Roland's Castle (9 page)

You never told me this!”

“Never came up. I am amongst the
best in the village – and we won the area tournament three years
running. We are the best archers in this part of the country –
probably the whole country!”

The villagers had brought with them
several chests which were now unpacked. An enormous number of bows,
a ton of arrows and some cork targets were broken out. Roland noted
that the bullseye’s of the targets were marked by a lot of holes.
The outside rings had only a few point marks in them.

“We all have to start somewhere,”
Oliver explained.

The villagers put on quite a
display of their archery skills. For the first time Roland was
actually beginning to think they stood a serious chance of winning
a battle.

“Did you know the villagers were
fine archers?” he asked Firebrace.

“Your forefathers encouraged the
villagers!” Firebrace replied, “But they are naturals anyway. They
would have found their way to this by themselves, I think.”

“It is all well done,” Roland said,
“Now all we need is a strategy.”

At that moment there was a
kerfuffle at the base of the tower and they turned to see that the
Venerable Conceiver Of Strategies was rushing towards them along
with his fool, who continued to beat his face with the pig’s
bladder. As they got closer the fool reminded him, “Nuncle! thou
needs to think of castles and not of clouds!”

Roland’s heart sank at the sight of
them. To think they were to put their trust in such a man. He felt
despondent once more.

“I have worked out a strategy” said
the Venerable Conceiver Of Strategies.

“Err, yeah, that’s what you’re here
for,” Roland said, doubtfully

But the fool took his masters
cause, “It is a marvel wonderfully conceived and the more so for it
is wonderfully conceived by a fool!” The fool said, and beat the
cogitator about the face with the pig’s bladder for no other reason
than the sheer joy of it

Roland, Firebrace, Oliver and
Savitri gathered around one of the archery chests. The Venerable
Conceiver Of Strategies unrolled his map on the top of it and
explained his plan; “Here is the castle, newly repaired, and the
moat running around it. Here is the hill nearby with what you young
folk call The Scary Oak upon it. This is where the enemy will most
likely gather, if they have any sense at all. Here is the valley
they will have to cross to reach us, here are some trees, a lovely
stream… it really is the most perfect view of an idyllic little
spot, is it not?! Lovely!”

“Nuncle!” said the fool, beating
him again with the pig’s bladder.

“Ah yes, the point, the point.
Here, see, the stream feeds a pond, this feeds the moat here – the
moat lets out into the stream here. It really is most tranquil
isn’t it? You could set up a rod and line and dream away listening
to the birds singing and the wind in the willows, the Piper at the
Gates of….”

“Nuncle!”

“Yes! Yes! I come to it. Here
between the pond and the moat, and the moat and the stream, are
sluice gates, holding back the water…”

“I get it!” Roland said, “Any army
must cross the moat, by rafts or boats…”

“And if we open both sluices at
once, the moat becomes a fast flowing stream! The Venerable
Conceiver Of Strategies said, triumphantly, and the fool jumped and
did some cartwheels and handstands for the sheer joy of it.”

The strategist continued, “The
attacking army will be in disarray, and will float past our
battements…”

“And we can position archers at
specific points to shoot them as they pass, concentrating their
fire at specific points” Roland said, finishing the strategists
thought.

If we have any archers, the
strategist said, seeing the flaw in his plan.

“That we do!” Roland said, “We do
indeed!”

The cogitator brightened again,
“Wonderful! Wonderful! It would be such a shame to see this idyllic
little spot fall into the wrong hands. We must defend it! Will you?
Will you?” And he grasped Roland’s arm and looked at him
pleadingly.

“We will,” Roland said, “We
will.”

And a cheer went up that rang
around the castle.

By the next morning Dagarth’s army
had assembled itself upon the hill of The Scary Oak. It stretched
all across the hill and far on both sides. It’s forces were much
expanded by those of Brill-a-Brag. The castle sentries had reported
movement in the night, the alarm had gone out and the drawbridge
raised. In the dawn light Roland looked out the enemy forces with
dismay, but Firebrace put a hand on his shoulder.

“It is the beginning, not the
end.”

Soon after a shout went around the
castle, “Enemy forces approaching!”

Roland and his friends ran to the
battlements by the drawbridge where the shout had originated. All
they could see were two figures, plainly dressed as men-at-arms,
making their way up the road.

“Why only two?” Oliver asked, “It
isn’t much of a fighting force.”

It did seem very odd.

As they got closer Roland
recognised them. It was Bobblejob and Jubblebub!

They marched up to the edge of the
moat where the drawbridge usually met the road and stopped and
stood looking puzzled, as if they didn’t couldn’t work out what had
changed. When they saw that people were watching them from the
battlements they started waving hopefully.

“What are they doing back?” Roland
asked. “Whatever it is they’ll get themselves hurt out there - send
a boat across for them.”

Having landed at the gate house the
two gave what passed for an explanation of their renewed
presence.

“It was very confusing,” Bobblejob
said.

“Very confusing,” Jubblebub
agreed.

“We couldn’t find your uncle
anywhere.”

I think he’s up there’ Roland said,
pointing to the obvious armed ranks on the hill

“Ah! that’s where he is!” Jubblebub
said.

“But how do you get there?”
Bobblejob asked.

“We think our mistake was starting
from here in the first place,” Jubblebub said, and they both
nodded.

“How did you find your way back?”
Roland asked, slightly puzzled.

The two looked at each other

“Well, we tried to get there….”

— “…and ended up back here.”

“You
lost
your way
back!!!!”

“Yes.”

“Well, we can’t leave you two just
wandering about. This is a war. You might get hurt. I’ll draw you a
plan of how to get to the Scary Oak.”

Roland ordered some parchment and a
quill be brought and set about drawing them a map.

“There you are – can you follow
that?”

“It looks just like the back of my
hand,” said Bobblejob, comparing them.

“Yes, well, just go careful….” And
with that they were rowed back across to the other side of the moat
and sent on their way.

With the idiot pair sent off again
Roland and company returned to planning the castles defence, but it
was not long before another shout of “enemy approaching” went
around.

“They’re not back again are they?”
Roland cursed, but this time it was not for Bobblejob and Jubblebub
but a solitary rider coming across the fields from the hill. They
went back up to the battlements and soon the rider was close enough
for them to recognise him as Dagarth's Herald. He stopped at the
far edge of the moat and seeing that he had the attention of those
in the castle, called out, “My lord Dagarth most generously offers
a pardon in exchange for the surrender of this castle, it being
rightly his and villainously taken from him. He is willing to
overlook the whole thing if you just give it back.”

Roland took a breath to say ‘no,
never’ in robust terms but Firebrace put his hand on his arm.

“We could still do with time to
prepare. We are not quite ready yet. Let’s see if they will
negotiate, just for the sake of time,”

Roland agreed, and shouted to the
herald, “We have some conditions.”

“Let us hear them!” The herald
said.

“What shall we say?” Roland asked
the others. They huddled together.

“Ask them for time to think about
it.” Oliver suggested.

“No. They might get the right
idea,” Roland objected. “We need some conditions they will need to
think about.”

“What about insisting your auntie
goes on a diet,” Oliver suggested, “you could insist she goes on
the Holy Healthy Hermit Plan.”

“What’s that?”

“The latest diet book. The
monasteries can’t copy enough of them. It was written by this batty
old nun who lives on like two walnuts and a blackberry a day. She
celebrates Easter with the yolk of a hardboiled egg and gives up
shaving for lent.”

“sounds awful,” Roland said, “I am
sure auntie Hildegrind will love it – particularly the not-shaving
bit. On that theme, let’s insist the rest of them suffer... , I
think that Dogwood and Dagwood should be spanked once a week. And
Dagarth should be forced to melt down his iron maidens and sell the
metal for scrap to help the poor!”

“Yes, and the rack converted to a
table so they can eat a hearty meal off of it!” Oliver added.

“And that ghastly throne broken up
too,” Roland said, “Let’s tell the herald.”

The herald’s attention was called
and the conditions read out. To their delight He shifted in his
saddle rather uncomfortably, particularly at the suggestion
regarding the torture equipment. He knew for sure the reception
that that was going to get. He was sent on his way.

They expected there be some
discussion in the enemy camp but the herald was soon back, and with
some alternative proposals:

• Auntie Hildegrind will go on a diet
  and will lose a stone before Michaelmas.
  

• Dogwood and Dagwood to be spanked
  twice
  a month.
  

• Half the iron maidens to be melted
  down and the scrap sold to feed the poor
  

• The rack to be put in storage in
  case it is needed in the future
  

• The throne to stay
  

“Hmmm,” said Roland. “Why didn't he
just accept our proposals right off? He doesn’t have to keep to
them once he’s back in. It wouldn’t be like him to.”

“Perhaps he is playing for time
too,” Oliver said.

“It’s Pride,” Firebrace said,
“Pride. He doesn’t want to be seen to be backing down too far, even
if he has no intention of keeping his word...”

“Well, it’s not good enough,”
Roland said. “The throne has to go – that is non-negotiable.”

He told the herald: “We want the
rack broken up and used as firewood and Dogwood and Dagwood to be
spanked with planks from it
four
times a month. And auntie
Hildegrind must lose three stone by Christmas. The throne must,
repeat must, be thrown out!”

“That told him,” said Oliver, as
the herald galloped away.

This time there was a longer pause,
but sure enough a rider approached the castle from the direction of
the hill. As he got closer they could see it was not the herald,
and he was riding rather oddly, partly standing in his stirrups.
When he got closer still they could see it was Dagarth himself. His
saddle was padded but he could only sit on it for a few seconds at
a time before he rose again with a pained look on his face.

“He s still got a sore bum from the
lightning strike!” Roland and Oliver snickered. “Yes! Yes!” they
cried, “
Crucial!” a
nd they high-fived.

“Now look here!” Dagarth yelled at
the walls, “This has gone on long enough! I am the
rightful
master and heir of this castle by right of birth and I demand that
you allow myself and my retinue back in! You are foul usurpers and
traitors and if you do not let me back in,” - and he started to
think about what he was saying – “well, I shall probably not be
very happy about it at first but I shall swallow that and, well, I
am sure I can get over it and we can all be friends just like it
used to be…”

Oh yes, Roland thought – just like
it used to be. He turned to Firebrace, “Whilst he’s here waiting
for a reply there’s not much the army up there can do – we might as
well leave him waiting out there for as long as possible.”

Firebrace nodded. “Well
reasoned.”

“It’ll certainly wind him up,”
Oliver said.

“We're going to be fighting him
anyway – he’s going to get a lot more wound up,” Roland said.

So Dagarth was left waiting for
reply like a wet dog out in the rain whilst Roland and his friends
went inside to discuss their response to Dagarth’s
counter-offer.

“Lets stick to what we have already
said,” said Oliver.

“We must give in to some points,
otherwise he will not feel like he is making progress and just
attack,” Roland said.

We also have to be careful he
doesn’t accept, then he will have called our bluff,” Oliver pointed
out.

“Good point,” Roland responded,
“Lets see; the twins to be spanked – how many times did we get up
to? Auntie Hildegrind to cut down on the fatty foods….”

“Auntie Aitch must be publicly
weighed every month!” Oliver chipped in.

“Every week,” Roland insisted.

“And ducked in the moat if she
hasn’t lost weight!” Oliver put in.

“Good!” Roland said, and added, “We
must insist that all the cushions are removed from the chairs in
the castle!

“And sandpaper for Dagarth to wipe
his bum with in the privy!”

“Oh, now you’re just winding him
up!” Roland laughed, and he and Oliver both high fived.

Suddenly Savitri burst out
shouting, “Will you two stop being so childish! If Bril-a-Brag and
Gloatenglorp take over this castle you won’t think it so funny!
They are experts at inflicting pain and misery and they are out
there now with an army! We need to be serious!” She spoke directly
to Roland, “And you, boy, need to toughen up if you are going to
command the defence of this castle,” and she jabbed him in the ribs
with her fingers.