The Invention of PR

“Greetings Bartonious!  Does the day find you well?” says Lord Greimeare, happy to see his trusted advisor.
“Indeed it does my lord, though I have some issues I need to bring to your attention.” says Bartonious, bowing in respect to his master.
Lord Greimeare burst into laughter.
“Oh, Bartonious, you are so efficient.  Where would I be without you?”
“I could not imagine my lord.  Shall I proceed?”
“Yes, yes, on with the show my man.”  Lord Greimeare reaches to a platter of meat beside his chair and chews on some salted chicken while Bartonious clears his throught and begins…
“On this day, the 25 of November, the year of our Lord 1567, our kingdom of Castlemaine finds itself in sufficient wealth and prosperity, so that all peoples are humble and happy, and our neighbours are comfortable to trade for our goods.  We recieve threat from no foreign land, nor discomfort from no strange men.”
Lord Greimeare raises his hand.
“My lord?” says Bartonious.
“Bartonious, if all is well, then why are you here?”
“I was just about to broach the subject, m’lord.”
“Well get on with it lad, I’m not getting any younger you know!”
Bartonious clears his throat again.
“As I have said, all is well in our land… except for one tiny problem.  Your son.”
Lord Greimeare drops his head.
“I thought I told you to keep his actions out of the publics eye?” says Lord Greimeare.
“Yes, but it is quite difficult to keep some things out of their eye, as it were…” says Bartonious.
“What has the boy done this time?” says Lord Greimeare, a chicken leg hanging forgotten in his hand.
“The full list, m’lord?”
“There is a  list?  Very well, let me have it.”
“Master Greimeare has promised sheep to two men in return for their loyalty to him should he become lord of the realm, sheep he does not own, he has passionately kissed the landladies of both pubs in the village, who as I am sure you are aware are both married and, well, not befitting of his age, he has been seen in the nude walking through fields at various hours of the day and night, he has been heard singing, though we both know he carries not a note in his head, he has been…”
“For goodness sakes how long has all this being going on for?” interrupted Lord Greimeare.
“This is just today and yesterday, m’lord.”
The chicken bone at last dropped from Lord Greimeare’s hand.
After a silence of some minutes, Lord Greimeare said ” what will we do withthe boy, we can’t have him running wild, disrupting the village.  He will never be accepted as Lord of this land!”
Bartonious nodded silently, understanding his lords predicament.
“I do, my Lord, if I may, have a rather good plan.”
“A plan?”
“A good plan.”
Greimeare motioned urgently for Bartonious to speak.
“We send him to the continent, tell the people he has gone to teach the backwards folk of the mainland some culture, and when he returns as bonkers as ever we tell them that he has been poisoned by their fruity wines and harsh tongues, thus gaining their sympathy.  A mad lord is very fashionable these days, you know.”
“Bartonious, you’ve done it again!”



This post was prompted by the Flash Fiction 52 Week Challenge 

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