The Prologue

During a particularly difficult time in human history, when men fought wars, women gossiped, and babies and children were especially ugly and unruly, it was decided that the most precious Holy Crafting Table of Our Lord and Redeemer¹ could no longer be safely stored in the transept of the Cathedral of Sens², and was translated to the Cathedral Basilica of the Holy Prepuce in Lodi³. The translation was announced on the feast of the Invention of the Holy Cross⁴, when all was bright and fair.

All Christendom hastened to witness the beloved round table of Nazareth advance to its new home. A lady from the Duchy of Beux-Berri, a wise old lady named Ouiser of Boudreaux, set out with her household. Not a day later she met her nieces, Jardiance of Wegovy and Arbonne of Olay, both fine young women looking for a husband. They set out and arrived not a day later at a place called Melon, where they met two mercenaries from Switzerland⁵, badly without rations and camping in the rain.

Ouiser stopped her caravan and leaned out of her carriage window.

‘Boys, how long have you been camping there?’ she said.

The first young man, a tall handsome blond named Persiflage⁶, bowed and doffed his cap.

‘Nearly a fortnight,’ said he, ‘And would you believe it? We just ran out of food and water today. My companion from Zurich, Boulevardier, says the Abbey of St-Roland has a pilgrim house, but we don’t know where it is, how to get there, or if we will even be treated well when we show up.’

Then Jardiance leaned out of the carriage.

‘Aren’t you supposed to be with his Imperial Highness⁷ putting to flight the Saracen host in the Ægean?’

This time Boulevardier spoke: ‘We were told to return to Mantua in March of the year following, when the Church can make payroll.’

‘But it’s May now,’ Ouiser said.

‘Yes—lots of free time, as one can imagine,’ replied Persiflage.

So the boys were invited into the cart and the ladies embarked onward.

When they arrived at the hamlet of Colophon, they found a charming, handsome Englishman and his young manservant wandering from door to door asking for help.

‘Oh, thank Heaven! I see I am among eminent company,’ he said, when he approached Ouiser’s carriage. ‘I am Lord John Swiffer of Summer’s-Eve in Dorsetshire, and this is my man Pringles. We’re on our way to see the Holy Crafting Table. But we have been waylaid and our provisions have been stolen. And while I have plenty of money of my own to refresh our provisions here, we can’t find a wheelwright anywhere.’

Lord Swiffer and Pringles then showed Lady Ouiser and her retinue the broken carriage that the Lord had come from England in, and indeed, it was missing a wheel.

Persiflage then said, ‘My father was a wheelwright. There is a man here whom I spoke with at luncheon today who has a few spares. Although the hour is late, there is a chance we may procure one for an agreeable price. Let us go to him.’

But then Lord Swiffer said, ‘Why is your codpiece⁸ so large?’

But there was no time to lose and so off they went, Pringles behind them.

Ouiser and the entourage refilled their supplies, and when Swiffer’s carriage was repaired, he too, accompanied her.

A few days later they were in a great, thick wood near Fosse-des-Fosses, when they heard the harness-bells of a strange company of people all speaking a language nobody could understand.

‘They must be Spaniards,’ Swiffer said.

But they were not Spanish at all! It was a beautiful Ottoman lady in long silks and garments, in a strange sort of sedan borne by four stout Moors⁹. The jangles were from the bells on their slippers, and a dark-suited Italian on his own horse, led the Moors through the forest with a map turned all topsy-turvy.

Ouiser said, ‘My dear sir, these are no Spaniards, and if they are, Christendom has been irrevocably lost.’

Then the lady stepped down from her sedan and said, bowing deeply:

‘Kind and gracious ladies and gentlemen, I am the Princess Calamondin, and this is my Italian guard Messer Cayenne. His Imperial Majesty the Pasha¹⁰ has graciously granted me leave that I may witness the heathen spectacle of the Holy Crafting Table. While I am a stranger in these lands, I hope you will not forsake a morsel of your generosity in leading us to the intended resting place.’

‘It is no difficulty at all,’ Ouiser said. ‘Come join us. May I remark, Madam, that you are a most beautiful specimen of womanhood? Surely no prince of our people has thought to rob you from the Pasha’s harem as a raven pilfers fruits from the orchard?’

Calamondin bowed low.

‘The Sublime Porte¹¹ has issued a fatwa against thieving crows, who laugh in God’s face and at his Prophet’s laws. And while the prospect is tempting, Messer Cayenne here has been charged with ensuring no man thinks himself equal to me in rashly pursuing courtly love.’

‘A patent most fitting and most amiable, my dear Calamondin,’ Ouiser said. She said this because long ago, she had been in a similar situation that was not as lamentable.

Thus the princess and her entourage joined that of Ouiser. They eventually reached a lovely place on a lake, and met five scholars in disputations at the Town Hall. Their names were Fr Michel Bunion, the curé¹² of the town; Giorgio Fiasco, an abbot of Costello, the Greek scholar Xerox of Sabra, an exile, Doctor Simonides Scholl, a metaphysical physician; and lastly, a Jewish teacher named Abraham of Babka.

When Ouiser found them four were discussing Plotinus and the Enneads¹³. Only Abraham stayed quiet.

‘But, dear Abbot, what does the Holy Crafting Table truly represent?’ said Dr Scholl.

‘It represents, Doctor, the vocation of Christ in Nazareth.’

‘Wasn’t he some kind of carpenter?’ Abraham then said. ‘So many Jesuses, so little time! I can barely count the heads of my own kids!’

‘The Suda¹⁴ relates that among the various vocations of Christ was physician as well. For he healed many,’ Xerox said.

‘But tell me, Abbot: what signifies the transfer of a table from one cathedral to another? What has the foreskin of the Savior to do with the Crafting Table he sawed boards asunder on?’

‘It is a mystery of godly origin,’ the Abbot said.

‘I have a feeling the only mystery is why it has to go there now! Why should God wish for people to pay extra for parking just to see a big round table? There’s more than one, you know. I thought I saw an Englishman here—someone ought to ask him.’

Then they looked at Ouiser, who had been looking on their disputation with humor.

‘See?’ Abraham said. ‘And here’s an Englishman now. I keep telling all of you—it’s not just my people who are ubiquitous these days.’

Ouiser was now somewhere in the vicinity of Dijon. Having refreshed their provisions, Ouiser and her entourage took on the five scholars and proceeded onward to Lyons. While admiring the fine relics of the Martyrs there, Ouiser and her nieces saw two beautiful dark-haired Italian ladies praying before the statue of Saint Sebastian.

After prayers, Ouiser and her nieces took a walk near a pretty little spring dedicated to the Virgin of the Pines. There they saw the Italian women and introduced themselves.

‘I am Madonna Aquafina, and this is my cousin, Madonna Lunesta. We’re free ladies of noble rank, my father being the Lord of Muffìn in Bergamo. Lunesta’s father is the podestà of Nuvola¹⁵, near Milan, and her family is the very same that pays for the Holy Nail to be brought down in the Duomo of Milan¹⁶. My father has proceeded onward to Lodi to attend to the Holy Crafting Table, but our suitors have been waylaid by brigands and we’re waiting for a ride back home.’

‘Come with us,’ Ouiser then said. ‘I already have a motley crew of colorful characters you’ll no doubt love talking to. And my sweets, why have you decided to attend the translation, aside from honoring your father?’

‘Because,’ replied Lunesta, ‘it’s hoped that we can obtain good-looking husbands for the effort. I have a running bet with Aquafina that either one of us will be a cardinal’s mistress by the end of the year, or else I owe her a new pair of gloves.’

Ouiser was charmed by the bet and the ladies took up with her at once.

On the way back to the inn where they were lodged, they saw Persiflage and Boulevardier playing shuttle-cock in the yard of the inn.

‘Are those your bodyguards?’ Aquafina said to Ouiser.

‘No—they’re Swiss mercenaries we found stranded on the way.’

‘Swiss,’ said Lunesta. ‘Perhaps that explains the rather large codpieces they wear.’

By now the entourage was quite large, and Ouiser was now thought to be either so extravagantly wealthy or foolish or just put-upon that people up and down the Rhône came to see them. By and by they left Lyons and arrived at Grenoble.

So after a few days Ouiser and her entourage took the blessing of the local curé, who was a friend of Father Bunion, and proceeded onward, turning east to Chorges and through Embrun¹⁷, until they were at the very toes of the Alps.

It was still cold and snowy up there save for one pretty pass near Barcelonette, and after acclimating to the unusual weather of the place, the company went to Mass and proceeded across the Alps.

They were now in Italy. Not too long after they had left those great white mountains did they see a beautiful house on a high, forested hill.

‘It is the house of our cousin, the Lord Cazzo¹⁸,’ Ouiser said, thanking God.

The house was elegant, beautiful, lofty, and well-appointed, with large stables, fresh running water, a town full of lovely, kind-hearted people, and an attached church, dedicated to St Faith of Conques¹⁹.

The place was called Pepperidge Farm.

Ouiser had remembered visiting this place fondly, and it remembered her.

It was now Midsummer’s Eve²⁰. Once the company had settled in the great house, rested and eaten, Lord Cazzo and Lady Sephora emerged and greeted them.

Lord Cazzo spoke first:

‘My consort and I lament that we must attend to other affairs—our own, respectively—in other places in Christendom, and cannot remain here. But we have made Ouiser host in our place, and you all must listen to her most sage counsel and advice in all that you do.’

Then Lady Sephora:

‘While you are here, you are welcome to eat and drink to your heart’s content, and ride, hunt, fish, and hike as your health will grant it.’

But Ouiser, being a wise and humble lady, said, ‘We are only here to rest on our way to Lodi. As we all purchased advance tickets to see the translation, and cannot now see it on account of an eighteen-day delay in our admission, owing to the Church’s overbooking, we will now entertain ourselves as we see fit. Yet you may trust that none of my companions will do aught that will vex the people or themselves, nor will they lie, cheat, steal, murder or seduce one another, knowing I will find out about it.’

‘Very well, said the Lord Cazzo, ‘Eighteen days gives me and Lady Sephora precisely enough time to escape—er, I mean enjoy—our time with our various affairs.’

This agreement being suitable to all, the company settled down for the evening. The next day—a fine, bright Midsummer—they ate well, took a walk by a nearby creek to see the dead body that had been found there by some shepherds that morning, and then retired inward, silent and reverent.

But these four shepherds, whose names were Oura, Canva, Figma and Sinema, were of a capricious sort, and liked to play games, tell practical jokes, and make all sorts of fun. They saw all these wealthy and educated people around them and said to one another:

‘Here’s our chance to really have some fun! Maybe we can convince these good people here to play along with us and let their hair down for a while.’

They called on the Lady Ouiser, and found her at her prayer-book.

Oura said, ‘Don’t you think it’d be better if all these people here told stories, played games, sang the latest hits and danced the latest steps? That is not sinning.’

Ouiser said, ‘But I should like for them to keep their peace and reverence.’

‘They can do that too,’ Figma then said.

Sinema was the last to speak. ‘I have heard, that in my country—’

In burst Persiflage with Boulevardier at his side. The shepherd girls all looked at the Swiss soldiers’ codpieces in scandalous wonderment.

‘We have a great idea,’ said Persiflage. ‘There’s a fountain at the back of the estate where we can all tell one another stories²¹!’