Lord Quilkin

By TwoSkeleton

Once upon, a time, when Arthur was King in Britain, he led his knights into battle against a rebellious lord. The battle was joined on a wide boggy meadow dotted with ponds and puddles, and long rang the clamor of sword and axe on shield and helm. The lines of battle swayed back and forth, favoring first one side and then the other, until finally the rebellious lord knocked King Arthur clean off his feet, and he landed heavily on his back on the edge of a pond. The lord stood over Arthur and raised his blade to deliver the final blow, but suddenly a green frog hopped out of the pond and landed on Arthur's chest.

The rebellious lord was taken off guard by the frog, which merely croaked nonchalantly, and he laughed out loud at the strange sight. In that moment, brave Sir Gawain slew his own opponent and ran to help his liege and uncle, and the lord was forced to retreat under his furious attacks. Arthur scrambled back to his feet and handed the frog to his squire, with strict instructions to keep the frog safe, for it had saved his life. He rejoined the melee and it was not long before King Arthur and his knights won the day, and the rebellious lord surrendered and swore fealty to him.

Arthur and his men rode home, and the green pond frog sat on the pommel of his saddle, taking in the wide world beyond the meadow. Feasting and merrymaking followed in Camelot, and to add to the festivities, Arthur decided to honour the frog with a title. He had a little sword and breastplate made, and tiny spurs and a surcoat, and a shield with a coat of arms (Quarterly 1st argent a frog rampant vert, 2nd and 3rd azure, 4th argent a seeblatt of the second). On the final night of the banqueting when all was prepared, Arthur had the frog brought forth in his new apparel and placed on the floor before him, where it sat placidly. He drew his sword and knighted the frog, granted him the pond he had hopped from and all the lands around for fifty feet or so, and created him Lord Quilkin. Much to his surprise, then, the frog stood up, croaked his gratitude, and hopped out of the hall into the kitchen.

Lord Quilkin hopped by the cooks and the drudges and scullery maids, who looked on in astonishment as the green pond frog leapt onto the back of the head cook's cat, dug in his spurs, and cried "Hi-ho, my Lady Kath!" and cat and frog took off out the door and out of the castle. He meant to take possession of his new holdings at once.

It would be a few days journey back to the pond - cats, after all, have shorter legs than horses - but it was not long before Lord Quilkin came across a lone bee, perched on a fern leaf and crying to herself.

"Whatever is the matter, Lady Gwenen?" Quilkin asked kindly as he reigned in the cat.

"It is terrible, my lord!" the bee sobbed. "I dwelt in a hive tended by a kindly beekeeper, who would fill the hive with smoke so as not to alarm us when he came to collect some of our honey. But as he did so only yesterday, a wicked bear smelled the honey and attacked our keeper! My queen and all my sisters and brothers could not defend him, and could not defend the hive as the bear devoured them along with the honey. I alone survived, as I was out early gathering pollen."

"Poor dear!" Lord Quilkin cried, "come along with me to my meadow, where there are many wild flowers, and you can found a new hive under the protection of myself and my liege lord, King Arthur."

The bee was comforted by Quilkin's kindness, and she flew over and nestled herself in the cat's soft fur.

As the lordly frog and his companions continued down the road, they next came across a wild weasel, who leapt from the bushes and nearly tackled Quilkin off of his mount. He tried to sink his teeth into the frog's flesh, but his sharp little fangs found only good British steel. He yelped and pulled back in pain, and Quilkin threw him down and drew his sword.

"Mercy, lord!" cried the weasel, and now that Quilkin got a better look at him, he saw that he was rather young, and had a hungry look about him. The overall impression was more pitiful than anything.

"Hmph!" croaked Lord Quilkin. "I will spare you, young Master Connaguinn, if you will swear to serve me and forsake such banditry as this." The weasel was not in much of a position to disagree, so he swore fealty to the frog and to King Arthur.

As Lord Quilkin and his companions continued down the road, they came across a fierce-looking hedgehog resting by the roadside, who hailed them.

"Good day to you, Master Sort," said Lord Quilkin.

"Sort? Ha!" the hedgehog laughed. "Draynock is my name. I have come a long way on a long search."

The frog was intrigued. "And what do you seek?"

"A purpose," said the hedgehog, "for as now I have none. I lived in a forest in the north, but men cut it down, and my wife and children fell beneath the wheels of the great timber-hauling wagons. But you cut a lordly figure for a frog, and it seems to me that to do good deeds in service of a noble lord is as fine a purpose as any."

Lord Quilkin was moved by the hedgehog's sad tale, and accepted his service graciously.

As they continued down the road, they came across a mole lying forlornly beneath a large toadstool, trying to keep out of the sun. Nose twitching, he peered blearily up at the Lord Quilkin and his motley entourage.

"What are you doing above ground, Master Goath, and by day as well?" asked Lord Quilkin.

"Alas!" sighed the mole. "'Tis a sad tale, sir. There I were in me tunnels, minding merely mine own self, when a great black boar doth come a-crashing through me walls. Get thee hence, cried I, these be not thy tunnels! But he just laughed, a-saying, By right of conquest do I claim thy tunnels, thou pipsqueak, an thou wishest to die in the defense! Well, of course I tried, by all the might and main a mole could muster, but the scoundrel were too big and too strong. Now have I lost mine home, which ran all beneath this wood, so that I fear to dig lest I should 'rouse again his ire."

Lord Quilkin thought it over, and considered that the weasel might go into the tunnels to face the rogue mole, but much to the weasel's relief, he decided that it would be best to return to deal with this injustice once his authority was established.

"Come with me to my lands," he said, "for I remember now that there is a hillock near the pond which is dry and sturdy enough for tunneling, and you can make a home there under the protection of myself and my liege, King Arthur."

The mole gratefully accepted, and shuffled along at the back of the party.

They continued down the road, and as the land was beginning to get spongy and damp, Lord Quilkin knew they were almost home to the meadow. Suddenly a grey heron loomed up out of the rushes and clattered his beak fiercely. All the animals fled into the undergrowth, all but Lord Quilkin, who drew his sword and stood his ground. When the heron jabbed with his fearsome beak, Quilkin knocked it aside with his sword, and then caught the sunlight on his shield and shone it into the heron's eye. While the great bird was distracted, Quilkin rushed in and slashed the great bird on one of his long spindly legs.

"Ouch!" cried the heron, who was not at all used to frogs reacting this way. "Alright, alright! Mercy, green lord!"

"Hmph!" croaked Lord Quilkin, who had no particular love for herons. "If I spare you, Master Curgeth, you must swear to serve myself and my liege lord, and to never again eat a frog."

The heron considered for a while, humming and hawing. The other animals had come out of hiding and surrounded him, and though his pride was hurt, he began to think there might be something to this frog after all, and it might be good to get in on the ground floor. At last he agreed, and swore fealty to Lord Quilkin and to King Arthur, and the strange companions continued on.

At last Lord Quilkin and his followers came to the meadow, but they had not made it far toward the pond when they were surrounded by rats - big, mean-looking brown rats from the continent, who had come west on the ships of the pagan Saxons. Outnumbered Lord Quilkin surrendered they were brought before the rats' king.

The rat king was a cruel and conniving sort, and was much amused when he heard Quilkin's claim. He had no respect for the local authorities or the rule of any law but his own, and he had resolved to make the meadow his own personal kingdom. But he thought that if he killed Quilkin, it might incite an uprising of the local animals. It was Quilkin himself, though, who gave the rat king his answer.

"Let us settle this without bloodshed, as gentlemen," he ribbited. "Let us have a challenge or test of skill, and whoever emerges victorious shall reign here."

The rat king chuckled to himself. He and his rats could easily defeat this jumped-up frog at any challenge - after all, he could not even attract other frogs to serve him, and had to rely on moles and weasels. He agreed, and challenged Quilkin to a wrestling match on the following day.

Lord Quilkin had never wrestled before, being a frog, and was somewhat worried. But the rat king's daughter, who was sleek and lovely and kind as rats go, came to him and said, "Lord Quilkin, my father is a fine wrestler, but there is another rat in his service who is a greater wrester still. It is he who will wrestle tomorrow, not my father, so you should know that you have the right to send one of your followers in your place as well. He will not give up his power easily, but he will avoid facing you himself as long as he can."

This was a great relief to Lord Quilkin, who thanked her and went to bed with an easy mind.

The next day the ring was drawn in the earth, and a great, burly rat strode forth from the rat king's ranks.

"Well, my froggy lord," sneered to the rat king, "do you fancy you can best my champion?"

"For myself, no, probably not!" admitted Lord Quilkin. "But do you fancy he can best my champion?" And he sent out the hedgehog.

It was not a long match. The hedgehog ruffled out his spines so that the rat could not get a safe grip, and at last, when the rat was pinned and bleeding from a dozen pinprick wounds, he conceded defeat.

Lord Quilkin beamed. "Victory is mine, it seems," he croaked, "and so is the meadow."

"Not so fast!" the rat king blustered, furious. "We cannot let such a great prize go after only one challenge. On the morrow, my rats will have built a great obstacle course. Whoever's champion finishes it first will be the victor." And Lord Quilkin agreed.

The next day, the obstacle course stretched long across the meadow, with walls to climb, beams to walk, mud puddles to ford, and stones to hop over. The rat king sent out a wiry, agile rat with strong limbs and twitching, twirling tail. Lord Quilkin sent out the cat.

Again, it was not much of a contest. As the rat scrabbled over the wall, the cat leapt up gracefully and pulled herself up with her claws. As the rat scurried uneasily across the beam, the cat slinked along at a leisurely pace. As the rat wriggled through the mud, the cat leapt over the puddle. And as the rat bunched himself up on each stone before hopping to the next, the cat took each in turn at a pouncing run, never missing her step.

Lord Quilkin had merely opened his mouth to speak when the rat king broke in. "Fiddlesticks!" he cried, before regaining his composure. "Hardly a fair match at all! Why, even an amphibian's sense of fair play must be outraged by such a shameful display. A treasure hunt! A treasure hunt on the morrow, that will decide it! Whoever brings in the biggest treasure will be the victor." And Lord Quilkin agreed.

The rat king already had a plan - the "treasure" he would seek would be in the coffers of the once-rebellious lord who ruled the meadow around the pond. His rats would be in and out of the castle easily while Lord Quilkin and his companions blundered around the marshy meadow all day.

Lord Quilkin was disheartened, as he had no idea where to find treasure. But the mole spoke up.

"Milord," he said, "do ye take me to that sturdy hillock of which ye spoke afore, for it striketh me passing strange that such should be found in this boggy place."

Lord Quilkin led the mole to the hillock, and he snuffled about, pawing at the earth and sifting the soil through his great pink claws.

"Indeed, milord," he said at last, "this hillock were not placed here by the hands of God but by those of men. I smell me soil and peat, aye, but metal and bone as well. Let me but dig here, milord, and ye shall have your treasure." And at a nod from his lord, the mole dove into the earth in a shower of leaves and soil. It was not long before he emerged again, triumphantly bearing in his teeth a golden coin. Lord Quilkin took it and gazed on it in amazement.

"And there be a great many alike down below," the mole said excitedly, "and the bones of a man in a brinie strange but richly wrought. A Roman's grave-trove, methinkst."

Lord Quilkin and the weasel went down the tunnel with the mole and carried up much treasure - leaving enough to keep the Roman comfortable - and they loaded up the cat and the heron, who were the biggest, and carried their treasure back to the rat's camp.

The rats had stolen a few purses, but their worth was nothing next to the wealth carried back by Lord Quilkin.

"Wealth is not everything, of course," the rat king mused sullenly. "The strength of one's body counts for much. Your urcheon is a capable wrestler, I'll admit, but pugilism is a greater art still. We shall have a boxing match tomorrow." He did not even bother waiting for Lord Quilkin to agree.

The next day the boxing ring was drawn up, and in stepped a large, tough-looking rat with calloused paws and powerful limbs. Lord Quilkin sent in the heron.

It was not much of a contest; even the opportunistic heron felt a little embarrassed. Wings not being much use, he lashed out with his long, spindly legs, stronger that they looked, and the rat could neither get close enough to land a blow himself or block his much larger opponent's strikes. Finally, he collapsed unconscious and was carried out of the ring. The rat king fumed.

"You have known of the heron this whole time, and the terms of the challenge were yours to set," Lord Quilkin croaked haughtily, though inside, he too felt a little sheepish. The rat king waved a dismissive claw.

"Enough of this foolishness! Being a ruler is about protecting your subjects, is it not? You know of the mad hare?" Lord Quilkin shook his head and the rat king continued.

"There is a certain hare who has lately come down from the mountains, cavorting and leaping about and getting into fights - as though it were still March! He has been making a frightful nuisance of himself, attacking the rabbits and collapsing the voles' tunnels and making a racket at all hours. We will go out together and slay this mad hare, and whoever lands the killing blow will be the victor." Lord Quilkin was growing impatient, but he agreed.

The next day they all set out in search of the hare, and it was not long before they found him. He had cornered a young rabbit in the crook of a tree stump and was viciously kicking and biting him. As soon as he heard the clink of Lord Quilkin's armour, he whirled around, stared at them with his mad eyes, and charged. Lord Quilkin spurred the cat forward and his companions followed, but the rats hung back. The rat king did not really care about the hare's violence, and was hoping that he would kill Quilkin.

The hare's first kick knocked the cat clean off her feet, and Quilkin clean off the cat. The second sent the mole flying, and the third hit the hedgehog square in the nose. The forth knocked the legs out from the under the heron and sent him frantically flapping for safety. The weasel dodged all the blows, though, weaving his sinewy little body around the hare's lashing limbs.

Lord Quilkin regained his footing and picked up his sword, and he and the cat charged the hare again while he was distracted by the weasel. The hare was not used to such resistance, and he leapt and whirled and bucked in all directions to keep his attackers at bay. He lashed out a powerful leg and hit Quilkin square in the breastplate, knocking him back again. But while the hare was distracted, the weasel had climbed the tree stump and jumped onto the hare's back. That sent the hare into an even madder frenzy, and he rolled over and jumped and screamed, anything he could think of to dislodge the weasel. But the little creature held on, and snaked up the hare's back until he got to his neck, and sank his sharp little teeth into the hare's spine. No matter how much the hare thrashed and writhed, he could not dislodge the weasel, and at last he collapsed, dead.

Panting, Lord Quilkin approached the rat king. "There you have it," he said, "the mad hare is dead by my champion's bravery, no thanks to you. I am the victor, and the meadow is mine."

"Not so fast," the rat king chuckled. "Did we not agree that whoever landed he killing blow should be the victor? You did not. Should we make your weasel ruler of the meadow? Should the meadow belong to a lord who spends the fight on his back while a weasel does his hard work? I propose a new challenge-"

But Lord Quilkin was fed up. "No, I challenge you!" he croaked fiercely. "I was granted rule of the pond by the rightful king of this land. My champions have bested yours in every challenge and you have never honoured your word. Before these your warriors, I challenge you, king of rats, to a duel to the death on the morrow. They have tasted defeat on your behalf time and again, and you dare not refuse me before them."

Indeed, the rat king did not dare to refuse him. Reluctantly, he agreed.

Back at the camp, though, the rat king called one of his loyal warriors. He knew he could not fairly defeat Lord Quilkin, so he hatched a devious plan. His warriors and Lord Quilkin's companions would ring the dueling ground. The rat king would feint and dodge and maneuver until Lord Quilkin's back was to the loyal warrior. At that point, the warrior would draw his knife and stab the frog in the back.

Morning came again, and Lord Quilkin felt refreshed, eager to put an end to the rat king's villainy and usurpation once and for all. The rat king emerged, armour-clad and armed with his shield and axe, and the two squared off as their followers closed the circle around them. The rat king struck first, but the blow merely bounced off of Lord Quilkin's shield. Then they joined battle in earnest, and though the advantage went back and forth, it was mostly the rat king giving ground, dodging and withdrawing, feinting and weaving. He seemed afraid - which he was, in fact - and desperate, but at last he had Lord Quillkin right where he wanted him. The sneak of a rat drew his dagger and raised it to strike, but at that moment the bee, who had been hovering over the battle, swooped down and stung him on the nose. The rat yowled and dropped his dagger, and the rat king's fear and desperation became real, for he had no further deceits, and Lord Quilkin, seeing at once when he had planned, now fought with righteous outrage. It was not long then before he knocked the rat's axe from his claw and drew back for the killing blow.

"Mercy! Spare me!" the rat king cried.

Lord Quilkin considered, and concluded that there was no honour in killing an unarmed foe. "I grant you your life," he said, "but you must leave. Take your horde and go east, and take the first ship you find back to the continent." The rat king agreed, and he and his army left at once, save his daughter and a few loyal to her who were willing to live peacefully in the meadow.

Thus Lord Quilkin at last took possession of his holdings, and he and his descendents ruled them long and justly in the name of Arthur, and then of Constantine and so on, and unless I am mistaken they rule over that pond still.

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