He came to a small courtyard and here was a large round pond-like construction around which eight women, who all had large paddles of wood, beating what looked like wool in a shallow layer of water. They all looked careworn, as if they had never known a moments respite from work, and they seemed to range in age from about fifty to as young as ten. Charlie realised that as soon as you were able, you started work. There was no place in this society for someone who was content to just laze around. Or perhaps there was a place but the person would not get fed, clothed and housed.
He continued to wander in and out of small side streets and was occasionally shouted at by a particularly grumpy worker or smiled at by kinder souls, mostly women. He finally found himself at the main gates of the castle and looked outside across the drawbridge into the outside village. This village was comprised of all those who had no home or licence to trade within the castle grounds but could still make a reasonable
living doing business with the traders who had this privilege. The castle provided most of the economy of the county that surrounded it because that was where most of the money was. The Earl of Sherebrook took half of whatever was produced by the serfs on his land and some considered him to be generous. He understood that it would do him no good to bleed his serfs and workers dry because they would either perish or move on, leaving him without people to work the land. There appeared to be some kind of a market today but Charlie did not want to look around, he decided to leave that for another day.
Instead, he turned to walk back up the hill toward the inner keep but veered off to look at the jousting arena. Now this, he realised, was a source of entertainment both for the Earl and for the inhabitants of the castle. It was also a way of keeping knights busy when there was no battle to fight. It was exactly as he would have imagined. Directly in front of him was a tiered stand that looked as if it could hold about fifty people. On either side of the stand there were areas for spectators to stand. Running parallel to the spectator area was a wooden wall about four feet high. At either end of the wall was a scattering of wooden huts and coloured tents.
A young boy, about two years younger than Charlie, walked past at a brisk pace carrying two pails full of water. He had collected these from the castle well. Charlie stopped him.
“Is there to be a joust soon?” he asked.
“There may be. We are keeping it ready in case the king’s visitors want some sport.” The boy looked young; younger than Charlie anyway. He was fresh faced and had a sunny kind of good nature about him.
“Ah, thank you,” said Charlie, and as an afterthought added, “Now, be on your way.”
“Piss off,” said the boy and turned on his heel and walked away.
Charlie resettled his glasses on his nose and walked off toward the keep.
NINETEEN
Charlie saw Longhaired Nick sitting idly, swinging his legs to and fro, on a small stone wall next to the entrance gate to the inner courtyard. He had a large red apple and cut slices from it with a vicious looking knife. Charlie assumed this was the assassin’s knife that Martin had mentioned. Nick was watching everything and everyone like a hungry hawk and his gaze suddenly settled upon Charlie as he approached the gates.
“I see you Charlie Watts,” he shouted when Charlie drew near. Charlie ignored him and pretended not to hear but he heard the thug’s voice loud and clear as it bored into his ears.
“Where have you been you strange little arse?”
Once again Charlie tried to ignore Nick and when he finally reached the spiny insect he simply put his head down and carried on walking. But Nick would not let it rest there; he threw away the remains of the apple and quickly sheathed his knife into his boot, then he jumped off the wall and followed Charlie into the keep courtyard.
“Don’t ignore me when I ask you a question,” he scuttled around in front of Charlie and wouldn’t let him past, moving in front of Charlie each time Charlie tried to go around him.
Finally, Charlie became exasperated and shouted, “Get out of my way you stupid, ignorant git. Haven’t you got something better to do than to continually hassle me?” He realised that he had slipped into a modern idiom of language but he was past the point of caring. Charlie was Charlie after all and there was just so much he would let someone get away with before he blew his top. He remembered clearly what Martin had told him about dealing with Longhaired Nick but decided he would be able to push a little more before it got really nasty. Once again, Charlie managed to be quite wrong.
Longhaired Nick’s face turned a peculiar shade of red, which contrasted starkly with the bleach whiteness of his chest. One of his skeletal hands darted out with startling speed and caught the fleshy lobe of Charlie’s right ear in a lobster-like grip, he squeezed and twisted his fingers together and pain shot through Charlie’s head. It felt like a hot knife was being slowly inserted into his ear. He immediately started to drop to his knees as the bully twisted still more. Nick brought his face close to Charlie’s and hissed, “I hate you and you are not going to last more than a few more days here. I don’t give a rat’s shit whose squire you are; I can do what I want, to who I want, whenever I want. So listen to…” Nick was cut off in mid speech and his grip on Charlie involuntarily relaxed. Charlie had driven his clenched fist right up between Nick’s legs and into his groin as hard as he could. Twice.
Longhaired Nick released Charlie and staggered back a few paces clutching himself between the legs with a look of disbelief. He could not believe that this little scrap of a squire should be stupid enough to actually fight back. But he started to recover quickly, and his hand immediately dropped down to his right boot as he went for his knife. Charlie had recovered his footing and saw the gleaming blade emerge from Nick’s boot.
“I’m going to cut you up good you little runt,” spat Nick through his clenched brown teeth.
Charlie thought fast-he knew he had to run; he stood no chance against the knife Nick brandished. He wielded it from side to side as if slicing through the very air. Charlie made his mind up in a heartbeat and remembering, from somewhere, that the best form of defence was attack, he charged at Nick with both of his arms outstretched and his hands balled into tight fists. He connected with Nick’s chest knocking him off balance and driving the breath from his bony body. Charlie’s escape path to the castle keep was now clear so he leapt over the prostrate body of the thug, who quickly rolled over and looked up to see which way Charlie was going. Nick shook off the surprise of Charlie’s spirited attack and sprang back to his feet in an eye blink. Glancing back, Charlie saw the black clad spider starting to scuttle after him. What do I have to do to put him down for more than few seconds? thought Charlie and then half dived and half fell into the kitchen entrance.
He thought, as he ran, and he realised that his only hope was to outrun Nick and find somewhere to hide. He also thought that if he could find Sir Geoffrey then the knight would be able to deal with Nick much more effectively than he could. He made a split second decision to run to Sir Geoffrey’s rooms and made straight for them. Charlie crossed the kitchen, dodging cooks and kitchen boys and jumping over baskets of fruit and meat, and ran right out the other side. He ran past his sleeping cell and then along the passage into the main vestibule of the ground floor of the keep. No wrong turns now, he thought to himself. A quick right and then a left at the end and then he would be at the foot of the main steps to the second floor where he would find the sanctuary of Sir Geoffrey’s room.
He heard shouting and commotion coming from the kitchens and he realised that Nick had not given up the chase. Charlie felt a surge of adrenalin shoot through his body. This gave him a boost and he started to take the stone steps three at a time. He was in the passage in which Sir Geoffrey’s quarters were located and he knew that even if the knight was not there he could dive into the room and then slam and bolt the thick oak door. That would stop Longhaired Nick in his tracks. He ran a
long the passage and came to Sir Geoffrey’s door but, to his dismay, he found the door shut and locked. Charlie let out an exasperated groan of frustration and anger-he banged on it and shouted.
“Sir Geoffrey! SIR GEOFFERY!!” Charlie’s shout had almost become a plea tinged with terror.
There was no sound from inside the room and Charlie realised, in an instant, that it had been locked with a key, not bolted on the inside. He glanced around and saw Longhaired Nick appear at the end of the passage, half running, half tumbling after him with a look of hatred smeared across his ugly face and the assassin’s knife glinting as it protruded from his fist.
Charlie’s felt his legs go weak with fear but still he turned and ran as fast as he could down the passage and into castle territory that was new to him. He reached the end of the passage and saw that there was a turning to the right and a turning to the left, a T-junction, and he instinctively took the left-hand turn. It was a dead end. There was just a large tapestry hanging on the end wall and Charlie was running so fast that he blindly blundered straight into it. He could hear Nick, about to turn the corner into the dead end, and he knew now that he could not turn back and run
the other way-he was going to be caught. He punched at the tapestry in frustration and fear and immediately realised that it was covering an entrance of some kind. He dived to the side and squeezed behind the heavy cloth, and, sure enough, there was a door which swung open when he tried it. He heard Nick’s voice from the other side of the tapestry. “I’ve got you Charlie Watts; you’re going nowhere now, get ready to have your guts skewered.”
On the other side of the door was a set of circular stone steps and Charlie started to scramble up them until he could go no further. When he reached the top he was faced with another door, which had a black iron handle which he grabbed and it twisted slowly in his grasp. He turned it fully and put his shoulder to the door. It swung away from him with surprising ease. Charlie ran right into another huge tapestry and then tumbled out from under it into a large hall that was new to him. He immediately sprang into an upright position to be confronted by a drawn sword held at his throat. He froze and instinctively knew that his life hung in the balance at this moment. A painful death, either from what lay behind him, or, from what lay in front of him, seemed inevitable.
TWENTY
K ing Stephen sat alone in the great hall of Sherebrook Castle and pondered his position. He was besieged on all sides by problems and most of them, it has to be said, were of his own making. He was engaged in a civil war with his cousin Matilda who claimed the throne of England. She was supported in her claim by her half brother, Robert, the Earl of Gloucester. Stephen had also fallen out with his brother, Henry, who was a bishop, as a result of refusing to appoint him Archbishop of Canterbury and now Henry too had thrown his support behind Matilda. Stephen had also been guilty of weakness. This was a cardinal sin for a king. His weakness had allowed the powerful barons to run riot around the countryside, waging petty war on one another and now it had brought him to this-an offer of a truce for Matilda.
He had recently sent an emissary to her court in London to offer peace; the country could take no more of this strife and Stephen believed that he could reason with Matilda and that between them they could work out a plan for bringing hostilities to an end. There would have to be some form of compromise. What he knew was that he had to retain power at all costs. Matilda was the most vicious and unforgiving of women and the people of England would be subjected to the most horrendous abuse if Matilda was allowed to assume power. That was something he simply could not allow.
Suddenly the king was jerked out of his thoughts. He heard a noise from the other side of the door that was concealed by a huge tapestry that hung on the wall. He immediately suspected a covert invasion of the great hall of Sherebrook and sprang to his feet, drawing his sword from its scabbard, all in one fluid motion. He stood ready to face whatever or, more to the point, whoever burst through the door and was just to about
to raise the alarm and summon his guard when Charlie Watts came tumbling to a halt in front of him.
Charlie was on his feet in an instant but Stephen was ready and held out his sword so that if Charlie had lurched forward another inch, the point of the sword would have pierced his windpipe.
“And what exactly do we have here?” asked the king looking Charlie up and down and letting his gaze fall onto Charlie’s glasses that, as usual, were askew on his face. He had to resettle them so that he could see properly.
Charlie looked at the man in front of him and saw the finest, most expensive and, bluntly, the cleanest clothes he had seen since he had arrived in the past. The man had on a tunic of leather with pictures of birds of prey tooled into it and a collar trimmed with brown fur. He was also was clothed in bottle green leggings with knee-length leather boots that looked new and as good as anything Charlie had seen worn in the twenty-first century. He looked at the face of the man; it was quite youthful with a neatly trimmed brown beard and a handsome set of features. What Charlie noticed, more than anything else, was a small gold crown set neatly on the man’s head. He knew he was in the presence of King Stephen.
The instant he had finished drinking in the king’s appearance, Longhaired Nick came bursting through the door, running right into the tapestry and then falling into the room. The King took a quick step back from Charlie but continued to hold his sword at an angle of attack.
“Guards!” he called in a magisterial and commanding voice.
Instantly, the main doors to the hall were flung open and in rushed two men at arms. They took in the situation immediately, drew their swords and darted toward the King to defend him.
The king held up his hand and said, “Stop!”
Both guards came to a sudden halt, having taken up positions on either side of their sovereign. There was Charlie, still not having moved or said a word, heaving to catch his breath. Behind him was Longhaired Nick whose breathing was also laboured, both from the pursuit and also from the pain he was still feeling from Charlie’s punches to his groin. The King spoke first, looking at Longhaired Nick.
“Explain, quickly.”
Charlie turned and saw that Nick had already sheathed his knife in his boot. He gave a desperately low bow, “My Lord, I most humbly beg your pardon. The squire here and me were having some sport… a chase, and we lost ourselves. Such was our state of mind that we ran straight into your presence. I apologise most humbly.”
By this time Nick was genuflecting on one knee, his head was bowed and his voice had turned into the most obsequious nasal whine. It was full of trickery and dripping with false contrition.
The King looked dubious and diverted his gaze to Charlie. He had not yet lowered his sword nor had the guards lowered theirs; they seemed very anxious to wade in and cut lumps of flesh out of both Charlie and Nick.
“And you, small serf, what say you? Do you agree with the statements of the bony white boy behind you?”
Charlie weighed up the situation, as usual, and considered his reply. Here, in front of a king, he was no less a person than usual and so he told the truth.
“My Lord, Longhaired Nick here is not telling you the whole truth. It may be sport to him but not to me. I was running from him because I feared for my life. He had taken a knife to me for no reason other than that he seems to enjoy frightening people smaller than himself. I too apologise for my entrance into your presence.”
“Hmmm….” The king seemed to be pondering his response. “You…” he said, looking at Nick. “ What is your position in this castle?”
“I am the head of the kitchen boys and in the service of Tom Cook my Lord,” answered Nick in his nasal whine.
“Then return to the kitchens and go about your work diligently, I shall require your lord to speak with me about your future. I suspect that you are the kind of person that enjoys the sport of pummelling those w
ho are smaller and that is ignoble.”
He then waved the point of his sword at Charlie, “Mind that this squire is left unharmed for the future or I shall have you thrown in the darkest dungeon I can find and you can spend a few years thinking through your actions. Do you understand me kitchen boy?”
“I do my Lord.”
“Then go. You are dismissed.”
Nick immediately turned and ran back down the steps which he had just recently chased Charlie up.
The King looked at his two guards and said, “Return to your duties.”
“But my Lord…” protested one, still looking directly at Charlie.
“I said you can go back to your duties. I feel that I will be able to deal with this giant of a boy if he chooses to become belligerent.” King Stephen’s voice had a distinctly humourous edge.
Both guards sheathed their swords and backed from the room, closing the doors behind them. The King dropped the point of his sword and his stern set face appeared to soften a fraction.
Charlie Watts and the Rip in Time Page 11
