Peter Ackroyd - The Canterbury Tales – A Retelling

So it happened that, one day, this worthy summoner was after some new prey. He was about to pay a call on an elderly woman, an old trout from whom he was about to extort money on some trumped-up charge or other. It so happened that, as he was riding through the forest, he came upon a jolly yeoman; this young man was carrying his bow, with bright, sharp arrows. He was wearing a green jacket, and a smart black cap with tassels. ‘Hail and well met!’ called out the summoner.

‘The same to you!’ the yeoman replied. ‘Where are you riding today beneath the greenwood trees? Are you going far?’

‘No. Not really. I am travelling only a short distance. I have to collect the rent for the lord of my manor. And earn myself a little fee for the trouble.’

‘Oh, so you are a bailiff?’

‘That’s right.’ He would not admit, out of shame, that he was actually a summoner. He might as well pour shit on his head.

‘Good God,’ said the yeoman. ‘What a coincidence. I am a bailiff, too. Isn’t that something?’ Then he grew more confidential. ‘The trouble is that I don’t know this area at all. So I would be very happy to make your acquaintance, brother with brother, and learn a thing or two. I have gold and silver in my box here. And if you should ever venture into my shire, in turn, I will be very happy to look after you.’

‘That’s very kind of you,’ the summoner replied. He held out his hand. ‘Put it here.’ Then they shook hands, swore an oath that they would be true to each other until death, and rode on together in great good spirits. The summoner was as full of gossip as a carrion crow is full of worms. So he kept on questioning the yeoman about this and that. ‘Now tell me this,’ he asked him. ‘Where exactly do you live? Where would I be able to find you?’

The yeoman answered him softly. ‘I live far off in the north country. I hope very much to see you there. I will give you such directions, before we part, that you will never mistake my dwelling.’

‘Now, dear brother,’ the summoner went on. ‘Tell me this as well. Just between the two of us, riding together. Since you are a bailiff like me, let me know some of your tricks. How I can make the most of my position? You know what I mean. Don’t hold back for fear of offending me. You won’t do that. We are all sinners. Just tell me. How do you do it?’

‘I will tell you the truth, brother bailiff. I will be straight with you. My wages are low, and my lord is very demanding. I have a hard time of it, I can tell you, and so I am forced to live by bribery and extortion. I admit it. I take as much as I can. Sometimes I use low cunning, and sometimes I use force. That’s the way I earn my living. There’s nothing more to say.’

‘Snap,’ said the summoner. ‘It’s the same with me, too. I’ll steal anything, God knows, as long as it is not too heavy or too hot. What I earn privately is my own business. I don’t lose any sleep over it. If I didn’t steal, I wouldn’t live. It’s as simple as that. And I’m not about to confess my sins to the priest. I have no pity. I have no conscience. These holy confessors can go fuck themselves. So there, sir, we are well mated and well met. Just one more thing. What do they call you?’

The yeoman began smiling, when he asked the question. ‘Do you really want to know my name? To tell you the truth, I am a fiend. My dwelling is in hell. I ride about the world searching for gains. I like to find out if men like you will give me anything. That is the only profit I can earn. We are engaged in the same trade, you see. To get something, anything, is the sum of my endeavour. I will ride to the end of the world to find my prey. I am riding now.’

‘God in heaven,’ the summoner replied. ‘What are you saying? I really thought that you were a yeoman. You have the shape of a man, just like mine. Do you have the same form in hell, where you chiefly dwell?’

‘Certainly not. We have no shape in hell. But we can adopt whatever form we fancy, or else make it appear so. I can appear as a human being, or as an ape; I can even take on the form of a bright angel. Why are you surprised? A second-rate conjuror can deceive you easily enough. So why cannot I? I have more experience, after all.’

‘So you are telling me that you can ride around in different shapes. You are only a yeoman for a short while?’

‘Of course. I take whatever shape is necessary. To trap my prey.’

‘Why, sir fiend, do you go to all this trouble?’

‘There are many reasons, dear summoner. Now is not the time to explain them. The day is short. It is already past nine, and I have not yet found my quarry. I must attend to business, if you don’t mind, and not spend the time revealing all my plans. Don’t take this the wrong way, brother, but I doubt that you are capable of understanding them in any case. You asked me why we take such trouble. Well. Sometimes we are the instruments of God himself, fulfilling His commandment. He wreaks his will on humankind in various ways and for various reasons. We have no strength or purpose without Him. That is certain. Sometimes, if we ask kindly enough, we are allowed to afflict the body rather than the soul. Job is a case in point. We certainly punished him. There are occasions when we can do some harm to the soul as well as to the body. That’s the fun part. There are other times when we can attack the soul, but not the body. It all depends. It works out well, in any case. I’ll tell you why. If anybody can resist our temptations, then he or she will go to heaven. That was not our intention, of course. We want the soul to settle down with us. And there are even occasions when we act as servants to mankind. Take the case of Archbishop Dunstan. He used to be able to control us devils. I myself have served one of the apostles in a lowly way. But that’s a long story.’

‘Can you tell me this?’ The summoner was now thoroughly absorbed in the conversation. ‘Is it true that you make your new bodies out of the elements themselves? Out of the wind and the fire?’

‘Not really. Sometimes we create the illusion of that. Yet there are other times when we reanimate the bodies of the dead and rise from their graves. Did you hear about the witch of Endor, who conjured up the spirit of Samuel before King Saul of Israel? Some people claim that it was not Samuel at all. I don’t know. I am not a theologian. But I’ll warn you of one thing. I won’t deceive you. Soon enough you will find out about our changing shapes. You will not need to learn anything from me. You will know the truth from experience. You will be able to lecture on it, write books about it more learned than those of Virgil and of Dante. Come on. Let us ride. I enjoy being in your company. I’ll stay with you until you tell me to piss off.’

‘That’s not going to happen,’ the summoner replied. ‘I am a yeoman, and widely respected. I am known to keep my word, and I would stick to it even if you were Satan himself. We are brothers, you and I, and we will be true to one another. We will help each other in our various trades. You take what you can, and I shall do the same. We are both businessmen, after all. But if one of us makes a killing, then he should share it with the other. That is fair, don’t you think?’

‘I grant you that,’ the fiend said. ‘On my honour.’

So they rode forth on their way. They passed through the forest and very soon came up to the village where the summoner hoped to exact some tribute. Here they happened to see a cart filled with hay, being driven with some difficulty by a carter. The road was deep in mud, and the wheels were lodged in it. They could not be moved. The carter was frantic, and kept on shouting at the horses. ‘Come on, Brock!’ he screamed. ‘Come on, Scot! What are you stopping for? Get a move on! The devil take the lot of you, as whole as you were born! I have gone through hell today because of you. Well, you can go to the devil – hay, cart and horses!’