Now London is generally thought of as a tolerant town. Usually fairly polite to their tourists. Of course most those tourists are 'yanks' that they are making jokes about behind their backs. A man such as Guan Lao is bit differently. An american in ostentatious clothes is common place these days. An age asian man, dressed like he could have just stepped off a rice paddy. Of course he also looks like he could eat glass, so that's only compounding the stairs. In his hands he holds a thick paper back book titled, 'The Arthur Companion.'
     His goatee is scratched as he ponders to himself, "Tournament of London.... they had to hold it around here somewhere." he muses to himself in a very old dialect of Mandarin.

     There's one thing London's always been about, and that's The Bottom Line. Commerce has always been its core principle. Paris can have its art. Venice can have its romance. Vienna, its music. London shall buy and sell them all...
     The oldest among her inhabitants can softly chuckle and murmur about the modern age of this city and its attempts to be seen as an artistic center. With her art galleries, her boutiques, her salons, her fashion houses. And yet, little has truly changed...
     In Arthur's day, it was said to have one of the larger cattle markets. Yeovil, Somerset -- in Arthur's own county -- was its biggest rival. The cattle market in Yeovil still exists to this day, even though cows are currently out of favor in Merry Olde England...
     It is a good night to be on foot, sans automobile. A night like this makes me yearn for a horse. The air is crisp but not unpleasant. It's clear. If only London weren't so bright, one could see the stars. But I do not need them to find my way. I've walked this road ... before any of these buildings stood here.
     Perhaps you see him... if you look up from your book. He could not be missed, no matter if he wanted to or not. It is not for one reason or another, but for them all together. Face. Form. Energy. If there was a man on this earth who might have fit into the ideals of the Age described in that book, it would be the man who's about to pass you on the street...

     Ahh yes.... a good night for a ride... Guan Lao's not done that in sometime... City fumes are usually quite ungood for equines... but that's not important now. Looking up from his book, the dark eyed Lao does in fact see William.
     Now the tall man is a handsome man, with a charming smile. He also has an Aura that exudes malevolent bad-ass as much as it does awe inspiring virility. To most people the initial response is going to be to cow away. To Guan Lao it is means only one thing: He must be a warrior. I will ask him.
     Approaching the much taller man, Lao speaks in a deep basso voice. "Excuse me sir. Might you know the sight of the Tournament of London of Arthurian Fame?" His voice is accented, but his English is in fact, quite good, crisp even.

     He began to turn at Excuse me and paused at Sir. He is not stopped on the street often. Not often at all these nights. In fact, it has been years. How simple it is. How... normal. And there is in his own dark eyes -- were there light enough they would be both violet and blue -- something of warm curiosity as much as the rest as it has been seen. There is even a small smile.
     I am a sucker for tourists...
     "The Tournament of London," the voice is both deep and soft, a baritone where yours is basso, and it is inflected with something un-English. Foreign. It mulls upon vowels, it lifts over consonants. An agile accent matched with a languid tone. The eyes narrow as he thinks and he pivots, his eyes cast to the city. Ah now, William... remember what the city was then...
     Tournaments were forbidden in England during your youth, but recall the stories Henry told you, Henry your brother and Richard...
     "The pavilions," William speaks as he turns back to the gentleman, "... and tournament grounds were, I believe, close to Westminster itself...and Westminster is not far. In fact, the street you are on is Glastonbury," the smile spreads a little at that. "Westminster is just east of here."

     "East of here." the Asian man says with a confidant nod. He looks up into the sky only to find it absent of stars. "Damn... London Fog..." Yes you know.. that stuff werewolves and vampires come out in. Ha... as if. Looking back to the tall man, he says, "I would hate to be a further imposition but I do not suppose you could point me east. I have always wanted to see this..." he pauses as if trying to remember the world, "Tilting?" He seems a bit unsure if he got the word right, "I would like to see one of the venues where such an event was held.. especially where one with people of such significance might have been."

     I do miss it...
     The sweat, man and horse, the blood. The adrenaline. There was nothing like it, short of war itself. You could feel the entire universe focused upon the end of a lance, that lance finding its mark against your rival. The moment of impact -- second only to forming man out of clay in thrill. We felt like gods for a moment.
     It was just a momentary journey on a long road...
     William chuckles, "Hmmm... it would not be London without the foul weather. It is part of its charm. The field itself is long gone, but you should find a plaque in its honor. England is mindful of its history." It should make me melancholy. Homesick. That there are no more fields. That I am among the very very few in all the world who know how to ... tilt. "East," he continues, gesturing toward that cardinal direction, "... is this way. In fact, I believe there is a memorial near Westminster Abbey."
     A dark brow lifts and his head inclines. "Your first time to England?" He wonders.

     There is a soft hrm from the burly if not overly tall man. "Damn.. I was hoping perhaps they would hold exhibitions on the occasional fair day. There is a shake of his head, No matter. "I would still wish to see that plague though." He nods as he turns to the indicated direction.
     "I have had family visit London, but only briefly. They usually did not stay as they weather didn't agree with them. I can't imagine why... It is a bit cold, but then so is the Gobi." Dark brows knit together, "That is not a terribly direct answer. My apologies. No I have never personally been to England before."
     Personally been? What other way is there to have been someplace. "Perhaps I can find a good book on the subject and make a field... perhaps pay a few exuberant souls to do an re-enactment." If the BBC is to be believed the English like to do those. "Perhaps I could even watch them enough to attempt to... tilt myself. I have always been curious. It seems a very peculiar yet interesting form a duel."

     "Ah, no... those days have come and gone. And now..." a chuckle sounds again, held in throat and chest, "...there are too many lawyers for a thing to ever happen. The knights would grow old and horses would die waiting for the litigation proceedings to end." Though the thought is intriguing. There are groups who try to do these things. But it is all for sport now, not for combat training. Not for actual mock wars...
     "If it is things of Arthur you truly wish to see, you should journey westward. To Somerset, England. The city of Glastonbury, and then westward to Cornwall. There are buildings remaining. Even the mound they believe was Camelot. It is now a cow pasture, but... the owners are agreeable to visitors who wish to climb the ramparts and stand upon the very ground where the castle stood. London, for Arthurian enthusiasts, pales in comparison to Glastonbury." William smiles, "It is a nice city. The ruins of the abbey are there. The thorn tree. The wishing well. It is all in Glastonbury..."

     "Yes.. I remember hearing of Glastonbury often... was it not where Ambrosious died and they battle where it became apparently that Uther would become the Pendragon?" Well that's of course subjective to who you ask, but well, at least it seems he's done some reading on the subject. "I shall have to travel to Glastonbury then. And then to Cornwall. It would be fun to see the home of Mark and Tristram as well." he nods his head then and casually crosses his arms behind his back, "Pardon my ramblings. Aside from the Romance of the Three Kingdoms, the stories of Arthur are some of my favorite." he nods, "I thank you for your help. If you wish compensation I would be more than happy to give you a list of some of the most fame sites and battle fields of the Later Han dynasty if by chance you ever find yourself in China."

     I did not see any of those places as a mortal man. I was ruling two provinces in France and fighting. First vassals, then brothers, then Turks. It was not until after my first century that I could journey so far south from my new home of Scotland to see such things. I touched the Tristan Stone and wandered Stonehenge. At night, it was easy to do these things. To go places mortal men would not go, out of fear of the unknown. I was the Unknown...
     Am the Unknown...
     "You are quite welcome," says the Old Knight with the slight slant of a smile. "I do not wish compensation, but... I would appreciate a list of such places. I have ..." and I smile more so to think of it, "...never been to China." After almost 900 years, it is a thrill to be able to say this. A joy, to still have places to go. Things to see. "So, one tourist to another?"

     "Very good then...." Lao turns and looks up at the taller man. He knows he can't be a knight.. but the man looks like he pictured them from the stories he's read. "You most certainly should start in Beijing... The Peachtree Grove Oath is where the the Romance of the Three Kingdom's begins there. Of course, it much like the grounds here, apparently, is commemorated only with a plaque. Still sometimes when you go there you can hear the voices of the past whispering. The oath made by Lui Bei, Zhang Fei and Guan Yu. In that small moment three men that hardly knew each other became brothers in spirit and fought together to unite a war torn empire."
     He looks up into the sky and sighs, he speaks of these events with a decided passion. Sometimes a story can be very near and dear to your heart. "I am sorry, my manners are leaving me. I have forgotten to ask your name." Apparently where he's from you ask someone if they wish to share there name before offering yours.

     He was the embodiment of Lancelot. Beautiful. Deadly. Prone to sleep with other men's wives. It was in the 12th Century, his own in fact, where the legend of Lancelot took sway in the older, British tales. Whether William came before Lancelot, or Lancelot before William is one of the questions of antiquity that can never be answered...
     Now, the question is never asked. In the history books, he faded out centuries ago...
     "William," he replies. There is no last name given, but a hand offered. That is his custom. "And you, fellow tourist?" Of the Romance, he does not speak, a pause taken for introductions.

     Reaching out Lao takes your hand and gives it a politely firm shake. This seems a custom he knows. "I am Guan Lao, or Lao for short. And again I must thank you for your help. Glastonbury and Cornwall have definitely made my list of things to see while in England."

     The grasp is firm, there is strength there -- you did not doubt it, but it is confirmed. And if you are observant, Guan Lao, you might also feel the memories of calluses. A warrior's trademark -- but softened by time. Faint memories. Distant now. "Guan Lao," William repeats, "... you are most welcome. It was my pleasure. It is... hospitality, an older custom than either your or I," and this is true, no matter how old he is, "...and, yes, do visit Glastonbury and Cornwall. I think you will find it to your liking. Of things in London, your visit to Westminster shall be a good beginning. I should think they would be able to direct you further..."

     "If it is like the rest of Europe I am certain they're will be a shoppe somewhere near there with plenty of pamphlets on the subject." He nods his head as the hand is released. "Let me see then.. where else would I send someone if there were to visit the sites of later Han Dynasty."

     The smile smoothens at that. Yes, we do know how to capitalize, do we not? "Beijing should be the starting place, you mentioned..." ah yes, back to China. The closest I have been to China is the opium I smoke on occasion. "Peachtree Grove Oath," he reminds, as if to bring you both back to the former conversation.
     Around you both, the City comes and goes. Voices, cars, tourists, inhabitants. All heading somewhere. They seem to give you both a ... wide berth...
     But heads turn even as they pass, some of them quickly passing...

     "Yes... the new empire is quite eager to bolster it's tourism trade so more emphasis is being put on sites from the colorful history." He seems unbothered by the heads that turn. What can't a modern day night and Kung-Fu throwback enjoy a leisurely evening talk? Sheesh, some people. "From there the battle sights would be my next visit... I will draw you up a list of some of the more significant ones... I have vivid memories of the one where Dong Zhou was betrayed by his most trusted Lieutenant, Lu Bu. Just as Lancelot is considered the greatest knight of his story, Lu Bu was a warrior without peer. Upon his steed the Red Hare, noone could stand against him it was said. Of course that did not stop the hot headed Zhang Fei from trying on several occasions. If the Romance of the Tree Kingdoms had it's Lancelot in Lu Bu, it's Gawaine was most assuredly Zhang Fei."
     He then reaches beneath the tail of his shirt and starts to fish something out of that pouch that hangs towards the front. A small notepad and a ballpoint pen it looks like. "If I might change the subject a moment... if the Barrister's are likely to keep any good Tilting demonstrations from being possible, might you know any good places where a man might ride on this Isle?"

     "I have heard this. History now being preserved instead of toppled," how damaging some revolutions can be. That of France was no different. "Riding... yes, there are a few clubs for such outside of the main city. But in the country, again in Somerset, there should be several places to choose from. They rent horses for country tours. It is a beautiful part of the island, Somerset and Devon. It is there you would have the most luck..."
     But the finest horses on this island are huddled in their stables far to the north. He smiles at it. Being worked by Bellori and Amadeo. War horses of fine skill. Equines of unparalleled beauty. I have the right to boast...
     "Your Romance of the Three Kingdoms sounds very fascinating. Is there a ... translation of this story, can it be found in English or French..."

     "I have heard Alexander Dumas once tried to translate the story into French but I have never seen such a work. I know there are a few french translations, A recent translation done at Stanford University in the United States of America is a particular good translation into modern english. The particulars of the story are very diluted with time and noone completely agrees on everything. Not unlike your stories of Arthur." Guan Lao finishes what he is writing and tears off the sheet and holds it out for you. It's is a list of famous battle fields.
     "It is also like the story of Arthur in that it is a story about men that dream of something bigger than themselves. But it is ultimately a tragedy. Honor leads three great leaders to seek to build their Camelot. Obsession and betrayal prevent either from truly achieving it."

     "Yes," his voice mulls its reply, "... in that, it is a very... human story..." And even those of us who are no longer truly human can appreciate such a thing. Perhaps we appreciate it more, in our way. William reaches forward. So long out of the company of mortal men -- apart from merely in passing -- he must remind himself to move as they move, not as he may normally. There is, nevertheless, a grace to it.
     "I will look for an edition," William nods, a smile as he looks to you, the paper folded, now tucked away. "I thank you," the nod is singular, as much a half-bowing of his head, "for mentioning it and ... for the list..."

     The list exchanged and his information gleaned, Lao bows to the taller man, "Well then, I think perhaps I should be on my way and not bother you further. Again I thank you for your time, Sir."

Posted by rowan at May 19, 2001 11:02 AM