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He was lying there, listening to them. After five minutes or so he got tired of their moaning and squealing. ‘This is miserable, ’ he said to himself. ‘What am I doin’ here, all on me tod, when he has got his cock up? He took a risk, and now he gets the reward. I am just lyin’ here like a spare sack of shit. When he tells the story at college, I’ll look a real knob. So here I go. I am goin’ to follow his example. Fortune favours the brave.’
So he rose quietly, and went up to the baby’s cradle. He lifted it very carefully, and put it at the end of his own bed. Then he waited. After a couple of minutes the miller’s wife stopped snoring and got up to take a piss. When she returned to the bedroom she groped her way around and, just before she got back into bed, she realized that there was no cradle at its foot. ‘God,’ she said to herself, ‘that would have been a joke. I almost went into the students’ bed. Anything could have happened.’ So she felt around until she found the cradle; then she got hold of the bed, and thought that it must be the right one. The cradle was there, wasn’t it? It was dark, of course, and she was still a little fuddled. So she gets into bed next to the clerk, and lays herself down to sleep. But John was not about to let that happen. He got himself ready, wriggled on top of her, and then shafted her. He went for it, hard and deep. He was like a madman. She had not enjoyed herself so much for years. The two northern boys had the time of their lives, too, until they heard the crow of the cock. Dawn would not be far behind.
Alan was, to say the least of it, fatigued. He had fucked all night. So he whispered to the miller’s daughter, ‘Goodbye, sweet chuck. The sun is risin’. I can’t stay any longer. But I’ll tell you this much. Wherever I go, whatever I do, I swear to God that you will be me lass.’
‘Well, lover,’ she replied, ‘I wish you well. But before you go I must tell you one thing. When you go past the mill, look in the right-hand corner behind the door. There you’ll find a half-bushel loaf. Mum and I baked it together, with the meal Dad stole from you. I swear to God, too, that I am sorry.’ She almost broke down in tears.
Alan got up, and then thought to himself, ‘I’ll get back into bed with John, for a quick kip.’ So he crept about in the dark, until he found the cradle. ‘I must still be arseholed. Or my head is spi
The miller was by now fully awake. ‘You cunt!’ he shouted at him. ‘What have you been up to? Bastard! I’ll kill you! How dare you touch my daughter? She’s of noble blood!’ Then he took hold of Alan by the neck and tried to throttle the life out of him; he kicked him hard and punched him on the nose. Alan hit him back, and the blood ran down the miller’s chest; then they fell out of the bed, and struggled with one another on the floor like two ferrets in a sack. They rose and fell together, fists flying, until the miller stumbled; he tripped on something, and fell backwards right on top of his wife. She was fast asleep next to John, so exhausted by all the lovemaking that even the noise of the brawl had not woken her. Now the weight of the miller did.
‘Oh my God!’ she screamed. ‘Lord help me! What is going on? Wake up, Simkin! I’m going to have a heart attack. The two boys are fighting! One’s on my belly, and the other’s on my head! For God’s sake do something!’
John got up so fast. Greased lightning is slow by comparison. It was still dark, and so he groped around the chamber looking for a stick. The wife was looking for one, too, and she knew where to find it. There was a staff lying in the corner. The moonlight was coming through a hole in the wall, and in the light she could see the two men once again struggling on the floor. But she could not tell who was who. She saw something white, gleaming in the moonlight, and guessed that it was a nightcap worn by one of the clerks. So she picked up the staff and, thinking that she was about to strike Alan or John, she landed a hefty blow on the bald head of her husband. He collapsed on the floor, of course, screaming and crying. The two scholars gave him a few more kicks. Then they dressed themselves quickly, picked up their sack of flour, and rode off on the horse. But not before Alan had opened the door of the mill, found the loaf of bread in the corner and taken it away.
So that is the story. The miller was beaten up. He lost all the corn he had ground. He had even provided the scholars’ supper. Oh. And his wife had been fucked. So had his daughter. That is what happens to deceitful millers. They never learn their lesson. Do you know the old saying? ‘Evil to him that evil doeth.’ A fraudster is often defrauded. May God, who sits above us in majesty, bless all of us pilgrims great and small. And as for you, sir Miller, I have paid you in kind.
Heere is ended the Reves Tale
The Cook’s Prologue
The prologe of the Cokes Tale
The Cook of London was so pleased with the Reeve’s tale that he sat on his horse with a silly smile on his face, just as if his back was being scratched. His name was Roger of Ware. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘as God is my judge, that was a very intriguing little story. The miller certainly got paid back for giving the scholars lodging. He should have known the saying of Solomon: “Don’t bring every man into your house.” That especially applies at night. You have to be careful about your invitations. The bosoms of the family, if I can put it that way, have to be protected. I swear to God, I never heard of a miller so well requited. He had a taste of malice in the dark. But God forbid that we should stop there. I am a poor man but, if you will condescend to listen to me, I will tell you a story. It is an adventure set in London.’
‘Of course,’ our Host said. ‘Tell us the story, Roger. You had better make sure that it is a good one. I know you. I know your tricks. You take the gravy out of the meat pasties so that they will last longer. You sell your fish pies warmed over from the day before – and from the day before that. I have heard many customers complaining about your parsley sauce. You stuff it in the goose to disguise the taste. And your cookshop is full of flies. God may send a man good meat, but the devil may send an evil cook to destroy it. Is that not so, Roger? No. Seriously. Tell your story. I’m only joking, of course. But sometimes the truth just slips out.’
‘Oh does it?’ said Roger. ‘I suppose you are right, Harry Bailey, as always. But, as the Dutch say, a true joke is a bad joke. Now that I think about it, I do know a very fu