THE CHAMPIONS
Return of the Champions
“Where the hell have you two been?”
“And where’s Harry?”
“Oh, he’s just washing his hair.”
“Yes, he won’t be long.”
“We had a little score to settle.” The exchange got quieter as Scott and James neared the keep. James had his wrists bound again and the chain had been re-attached between his arm and Scott’s wrist but Scott didn’t think it had been necessary to blindfold his conspirator for his walk back to base. In less than two minutes the Owners had been brought up to speed about what had happened and James was seated with his ankles strapped once more.
George, at Scott’s insistence, bound his Champion’s wrists but Scott had to apologise to his owner for leaving the other ankle straps with Harry. Unfortunately (or not) for Scott, by now George was getting into his role. “Oh, that’s OK. On your belly.”
After the initial surprise, Scott did as he was told. George pulled his ankles upwards and crossed them. There wasn’t enough rope left from the one he had used to secure his friend and Champion’s wrists but another short rope was soon tied round Scott’s crossed ankles. Although there hadn’t been enough left of the rope around his wrists to secure Scott’s ankles, there was enough to cinch the one securing his ankles. But only just enough; there was no way Scott was going to be able to sit or kneel and his owner pointed out that it was his own fault that he’d have to lie there on his belly until Harry returned his ankle strap.
It was only then that Scott remembered that he hadn’t changed out of his wet black boxers.
Harry’s Regrets
It was some time before Harry bunny hopped, exhausted and still wet into the keep. The others had enjoyed watching his approach, especially when he fell and had some difficulty standing again. Even though the pond water had loosened the tape somewhat, he had been unable to dislodge the squishy ball from his mouth and his approach was accompanied by more than a little grunting.
Harry collapsed on the ground and Aiden grabbed him by one skinny ankle and dragged him over to the wall where he propped him up and undid the strap round his chest. ”Alright?”
“Ohh ahh.”
“Good boy. Gonna be quiet?” Harry nodded and Aiden removed his gag before re-positioning his ankles once more.
In spite of his mistreatment, Harry thought he should apologise to James and Scott. He didn’t really mean to cause offence and said that he knew he shouldn’t have said what he said.
“We know.”
“Yea, it was just too good an opportunity to pass up.” James and Scott laughed.
“You bastards.” So did Harry.
George freed Scott from his hogtie and completed binding his Champion in the customary fashion.
All was now in order and all was right with the world. Lunch was prepared and eaten and the Champions arms were tied and they were gagged once more ready for the next event.
Scavenger Hunt
Three more ropes were produced and the conditions were explained to the Champions. The rules were simple: each Champion had to find four objects and drop each one on the button in the middle of the keep before returning for the next one. That’s all there was to it really. The Owners then hobbled their Champions’ feet about 45 centimetres apart and examined one another’s bindings to make sure that no one had an unfair advantage.
The objects were to be a piece of wood more than 60 centimetres long, at least a kilogramme of stone, three strands of stinging nettle each at least 30 centimetres long and a piece of cow-pat big enough to cover the Champion’s footprint when it was dropped. Harry thought that part was unfair but he could hardly protest.
“Contestants Ready?”
“Hold on a minute, Jamie. We’ve forgotten something.” Aiden produced a large roll of gaffer tape and three tennis balls from one of the packs. George and Jamie grinned. The Champions didn’t.
The owners had been watching their Champions (and, more importantly, their opponents’ Champions) carefully to see whether they were right- or left-handed. Scott was right handed so George gave him a tennis ball to hold in his right hand and told him to grip it tightly while he bound the silver tape round the resultant fist. George was very thorough. James had his left hand bound and Harry his right. Each Champion could now not use his dominant hand to gather or carry his prizes.
Jamie started again. “Contestants ready? Go!”
The scavengers had only had a few minutes for mental planning and each of them headed off in different directions from the end of the dry causeway.
Scavenging
All the Champions had a different strategy. About the only thing those strategies had in common was that they’d all decided to leave the cowpat till last.
Scott made for the vast fallen beech tree which he noticed not far from the ford when he and George arrived. He was pretty sure that there would be a suitable length of snapped wood and he determined that his trophy would not be too short. Examining the debris that was once the crown of the ancient pollard, Scott found plenty of suitable snapped-off branch-ends scattered around without having to penetrate the main wreckage. He turned round, did a sort of dip with his knees and, looking over his shoulder, grabbed his selected bough. Never one to under-perform, Scott had chosen a trophy that would require a certain amount of dragging but not so much as to stop him making as rapid progress back with it as his hobble would allow. On the way, Scott worked out a sort of “step, step, spring” gait that made his progress relatively quick, if demanding.
Scott found that the Owners had changed their minds about where the Champions were to present their trophies. Three circles had been inscribed into the ground, each one being supervised by one of the Owners. Scott headed for the one being watched by George. Wrong! George re-directed him to the circle being supervised by Aiden; the Owners weren’t going to let someone else’s Champion get away with presenting inadequate trophies.
Scott dropped the branch. Aiden made him shift it until it was completely inside the circle. Before he went in search of his next trophy, Scott noticed a pile of small stones already in place in the circle that George was supervising, that was obviously James’s pile and, indeed, he could see the blond disappearing for his next trophy. Harry had obviously not started his collection yet but he could be seen approaching with some sad examples of stinging nettles and a few precautionary doc leaves.
Harry’s eclectic country knowledge had stood him in good stead; he knew how to take nettle tips without getting stung. He only hoped that his trophies would be long enough. He also hoped that his Owner would soon consider removing the stress ball from his mouth because he thought that he’d found out why it was called a stress ball.
Harry left for the next bit of his task as James arrived with the last of his stones. Harry thought he had a better idea than having to keep returning with handfuls of small stones when he saw how little James had managed to glean in one handful. Harry’s large hands were going to come in useful. James had collected what he considered sufficient stones and thought he’d go for the piece of wood next. While he was collecting the stones, he’d noticed a stick that someone had probably been throwing for their dog to catch and had since discarded. That was going to be easy meat; he’d got it into the circle before the other Champions had returned.
Scott decided to go for the nettles next and he certainly couldn’t be bothered to be too worried about being stung. Once, when he’d needed a day off school to complete a Spanish assignment, he’d got up early, found a patch of nettles and stripped to his underpants before rolling in the stingers with his hands over his more delicate parts. By the time he’d come down to breakfast, his mother noticed the nasty looking rash and, upon further inspection, insisted on keeping him at home. A bit extreme perhaps but Scott did turn in a really good Spanish assignment. He also won the bet he’d made with George. He still had to collect on that.
Harry hobbled towards the river. He knew where there was one large stone that would certainly weigh more than a kilogramme. All he had to do was to get it. He located his quarry, knelt down and felt behind him. He soon had the trophy in his left hand and clumsily regained his feet. Harry dropped his find twice on his way back to the keep but he still managed to drop the item on target just as Scott appeared with three long stinging nettles that he’d detached, with difficulty, at the root. That was safe but the long, floppy weeds had made a thorough job of the backs of Scott’s legs by the time he’d got them to where they needed to be.
By now, James had reached the nettle patch. He’d just have to be brave if he was to maintain his lead. He gave serious thought to doing a runner but realised that not only could the watching Jamie catch him easily all the while he was tied up but, even worse, he’d get a reputation as a welcher. He plucked up both courage and several lengths of nettle from behind him. That stick in his mouth did little to protect the ears of the more delicate youngsters as James tugged, yelled, swore luridly and started back to the keep. At least the way he had grabbed the stalks kept them away from his body as he stumbled on.
There was no sign of either Harry or Scott and that almost took James’s mind off the stinging sensation in his right hand. However, he had one task left; he could put it off no longer; Jamie told him where he was most likely to find that for which he would be seeking. James had a decision to make. The cattle were on the opposite side of the river and the opposite side of the canal. The easiest way to get to them would be to follow the tow-path and cross the canal at Blackspring Tunnel to get to the cattle field but that would be about 800 metres before he could even start looking for a suitable cow-pat. On the other hand, that loony, Scott would probably jump into the river and hope to find somewhere nearby to get out again. This was not the sort of decision James usually had to make. The sight of Scott approaching helped him to decide.
He took off down the tow-path, down the worn path and into the gutter. It hadn’t got any warmer. He turned and passed under the canal bridge. Fortunately for James, there was a bend in the river where the deposition was on the correct side to allow him to exit the water. Unfortunately, it was also the obvious place for the cattle to visit to get water. The mud (and other things) were deep and would be difficult enough to negotiate even if James wasn’t tied up. He took the inevitable tumble in the smelly brown stuff and was instantly covered from his toes to his nose and a bit further. By the time he’d stumbled to his feet again, not much of his pale skin was in evidence.
Having left the mud, James found his first appropriate pancake. He was now so mucky that there was no point in his being delicate and he even gave some thought into shoving some of the noxious substance down his boxers to make sure that he’d have enough. He soon dismissed that, after all, there ARE standards. He sat down and scooped up as much poop as possible and attempted to trap it between his hands and his back. He couldn’t see how much he had but thought that, if he had to come back for more, so would the other two. He waded back as carefully as possible, a fall now would rob him of his prize.
Scott had managed to find and, with some difficulty, transport two large ironstone pebbles to the keep but James was already out of sight. Scott took off quickly and made the same decision about using the river. James was on dry land and on his way back when Scott passed him. Scott did consider barging him on the way past but the thought of what Jamie might do to him if he did exceeded what even Scott might enjoy. The two boys grunted in passing.
James’s gentle walk to the keep ensured that most of his precious cargo arrived in tact but he didn’t enjoy posing for the photos. He even crouched down to make sure that he made his deposit in a controlled fashion. After that a really pissed-off Harry arrived. He’d had difficulty finding a long enough piece of timber and had wasted time trying to break some off a living coppice without luck. By the time he’d found a suitable trophy, he was so far behind the others that he thought he’d just give up. At least he wouldn’t have to go through what he could see that James had just suffered. Aiden had other ideas; if he was going to have to suffer because of Harry’s uselessness, he wasn’t going to let him off the final quest.
Scott arrived shortly after Harry had left and he’d lacked the sensibility of James and had plenty of the stuff literally stuffed inside his boxers. I think readers can imagine the noises made by the owners as he scraped as much as possible onto the floor. Both Scott and James were then forced to wait for Harry to finish. None of the Owners approached his Champion.