuff, and he greatly liked free stuff.

“Sire, I am your obedient servant in all things, but I ask only one day of my own.”

The hours had seemed long to Sister Una as she waited. She was almost sure that Redcrosse had understood her.

“Do you love me, Una? Do you indeed?”

It took Una all the courage she had to put aside her fear that she was not beautiful. She need not spend every waking moment trying to be peaceful and loving and unselfish in order to please the Watcher. Maybe this was pleasing to the Watcher as well. Who knew?

“Yes, I do.”

All of the misunderstandings and hesitations were blown aside with a single kiss.

There was only one possible next step for them. Redcrosse lost no time in asking her to marry him, and then he began to tell her in his simple way how much he loved her.

Sister Una couldn’t say anything, but she did not need to.

“Sire, I ask your leave to marry.” “Do not tell Us you wish to marry another of Our priests.” “Er—” “You do? You cannot have been widowed more than a month or two.” “But my liege, we are very much in—”

The King shuddered at the very idea of listening to an embarrassing list of romantic declarations. “Very well. We suppose We must consent.” As Redcrosse opened his mouth, he added hastily, “You need not stop to thank Us.”

All of their friends, and the best known persons in the Kingdom, attended the wedding.

This time the celebrant was able to join in their joy.

Soon they were blessed with a little boy named Guyon.

Their son meant a great deal to both of them, but had a special meaning for Redcrosse. He had lost both his parents in babyhood, and had been brought up by a hermit, far from from any other humans. He had known great loneliness, which he now understood had been one of the reasons he had made such a colossal mistake in marrying Duessa. Now he had a family of his own.

He was happier than he could ever have dreamed possible.

“Sire, I cannot thank you enough for your consent to marry. My son is exceptionally handsome and strong, and I hope will grow to serve you in his turn. He is---”

Knowing that Redcrosse could not stop talking about his wife, his son, their marvelous qualities, and his own great happiness once he had begun, King Cecil dismissed him.

Culture at the Puritanian court continued to flourish. There was still no Jacoban priest at the cathedral, and soon the Yacothian High Priestess Terra brought the Proxy’s hand-picked choice for the new appointment, the Shepherd Archimago, to be presented to the King.

“As a loyal son of the church, We are most pleased to welcome Shepherd Archimago to the kingdom and shall expect him to receive us at the cathedral in due time. “

“We should like to add, in our person as King, that We trust that this time the Proxy has not appointed a priest with quite such expertise in poisons as the last one, and that should We discover there is yet another plot on Our life, We shall not be amused.”

The High Priestess stammered that the Proxy was keeping a close eye on the situation.

“In case We did not make this clear enough to the Jacobans, Signora Nicola, you will of course be monitoring the new Shepherd’s actions and be prepared to take Steps. We shall double again what We were paying you.” “But of course, Maestà. And you will not wish to be informed should Steps become necessary.” The King looked shocked. “Naturally not. We are a loyal son of the church and could not possibly sanction extreme measures. We would greatly regret any dietary accidents.”

“Prince Rupert the Charming will also not represent any further annoyance to you, messire. I have secured this personally. In addition, I have something to report that I think will interest you greatly.”

Signora Nicola was correct. Her report did interest the King, and he went to investigate the matter personally.

“You cannot expect me to believe that you were attacked by a genuine dragon.”

“But it was a dragon, your Worship! We was a-walking by the cave—you know the one, hard by the cemetery. Well, we heard a rustle and sort of a grunting sound, and then a great whoosh. Next thing we knows our clothes is all a-smokin’ and our hair all crispy. The others have gone ahead to seek out Master Robert at the clinic, and I just stopped long enough to tell you. May I go? I’m itchin’ something terrible.”

“Yes, you may go.”

A dragon seemed hard to credit. On its face, the story had a fairy tale overtone to it that was somewhat distasteful. On the other hand, there is nothing like defeating a dragon to ensure that a monarch’s name passes into legend. The King decided that he must investigate for himself.

“Yes, that appears to be a dragon.”

The King felt it would be wise to consult the wizard Busyrane on this matter. “There appears to be a large dragon inhabiting the cave near the cemetery. Under ordinary circumstances, We would trust entirely to Our own skills, but as our resident expert in the fantastic ---” “Well, let me see—I’m almost sure that I can remember something.”

“Sint mihi dei acherontis propitii . . .”

“Oh, bother, I can’t remember the rest. Oswald? Do you remember the rest of it?”

“Never mind. It’s only a frost-imbued blade and . . .um. Armor made of –some metal or another. I’ll test it as I go along. The spirit of inquiry, that’s the main thing.”

“These ought to work, your Majesty. I’m fairly sure. I’m fairly, reasonably . . .hardly unsure at all.”

“Adamantle? Mithril? Mithril AND adamantle? Some other substance . . .perhaps that material Mistress Fortis created with my help that enables me to cook eggs so that the eggs neither burn, nor do they stick thereto, but the pan is rendered easy to clean. . .”

The King tested the frost-imbued sword. The blade was sharp and cut cleanly; a chill emanated from it as it slashed the air. It seemed to operate perfectly.

“Adamantle AND the mystery metal that will not burn my eggs? Steel? Sky-iron? Some alloy of all of them? Would it help if I coated the armor with Oswald’s slime?”

The wizard was mulling this over with such intensity that he forgot something essential.

Namely, to ascertain that King Cecil was wearing the armor before he tested it.

His Majesty was not amused.

His Majesty let Busyrane know precisely what he thought of wizards who perpetually dwelt in towers, ivory or otherwise, and whose research never developed anything that had any practical use. To their mutual surprise, Busyrane stood his ground. You couldn’t know if something was going to be useful before you knew it, he argued. You simply had to learn everything and eventually everything did turn out to have some sort of use, or perhaps it didn’t, but then it did, because now you knew something new. The King did not approve of shady and dangerous experimentation, but he also knew that occasionally it had useful results, and that you could not argue with someone like Busyrane.

“I shall simply make use of my own methods. Lady Fortune and my own wits. I need neither armor nor blade for this.”

And he walked, slowly and purposefully, into the Dragon’s lair.

All Puritania was hushed and subdued, as they waited for their King to emerge from the dreadful cave in which the fearsome Dragon lurked. No man lingered at the mouth of the cave, for who wished to be near an angered dragon?—and what man was so heartless as to listen for the sounds of a man being burnt or eaten alive?

Still, legend will have it that there were no roars to be heard that day, only a clipped, barely elevated tenor voice indicating displeasure and disappointment, and at length sniffles of repentance.

And lo, the dragon was exceedingly sorry for its poor manners, most especially for not using a handkerchief when it sneezed, and promised never to misbehave again.

Legend also tells that the dragon returned to its home, wrote a book on how it had defeated a human, and went on a lecture tour, but no one ever believed those legends.

There remained as yet only one land that had not joined the Puritanian empire, and only one means to form an alliance with it. The prospect did not please.

A grim fate lay before the King, far worse than any dragon.

To be continued. Explicit Liber Sextus.

Wherein ye shall read of most marvelous things:

Of how Tarleton Somerset the Bard became Anonymous; Of how King Cecil finally brought about the Renaissance Of the Beginning of the End.

Quests completed: Sleepless in Snordwich Make Books, Not War Animuslaver The Dragon of Puritania

Territories Annexed: Aarbyville Yacothia Advorton Burdley Ticktop Gastrobury Snordwich

Professor Butters here. That’s still The Watcher to you, buddy. There is only one territory left to conquer, and yea, only one more chapter.

Cecil gained a Legendary Trait when he defeated the Dragon. You only get a choice of three, so I selected Guild Connections. This means he can talk to other Sims about Fashion (not very Cecilian, perhaps) and gets a large discount on everything (very Cecilian,)

This also meant his Hubris disappeared. As Fatal Flaws go, it’s a very inconvenient one, but I miss it.

Renaissance Fun Facts !   Una, Duessa, Redcrosse, Archimago, and Guyon are all characters in

Edmund Spenser’s The Faerie Queene.

!   I’ve given Sister Una some of the qualities of the mendicant orders. “Pax et Bonum” (Peace and Good) is a Franciscan saying, and you’ll notice Sister Una says it all the time, but in this chapter, there’s a reference to Dominican saying too: “contemplare et completata aliis tradere” (“contemplate and give to others the fruits of contemplation.)

!   If “perfugium homicidae” is a horrible mistranslation of “Killers’ Asylum,” I don’t really want to know, but let me know anyway.

!   Mumming plays about St. George and the dragon, usually performed at Christmas, were standard issue. There’s usually also a Saracen and a Doctor involved, but we had to compromise here.

!   You may recognize the Dragon as the Reluctant Dragon, but any Dragon would be Reluctant to go up against Cecil, wouldn’t they?

Credits

Opening picture Woodcut from Alexander Barclay’s The Legend of St. George. Pictures from Kennet Grahame’s The Reluctant Dragon, Ernest Shepherd.

William Shakespeare: Henry V, As You Like It. “Latin sayings from both St. Francis and St. Dominic. Latin incantation from Christopher Marlowe, Dr. Faustus. As usual, inspiration lifted from nearly every Medieval and Renaissance text that isn’t nailed down. Printer’s mark, Sacrobosco.