Roland's Castle (21 page)

“Oh dear,” said Roland, trying to
sympathise.

“But how does it work, going around
the world?” Oliver asked, noticing what he thought was a flaw in
the plan, “You started from under the earth, then you go above? – I
don’t follow…”

“The world is round,” said
Botherworth, ”It’s a globe, can’t blame you youngsters for not
knowing that. Nobody’s discovered it yet!”

“Round!” exclaimed Oliver,
“So-?”

“-So you starts on one side and
gets around to the other. The plains of the sky above the Earth
wrap around the Earth. See!”

“The Earth is round!” said Roland,
also amazed.

“The Earth is round!” said Savitri,
amazed also.

“Well, you learn something new
everyday. One of the positive things about life!” Goodwill
said.

“We have to talk to your father,”
said Roland, returning to the matter at hand. “if we must ask the
count, then ask the count we must.”

“Good luck to you,” said young
Brandon.

Will you point the way? Roland
asked.

“Just go out the door, follow the
direction of the tracks beyond the sidings and keep going that away
once you get to the end of ‘em. That’ll take you there.”

As Young Brandon had said, shortly
beyond the place where his train had stopped all the tracks came to
an abrupt end. Even the pavement that the tracks were to be laid on
halted. All that there was to mark where the railway was planned
were a series of pegs and boards, many of which had been pulled out
of the ground and scattered about. They had dents in them,
suggesting they had been struck with sharp instruments, and with
force. More jousting practise, Roland concluded.

At this point, too, the landscape
changed. The desert environment was replaced by a gentle landscape
of small, grass covered hills. Trees and shrubs were everywhere and
a stream trickled away nearby.

“Very pleasant,” Oliver noted,
“Quite heavenly in fact.”

“Lovely,” said Botherworth, in a
sarcastic tone.

“How charming,” said Goodwill, “The
very kind of enchanted, pastoral landscape where one dreams of
knights going about their noble and chivalric deeds…”

“Look out!” Oliver yelled.

They all looked out and saw, coming
over a hill, four knights riding abreast in tight formation. They
were all clad in glittering armour with shields and tabards all
decorated in differing, pretty patterns of together with other
fancy adornments.

“Uh-oh! Here comes Essex!”
Botherworth said.

“Looks like trouble,” Oliver
said.

“Oh no! I am sure not!” said
Goodwill, “They are gentle knights who I am sure will be most
courteous towards us!”

As Goodwill finished speaking the
knights pointed their lances at the adventurers then started to
charge as one.

“Hold your ground,” Roland said,
“They are knights and if they are genuinely noble will not harm
unarmed people.”

“And if they aren’t?” Oliver
asked.

“We have swords,” Savitri pointed
out.

“Drop them,” Roland said.

“I won’t,” Savitri said, pulling
her sword out of its scabbard and wielding it.

“Please, drop it,” Roland repeated,
firmly, and drew his own sword and threw it down. “We cannot defeat
men on horseback, not four of them with lances.”

Savitri saw the reason in it and
dropped her sword, very reluctantly. Oliver dropped his bow and
quiver. Botherworth dropped his broom.

The knights continued to gallop
towards them and the adventurers held their breath. The tips of the
lances were within a couple of feet of them when the knights pulled
up, sending up a shower of dust.

“We surrender!” Roland said.

“Greetings!” said one of the
knights, “I am Sir Valiant de Vosper, bendy dancetty argent vert
—”

“— Oh don’t give them all that!”
said another of the knights.

“They are our proper titles upon
the tourney field,” the other replied.

“It’s just a lot of mumbo-jumbo
from what I —
don’t
— understand of it! I don’t know why the
count insists upon it — it all sounds
so silly
!” and he said
to the adventurers, “You are now our prisoners to be ransomed, you
will come with us to the lists.”

But no sooner had he spoken than
there was a very loud and startling crashing/clanking/leaf-rustling
noise from some nearby bushes, accompanied by the fast beat of
horses hooves. Four other knights, also riding abreast, with yellow
and black shields and tabards, came galloping out and engaged the
first group of knights in a melee. They drove forward with their
lances, unseating the knight who had first spoken to the
adventurers and sending the others scattering. They rode away only
to come to a stand and turn, so they were facing the first group of
knights. The knight who had been unseated regained his mount and
lined up with his fellows. They stared at each other for a few
seconds and then both groups charged at the same time and there was
a fearful clash of lances against shields, armour and anything else
that was unlucky enough to get in the way. After a while of it the
second group of knights seemed to have the upper hand. The first
group obviously felt so too as they beat a retreat.

“Thanks for the rescue,” Roland
said to the victors as they rode up to him.

“Rescue! We were fighting
over
you
! you are now
our
prisoners!”

“Oh dear,” said Brother
Goodwill.

“Sounds about right,” said
Botherworth, dismally.

Their new captor introduced
himself, “I am Sir Nigel le faire, paly bendy, or sable, a bend
sinister erminois.”

And he proceeded to introduce the
other knights in similar fashion, giving their names and then
lapsing into the same language he had used to describe himself.

“What’s he saying?” Oliver
asked.

“He is titling each of them by
blazoning their escutcheons,” Goodwill explained.

“What?” Oliver asked.

“Describing the patterns on their
shields,” Roland clarified, “My father taught me some heraldic
terminology, before he went away.”

“Are these the lists they mentioned
earlier?” Oliver asked.

“No,” Roland said, “The lists are
the places of refuge in a tournament, where combat is suspended
when the competitors are in them.”

“Indeed they are!” said Sir Nigel
le Faire, quarterly or, sable, a bend ermine,

“You will accompany us there,
please.”

Two of his companions rode around
the back of them and lowered their lances at the adventurers,
threatening to prod them along in the right direction.

“Alright! Alright! We’re going!”
Botherworth said.

“Not quite the courteous welcome I
was hoping for, or would have expected,” said Goodwill.

“Seems times have changed since
your day,” Oliver said.

“Seems so. How sad, how very sad…,”
Goodwill said, shaking his head sadly.

It was a couple of miles to the
“lists” that Sir Nigel had mentioned.

They were in fact a town of tents
covering a very large area around which was a brightly coloured
cordon.

“I would hazard a guess that this
marks the limit of the lists,” said Roland, as they as passed
through it.

Most of the tents within were dull
greys and browns but they surrounded a central area where large,
highly coloured and decorated pavilions towered above the rest. At
the centre of it all was a brightly coloured castle with pennants
flying from it. It was obviously merely decorative but still
impressive.

The tents on the outskirts were
arranged into streets and lanes and were occupied by all manner of
traders and craftsmen. Many were open at the front with their
occupants plying their wares. There were blacksmiths, armourers,
saddle makers – and cooks. There was a lot of food, whole pigs and
oxen being roasted on spits. There was minced lamb, also on a spit,
being cut off in slices and served in flat bread with a salad.
There were pies on one stall, apples and pears on another. There
were exotic fruits and vegetables which the adventurers did not
recognise.

Roland and his friends were very
hungry by now and their mouths watered at the sight, but they were
marched past the stalls with empty stomachs and watering
mouths.

As they got closer to the centre
the tents got grander, and many sported the colours of knights and
had smaller tents for horses and servants. It was at one of these
that they stopped. Their captors dismounted and invited their
prisoners in.

“I trust you would like to eat and
drink,” sir Nigel said.

“Yes please!” they all said
together.

Sir Nigel ordered food to be
brought.

When Sir Nigel ordered food he
meant plenty of it. There was so much food they couldn’t eat nearly
half of it, despite being very hungry.

“You are our prisoners, but also
our guests,” Sir Nigel said, “You will be treated as if you are
royalty until your ransom is paid!”

“There might be a bit of a problem
there,” Roland confessed, “I am not sure who will pay…”

“Don’t tell him that,” Oliver
whispered, “he might
dispose
of us.”

“It does not matter,” Sir Nigel
said, “In the case no ransom is paid you will be well treated as
our guests, forever.”

“We have things to do - a quest,”
said Roland.

“Impossible, I am afraid,” said Sir
Nigel, “The rules are clear. Once you have strayed into the tourney
area and been taken prisoner, you must remain a prisoner until
ransom is paid. Sorry about that – but, well - look, I do hope you
have a lovely time here. I wouldn’t want you to be unhappy. or to
feel like a burden or anything…”

“I am sure we can manage not to
feel like a burden,” Oliver said, pointedly.

“Great!” said Sir Nigel.

At that moment another knight
entered the tent, looked at Roland and friends and cried out,
“Cuthbert Goggins! I do declare! I
thought
it was you!
Shouldn’t you be dead after all this time! Well of course, so
should I! It’s all the fresh air and fighting keeps us going up
here!”

“Who is Cuthbert Goggins?” asked
Oliver.

“I am,” said Brother Goodwill,
“That is to say, I was, once, a long time ago…” He stood up to be
embraced by the man, their armours clanking together as they
did.

Goodwill explained, “Cuthbert
Goggins was my name before I took the Orders, and this is Filbert
Hilbert…”

“
Sir
Filbert, quarterly,
azure argent, a bend vair, if you don’t mind!”
Sir
Filbert
said.

“A knight! I always knew you would
be!” Goodwill said.

Sir Filbert laughed, putting his
arm around Goodwill and explaining to the others, “We were two boys
from lowly stock who had our first adventures together! We rose
through the ranks by our skill with the blade and the lance!” and
he asked Goodwill, “Tell me, have you killed many lately?”

“I am a Fortresser now,” said
Goodwill.

“No wonder you are still alive!
Took the pledge eh? I heard of it. Honourable, but dull. There are
other ways to immortality, as you can see!” and Sir Filbert laughed
again, showing his teeth. He embraced Goodwill once more, “So what
are you doing here?”

“We are the guests, in fact the
prisoners, of Sir Nigel…”

“Oh dear. Not a lot I can do about
that. Rules are rules. Anyone who strays into the tourney field is
fair game, I’m afraid. Have you thought of challenging them to
mortal combat for your release?”

”Not really my scene any more.
Maybe my young friends…”

“We are not here to kill anyone,”
said Roland, “we are on a quest.”

“A quest. Very interesting! Who are
these people — your friends?”

“Oh forgive me, forgetful as ever!
I quite forgot that you haven’t met them yet either!

This is Roland, the great great
great grandson of Sir Roland argent, a pomegranate gules, the
founder of our order.”

“Founder!” Roland gasped.

“I remember him!” Sir Filbert
cried, “Fierce fellow, intense eyes, a fine fighter with a sense of
humour. Deadly and funny – a lethal combination! If he didn’t kill
you, you could die laughing with him!”

“Yes, indeed,” Goodwill
laughed.

“The boy has his looks – hopefully
his fire!”

“He does! Both!”

“But what of him?” Roland asked,
wanting to know more about his ancestor.

“I will tell you later, if you will
forgive us,” Goodwill said to him.

Roland tried to forgive, but felt
frustrated that he always seemed to be shut out of the most crucial
information about his own kin.

“Anyway, this quest,” Sir Filbert
asked, “Is it fun?”

“Not so far,” Botherworth said.

“I second that,” Oliver said.

“I third it,” Savitri said.

“What are you questing for?” Sir
Filbert asked.

“The Whales Of The Sky,”

“Not heard of them. Where would
they be?”

“We don’t know either,” Roland
said,

“How can you be questing for them
if you don’t even know where you are supposed to be looking?”

“Good question,” Roland said, “but
we have been told there is a man here who knows.”

“Here? Who?”

“A man called Davey Brandon Senior.
He is a guest — a prisoner — of Count Og-dra-gob's in a dungeon at
the castle.”

“That’s serious,” said Sir Filbert,
“The dungeon is under the
real
castle, not the fancy thing
with the frills so he isn’t a captive of the tournament. The Count
really does have something against him.”

“We need to talk to him,” said
Roland. And for that we need Count Og-dra-gob’s permission. We need
to talk to the count.”

“He is here in the lists. I can
arrange an audience — if Sir Nigel will allow your parole in
exchange for your promise not to try and escape.”