RUCKUS! A PLAGUE ON BOTH YOUR HOUSES... AND YOUR VEGETABLE PATCH!

 It is the much acclaimed and eulogized season of spring in the thirty-first year of  our sovereign lord, King Henry VI and yet, despite this being the time of year when the thoughts of all good men should be looking forward to a glorious time of renewal, rejuvenation and revitalization, there is something rotten in the county of Nottinghamshire.
The gentry families of Plumbton and Pierrepont have been beset by a disagreement over a tiny plot of land and no intercession or conciliation can bring the dispute to a reasonable conclusion. Instead, these two ancient families have resorted to acts of great violence and taken up arms in the pursuit of the disputed acreage.
And so, it came to pass, that upon this day, did Sir Henry Pierrepont, his sibling Sir John Pierrepont of Radmanthwaite and Sir William de Scrooby, along with a retinue of their chosen men, descend upon the village of Grisley Dale, with great ill temper within their hearts, intending to rain down much harm and distress upon the heads of the lowly villagers, who, in their ignorance and innocence, had continued to support their liege lord, Sir William Plumpton, in this bitter and disquieting dispute...

The sleepy Nottinghamshire village of Grisley Dale, demesne of Hundred Years War veteran, Sir Walter Threadbarre, ally and long time friend of the Plumpton family.

Roger Nightly, another Hundred Years War veteran, positioned his Spear with a clear view down the road of the Pierreponts advancing through the distant gloom.

To Nightly's left, the village priest, Brother Fornicatus encouraged his Spear, Wilkyn Grubb, Morris Viner and Dikon Feart to feats of bravery and derring-do.

At the northern end of the village stood the ancient wooden gibbet, housing the remains of Constance Hatchet, tried and convicted of poisoning her seven husbands, between the years 1378 and 1385. 

The aged archer, Larkin Wineskin pushed forward into the enclosure, determined to defend the honour of Maybell, his beloved Nottinghamshire Grey Spot sow and her suckling piglets.

Sir Henry and his Spear did hold the peasants in utter indifference and contempt and so advanced brazenly down the road into the heart of the village and straight into the sights of Roger Niteley and his bowmen.

Seeing the enemy advancing so brashly, Niteley ordered his men to loose upon them, however, the veteran archer did suffer a shooting mishap and the Spear's attack did avail them nought.

Meanwhile, Sir John and his Spear had advanced with great haste through the village and were swiftly upon Brother Fornicatus and his trembling peasants.

With a great speed born of trepidation, the Brother commanded his men to take cover, just as Sir John, with Mortimer Miller in support, launched his attack. Unbelievably, Morris Viner managed to beat back the noble Sir John and did gain great renown in the annals of Grisley Dale.

Eager to end the battle, Sir Henry charged fearlessly into combat with the gallant Sir Walter. Time stood still as the two courageous warriors exchanged blows in a flurry of steel and sweat (Yuk!)

First, Sir Henry landed a cruel blow upon Sir Walter and it appeared the fight may soon be over, but the stalwart Sir Walter summoned up an assault of great ferocity and returned the hurt upon his foe.

Meanwhile, the brave Brother hurried to support his peasant parishioners, but the furious Sir John was much too powerful and did force his way across the wall, laying low the priest in the process.

With no regard for his own safety, Hob Nobb gallantly threw himself between his wounded lord and Adam Goodenight and both men suffered grievous wounds in the ensuing duel.

Seeing victory within his grasp, Sir Henry bludgeoned his way towards a final encounter with his adversary, hacking down Noll Journeyman in the process.

However, glory was snatched away by the arrows of outrageous fortune and, wracked with horrendous wounds, Sir Henry was dragged from the field by his faithful retainers.

Thus ended three hours of blood pulsing drama. To begin with, the action developed slowly, with Sir Henry's retinue advancing cautiously to avoid the peasant arrow storm unleashed down the main road through the village. However, once the Pierreponts were in a position to use their superior fighting power, the slaughter began in earnest and characters began to fall! The main combat in the game was fought out between the two captains, with Sir Henry initially gaining the upper hand by inflicting one wound upon Sir Walter. Sir Walter, however, with his Stalwart skill, turned the tables in the third round of combat, wounding Sir Henry and the combat ended with both Captains withdrawing exhausted. Employing the "he who fights and..." strategy, Sir Walter spent the rest of the game retreating across the board towards the rest of his retinue, with Sir Henry and his billmen in hot pursuit. As things turned out, Sir Walter certainly employed the better tactic, as his scampering away drew Sir Henry into the veritable hornet's nest of Roger Niteley's bowmen, who promptly dispatched the over eager knight with a storm of very close range archery.

Had Sir Henry not allowed himself to be lured onto the peasant longbows, the battle would almost certainly have ended with a Pierrepont victory, as their superior melee troops were gradually compressing the villager's defence from two sides into an ever decreasing circle.

The highlight of the battle was certainly the humble and terrified Morris Viner's brief but legendary defence of the stone wall, against the vicious onslaught of Sir John Pierrepont. Sir John rolled atrociously, never scoring higher than a "3" in the entire combat and was ultimately forced to make an embarrassing withdrawal in front of his onlooking retainers! Morris has gone down in the history of Grisley Dale as the man who bested the noble knight in all his armour plate and, to this day, the rousing melody of, "There is nothing finer than the sight of Morris Viner giving the knight a nasty shiner... over there... over there", can be heard enthusiastically emanating from the Crusty Ferret Inn, on many a chilly Winter's evening.