by Jenny Nimmo
Do we? thought Timoken. He had hoped they might stay here for a while. But perhaps these wild-looking children didn’t want strangers in their patch of forest.
Led by Thorkil, the children moved back into the trees. Timoken watched them effortlessly skim up the creepers, the rush-lights held in their teeth. When they reached the lower branches they pulled the creepers up into the trees. The silence that followed made it seem as though the appearance of the children had been just a dream.
The next morning there was no sign of the children. Timoken thought he might fly up into the trees and find them, but he decided against it. If they wanted to be seen they would appear soon enough. ‘Are you determined to move on?’ he asked the wizard.
‘I think it best,’ said Eri.
They stamped out the last embers of the fire and led Gabar back to the beach. As soon as his feet touched the sand, the camel gathered speed and began to gallop. Timoken let him go, and watched him running, turning and bellowing for joy.
‘I hope this won’t go on too long,’ Eri said anxiously. ‘It might take us all day to find a safe place to rest.’
‘We’re safe already,’ said Timoken.
‘I doubt it.’ Eri looked towards the cliffs that rose on one side of the beach. ‘The conquerors have spies everywhere. Even as we speak, someone could be watching us.’
Timoken followed his gaze. He saw only white sea-birds tilting beside the cliffs, or resting on the rocky ledges and calling into the wind. At the top of the cliffs a few stunted trees grew among the clumps of golden gorse. And high above it all a vigilant eagle soared, watching its prey. Timoken thought of Edern; he had chosen an eagle to be his emblem because it was as near as he could get to flying.
‘Eri, will I ever see Edern again?’ asked Timoken. ‘I want to know if I’ll see my friends, Mabon, Peredur and Gereint. And I can’t bear to think I’ll never see my sister, Zobayda, again. In the many years when we were apart she couldn’t take the water of life, and so she has aged much faster than me.’
The wizard pursed his lips. He licked his forefinger and held it in the air. ‘South-west,’ he murmured. ‘A kindly wind, but sometimes wet.’ Turning to Timoken he said, ‘I don’t have an answer for you, but perhaps I’ll try and dream one if we get some peace.’
‘Thank you.’ Timoken knew that Eri was a great wizard. Answers were a favour and he shouldn’t ask for too many. Yet there was someone he hadn’t mentioned, someone who he hadn’t seen for almost a year but whose memory was as fresh as though she were sitting before him at that very moment.
The wizard bunched the top of his cloak around his neck and rubbed his hands. He gave Timoken a thoughtful smile and said, ‘I believe you would also like to know about that girl who came with you from Castile. Her name escapes me.’
‘Berenice,’ Timoken said shyly. ‘She’s being kept with the women, learning to play the harp and other womanly things.’
‘She’s a beautiful girl. Even without a dowry she will be much in demand. Osbern will guard her like his treasures.’ Eri hesitated and then continued solemnly, ‘It is possible that one day you will see your friends again, and even your sister, who is a mature lady now. But as for Berenice, it is likely that she will be married very soon, and beyond your reach forever.
Timoken frowned up at the clouds. ‘Married? But we belong together, and I thought . . . Would she want to marry a rich lord, Eri? A conqueror with a castle of his own? Maybe she would. But I can build a castle as fine as any prince’s.’
‘I’m sorry, Timoken,’ Eri said gently. ‘That would take time, and it may be too late.’
‘But will you try and bring her into your dreams?’
‘I will,’ said the wizard.
Timoken called Gabar, and the camel reluctantly came over to him. Timoken tied his bundle of hares’ skins onto the saddle, saying, ‘We must travel again, Gabar.’
‘Where now, Family?’ asked the camel. ‘Can we look for more sand?’
Timoken smiled. ‘We’ll try,’ he said. ‘Now, let the wizard climb on to your back. He can’t fly like me.’
The camel knelt while his passengers climbed onto their lumpy seat. A low, continuous grumble came from the wizard as Gabar stood up, and Timoken couldn’t help laughing.
‘It’s all very well for you,’ said Eri, ‘but my bottom is nothing but bone and, even covered with furs, a hump is the most uncomfortable thing I have ever sat on.’
‘I’ll make a proper saddle when we reach . . .’ Timoken hesitated. ‘Where are we going, Eri?’
‘Into the wild north. Let your camel find the route.’
‘Come, Gabar,’ Timoken said to the camel. ‘Up above the cliffs and into the clouds. Away from the sun and into the wilderness.’
Sand, thought Gabar. More sand. He walked happily across the beach until he felt Timoken tug the hair on his back, and then he began to rise into the air.
At the edge of the trees, a boy and a girl stood watching the camel walk across the vast stretch of sand. They watched until the magic beast was hardly more than a distant form bobbing beside the incoming tide, and they gasped as the creature slowly rose into the air.
Their mouths agape, the children ran on to the sand and watched the camel lift his passengers into the sky. Once there, he hovered a moment, before slowly turning and flying back towards the children. When he passed over their heads they could clearly see his long brown neck and the knobbly forelegs stretched out before him.
The girl, Sila, waited until the camel was out of sight. Then, clutching the small boy’s shoulder, she said, ‘Karli, the others won’t believe us. So don’t bother to tell them what we’ve seen.’
Karli vehemently shook his head. ‘Never. It’s our secret, Sila.’
It was Sila whose quiet voice had alerted Timoken. She was the only one brave enough to speak out against Thorkil. His treatment of Karli and the other small children made her angry. Thorkil might be an earl’s son, but now he was no better than the rest of the tree children. They were all the same; they had nothing to live on but their wits.
‘Sila, let’s follow them,’ said Karli.
‘Follow? But we can’t, they’re in the sky.’
‘The magic beast likes sand,’ Karli tugged her arm. ‘I could see how he danced on it. He was so happy.’
Sila laughed. ‘Beasts don’t dance.’
‘Magic beasts do. You saw him.’
Sila nodded. ‘Yes, I saw him.’
‘Let’s go, then. We’ll walk beside the sea until we find another beach and, one day, there they’ll be: the magic beast, the wizard and the boy who wanted to help me.’
‘I think he’s a king,’ Sila said thoughtfully.
‘A king?’ Karli clapped his hands. ‘Let’s find him.’
Without their noticing, a small crowd had crept up behind them.
‘What’s all the excitement?’ asked a boy wearing sealskin breeches.
‘We saw . . .’ Karli began excitedly.
Sila shot him a warning glance and said, ‘The strangers have gone – riding their magic beast.’
‘We’re going to follow them,’ said Karli.
The boy in sealskin breeches shook his head, grinning. ‘You won’t get far. Which way did they go?’
Karli twirled round in the sand, waving his arms about, while Sila watched him anxiously.
‘That way,’ he said at last, pointing at the trees.
‘Back into the forest?’ asked a girl, frowning. ‘We didn’t see them.’
‘Because they’re magic,’ Karli told her.
The boy in the sealskin breeches looked concerned. ‘Don’t go, Sila. It’s not safe to travel alone, just the two of you.’
‘Then come with us, Tumi,’ cried Karli.
‘What’s going on here?’ Thorkil strode up to them. He was followed by a gang of teenage boys carrying roughly made spears.
‘We were judging the tide,’ Tumi said quickly. ‘It might be right for fishing.’
&nbs
p; ‘Ah, going to catch supper are you, fisher boy?’ Thorkil said in a condescending tone. ‘Where’s your net?’
‘I forgot it.’ Tumi turned away from Thorkil, afraid that he’d sounded too bold.
‘I forgot it,’ mimicked Thorkil, and the group behind him laughed. But all too soon Thorkil’s tone changed. He had caught sight of Karli and, striding forward, he grabbed hold of the little boy’s arm. ‘Where’s your needle?’ he demanded. ‘Why aren’t you mending my jerkin?’
‘The bone needle is too sharp; it hurts his fingers,’ said Sila. ‘Look at them.’ She held up Karli’s hand, so they could all see the scars and the torn skin on his palm and fingers.
Thorkil laughed scornfully. ‘I have scars on my feet, on my arms, and here’ – he touched his cheek – ‘on my face. Life is hard. We all have scars, but we must put up with them.’
Sila stared defiantly at Thorkil for a moment, and then she dropped her gaze and let go of Karli’s hand.
‘Back to work, everyone.’ Thorkil turned away and marched into the trees. He was followed by his gang, who began to bicker and shove as they tried to pass each other on the narrow track.
Sila sighed. A long day of running in useless circles lay ahead. A day of wading through thorns and falling in thickets, losing her bark shoes and staining her hands and face with berries. There had to be a better way to survive.
Tumi looked back at her. ‘I’ll catch a fish today, Sila.’ He gave her one of his mischievous twisty smiles. ‘We won’t go hungry, I promise you.’
‘Good luck, Tumi.’ Sila returned his smile. ‘It’s about time we had some real food.’
Karli ran up behind her. Catching her hand he whispered, ‘Shall we go, Sila? Shall we go and find the magic beast?’
Sila nodded. ‘Perhaps.’
‘Please, Sila? Can we go tonight, after Tumi’s fish? I don’t want to live here anymore.’
‘Nor do I, Karli. But we must think and plan. Be patient.’
‘I can’t.’ Karli’s small face looked desperately earnest. ‘I’m going tonight. I’ll go alone if I have to.’
Chapter Five
The Widows’ Tower
Castle Melyntha had four towers. One of them was known as the Widows’ Tower, even though there were young unmarried women living there.
Girls of high rank were sent to the Widows’ Tower at the age of twelve. There, among other skills, they learned to embroider and play the harp. Their teachers were widows, some not yet twenty, who had lost their husbands on the battlefield. Most of the older widows were strict and hard-faced, though there were a few who liked to laugh and, looking into their eyes, you could tell that they still longed for excitement.
Timoken’s sister, Zobayda, was like none of the others. She told fabulous tales of the life she had led in Africa, and later with her husband, Tariq, the toy-maker. She still kept a bag filled with the beautiful toys he had made. Zobayda was now almost seventy, though she looked twenty years younger.
It was the possession of toys that had persuaded the other widows Zobayda should have care of the baby. No one knew where he came from. One morning, a soldier appeared at the door to the Widows’ Tower and handed the baby to a servant. ‘It’s to grow here till it’s three years,’ was all he said.
The baby was a boy. It was rumoured that he was the son of a Welsh Briton, but who knew? His mother was dead, obviously. And perhaps his father, too. The baby’s eyes were a dark, stormy grey. He was now a year old and he had grown to love Zobayda. He wouldn’t be parted from her. She called him Tariq, after her husband. But, of course, that couldn’t have been the name his parents had chosen for him.
The Widows’ Tower was not a prison, but single women of rank were not expected to wander alone in the castle grounds. The tower was a place for learning how to be a good wife. When Berenice came to Britain with Timoken and his sister, she had hoped for freedom. Instead, she had been sent to this dreary tower. Zobayda explained that if she were to survive, this was the life she must accept; any other would be dangerous, unthinkable. For Beri, rules were meant to be broken. Dressed as a boy, she would often slip away from the tower and meet Timoken and Edern beneath the trees in the castle orchard.
Beri’s father had been the bravest and best swordsman in all Spain. He had taught his daughter how to use the sword, and she could hold her own against most young men. Timoken had been aware of this. He had made an enchanted sword for her, but she was not permitted to wear it hanging from her fine, jewelled belt. So the enchanted sword lay in a wooden chest, where the older widows could keep an eye on it. Beri knew exactly the moments when the chest was left unguarded.
The widows in the tower insisted on using her full name, Berenice. Beri preferred the shortened version. She knew she was being prepared for marriage. Some of the girls left the tower soon after their fourteenth birthdays. Beri wondered about the husbands they might have. Were they old and wrinkled? Were they knights, or were they fat and greasy councillors? She couldn’t bring herself to imagine her own fate.
She decided that she must leave Castle Melyntha and search for a better future. Perhaps she could persuade Timoken and the four Britons to go with her?
The servant-girl, Mair, often brought news to the tower. A few hours after Timoken’s escape, Mair came to the girls’ chamber, where Beri stood alone, gazing out of the window.
‘Did you hear the guards?’ Mair laid a clean dress on one of the beds. ‘Your friend Timoken has escaped.’
‘Escaped?’ Beri was puzzled. ‘How so? He was free to come and go as he wished.’
Mair solemnly shook her head. ‘No. They put him in prison.’
‘Why?’ asked Beri, astonished.
‘He killed Mabon, the archer.’
‘Impossible!’ Beri furiously paced about the chamber, shaking her head. ‘Mabon was Timoken’s friend. They were like this.’ She linked her fingers so tightly together that the knuckles showed white.
‘I know,’ Mair agreed. ‘It’s a mystery. They say that Mabon was killed with an arrow, but the African has never used a bow.’
Beri sank on to the bed. ‘Something is very, very wrong. The prince would never put Timoken in that dreadful cell.’
‘There’s talk . . .’ Mair faltered and tears filled her eyes. ‘They say that Prince Griffith is dead. Sir Osbern holds the castle now. Some of the Britons speak of leaving. They believe that soon the castle will be filled with the conquerors’ men.’
Beri stared at Mair. ‘What will it mean for us, Mair? You and me?’
Mair shrugged. ‘Welsh Britons, like me, will have the worse time of it. As for you, Lady Berenice, I think Sir Osbern might start locking this tower, and you’ll all be prisoners, like Timoken, though in more comfortable surroundings. If I were you, I’d try and go, soon as you can. Though I can’t advise where.’
One of the widows called to Mair and, rolling her eyes at Beri, she ran off, whispering, ‘Go soon.’
For several minutes, Beri sat perfectly still, puzzling, wondering, trying to make sense of everything she’d heard.
‘Zobayda will know what to do,’ she told herself. ‘We’ll go together.’
Berenice went to her small window. Below her lay the forest, its bright autumn canopy fading to dull gold in the distant morning mist.
Where was Timoken now?
Beri had a sudden thought. She had forgotten the baby. They would have to take him with them. But could a baby survive such a journey? It might take many weeks, and who knew what dangers lay in that vast, wild forest?
Chapter Six
Deadly Sands
Eri had fallen asleep, his head resting between Timoken’s shoulder-blades, his bony hands locked together round the boy’s waist. Even in sleep the wizard had an iron grip.
Frost began to edge into the wind. Timoken shivered. We must descend soon, he thought, or we’ll fall to earth like blocks of ice. The image amused him and he chuckled to himself. ‘Down soon, Gabar,’ he shouted into the wind.
> ‘Here!’ Gabar began to drop through the cold air.
Timoken looked down. He saw a great stretch of milk-white land. Gabar was swiftly falling towards it. It was sand, for it was bordered, on one side, by the sea. There was something ominous about the vast, pale sweep.
‘Not here, Gabar,’ said Timoken, tugging at the reins.
‘Here,’ Gabar grunted defiantly.
‘No. There’s something wrong.’
‘It’s sand,’ the camel argued. ‘I long for it. I will go down.’
‘No, Gabar!’ Timoken gave an angry bellow.
The wizard woke up. ‘What’s happening?’ he grumbled.
‘We’re descending,’ Timoken shouted over his shoulder. ‘Gabar wants sand, but I don’t trust the land beneath us.’
Eri squinted down at the bleached sweep of earth. ‘Stop your mulish creature,’ he cried. ‘We’ve reached the Deadly Sands. They will swallow us.’
‘Swallow?’ yelled Timoken, tugging at the hair on Gabar’s back. ‘Gabar, do you want to be eaten by the earth?’
‘Sand,’ said the camel stubbornly, ‘is always good.’ He dropped again.
‘No!’ Timoken looked down. Almost luminescent against the dark sea, the sand seemed to beckon, to draw like a magnet. ‘Believe me, Gabar. Have I ever lied to you?’
‘No, Family,’ the camel admitted. He struggled in the air for a moment, kicking out his legs and twisting his head. ‘The sand calls me,’ he moaned regretfully, ‘and I can’t escape it.’
The camel dropped again and the deadly beach rushed towards them.
Timoken could sense how his camel battled the draw of the sand. He tugged helplessly at the shaggy back, but it was like trying to lift a thousand camels. And then it came to him, almost too late. Tearing the moon cloak from his shoulders, he threw it over the camel’s head.
‘Now you can’t see the sand, Gabar,’ he said. ‘There is no sand, and it can’t call you.’
‘I’m blind!’ bellowed the camel.
