The Table of Less Valued Knights (23 page)

Looking at the castle now, he couldn’t believe how lazy Leo was, leaving it in the same state he’d inherited it in. If Edwin ran the place, he’d keep the main body of the castle as it stood for public functions – heritage impressed the lower orders – but add two new wings: one as living quarters for himself, and one
for his child. Martha would be dead by then – they’d put the story about that she’d died in childbirth – so he’d have to hire a wet nurse. Bonanza! Wet nurses always had massive jugs. He wondered if he could design some kind of one-way door so that he could go in to visit the boy, but the boy could not come out. (It never occurred to Edwin that his baby might be a girl.) That would work nicely for the nurse as well, of course.

Leo’s laissez-faire attitude to the castle extended to the nation around it. Rolling hills were one thing, but the boggy vales didn’t have to be quite so boggy: if only he would instigate some kind of proper drainage programme! You couldn’t imagine a king like Arthur letting things slide to this extent. If Edwin were in charge, he’d hire somebody to deal with that and any other civil engineering projects that needed doing, aqueducts or whatever. Then he’d get his own knights, and send them off on quests just as daring as Arthur’s, not for the Holy Grail of course, that was taken, but the Bible was full of stuff. The Holy Plate They Ate The Bread Off – they could look for that.

People would respect him. People would adore him. And if they didn’t, he’d have them put to death. That was what being king was all about.

He could do all of this in Puddock, of course – he was sure you could bung an aqueduct into Puddock, no problem – but it wouldn’t be quite the same. No matter how much he might protest, he knew that he was never really going to be King of Puddock. For as long as Martha was still alive, he’d be Prince Consort, and then after he killed her, he’d be Regent for his son. People didn’t write epic poem cycles about regents, no matter how numerous their knights and effective their irrigation solutions. More than anything – more even than wanting to be a Knight of the Round Table – Edwin realised that he wanted to be king.

He was thinking all of this as he rode towards the castle gates.
The castle belonging to Leo, his brother, the King. The unmarried King, with no legitimate issue. The unmarried King, with no legitimate issue, who was his only brother.

A plan was forming, but, this being Edwin, it was forming very slowly.

The plan they finally came up with was quite straightforward. Martha couldn’t decide whether that was its strength or its weakness. They would disguise themselves as servants and enter the castle through the kitchens. Once inside, they would calmly follow Roddy’s directions to the dungeons. Conrad, with his superior strength, would incapacitate the guards and break the man in the iron mask out of his cell, and then they would bring the prisoner back to Roddy, who would free him.

They rode their horses and Jemima as far as they could without risking being seen from the castle, then dismounted and left the animals with Roddy. Martha wouldn’t put it past Roddy to sell the animals, if offered a good price or even a mediocre one, but that could not be helped. Everyone put on their cloaks to hide their weapons and make it easier for them to pass as servants. They took a spare with them for the man in the iron mask. Humphrey had to leave his armour behind because it was too obvious, even under a cloak. Martha tried not to imagine him being slit from gut to throat. It was easier than it might have been, because she was so busy imagining herself being slit from gut to throat.

Just before they set off, Humphrey removed Leila from his side and strapped her to Martha’s hip.

‘I’m trusting you,’ he said.

Conrad swore under his breath and kicked at a clump of dirt.
Martha put her hand on Leila’s hilt, tears of gratitude springing to her eyes, but she didn’t pull the sword out of the scabbard. She was still too afraid of what Leila might do to Humphrey.

‘Humphrey,’ she said, ‘what did Conrad mean, about you thinking I have blue blood?’

Humphrey smiled a half-smile. ‘Just that I realise this quest might be a bit closer to home than you’ve let on. But don’t worry, Marcus. If that is Queen Martha in there, we’ll get her out safe.’

If he doesn’t think I’m Martha, who on earth does he think I am?
Martha shook her head. Whoever he thought she was, it didn’t matter. He hadn’t tried to drag her back to Puddock and hand her in for some reward. He trusted her, and she would have to trust him.

The road to the castle was busy, and nobody gave them a second glance. That is to say, they didn’t attract more attention than Conrad usually got, which was quite a lot. But nobody regarded them with suspicion. By the time they reached the gates, there were dozens of people pushing their way through, abuzz with excitement. All around them, the talk was of two Knights from Camelot who were said to be making their way to Tuft Castle.

‘Do they mean us?’ asked Conrad.

‘I doubt it,’ said Humphrey. ‘No mention of Jemima. Bollocks, though. Do you think someone else has got wind that Queen Martha’s there?’

‘Do you think it might be Sir Gordon?’ said Martha, remembering the so-called knight she’d met in the tavern.

‘Possibly,’ said Humphrey. ‘That wouldn’t be so bad. Even if he found the Queen, he’d be far too inept to get her out. It had better not be Sir Dorian, though. I’m not letting him have her, not after all the work we’ve put in.’

Martha was silently satisfied by Humphrey’s use of ‘we’.

The castle gatekeeper appeared to have lost interest in
controlling the crowds, and was slumped listlessly on a stool, watching people pass, a spear lolling in his hand. But when he saw Conrad, he snapped to attention.

‘You,’ he said. ‘Stop there. No giants.’

‘Fine by me,’ said Conrad.

‘But he’s my –’ Humphrey stopped himself from saying ‘squire’ just in time. ‘Friend,’ he finished, lamely.

‘I don’t care if he’s your mother, he’s not coming in,’ said the gatekeeper.

‘All right. Wait for us here,’ Humphrey said to Conrad. ‘Don’t move. Any sign of trouble …’

‘Do what, exactly?’ said Conrad. ‘Send a pigeon?’ He sat on the grass beside the castle wall and leaned back against it, closing his eyes. ‘Wake me up when you get back.’

Without Conrad’s reassuring bulk, Martha felt even more nervous as they squeezed with the crowds through the castle gates and started along the track towards the inner keep.

‘What are we going to do now?’ she said to Humphrey.

‘We don’t need him,’ said Humphrey. ‘Roddy said the metalwork is like twigs.’

‘But what about the guards?’ said Elaine.

‘Don’t worry about them. In my experience guards are more easily incapacitated by gold than by fists, and I took the liberty of helping myself to a selection from Marcus’s supply.’

Martha was too relieved to be annoyed at the theft. Well, not very annoyed, anyway.

Tuft Castle was dainty and pretty, with a small turret at each end and crenellated battlements across the top. The battlements would be less picturesque when manned with soldiers shooting arrows from them and pouring down barrels of pitch and burning oil, but on a sunny peacetime day, framed by a blue sky with little fluffy clouds, the place had a fairytale appeal.

‘It’s tiny,’ said Martha, not unpleased.

‘In Camelot we’d call this a shed,’ agreed Humphrey.

‘I don’t know, I wouldn’t object to living here,’ said Elaine. ‘You two are spoilt.’

They were halfway along the path when they heard a child near the gate shout, ‘They’re here! They’re here!’

All at once, everyone started jostling for position. The people who’d been walking along the road started to shove their way to the grassy slopes which rose on either side, and the people who’d already taken up position there complained loudly about their view being blocked. Martha, Humphrey and Elaine found themselves bundled together close to the front, to the vocal annoyance of someone who’d set up a sausage stall just behind them. The entrance to the castle kitchens was frustratingly out of reach, the crowd too thickly packed to push through. Meanwhile, on the far side of the gate, they could see two knights on horseback, dressed in full armour – silver, not black – and flying a richly embroidered pennant.

‘Boar, rampant regardant on gold,’ said Humphrey, as the crowds began to cheer. ‘Terrific. That’s Sir Dorian. But who’s the other one?’

The adulation was jolly gratifying, thought Edwin, but it was only what he deserved. He thought back to the handful of doddering ancients who had provided his desultory welcome in Puddock. It had been insulting. In Tuft, they were treating him like royalty. True, he was royalty, but they didn’t know that. He waved and bent down to shake people’s hands, drinking in the adoration as a dry flowerbed soaks up water. Here in the castle, if not between the damsels’ sheets, he was getting as much attention as Sir Dorian was.

As much. But not
more
.

The time had come to reveal himself, Edwin decided. Yes, he had wanted to surprise Leo, but it would still be a surprise, wouldn’t it? The only difference was that Edwin wouldn’t get a chance to see Leo’s face when his brother found out he was there. Never mind, he would ask him to act it out. Then Leo would be, like, ‘Bro, what are you talking about, I’m not going to do that, don’t be a dick.’ It would be like old times. In his thirst for attention, Edwin had forgotten that the purpose of keeping his arrival secret from Leo was to give him a chance to find Martha before his brother could dispose of her. He no longer cared about Martha. He cared only about the crowd.

He reached for his helmet and ripped it off his head, revealing his enormous smile to his subjects. He hoped that he didn’t have helmet hair.

‘People of Tuft!’ he cried. ‘It is I, your Prince!’

The response wasn’t quite what he anticipated.

‘We’ve got to get out of here,’ said Martha, as the crowd groaned with disappointment. Behind them the sausage seller swore and started packing up his wares.

‘We can’t leave now,’ said Elaine, ‘We’re so close.’

‘We don’t have to leave the castle but we’ve got to get off this road,’ said Martha. ‘That’s Edwin, Queen Martha’s husband. What if he recognises me?’

‘Recognises you?’ said Elaine. ‘Marcus, who are you?’

Humphrey shook his head at her. ‘Not now,’ he said. ‘Anyway, we’ll be in just as much trouble if Sir Dorian sees me. I’m not even supposed to leave Camelot, let alone be gazumping his quest. So pull your hoods up over your faces and let’s try to get into the castle at the back.’

They all pulled their hoods up. Around them, everyone was trying to leave, but the castle gate was narrow and the crowd was bottlenecked. In the middle of the confusion, Dorian was attempting to pull his horse aside and out of the way, but Edwin was still trying to act as if he was surrounded by adoring admirers, grabbing the hand of anyone who came near him and shaking it vigorously.

To her horror, the momentum of the crowd pushed Martha directly into Edwin’s path. Her stomach lurched. She kept her eyes fixed on the ground, hoping that he wouldn’t notice her. But he looked straight down at her and smiled his awful smile.

‘There’s no need to be shy, lad,’ he said.

He stuck out his hand. Martha held hers up, trembling. Edwin took it. He had a terrible handshake, limp and clammy: it was like shaking hands with a snot-soaked handkerchief.

‘God save the King,’ said Martha.

‘What king? Fuc-king!’ said Edwin.

In shock, Martha looked up, right into Edwin’s eyes. Edwin’s grip tightened on her hand as he stared at her for several long seconds, trying to place her. Then he shrugged, laughed and let her go.

‘It’s an oldie but goodie,’ he said. He kicked his horse onwards into the crowd.

Martha realised she had been holding her breath, and let it out, in a long tremulous exhale. He hadn’t recognised her.

‘Thank God for that,’ said Humphrey behind her. ‘Now, if you’ve finished making friends, let’s go.’

Smile and wave
, thought Edwin.
Smile and wave, smile and wave, smile and wave
.

Sir Dorian was sniggering, which was interfering with Edwin’s ability to pretend that there was nothing wrong. He couldn’t wait to find Martha so that he could send this smug-bag back to Camelot with all the other smug-bag knights. Or maybe he could persuade Leo to arrest him? They could stick him in an iron mask and shove him in the basement. It would be fun to have a pet knight to torment.

In the meantime, Edwin carried on shaking as many hands as people would allow. There was one boy, a terrified-looking lad of about fifteen, he could swear he’d seen before, but he couldn’t figure out where. Just a servant boy from the castle, like as not, but there was something about him that bothered Edwin.

His mind picked at the memory for a minute or two, until a burly man jogged his arm, causing him to drop his helmet. It landed with a clang. A young girl picked it up and threw it in the air. Then someone else caught it and threw it up again.

‘Can I have my helmet back?’ Edwin called.

But nobody gave it to him. The helmet was tossed back and forth like a brilliant steel balloon, cheers going up whenever it was thrown, and again whenever it was caught.

Sir Dorian turned to Edwin. ‘That is quite an expensive helmet,’ he said.

‘They’re just having fun,’ said Edwin, ‘I’m sure they’ll give it back in a moment.’

But the helmet game went on. Hadn’t these people ever seen a helmet before? Maybe they hadn’t. Or maybe they were too poor to afford balls and so a helmet was all that they knew how to throw. Edwin didn’t want people like that touching his helmet.

‘Give me back my helmet!’ he commanded.

Someone tossed the helmet towards him, but so high he couldn’t reach it, and it went sailing over his head to the crowd on the other side. Then the person who caught it threw it back over his head to the original side.

They’re playing piggy in the middle with me
, Edwin realised.
That’s my least favourite game. When I played it with Leo and Daddy, I was always the piggy. They never let me catch the ball, not once. I was the piggy for fifteen years
.