“Take the secret passage and meet with Sir Robert and his men. They will be waiting for you. Lead them to the concealed door to the king’s audience chamber and then wait for any further instruction that Sir Robert may give to you. And make haste.”
Longhaired Nick immediately complied and loped off towards the entrance to the secret tunnel which was in the farthest corner of the courtyard. He lifted the same flagstone that Charlie had lifted three nights ago and vanished down into the black hole.
Sir Robert watched him go and felt a cold quiver dash down his spine. He was apprehensive and excited in equal measure. He was apprehensive, and rightly so, for should the plan for abduction fail, and he found to be complicit, then matters would go badly for him. He was excited because if the plan succeeded then his reward from Matilda would be great indeed. Nothing had been left to chance; the plan was afoot and everything had dropped neatly into place.
THIRTY-FOUR
Charlie and Gwendolyn were making good time and the caution that Gwendolyn had shown, concerning the speed of the horse, had paid dividends. It had not tired even though it carried two on its back.
“How far to Sherebrook do you think it is?” asked Charlie of Gwendolyn. They had both been relatively quiet for a while as they both had been lost in thought. Charlie was pondering his situation and Gwendolyn hers. Charlie was lost in thoughts of his mother, Gramps and Sir Geoffrey whilst Gwendolyn had been thinking of her future and what it held for her. Charlie had scarcely had time to think in the last few days but now he wondered what was happening back in his own time, how long had he been gone? What was Gramps doing to get him back? Did his mother know what had happened? Was she aware of the small brick room in Gramps’ cellar? Or, and he shuddered to think of it, did nobody know where he was? Was he lost to his own time completely? The questions whirled and danced in his mind until he snapped himself back to the present and his need to warn Sir Geoffrey of the plot. The irony was not lost on Charlie, he had planned to leave Sherebrook, and the service of Sir Geoffrey, and his escape from prison had provided him with the perfect opportunity. Nevertheless, here he was, charging, as fast as he could, back to the castle!
“I think five or six miles,” answered Gwendolyn. The question had snapped her out of her thoughts. She was on a flight to God only knows where. She had no family anymore, no home and no gainful employment. On top of this she was fleeing from the most powerful woman in the land who personally wanted her locked up and quite possibly dead. She knew that her only hope of beginning a new life lay with her new friend Charlie Watts. He filled her with a feeling that she could not define or articulate.
It was so unusual for a boy to be able to read and write; to speak with such authority and understanding, and, most of all, to be acquainted with a king. It had crossed Gwendolyn’s mind that Charlie had offered her no real proof of any of these things but she did not doubt what he told her at all. Not for a second. She was an accurate judge of people and Charlie was the most sincere and earnest person that she had ever met. This included her father, who could tell a tall tale with the best of them.
“Good,” said Charlie. “Then I believe that we shall make it back to the castle with time to spare. I am so hungry I have not eaten anything of substance in nearly three days, and I am thirsty. I think that we should stop for a brief spell and drink some water from a stream. I think our horse could do with some as well. What do you think, Gwendolyn?”
“I agree, Charlie Watts,” she said, and almost immediately steered the horse off the road and into a glade that ran parallel to the road. “I think that I can find us some food as well.”
After travelling through the glade for about two hundred yards, meandering around old oaks and beech trees, they both heard the unmistakable sound of running water and soon were standing by a small babbling brook. Charlie looked at the cold, glass clear water tumbling over slate grey pebbles and his thirst reached a peak. He dropped to his stomach and dipped his lips to the surface and sucked in the water for a minute before he raised his head again.
Gwendolyn was tying the horse to a low hanging tree branch.
“Wait here a short while Charlie and I will look for some food.”
With that she moved off deeper into the glade and was soon swallowed up by the thickening wood.
Charlie watched her go and then became aware of a series of feelings that were entirely new to him; he actually regretted the fact that he could not see her, he felt a little disconsolate and empty that she was not there. For hours he had been on horseback behind her, with his arms encircling her waist and he realised that he wanted to be in that position again, as soon as possible. Girls had meant nothing to Charlie in the past and although other boys his age had girl friends, were trying to get one or were in the process of breaking up with one, all of this appeared to have bypassed Charlie. He was too keen to be reading, exploring or lost in a world of his own thoughts and ideas. He thought of his good friend, Jerry Squires, and the time that he wasted dripping about after Emma
Bartholomew. Jerry thought that he didn’t know but Charlie was too astute not to notice how Jerry’s behaviour changed whenever Emma was about. He had noted how everything Jerry said and did appeared calculated to delight or amaze her. But Charlie was not astute enough to have realised that Emma’s behaviour was exactly like Jerry’s, whenever Charlie was around.
Now Gwendolyn had aroused something in him that he understood to be, well, affection he supposed. He was intrigued, however, by the fact that it had come over him so quickly and he suddenly became aware that he was getting embarrassed and his face was flushing even though he was on his own. He quickly shook himself free of that thought process and took stock of his situation. He was within striking distance of the castle and would be there in time to warn Sir Geoffrey and he did not doubt that Sir Geoffrey would immediately swing into action and know how to foil the plotters and protect the king.
That having been said, Charlie was also painfully aware that he had not washed, brushed his hair or cleaned his teeth for what seemed like weeks and that he could occasionally smell his own body odour when he moved. His thoughts sprang back to Gwendolyn and he wondered what she thought of the state of him but he just as quickly realised that it was common for people in these times to have a less than fragrant air about them. Gwendolyn was probably used to it. Nonetheless, he resolved to try and tidy himself up a bit. He looked down at the water, took off his glasses, and plunged his head right under the surface of the stream.
When he came up for air he vigorously rubbed his face and ran his fingers through his hair. He picked up a twig and used the end of it to rub against his furry feeling teeth, remembering some half forgotten passage in some forgotten book that this was what passed for a toothbrush in this period. He replaced his glasses but was dismayed when half of the cracked lens fell out. He picked up the piece of glass and put it in his jeans’ pocket. He didn’t know what for-he just thought that he should.
“I have found some things that are good to eat!” shouted Gwendolyn as she suddenly emerged from the woods. As she reached Charlie she let down her skirt, which she had gathered up into a makeshift basket. From the skirt tumbled an assortment of berries and what Charlie assumed were mushrooms, along with some small apples.
“Wow,” said Charlie. “That’s a feast!”
“Wow?” said Gwendolyn. “What does that mean?”
“It’s a word we use in Putney to express our appreciation and delight.”
“It is an unusual word which I shall use for the same purpose.” said Gwendolyn as she gathered up a handful of blackberries and an apple, which she handed to Charlie. He took them gratefully and began to eat without saying anything else.
“Would you like a mushroom?” She handed him a huge white mushroom, which he took and said, “Normally I love mushrooms but I prefer them cooked.”
“Well, I like them cooked ov
er an open fire but as we have none we have no choice but to eat them raw.” Gwendolyn looked a little downcast that Charlie appeared to be displeased with what she was offering.
Charlie thought for a second and then looked up at the canopy of trees above his head. It was not so thick as to prevent shafts of sunlight piercing through at regular intervals.
“Just wait a few moments, Gwendolyn,” he said and he started running around gathering some dried grasses and dead leaves. He found a strong beam of sunlight and started scraping away at the glade floor to clear a circle in the fallen tree matter. Soon he had a large patch of bare earth, which he piled up with dried grass. Then he took off his glasses and held the good lens in the sunlight. He carefully adjusted the way he held it so that the rays of the sun were concentrated into a small point on the dry grass. Almost immediately thin wisps of smoke began to appear followed, shortly, by a tiny lick of flame.
“Quickly,” he said to Gwendolyn who was staring at him in disbelief. “Gather some small twigs and small pieces of branch.”
Gwendolyn sprung into action and immediately did as he asked. Within ten minutes a small robust fire was going and he fed it from a small stack of firewood. They had the large mushrooms on sticks and were gently roasting them over the small fire.
Gwendolyn was staring intently at Charlie. “You are no ordinary person, Charlie Watts,” she said at last. “You produce fire from nothing but a ray of sunshine. If I did not know better I would say that you were some kind of sorcerer.”
Charlie laughed. “A sorcerer? I don’t think so. It’s just a matter of
pure science, knowing how to harness what comes to us naturally, Gwendolyn.”
“I understand that, Charlie, but let me tell you this, there are many in these parts who would have called you a witch for what you have just done and would see you hanged or burned alive.”
That stopped Charlie in his tracks and he knew immediately she was right. He could not carry on in a twenty-first century manner without considering what it might mean to these medieval people amongst whom he was now living. He was aware that many science fiction writers had proposed time travel but had also gone to great lengths to point out all the things that could go wrong, how, for instance, a modern traveller would interact with people from the past. He briefly toyed with the idea of telling Gwendolyn who he really was and exactly where he had come from but he dismissed the idea almost as soon as it occurred to him. That would just be stupid he told himself. He correctly surmised that his background story was teetering on the edge of credibility as it was and to introduce the truth, at this stage, would make Gwendolyn think he was completely insane.
“These mushrooms taste good,” he said, taking a bite out of a particularly large one that he had been roasting over the fire for a few minutes. “I think, though, that we had better be on our way to Sherebrook again. I think that we have probably stayed here long enough. Don’t you agree Gwendolyn?”
She did not answer immediately. She was staring open-mouthed in horror at something behind Charlie’s left shoulder and he could see her eyes bursting with fear.
“Charlie… look out!” she finally shouted and Charlie instinctively threw himself to one side, just quickly enough to avoid the flailing chain mail fist of a huge man that had sprung from nowhere. The miss meant that the momentum of the blow was unchecked and that the man travelled around in a complete circular motion. He became unbalanced and pitched forward, directly onto their small fire. Gwendolyn sprang to her feet, stumbling backwards, and let out a gasp of dismay as she felt a huge pair of muscular arms encircling her waist and lifting her off the ground. She screamed, writhed and kicked out but to no avail. She was held in the air and then violently flung to the ground. The impact of the
fall forced the breath from her lungs and she lay still gasping for air like a landed fish.
Charlie rolled over several times to avoid the man who had fallen onto the fire; but the assailant was up again in a flash, his speed of movement belying his size as he ran after the rolling Charlie. Charlie too sprang to his feet and just caught sight of the man, delivering another colossal punch at him. This time Charlie ducked under the blow and leapt to one side, keeping his balance and running low toward the wooded area. He saw a hefty sized branch, about the length of a sword, laying on the ground and as he ran he stooped and picked it up in a single sweeping action. He saw, from the corner of his eye, Gwendolyn attempting to get up from where she had been thrown but her attacker kicked her in the stomach and she fell back down without making a sound. Charlie stopped running and turned to face his attacker who was bearing down on him. As the immense man got close Charlie took a swing with his piece of wood using every ounce of strength he could muster and stepping to one side as he did so. The blow caught the man right across the bridge of his nose and he let out a howl of agony as twin jets of bright crimson blood spurted instantly from his nostrils. He fell to his knees with his hands over his face and Charlie whirled around to locate Gwendolyn. She was lying motionless in an unnatural looking heap with the other assailant bending down over her.
“Leave her alone!” screamed Charlie and he ran toward the man taking a wild swing with the wooden weapon as he did so.
The man looked up and parried Charlie’s blow with his forearm, which was bound with a leather sleeve. He laughed with sneering derision and simply walked toward Charlie, snatching the log from him and then punching him in the stomach. The breath left Charlie’s body and he sank to the floor, beaten and breathless. For a second he flashed back to Mick Clark punching him in the guts and he thought that was the hardest he was ever going to be hit in his life. He was wrong. He would never be hit harder than he had just had been. He felt as if the man’s fist had driven right into his stomach and yanked his entrails out. Charlie threw up, and then sank completely to the ground in a shapeless, beaten heap
He didn’t know how long he had remained in that position but he was aware of being yanked up by the collar of his tunic and a voice saying, “Don’t hurt him any more, Sir Robert wants him back in one piece, we
only have to capture them, remember. We will not get the five gold pieces we were promised if he’s all mashed up.”
Abruptly, a third soldier came crashing into the clearing and the other two laughed at him. “Late for the battle again Philip? You’ll be late for your own funeral one day.”
“Must have been a tough one,” said the newcomer sarcastically. “These children look really tough, especially the girl.”
Both the other soldiers fell silent and became a little sheepish. The one with the broken nose stroked it gingerly. “The boy has some fight in him,” he said.
“Yes, well…” replied Philip, looking sceptical. “I was scouting the other side of the road and then I heard the fracas. So we now have them. Excellent. We will all make a pretty penny out of this affair.”
“Then you can be the one to give the news to Sir Robert,” said the broken nosed soldier.
“He is travelling with our Lady Matilda on the southern road to Sherebrook. You can cut across the Barton Downs and catch him up. He will be most pleased with us.”
Philip nodded and said, “I will go immediately.”
He disappeared again the way he had come.
Charlie was now upright and able to take a look around him. Miraculously, his glasses were still on his face but he could feel that one of the arms was very loose and he did not know how long they would stay there. His guess was that he was going to be slung onto the back of a horse and if that was the case they would probably come flying off all together and he would lose them for good.
He tried to speak. “Who are you men? Why do you want us?”
“Shut it boy or you will feel my fist in your mouth. You are escaped prisoners of Sir Robert of Gloucester and we are taking you back to where you belong. Expect to hear nothing else from me until you
are back behind bars. You may have escaped once but you won’t again. There is an especially deep dungeon waiting for you. You can lay in there and starve and rot until we torture you and then hang you.”
All hope left Charlie at once. His spirit failed him and the familiar hot tears of frustration welled up in his eyes but as ever, he fought them back. After all he had been through it had come to this; he was once again a prisoner, once again facing torture and eventual execution and this time
he knew there would be no escape. No matter how hard he tried to fight it back, and show no weakness to these brutish soldiers, he couldn’t help it; a single hot tear fell onto his dirty and bruised cheek.
“Are you crying little tough boy?” mocked the man whom Charlie had crunched on the nose. The mark of Charlie’s attack was easy to see on his face as he came up close.
“I think that I owe you a little something for my broken nose, you little turd.”
As he said this, the man clenched his fist and slowly drew it back in order to relish the pleasure of seeing the look in Charlie’s eyes. Charlie screwed his eyes shut and waited for the fist to crunch into his face and for the explosion of pain and the shooting stars that he knew were coming.
“If you make that blow-you will die!” A new voice boomed out from behind the group and seemed to fill the entire glade.
Charlie’s eyes flew open and a dizzying wave of euphoria burst over him, he knew that voice so well..
“Gramps!” he cried. A lump formed in his throat and tears of joy burst out of him. He whirled around and there was his very own Gramps, but not the man he knew, this man was dressed like a knight, a warrior, he looked huge and powerful; bigger even than Sir Geoffrey. The look on Gramps’ face was dark and stern and set like granite, his steel hard gaze was fixed directly on the man who had been about to hit Charlie. Gramps spoke again and his voice resonated deeply with power and authority.
Charlie Watts and the Rip in Time Page 20
