Roland's Castle (3 page)

Tonight, as always in times of
peace, the castle drawbridge was down. It was left that way even at
night so that wayfarers might ask for shelter within the castle.
Because Uncle Dagarth had now demolished large sections of the
walls it hardly mattered anyway. Roland could simply have walked
through the walls and swum the moat but it was much more fun to
wind the guards up a bit and trick his way out.

Just two guards stood duty on the
gate. Other sentries were posted on the walls but they looked out
onto the surrounding country and not down on to the drawbridge.

The guards on gate duty were the
special-issue idiots Bobblejob and Jubblebub, who, it was commonly
joked, shared half a brain between them. They were usually given
night duty as daylight tended to confuse them. The only person
Roland
really
had to look out for was Serjeant Jankers.
Roland knew that the Serjeant actually had a brain and wasn’t going
to be tricked like the rest could be. He checked that the Serjeant
wasn’t about, then took a deep breath and broke into a run, calling
out “Quick! Quick! A giant man-eating
quirrirrinx
has landed
on the castle! Flee for you lives!”

Bobblejob and Jubblebub panicked
and ran into each other, bouncing back and falling onto their bums.
Roland struggled not to laugh as he had to keep up the appearance
of being terrified.

“Run!” he yelled, “Flee!”

The two chuckleheads picked
themselves up then ran through the gate, out across the drawbridge
and dived into the moat with two very loud splashes. After that
there was nothing except for two streams of bubbles breaking the
surface. They had jumped into the moat in chain mail armour and
weren’t going to be floating or swimming to the surface anytime
soon. At first Roland was horrified at what he had caused, then he
thought quickly, grabbed a ladder and a torch from the gatehouse
and rushed out on the drawbridge with them. He thrust the ladder
down into the moat where the bubbles were coming up from and held
the torch over them so the pair could see their way up. They both
clambered up the ladder and flopped down on the planks, struggling
and panting for breath.

“The quiri-thingey wotsit! Where is
it?” Bobblejob gasped, looking around anxiously.

“Err.. that’s gone now,” Roland
said, suddenly feeling very guilty.

“Thank goodness! We did
exactly
the right thing
,” Bobblejob said, turning to Jubblebub.

“Exactly the right thing!”
Jubblebub repeated.

“What did I always tell you?” said
Bobblejob. “First sign of trouble – jump in the moat and then they
can’t get you!”

“Right! Lesson learnt!” said
Jubblebub.

They were still gasping for breath
and too helpless to do anything else.

“I’ll just go and have a look
around to make sure the quirrininx has actually gone,” Roland said,
wishing to make a swift exit.

“Good idea,” said Bobblejob. “Just
make sure it has
actually
gone.”

“Yes,
please
make sure its
gone.” agreed Jubblebub.

“Okay,” said Roland. “Be back later
then…”

“Okay.” said the idiot pair, waving
at him as he went.

As soon as he was out of sight of
the guards Roland broke into a run. He was excited at the prospect
of a night’s adventure with his best friend and didn’t want to
waste any time at all. He ran along the road into the village, down
the main street and into a side street. Here the timbered houses
leaned out towards each other so that the upper storeys almost
touched over the centre of the road. He picked up a small loose
cobble and threw it up at one of the shuttered windows above his
head. It made a loud bang and fell down into the street. He picked
it up and threw it again, this time making an even louder bang. He
was about to do it a third time when Oliver stuck his head out of
the window. On seeing Roland he waved and went to dress.

Oliver’s family were of the class
that Roland’s father called “the best of men” and that his uncle
called “loathsome peasants,” but to Roland Oliver was simply his
friend. Oliver’s mother had originally come from Africa – a story
in itself – and he had inherited her dark skin and black curly
hair.

They had met one day when Roland
had been out for a walk. He had to walk as his father and Firebrace
wouldn’t allow him to learn to ride. Later his auntie and uncle
also forbade it. Roland was annoyed by the fact that he was nine
and a half – as he had been then – and was not allowed on a horse
because of the “danger.” What danger? he thought. The danger I
might ride out and see something of the world, find something out
about it, perhaps? It was health and safety, as always…

As he had walked he had spotted a
horse - without a rider but with full tack - on the path in front
of him. He looked around but could see no one whose presence would
explain it. It looked like his chance had come. Dare he actually
ride a horse? Dare he ride someone else’s horse without their
say-so?

He thought he would risk it. He
approached it gently, put his foot in the left stirrup and swung
himself up. He had seen adults do it and the motion came easily to
him. He grasped the reins and was about to nudge the horse forwards
with his knees – as he had seen adults do – when he heard a noise
from down in the deep ditch beside the path.

He looked down to see a face
staring up at him.

“What are you doing on my horse?”
the face said.

Roland couldn’t think of anything
that would explain the situation apart from ‘stealing it’, which he
didn’t want to admit to. Instead he posed a counter question. “What
are you doing down there?”

“Trying to get out,” said the face,
now sounding annoyed.

“Why did you get down there in the
first place?” Roland asked.

“Well I didn’t do it on purpose did
I! I fell in! I tried to ride the horse and it threw me off and I
landed down here. Now I suppose you are going to leave me down here
and

steal my horse…”

Roland did not need to think about
it. The choice between stealing someone’s horse or helping them was
a natural one to him. He leapt down and offered his hand to help. A
hand that belonged to the face appeared from the muddy slime and
Roland pulled the face, and the rest of its owner, out.

“Thank you,” said the face, which
Roland could now see belonged to a boy about his own age.

“I am Roland,” Roland said.

“Oliver. Again, thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Roland said. “Are
you from around this area?”

“I live in the village.”

“I live up there.” Roland said, and
he pointed at the castle.

“Ah,” said Oliver, “Are you a
kitchen boy? You don’t seem to be dressed like one – they must pay
well up there!”

“Sometimes I wish I was – they have
more freedom than I do.”

“What do you do then?”

“Not a lot. Learn stuff, get beaten
up by my rotten cousins. My dad went away on a quest – he’s a
knight.”

“Crikey!” Oliver said. “You’re the
lord of manors son!” and he bowed. “I am sorry sire, I didn’t
realise. I didn’t think that someone like you would rescue a humble
villager like me… Thank you my lord…”

“Oh cut it out!” Roland said. “I
hate all that stuff.”

“Seriously?” Oliver asked.

“Call me Roland. Call me sire again
and I’ll scrag you!”

“Alright, sire,” Oliver said
jokingly.

Roland playfully put his arm around
Oliver’s neck and wrestled him to ground.

“Okay! Okay! I give in!” said
Oliver, laughing. “You’re Roland! Never sire again! I promise!”

“I should think so too. Now, what
about your horse?” Roland asked.

Well, its not mine actually – it’s
my dad’s. I’m not very good at riding it – that’s why I fell
off.”

“May I have a go?”

“Feel free. You pulled me out of
the ditch. It’s the least I can do.”

Roland felt a burst of excitement
as he remounted. He gripped the reins and gave the horse a nudge
with his knees. It started quickly, so much so that he was almost
thrown backwards, but he got his balance and took it for a short
canter down the path and back again.

“You’re a natural!” Oliver said.
“Wish I was. I’ve just been trying to balance on it for a month of
Sundays and can’t even do that without getting queasy.”

“There’s nothing to it,” said
Roland.

“Says you! It’s easy when you
can!”

Roland dismounted and Oliver tried
again with his help, holding on to the reins and leading. Roland
could see that Oliver was definitely not a natural, and was not
even comfortable on a horse. Yet there was hope, and Oliver clearly
had the determination to improve.

“Practise,” said Roland. “Practise!
You will get it.”

“Thanks for the encouragement, but
I’m not so sure…”

“Nonsense!”

“Next time I’ll bring two horses,
then we can both ride together – or you can ride and I can
try!”

“Next time? Sounds good! When?”

“Tomorrow. Same time?”

The arrangement was made, and then
for the day after, and for those following. Slowly Oliver got
better at riding – not a great deal, but somewhat - and during the
course of it the boys became friends. Tonight would just be the
latest of many days and nights that they had spent together, riding
the district, looking for adventure along the narrow winding lanes,
in the woods and fields.

Oliver quickly dressed and squeezed
out of the window, dropping onto the cobbles.

“So what’s up?” he asked.

“Same old, same old,” Roland said.
“Uncle Dagarth is off his trolley, as usual, the twins are their
normal dreadfulness,
Auntie dearest
is on my case as ever…
Oh, and an entirely new development; Firebrace tried to kill
me…”

Oliver gaped at that last one. “He
what
?”

“Tried to kill me. Threw a sword at
me, waved it at me and other generally unsafe sorts of
behaviour.”

“I always thought he was one of the
more balanced people up there – quite stable in fact. Wouldn’t
expect him to go off his rocker…”

“Uncle is enough to push anyone to
their breaking point… I also have a new friend. He tried to kill me
too. You can play with him if you like!”

“Oh thanks!”

“He is my training partner –
Firebrace says if I am to become a knight I have to practise with
him. Apparently I already have magna –something or another…”

“Magna Carta?”

“No, whoever she is. Anyway,” said
Roland, “time is pressing on. To the Scary Oak?”

“To the Scary Oak!” Oliver agreed,
and they slapped their right-hand palms together in a high five
above their heads.

It was riding that had brought them
together and they never lost an opportunity for it. Oliver was
still nervous about mounting, but once seated could now keep up a
fairly good trot. They fetched two horses from the stable owned by
Oliver’s father and rode through the streets of the town. On the
ridge, in the distance, the “Scary Oak “awaited them, its
silhouetted, tangled twigs reaching up like so many fingers
clutching at the starlit sky, as if clutching at life itself. It
was a beautiful cloudless night lit only by the crystal brilliance
of starlight. The boys felt the thrill of darkness and its trove of
secret, wild adventures.

They rode across the meadows and
through the woods and orchards, splashing through streams and
negotiating hedgerows. They rode up to a scarecrow and grasped his
hands, spinning him around and then rode on as he woke for a few
moments – “What! What! Must have been a hurricane!” said his turnip
head, and fell asleep again.

All the time the Scary Oak grew
larger as they grew closer, a dark spidery shape standing out
against the starlit night sky. Scary indeed!

Suddenly both boys came to a halt.
They could now see that on top of the hill, near to the oak, a fire
was burning. Occasionally the fire was eclipsed by what looked like
figures walking around it. This needed to be investigated.
Strangers at their favourite place! They rode closer, dismounted
and tied their horses. They made their way on foot up the hill,
quietly, taking care to remain concealed, keeping an eye on the
strangers at the fire.

As they got closer they could see
that there were two of them, one tall and very thin, the other
short and fat. In an odd kind of way they complimented each other.
They were pacing, arguing, laughing, throwing up their hands and
generally behaving in several extraordinary ways all at once. As
the boys reached the tree they saw another figure, sitting
silently, ignoring the two men. It was a young girl, about their
own age.

The tree had a secret that few knew
– and the boys thought that only they knew it. It was hollow inside
with a narrow entrance hidden by bushes. It was possible to climb
up inside it and look down from high up. This is what the boys did,
taking care not to be seen. From up there they could hear what the
two men were saying.

“Get me my telescope!” The tall one
demanded.

“Get it yourself!” The short fat
one responded.

You are my servant and I am your
master!” the tall one said.

“Oh really! Mr hoittey toittey
pudding and rhyme!” the short one replied, in a sing-song voice. He
stuck out his tongue at the tall one and let out a mad sounding
cackle.

“I’ll get it myself!” The tall one
said, striding towards some packs lying on the ground.

“Oh no you won’t!” the short one
said. He ran toward the packs himself, overtaking the tall one and
plucked a telescope out of one of the packs before the tall one
could get there. The tall one threw himself on the short one and
they both tumbled over, sending the telescope flying. The short one
got up first and grabbed up the telescope again. The tall one tried
to grab it but the short one turned his back and held it out in
front of him, out of the tall one’s reach.