A simple, not to say silly, dream; but quick to tell, and almost pathetically easy to interpret.* I am in some kind of arena, along with a hundred or so other people, most dressed in mediaeval clothes. In amongst them strides a tall monk, who starts throwing tomatoes about randomly. When someone is hit, they are "out" - though what that means exactly I'm not sure. At one point the monk chases a burly man into a kind of alcove, and when they emerge it is the monk himself whose face is pure gules, while the burly man is merely looking annoyed.
* I recently marked quite a few essays on Poe's "Masque of the Red Death".