CHARACTERS IN SCENE:
MEDI: King of Medi, being investigated for crimes against the kingdom of Albion.
ATTENDANT 5: Attendant to the King of Medi.
ARMENIA/ARTHUR: The Princess of Medi, disguised as a servant from Albion working with the Independent Investigator from France, Wilson.
King Medi’s throne room- Storm cracks overhead
Enter Medi, reading a letter
Medi: Of what can such words be speaking? This young fool, Sommers, is as much the limit as one cannot even expect from even the most simple of Albion minds—and that is saying something that even I do not comprehend to know in my mightiness. What can the fool mean? I? Having something to do with his no-good Princess? I have ne’er even caught more than glimpse of the woman and now he claims that I have held her in my castle. He demands I send her back to Albion—the simpleton. How dare he try to command King with such unruly manners! That may be how the idiot Bors doth run his kingdom, but that is not Medi’s way. Fools stay as they are. Attendant!
Enter Attendant 5
Who are you?
Attendant 5: Your personal attendant, sire. I have been working with you for many a year.
Medi: You are not the third attendant?
Attendant 5: Not I, sire. I am but fifth… but with much joy I serve thee.
Medi: Then where have you been, you fool? You should have been here to serve King.
Attendant 5: You sent me to win affections of fair Princess of Albion, sire. Then I returned and I was stuck in cells and stocks—the kitchen was not much better either, sire.
Medi: Then you are a failure. (He considers). You have met fair Princess of Albion, then?
Attendant 5: It is unfortunate, but, yes, sire.
Medi: And you have not noticed her here?
Attendant 5: Not to my notice, sire. May I enquire why?
Medi: You may not! Of course, you would not notice. I would say either this letter’s hand is a fool or you are to be the fool—but you are both equally as foolish.
Attendant 5: Yes, sire. I very much agree.
Medi: Still, I suppose I should enquire into the matter. Well, boy, what are you waiting for!
Attendant 5: I am sure I do not know, sire. I am too much of a fool to know.
Medi: Well, fetch the Albion fool then.
Attendant 5: You wish me to fetch the Princess? But I do not believe her to be here.
Medi: Not her, you fool. The boy servant of that cad, Wilson.
Attendant 5: It shall be done, sire. [He exits]
Medi: Anybody would think I am the only one with any brains. Even my boy has lost his sense through that evil witch’s plight. A dose of time locked away will do him no harm. His dreamers’ ways hath lost his sense often; it is time they are knocked fully out of his mind, before I lose hold of his thoughts. He must be model King—and by model, I mean that he must model myself. It is the right way to rule, and I will make sure it is done with firm hand.
(A knock comes and Attendant 3 walks in)
Medi: There you are, fool. What! You barge into throne room without even a second thought. Maybe your hand should have gone along with that waggling tongue of yours. You have no sense inside your foolish head.
(Attendant 3 places hands behind his back, worriedly, and then comes forward with a letter)
Medi: What’s this? Not another letter from that fool of Albion, surely. Drastic action must be taken to sort his penmanship. [Reads letter]
W-What is this! But how. How could you let the Prince escape!
(Medi charges at A3 but A3 moves backwards, shaking head)
Medi: Prince has saved the Albion witch! This is idiotic. It is your kind that hath put such foolish whims in his young head. He is fool! I will not stand for this, and I shall not stand for you all either! Your kind will soon come to realise the punishments you will face for your treachery—
(Knock on door. A5 and Armenia come in)
What do you want, foolish idiot!
Attendant 5: Servant Arthur, sire.
Medi: [angrily flinging himself on Armenia] What doth this letter mean, Albion!
Armenia: [reads letter, remains calm] It speaks truth.
Medi: And what is that meant to mean to the wiseness of my egg!
Armenia: Exactly what your wiseness has already told you. The Princess is within your palace walls.
Medi: A spy, in my palace. How dare Bors do such thing!
Armenia: Yes, sire. It is most unfortunate spying. It is especially unfortunate considering the Princess’s spell over your own poor Prince.
Medi: What is this you mean?
Armenia: Why, surely you have already guessed, sire, that servant Lia is far too regal to even consider being treated as a fool. The Princess Lia is far too observant to be a fool such as I and the attendants.
Attendant 5: It is true, sire. The Princess was not a fool, which is why I could not win her hand.
Medi: No words from you, attendant. Attendant [to A3] send this man to be flogged.
Attendant 5: That seems unfair to the young servant of Albion, sire.
Medi: You fool, I need not hurt the Albion. I hurt you instead. Take him away.
[A3 drags away A5]
Armenia: Pity; he played such a short role in the scene. So much more exposition could have been dragged from him before his time.
Medi: You, Albion—you know I am wise and I keep control of fools—
Armenia: I would not expect any less of you, your highness.
Medi: You wanted friendship to be kept between Albion and Medi—but now I lose that interest. Albion—using that hateful girl—hath broken the ties through their deceit and carelessness. No Medi woman would dare do what she has done.
Armenia: Any Princess of Medi would not be as foolish and harsh in actions as her—I know that, sire. You hath taught your Kingdom to know what is best for them. I wish for Albion to understand the same, sire.
Medi: Then you must understand that war will have to follow. We must retrieve the Prince.
Armenia: I will gather an army for you, sire.
Medi: Do so, and I will give protection.
Armenia: And Wilson, sire?
Medi: Collateral and that is all. The Inspection means nothing now. The next heir is what is important.
Armenia: I could not agree more, sire. You leave with your army, and I shall soon follow with another.
Medi: Then go, fool.
Armenia: You need to sign declaration first, sire. War cannot start until it is written down.
[King Medi signs sheet Armenia holds, without looking. They both exeunt.]
The Literary Onion 