Gregory House - A Comfit Of Rogues

“What’s going on, what happened here?” That question may have come out sharper and more strident than he’d intended but Ned’s day which had been so full of promise and so thoroughly soured that his temper had likewise suffered.

Meg Black looked at him as if he were some strange breed of talking beast, and ignored his question. Captaine Gryne who seemed to be hiding a smirk in that red bushy beard of his glanced between the two and stepped forward. “Ha Bedwell, there was a wee bit o’ an affray here. A couple o’ parish Misrule pageants came ta blows over a disagreement.”

At the news Ned perked up eagerly looking around for the last of the brawlers. “Really? A brawl, here ? By Christ’s blood that would have been real boost for my day if only I’d been present. So far it’s been more boring than a sermon by Bishop Stokesley.”

At his curse of moping regret Meg Black appeared to lose her previous appearances of introspection and surged to her feet. “Bedwell, you’re a measly ungrateful rogue! This is the last time I’ll raise a finger to save even a scrap of your worthless hide!” Then her satchel of never-ending inventiveness swung towards him in a clearly aimed and deliberate attempt to batter a Bedwell.

Ned shook his head and stepped back out of reach of the clearly enraged and deranged Meg Black. Women! Who could tell what they were about? Mayhap it was the unbalanced humours that floated up from their wombs that so unsettled the female mind. He made to ask Captaine Gryne what had caused her anger, but the Captaine watching the by play between the two roared with laughter, and shaking his head walked off. That left Roger who gave him a glare full of the disdainful loathing employed usually reserved for piss channel vermin. Ned wasn’t going to lower himself enough to ask that minion the time of day. Instead he retreated to the relative safety of the Reedman brothers and oh by God the weaselly presence of Walter and loudly suggested they sup at the Redd Lyon since he’d heard that their roast ordinary was of excellent repute. Anyway the time it would take to travel there, should give Mistress Black’s ill humours time to dissipate, or so he hoped.

Meg Black watched the hurried retreat of the insufferable Bedwell and began a short litany of prayers to calm her temper all this effort for and worry for…for…for…

Roger Hawkins stepped into her narrowed view and bent close. “Y’know Mistress, that reward of five angels is still open.”

Meg’s eyebrows drew down in what she suspected was a very unladylike beetled eyed frown and Roger instinctively stepped back. “Don’t…tempt me Master Hawkins. Just don’t.”

Meg somehow resisted the lure of temptation and the sin of revenge. However she did swear by her faith that sooner rather than later Bedwell would be dragged down from his arrogant perch and humbled. Surely the Lord God would allow an ardent reformer such as her a small transgression of christianly virtue. Anyway if you looked at it the right way, it wasn’t so much giving in to the sin of revenge but rather a much overdue lesson in humility. Meg smiled. It was cold and artic like the season. She felt better already. A few more days and Walter would be gone. Then and only then would Bedwell have cause to repent his roguish ways!