To him,
As you know
I have decided to join a pilgrimage to Canterbury. It was rather damp when I
set off from the convent, as the morning mist had not lifted on the common, but
when I arrive at the meeting place the sun was shining and I hope it made my
hair glisten. And on this fine day we all met in the Tabard Inn, and if I must
say I’m not complaining.
There are
some fine characters on this pilgrimage, the most appealing of whom has to be
the knights son, the squire. He has fine pressed hair and dresses like a
prince, and dare I say it I would not mind taking him as a suitor. His father on
the other hand looks like he has just left battle and needs a little advice
when it comes to dressing appropriately, I would offer to lend him a ‘prayer
bead’ or two but I know he will only damage or lose them, and who is he to
respect fine jewelry. The monk is rather pretentious and far to over zealous
for ones liking, he shall take some getting used to, but I suppose I can relate
one or two of his past times. The yeoman, like the knight looks like he has
just left battle and mopes around after the knight far too much for one to
gauge what he is like as a person. There is also this rather odd man called
Chaucer, he is rather quite and seems to be removed from the rest of us, one
can only assume that he cannot manage his drink.
I have
managed to fool some of the poor men into thinking I can speak French, bless
them when they trust a women, and especially one who is meant to believe in
god.
Alas I have
a headache, perhaps one to many glasses of ale more than I am used to. But I have
high hopes for this pilgrimage, and believe that some of us will take part in
some rather dubious activities, but who am I to worry. To bed I must fly.
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