My quest for the Holy Grail

After passing through the main gates of the Scarborough Renaissance Festival, I fell in with three worthy companions: Jared the Wheeler; his betrothed, Rachel of the Men of Gull; and Alyssa of Bates. We three journeyed hither and yon, gazing in wonderment at the strange folk and customs that were all about us. "Hold!" quoth friend Wheeler. "I have a thought passing all wisdom. We should fain seek out the Holy Grail, of which we have been told mickle, yea, all these months. Faith, it must be present among all these courtly folk." And the words seeming most wise to me, I answered, "Yea and verily. It behooveth us to seek out this wonder for ourselves in the midst of this gay company." And the womenfolk didst roll their eyes for lack of understanding, and we didst not care.

After passing the noble Privy of Welcome Relief, at which some of our party did seek to temper their discomfort, we came upon a cottage in which a printer was selling divers printed matter and demonstrating his marvelous press. I thought me to buy of him a print of Albrecht Dürer's Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse, but lo, it was dear, so I resolved me to find the Holy Grail instead. Or else a hat.

After many minutes, we came upon a potter's shop. "Forsooth!" said we. "No doubt here we shall find the holy vessel we seek!" But verily, the drinking-cups of the potter were unconvincing, and the trenchers were small and lumpy. "Bless me," said Wheeler, "this is no place for the Host we seek." So we continued our quest.

After many fair adventures, which would take far too much parchment to relate even were the whole world a dead calf, I had bought me a hat and supped upon the flesh of a giant turkey's leg. We had seen much of many poor women who could not afford to cover their nakedness, we had seen brave knights join in pitched combat, and we had seen many paintings of unicorns in pastel pigments -- yea, more than we could count. Yet in truth, we had not laid eyes upon the Holy Grail, though we had searched many hours. Our eyes were downcast and our faces forlorn.

Suddenly, we espied a cottage at which lived a pewter smith, who was selling many suggestive goblets. "Ho!" said Wheeler. "Could this be the resting-place of the most holy Relic we seek?" Said I with breath bated, "Why not? But my word, this varlet is charging an arm and a leg." Yet the villein did urge us to view his wares, saying, "This one, my lords, is a particularly fine vessel." And we looked, and lo! we knew at once it was the Holy Grail. We beheld a communion cup, all of pewter, with an ergonomick stem to prevent discomfiture during draughts. And Wheeler, all a-reverent, picked up the Vessel and gazed upon its base, to which was affixèd a sticker.

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"We found the Grail," Jared the Wheeler explained later to our countrymen, "but they wanted too much for it."

For thus turning his back on holy things, the Lord smote him, and his pickup died.

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For a slightly different take on the same proceedings, please see the relevant entry at Wheeler's blog.

| Posted by Wilson at 21:31 Central | TrackBack
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