Charlie was winded by the fall and realised he had landed on top of Nick. He felt the head of the kitchen boy slither out from under him like a snake and heard him getting to his feet. Charlie was still winded but knew that he had to move or face the consequences. Nick was not continuing his
run up the steps, which meant that he intended to deal with him here and now. Charlie used every ounce of strength that he had to draw himself up onto all fours. He felt the air flooding back into his lungs; he didn’t know if he had sustained any other damage but everything felt okay, if a little bruised here and there. He took a couple of breaths and the air revitalised his muscles. He started to turn his head to see where Nick was and, out of the corner of his eye, caught sight of the villain standing above him, and the flash of a knife. He instinctively rolled away from the thrust but didn’t escape entirely; he felt the sting of the blade just catching his neck and cutting into his flesh.
Charlie heard Nick utter a string of venomous curses and scuttle after him again.
“You can try to get away but I am going to slice your belly open and leave you here for the rats.” Charlie could feel the spittle landing on his face as Nick snarled his intentions.
He had rolled onto his back and now Nick was upon him again, hovering over him, flapping like a carrion crow, the knife held high in his skeletal white fingers. Charlie pulled his legs up, under his chin, and then kicked out with them both at once, with all his strength. His feet landed, together, right in Nick’s belly. They sent him reeling and flailing backwards, losing his footing and landing on his back with a dull thump. Charlie heard the knife clatter to the ground and knew that, once again, his best form of defence was offence. He sprang to his feet and leapt forward onto Nick’s prone body, punching hard at Nick’s face, trying to use his weight to keep him pinned to the ground.
At first he had the upper hand and landed some crunching blows, splitting Nick’s lip and breaking his nose, but the killer, familiar with violence, didn’t care. His hands shot to Charlie’s throat, gripping his windpipe, and starting to strangle him. Charlie stopped punching and tried to release Nick’s grip on him. He managed to prise off one finger and bent it back as hard as he could, the blazing pain shot up Nicks arm; a yowl of agony escaped his mouth and he released his strangle hold on Charlie.
Charlie threw himself backwards off Nick, who rolled over and then got to his feet and charged at Charlie, eyes bulging with hatred and rage.
“You’re a dead one!” he screamed and threw himself into the air aiming to land right on Charlie. Charlie knew his strength was waning
and that the bigger, older youth was going to win this fight. He did not have enough power left in his body to fight off another attack. Suddenly, his hand fell on the hilt of Nick’s knife and he instinctively grabbed it and held it before him just as Nick landed on him.
Nick pushed himself off Charlie and clutched at his chest, feeling the dagger buried hilt-deep in his heart. He looked at Charlie with his face a grotesque mask of sheer shock; profound terror burned in his bulging eyes. Already his white chest was smeared bright red as arterial blood pumped from the wound.
He managed to say “I can’t die. I am going to be a powerful man. a prince.” Then he slumped forward and pitched sideways onto the ground; his black heart was silent and still, sliced in two, his life extinguished.
Charlie got to his feet with a raging mixture of emotions boiling in his brain. He was elated at beating Longhaired Nick, but shocked that he had just killed someone, a human being. It had been in self-defence but, still, he had killed someone. Since coming to this period he had seen more death and violence than anyone should and it was not like it was in films; it was bloodier and more shocking in real life. He knew he could never be the same person again; the boy in him was now gone and he had maturity thrust upon him. It sat uncomfortably curled around his shoulders. He looked down at the lifeless body of Longhaired Nick and suddenly the turmoil left him; what was done was done, it made no difference now. He turned away and started to run down the passage.
Charlie burst into the sunlight and took in all that there was to see; King Stephen now on his feet, holding his head and leaning against a tree and two of Sir Robert’s knights were prone on the ground. Matilda and Sir Robert, however, were nowhere to be seen. Then his gaze fell upon Gramps, kneeling at the body of Sir Geoffrey, cradling the old knight’s head in his arms.
“Sir Geoffrey!” cried Charlie and sprinted forward. He dropped to his knees besides the dead knight and looked pleadingly at Gramps. Gramps slowly shook his head from side to side and looked compassionately at Charlie.
Tears filled Charlie’s eyes and then rolled down his cheeks, glistening in the sunlight that filtered through the trees. He threw his arms around
Sir Geoffrey’s limp yet still warm body and Gramps tenderly stroked Charlie’s hair.
FORTY-FIVE
K ing Stephen sat on an ornately carved wooden chair with a huge rabbit fur cloak wrapped around his body. He looked tired and drawn and there were dark rings around his eyes. The effects of the substance that Matilda had given him had worn off but had left him weakened. The king however had his full wits about him as he surveyed, thoughtfully, the people in the audience hall of Sherebrook castle.
It had been two days since the kidnapping attempt and he had taken a full day and night to recover. Matilda and Sir Robert of Gloucester had escaped and were back in London, licking their wounds. Thomas Thomasson, and the castle guards, had won the day in the battle outside the gates and had either killed or captured Matilda’s men. Sir Richard Baldock had been arrested by Thomas. He now languished in a dungeon somewhere in the bowels of his own castle awaiting his fate. It did not look good for him. The castle gossip was that Sir Richard had an appointment with the executioners block and axe.
In the hall were the King, Gramps, Gwendolyn and her friends, Freya and Rosanna, Matilda’s two ladies in waiting whom she had managed to help escape from the fighting, Thomas and Charlie.
“I am in debt to all of you,” said the king. “I would now be in the power of Matilda had it not been for your bravery and loyalty. I was a fool to trust that devious woman. England and your king both owe you a debt of gratitude and therefore I have arrived at some important decisions.”
He looked at Gramps first, “Sir Henry, I am not aware of your ancestry or heritage but I am advised that you are come from Normandy and intend to return there. Is that correct?”
“It is, your majesty,” confirmed Gramps. “I came here to take my grandson Charlie back with me and he has confirmed that that is his wish.”
The king turned to Charlie. “Is that your desire, Charlie Watts?”
“It is,” confirmed Charlie.
“Hmmm…” the king mused for a second. “I am in a quandary then. I am deeply saddened by the death of Sir Geoffrey de Lancie who fought so loyally to protect me and I wish to honour his courage by providing the funds for his tomb. He died without heir or family and his manor reverts to the throne. It was, therefore, my decision to give the title of it to you Charlie, in recognition of your service to me. I believe Sir Geoffrey would have been amenable to this. But if you are to leave for Normandy with Sir Henry, then I cannot do that.”
“May I make propose a solution sir?” asked Charlie.
“You may,” smiled the king.
“If you were still to give me the title to the manor, would it be mine to dispose of as I saw fit?”
“It would be so,” said the king shifting in his chair and adopting a look of curiosity.
“Then it would be my desire to give the title to Lady Gwendolyn who helped me in my escape from Sir Robert and who also helped me to reach here to warn of the plot to abduct you. Her father was loyal to you and died trying to stop Matilda. Without Lady Gwendolyn I would not have returned in time to raise the alarm.”
“It is
done then!” exclaimed the King and he turned his attention to Gwendolyn. “Lady Gwendolyn, as desired by Charlie Watts, I cede the titles and lands of Bagshotte manor to you and your descendants. It is yours. My clerks will draw up the deeds.”
A broad smile broke over Gwendolyn’s face and she curtsied to the king as low as she could.
She then stood and looked over at Charlie.
“Wow!” she said.
FORTY-SIX
They travelled back to Bagshotte in procession. Gramps was at the head of the party, riding Searcher. Charlie followed riding a white pony given to him by the king. Gwendolyn rode Rufus and was flanked by her newly appointed ladies in waiting, Freya and Rosanna. They too were mounted and behind them trundled the carriage which bore the body of Sir Geoffrey de Lancie. He had been tightly wrapped in skins and then bound with sacking and placed in a lead lined oak coffin. His sword was placed on his body before the lid was closed. His shield was fixed to the top of the coffin and the carriage was flanked, on either side, by three knights. Behind came four more knights who had been sent by the king as protection.
Charlie was lost in thought; Gramps had told him that he had been here, in mediaeval England, for nearly five weeks. He had developed a curious affinity for the time and place. This, Gramps had told him, was perfectly natural. It was a trait of the human mind that it acclimatised itself to the time it found itself in. This was one of the key discoveries made about time travel. What was certainly the case was that Charlie was looking forward to returning to his own time but he also cared deeply about people in this time. He was glad he had been able to secure Gwendolyn’s future for her and that he had been able to make a difference, to prevent history from taking another course. This was one thing that he found difficult to understand, and even speaking to Gramps had not completely cleared up the conundrum in his mind. History records that there was an attempt to kidnap the king but it failed-but Charlie was not here the first time around, or was he? A closed loop event as Gramps described it. Charlie chose to ignore the problem for the time being.
What weighed heaviest on his soul was the death of Sir Geoffrey. They had only known each other a short time but in their brief relationship they had become close. It was almost as if Sir Geoffrey had been waiting for someone he could lavish fatherly attention on. Charlie consoled himself with the fact that even though he had known him for just an eye blink of time, he had provided loyalty and friendship to the knight.
He glanced around at the carriage, containing Sir Geoffrey’s body, and remembered their first meeting; it seemed like an age ago. He smiled to himself.
FORTY-SEVEN
They stood in the grounds of Sir Geoffrey’s house in Bagshotte. It was a small stone house surrounded by woodland. On the west it was bordered by a peaceful stream that tumbled gently over huge flat grey rocks. Gramps had called all the estate workers together and shown them the document transferring the title deeds to Gwendolyn, signed by the king himself. The king had also sent twenty men at arms to be at Gwendolyn’s disposal, for protection, until she had raised her own troop.
“Goodbye, Charlie Watts,” said Gwendolyn. “Will you come this way again?”
“Yes,” replied Charlie, “But I do not know when. I think that it will be many years from now and you should not look out for me.”
Gwendolyn cast her face down and stared at the ground.
“I cannot thank you enough for what you have done for me. It was not so long ago that I stared death in the face within a dark prison but you rescued me and now have given me a home. I shall never forget you-ever.”
They hugged tightly for what seemed to Charlie to be both forever and yet for no time at all. When he looked at her face again, she was crying. Tears rolled down her rose red cheeks as she turned around to walk away, back to the manor house. She paused and then turned back to Charlie, “I will ensure that Sir Geoffrey is entombed in the church here in Bagshotte and a glorious effigy is carved to honour him. Please visit it one day.”
“Trust me Gwendolyn-I will visit it one day.” Charlie gave Gwendolyn a final smile and then walked to where Gramps waited, holding Searcher by the reins.
Gramps clasped him on the shoulder, “Charlie my boy, we have a journey to make!”
He climbed up into the saddle and helped Charlie up behind him and they rode out of Bagshotte. They were accompanied by Edward, the man at arms from Sherebrook, who the king had now put into service with Gwendolyn.
FORTY-EIGHT
The following day they arrived at a place not far from where Charlie had first arrived in the past. Gramps and Charlie dismounted. Gramps handed the reins of Searcher to Edward.
“Goodbye Edward,” he said. “Please take Searcher back to my Lady Gwendolyn. Charlie and I will walk from here.”
“This does not seem right, Sir Henry,” said Edward. “A knight without a horse is the same as a knight without a sword.”
“Thank you for your concern but I know exactly what I am doing. Charlie and I will walk to our destination from here. This is how it will be.”
“As you will, my Lord,” said Edward and wheeled his horse around to make his way back to Bagshotte.
Gramps gave Searcher one last affectionate pat on his rump and then they watched Edward disappear. Gramps produced the Citadel from inside his tunic and tapped it into life. He studied the screen for a while and then turned to Charlie. “This way Charlie.”
They walked for about an hour, all the while following directions that appeared on the screen of the Citadel, until they emerged from a line of trees onto the edge of a field. In the middle of the field was an oak tree and Charlie recognised it as the very one he had stood next to when he first arrived. It seemed like a lifetime ago. He had entered the past as a boy and now returned to his own time having left behind boyish things.
They made their way across the field and were soon standing by the oak.
“Now then Charlie,” said Gramps, still staring at the Citadel. “We are just in time. Stand exactly where I tell you to and do exactly as I say. We must enter the portal at exactly the same time.”
“No problem,” said Charlie and he waited for instructions.
Suddenly, Gramps looked up from the screen. “Over here Charlie.” He ran about fifteen meters to his right and Charlie followed closely.
“Now stop and join me by my side, keep close, when I say “now” take two strides forward.”
Charlie stood close to Gramps and waited.
“Now!” shouted Gramps and they both took two steps forward.
The inside of Gramps’ cellar filled with light and there was the deafening clap of a thunder-like sound and Charlie and Gramps emerged into the small room, and then stepped into the cellar. Charlie had returned to his own time.
He looked at Gramps, “It’s good to be back Gramps,” he said.
EPILOGUE
Charlie had been gone exactly twenty-six hours in real time. Gramps had timed the return as exactly as he could to give Charlie the shortest time away and so that Gramps could return with him. If he had tried to return Charlie to the moment after he had departed then Gramps could not have come back at the same time. If Gramps had returned at the same time then there would have been two versions of him at once. This was impossible.
Charlie had run hot a bath, filling it with bath foam and steaming up the bathroom. He then plunged into it and soaked for an hour, occasionally letting some water out as it cooled and refilling with hot water. His hair was matted and dirty, his body ached and was covered in bruises, and he was tired, so very tired…
He got out of the bath and then, at Gramps’ suggestion, immediately called his mother.
“Hi Charlie,” she spoke in her soothing way down the phone. “You didn’t call last night, is everything ok.”
“Yup, no problems Mum. Gramps and I went to the movies but we
got back late and thought it best not to disturb you.”
They chatted for a few more minutes, mother and son stuff, and then Charlie went to his room. He slept for the rest the day, and all through the
night, without shifting his position once.
They turned off the M3 at junction 3, in Gramps’ battered old Ford Prefect, and Charlie navigated Gramps into the village of Bagshot. They wound through the short high street and out onto the A30 towards
Camberley; they took a right turn and drove about half a mile down a narrow lane bordered on both sides by high privet.
“There it is!” cried Charlie pointing to the small Norman church. It stood in a clearing surrounded by tall pine tree. Gramps brought the car to a halt and Charlie got out.
They walked together down the gravel pathway that led to the entrance of the church and entered through the open doors. They left the hot bright day and entered a starkly contrasting interior. Here it was cool, the darkness punctured only by the multicoloured shafts of light that slid in through the high stained glass windows.
Charlie saw it straight away, right in the middle of the church. A massive stone tomb upon which lay the carved stone figure of a knight in full armour. His hands were clasped across his chest and his sword lay along his body. Charlie approached the tomb quietly and let out a small gasp as he looked, once more, at the face of Sir Geoffrey. Gwendolyn had been true to her word and had ensured that the carving was magnificent. In this place Sir Geoffrey had laid for nearly a thousand years, undisturbed and at rest, a friend to his squire and a warrior of courage and great loyalty. Charlie ran his hands over the carving and for a surreal instant he saw the eyes of the effigy flicker. He seemed to detect a warmth flood into the cold stone, but it was just his imagination.
Charlie Watts and the Rip in Time Page 24
