Reverence

“My lady, thy cannot be seriously considering venturing out in thine attire.” Lord Molecombe screwed his face whilst looking at the garment his cousin had chosen to wear.

“Ee, ya do tork funneh, ‘Empsty.” Gemevere looked at her choice of clothing in the full-length mirror in her bed chamber. “What’s up wimme garb?”

“Thine tight-fitting bodysuit tucked beneath thy body armour up top and thigh-length boots below looks verily uncomfortable. Not to mention conducive of perspiration. And then, on top of that you wear that red cape-like wrap draped further around thy top, and a Genevieve Tiara upon thy brow. It certainly distracts one’s attention”

“Oh, me crown. Yea. ‘Tis a bit big. Falls down just onto me eyebrows at times. But that’s me point. When folk see me cozzie, they don’t recognise me as me. An’ soon, they’ll know me as Lairdy Reverence.”

“Lairdy? Oh, Lady Reverence. Why cousin, pray tell, why have thee chosen to use that identity?”

“’Empsty, y’know very well why. It’s in me blood. It’s in yer blood too, if you choose to allow it. Y’know we’re from th’Atalan line and we ‘ave them mystic magic abilities. I wanna do good an’ mairk a difference before th’year’s up. That Round Table lot ‘ave made a name fer themselves, and now it’s our turn. Not that I want to be famous or ‘owt. Just wanna be revered.”

“By using an alternative identity? Even King Arthur himself would surely scoff.”

“King Arthur can scoff all ‘e wants, ‘Empsty. ‘Im and that Nottingham lot ‘ave brought more trouble to th’kingdoms than got rid of it. So it’s up to normal folk, folk like you and me to make a difference. The peasants and norblemen alike all need someone to be in awe of.”

“And, my lady, thy see thineself fulfilling that role?”

“Too right I do. An’ you’re gonna ‘elp me, whether you want to or not.”

“But how can I be of assistance? I merely want to be a normal Englishman.”

“You can’t be a normal Englishman, ‘Empsty. Yer Atalan for one. Yer like me fer another. An’ this country needs ‘elp from those Saxons oo’r infiltratin’ every norbleman’s ‘ouse from down in Dumnonia and up to th’borders with the Scots. An’ even further up, by all accounts. Besides, I need you as me cover.”

“Your cover?”

“Yeah, when folk think I’m Lairdy Reverence, you can pop on in an’ tell ‘em I’m not.”

“And they are likely to take my word because…?”

“Because you are the aristocratic normal Englishman Lord Hempsty Molecombe. Folk’s’d bend o’er backwards to meet ‘thine’ acquaintance. They’d ‘ang on yer every word.”

“And you would be? When you’re not being Lady Reverence that is?”

“Yer cousin of course. Gemevere Inxlsis.”

“So thy aren’t permanently taking on the Lady Reverence persona. You will be thineself  also?”

“Of course ah will. I need’s me breaks like everyone else. We ‘ave a few months before the year’s up and becomes four ‘undred and ninety. I want my legend to ‘ave reached all of the kingdoms by then. An’ then chicken thieves, poachers, an’ invadin’ Saxons will start to think twice.”

“You’ve really thought this through, Gemevere, haven’t you?”

“Kinda. I think it’ll be fun if nothin’ else. C’mon. Let’s go to Nottingham first thing an’ let that there sheriff know a new legend is in town!”