One day, a brave and bearded Knight was sitting in his kitchen, whittling, whistling and generally wishing he were working. Suddenly – as they do – a pigeon dropped by with a head full of strange ideas and a scroll full of message for the Knight.
Unrolled, the scroll read:
I have much need of a vigorous knight
Before your cock is next aroused
I will meet you at the sign of the rodent moon
This was sadly not a love letter. It was a contract – someone in the local area wanted to meet and discuss the details at the local inn.
So off set Bruce – for it was he - large as life and twice as fatal. He was looking forward to getting to The Rodent Moon, a place well known to him, for they kept a great cellar.
Once he had arrived and stabled his powerful charger, he went directly to the owner.
“Hello Tone – anyone looking for me? Cryptic sort probably.”
“Twas I,” quoth a hooded stranger in the corner, sunk in shadows and wreathed in smoke. “Tis a most noisome problem I have that requires your assistance.”
“Right,” said Bruce. “First things first. What’s your name and where do you come from?”
“Mr Gryphon,” said the man, pulling down his hood, pulling forward his chair and moving away from the smoky fire. “I’m from Tophia Farm, and I could really do with your help.”
Bruce always found that mysterious strangers became much less so once they’d introduced themselves.
“Well met sir, what seems to be the problem?”
“I’m having some trouble with trolls.”
“Trolls is it?” asked Bruce, surprised. “What makes you think I can help you with that?”
“According to local legend, you cleared this place of trolls a few years back,” said the farmer, knocking his muddy bootheels on the floor.
“I had help,” said the Knight, glancing towards the bar. “I had backup. And the small matter of an ogre.”
“An ogre? You deal with ogres, mister? Incredible!”
“True I assure you. But on with your problem – why is a troll lurking about your farm? They usually prefer the dark.”
“I keep goats,” he replied simply. “There’s nothing a troll likes better than a bit of goat, see? Except perhaps a bridge. And I have that too - in the middle of my land. My goats are on one side, I’m on the other and the damned troll is hiding underneath the bridge ready to gobble them up.”
“No clever little billy goat that might trick the troll?”
“No, three little nanny goats and nary a brain between them.”
At this, Bruce appeared to reach a decision.
“Don’t be disheartened my good man. I’ll ride to your farm first thing tomorrow. I have a cunning plan that has worked before.”
And so, early next morning, Bruce left the inn at the crack of dawn while everyone was sleeping except the owner, who was lazily catching flies.
***
Mr Gryphon slept late in the slothful manner of any man taking a break from family and farm, and woke to hear the clatter of hooves as Bruce returned, whistling merrily.
As soon as he could struggle into his clothes, he stumbled downstairs into the bar and greeted the Knight with astonished delight.
“You are back sir? Is it done?”
“Indeed I am, and indeed it is. You will be troubled no longer.”
“How did you fare sir?”
“Oh as expected. I simply sat close to the bridge and gently asked if there was anything in the area that wanted to talk. Trolls are mostly misunderstood creatures that act disruptively because they crave attention. The troll shouted abuse at me of course, but after an hour it became calm, and started to tell me the story of its life. Very hard lives some of these trolls have, living on tinned Spam and half-baked ideas. Eventually it came out quite peaceably and sat beside me with its head in my lap.”
“So it won’t bother me again?” asked Mr Gryphon warily.
“Certainly not!” replied the Knight. “As soon as I had its trust I whipped out my sword and knocked its block off.”
Mr Gryphon sprayed a mouthful of beer over the table.
“But surely sir, you had gained its trust? What more harm would it do?”
“You can’t tame a troll,” he replied. “They’re good for one thing and one thing only…” He looked meaningfully at the floor.
“Compost?” asked the farmer, with the air of a man who knows his shit.
There was a roar that shook the foundations of the inn.
Bruce smiled.
“Feeding ogres.”
“But.. What.. Why did you need an ogre last time?” puzzled Gryphon.
“Oh I didn’t need the ogre last time,” said Bruce, “Or at least only for disposing of the body. I had the help of someone Great and Powerful. Someone who prefers to stay behind the curtain shall we say.”
And to Mr Gryphon’s surprise, he winked at the innkeeper.