by Euan McAllen
‘To overthrow the king, declare a republic, have democratic rule. Wouldn’t that please you?’
It was a big boast and it made Gregory feel uncomfortable.
‘You’re mad’, said Adolphinus, looking away.
‘So is the king. Which is why I have decided to go back.’
‘He’s gone mad? Really?’
‘That’s what we’ve been told,’ said Gregory.
‘Who told you?’
‘I heard it in the village, from a reliable source.’
‘Reliable? Who?’
‘My brother, my younger brother.’
Adolphinus looked very displeased. ‘I don’t like people going to the village without my permission.’
‘Apologies.’
Adolphinus knew the apology was not meant and gave Gregory a look which made that abundantly clear.
‘The castle is out of the question. It is an evil place. You - we - must have no contact with it. You have started a new life here out here. You must let go of that place. You must not go back. This is your world now, the Outside, and you should commit to it like good, god-fearing citizens.’
Iedazimus kept his eyes fixed on the table, figuring it best to keep his mouth shut now. Let Gregory do the talking. He was out of his depth when it came to battles of words.
Suddenly it all went quiet. Adolphinus had run out of words. All three tried to carry on eating but quickly gave up. No one was hungry now.
‘I need to go home,’ said Gregory.
‘And me,’ added Iedazimus.
‘You’ve only just arrived. There’s all this food.’
‘Sorry but I’m exhausted.’
‘And me,’ added Iedazimus.
With that Gregory stood up, and spoke one last time on the matter.
‘Sorry but we have to go back. It’s safe now. It’s our home. We have family there. We want to live there, die there.’
‘And me,’ added Iedazimus.
Adolphinus tried one last time. ‘Out here and in there were never meant to mix. That is the rule. And I am bound by my position to stop it happening.’
‘Rest assured,’ said Gregory, ‘we will take nothing back with us except ourselves. Everything else, all knowledge and experiences, we will leave behind.’
We will? thought Iedazimus.
‘That’s right,’ he said quickly.
Adolphinus looked back and forth between them, as if looking for weakness, holes in their defence. He was deeply unhappy and did not disguise it. He was not used to his subjects not doing exactly what they were told, what he dictated.
‘What if I gave you more money, more of the business profits? What if I let you trade more alcohol, increase opening times?’
Neither was not persuaded and a deadly silence returned until Adolphinus suddenly smiled. It was a broad smile, which for him was very unusual.
‘Very well, accepted. I tried to persuade you otherwise but it is obvious now that you are totally committed. Quite right too: home is where the heart is, or something. I failed. I accept that. I wish the both of you luck.’
He sounded upbeat but in an unnerving way. ‘Let’s drink a toast to your new adventure.’
That immediately put Gregory on high alert: the Chief Monk was never one to be seen drinking alcohol. It was the devil’s brew. It was banned within the monastery and elsewhere it could only be drunk in those places given permission by him, and only at those times dictated by him. Gregory sat back down and waited for more events to unfold.
Adolphinus produced a bottle of brandy from a cupboard and filled three small tumblers. As he did so his guests watched his every move. Seeing him serve them alcohol was a whole new experience. This was a very strange night. Glasses in hands, Adolphinus raised his and made a toast to their success. But he did not drink. Gregory stalled and Iedazimus, following his lead, also held back. No one drank the brandy. Gregory smelt a rat. He lowered his glass slowly to the table, not wishing to make a fuss.
‘Sorry but I cannot join you in a drink tonight. But thank you for your support.’
‘Yes thank you,’ added Iedazimus.
Adolphinus avoided looking at them. He looked at the table instead. He looked like he had just been double-crossed. His guests, unsettled, stood up and thanked their host for the food and his change of heart. They left quickly, very quickly. Their escort struggled to keep up as they rushed back to the main gate and out into the chilly cold air. It was a much needed breath of fresh air.
As they hurried back down the hill they agreed to leave first thing, not wait another day, at the crack of dawn. It might turn nasty very quickly they agreed, and as a joke agreed that Senior Religious Observance Officer Ingel - what a stupid title - was already nasty, well beyond nasty even.
Back home Gregory shook Timothy awake. He had to shake him hard: the boy had been drinking again.
‘Timothy, listen!’
Timothy, now awake, looked more than put out and tried to shake the man off.
‘What!’
‘We are off tomorrow, at crack of dawn. Be ready.’
‘Tomorrow? You didn’t say tomorrow?’
‘Change of plan. We are off tomorrow at first light, for the village, then on to the castle, with or without you.’
‘Why would I want to go there? My home is the village.’
Gregory ignored the question: the time was not right, and he did not want to start talking long into the night.
‘Your choice. Get some sleep. We only have a few hours.’
‘Does anybody there remember my parents?’
‘No idea. Perhaps. Save it for tomorrow and get some sleep.’
Timothy tried in vain to do so.
***
Morning came and it was all change. Gregory did not give Timothy time to reconsider. He pulled him awake and soon after pushed him out of the front door. Together they rushed to the secret meeting point. Gregory could not to be late.
Iedazimus was already there, along with three mates: two of which he regarded as true, mates - ‘best mates’ - and one other. The ‘best’ were big, well built - they could have been brothers. They stood silent; looking stoic, solid, slightly mean and used to suffering. They had fled the castle with Iedazimus so for them it was also a journey home. The other was much younger, only a few years older than Timothy, and like Timothy he looked unsure of himself. In seconds they took each other in and immediately there was an unspoken understanding between them: both were afraid of what the future had in store for them.
Iedazimus and his mates were kitted out for a long walk, and armed with hunting knives. There were no introductions, just murmurings and the unspoken agreement that this was a very special, very peculiar moment in their lives: they were going back inside, back into the Maze. Iedazimus stared at the kid from the monastery, wondering why Gregory wasn’t saying goodbye. Then the suspicion made Iedazimus explode.
‘Why’s he here? He’s not coming with us.’
‘Yes he is. Timothy is coming with us.’
‘No he’s not!’
‘Sorry but yes he is, else I don’t show you the way.’
Iedazimus was stumped. ‘Why?’ It didn’t make sense. ‘The kid’s a god-lover, a monk. We don’t need monks where we’re going. You know what I think of those monks Gregory so why bring him along? Just to piss me off?’
Gregory, seeing the look on his face and knowing him well, felt an explanation of sorts was required.
‘Timothy is not a monk. He never was. He was just a novice and he’s not even that anymore.’
‘What?’
‘He’s been expelled. He has no future here. He may have a future back in there.’
Iedazimus was stuck: he needed Gregory so had no option but to let it go - but und
er protest for the boy was not a fighter but a God worshipper.
‘Will he fight?’
‘We will have to wait and see.’
‘Don’t play games with me Gregory!’
Timothy wanted to shout ‘Yes I can fight, just watch me!’ but didn’t. He knew it would the worse kind of idle boast.
Iedazimus feared the boy would fall by the roadside. In which case would Gregory give him up or stay by his side? If it did come to that he would take the man hostage and slit his throat if he didn’t take him home. That was fair in his mind: the boy had not been part of the plan. He turned away from the problem. His mates copied him.
‘Come on then let’s get going, before we all get arrested.’
It was his first command of the day and for some reason the others automatically formed an orderly line behind him as if to follow in his footsteps. They were about to embark upon something quite profound, symbolic, almost spiritual, and the moment was lost on nobody. Gregory felt he had got over his first major hurdle. There would be many more to come. Timothy felt he was about to grow up very fast. Jeno and Tippo felt very little, just a long lived, well-worn weariness and the feeling that their lives were on the move again after a long period of stagnation. Mutz felt empty, stuck in a void. Outside had never felt like home and he had been too young to remember life on the inside, at the castle. Nothing had changed: he was still adrift.
They walked on quickly, almost marching out of the town; across sodden fields; through woods and on towards ‘The Great Wall’ and the entrance to the Maze. ‘The Great Wall’ was not in fact that high. It was no great wall. Likewise the entrance was only just wide enough for two grown men to squeeze pass each other. Iedazimus stopped at the entrance, raised his hand and, as if addressing a God in which he did not believe, spoke. It was an announcement.
‘Here we go. We are going in. No turning back.’
‘Yes!’ shouted Jeno.
‘Fuck the outside!’ added Tippo.
Timothy looked at Gregory, as if for answers. Mutz looked at Iedazimus then, getting nothing back, at Gregory, as if for the same. Timothy wanted to say a prayer but when Gregory saw him beginning to kneel he stopped him dead in his tracks with a firm grip: the message was immediately understood. Timothy was pulled back up straight but did not complain. He needed to stay on the right side of Iedazimus for as long as possible.
It was a false dawn: they could not enter the Maze yet for sheep appeared, then more, then still more; all making a racket as sheep do when being herded along. Finally a dog and shepherd appeared. He was whistling without a care in the world. He smiled at Iedazimus - not bothered that the man did not smile back - and went on his merry way. Timothy tried to pat the sheepdog but it wouldn’t let him and instead veered off out of reach, to catch up its master.
At last they could enter. They trooped in behind Iedazimus. The passage was narrow, gloomy and with the sun low little light reached them. They had to walk in a line, one behind another. In places the mud was deep: the ground had been churned up by sheep or possibly cattle. Weeds and stinging nettles had struck gold and everywhere ivy trailed up the walls towards freedom. The walls had been left to rot over the decades. Timothy looked up at the sky, as if expecting it to have suddenly changed. It was as before. He whispered a small prayer, suddenly needing God for sustenance. He made himself a promise: he would no longer take God for granted. No one heard him. No one would hear him break his promise.
At first Iedazimus kept up a furious pace. He was determined and impatient. No one dared to complain until finally Gregory broker ranks and asked Iedazimus to slow down, which he did, grudgingly. They trudged on, side-stepping mud where possible, sticking to the grass where it had a hold. They passed a right-hand turn. It was littered with cowpats.
‘That’s a cul-de-sac,’ explained Gregory like a tour guide. ‘I think a farmer keeps cows in there.’
No one was interested in what he had to tell them.
An hour later they reached their first four way junction. Grass and weeds grew tall here for they received a good hit of sunlight for a good part of the day. Iedazimus was forced to stop and wait for Gregory to guide him. Gregory stood arms folded, thinking hard. Iedazimus grew impatient.
‘Well? Do you know the way or not? That’s why you’re here.’
Gregory ignored him then finally spoke with an authority which Iedazimus could never quite produce.
‘We turn left.’
And with that Iedazimus was off again, with the others trying to catch up. And so it went on: little was said; nothing had to be explained; direction was not required, only strength and stamina, and the ability to shake off boredom. Sometimes Iedazimus’ best mates shared grumbles. Sometimes Timothy exchanged few words with Mutz, unable as he was to exchange them with Gregory - he seemed to have disappeared inside himself. Like Gregory, Iedazimus had old, scattered memories of this place within the Maze and they left him subdued. But Gregory also had more recent ones: he was overwhelmed less by the past, more by the future. The rest had shrunk in stature slightly; as if squeezed by the weight of the walls; as if the walls threatened to crash down on top of them; as if entering a prison cell for a life sentence.
It was mud, grass, nettles and weeds all the way. There was nothing to look at, admire, compare, or even question so no one had reason to comment. Even just looking was reduced to just looking down to mind one’s step, to mind one’s business. Timothy wondered what was in store for him. Nothing? He wondered what he had left behind. He knew what he had left behind. Nothing. And still they trudged on, as if destitute, definitely disheartened. Occasionally the best mates would exchange a few words, just to stay in touch, to remind themselves that they were still functioning.
The Maze was old, that was clear: its walls had suffered from the elements and the onslaught of vegetation. Moss of all shades of green and brown, both living and dead, was everywhere. Ivy grew into and out of and up and down cracks in the walls. There was the odd small bush struggling to get a grip - perhaps a tree in the making. And it rained, lightly at first before it became a constant stream.
‘Why today? Why rain today?’ Iedazimus demanded to know.
Gregory had an answer.
‘Its got to rain sometime I suppose. If we had waited for fine weather, for summer or spring, we may have ended up in his prison, on our knees doing prayers five times a day.’
Iedazimus got the message and shut up. He was the leader. He had to show leadership, determination. He had to be strong - and most of the time he was.
As the light began to fade all except Gregory and Iedazimus wanted to stop, not wanting to stumble on in gloom. All made their wishes clear and Timothy looked at Gregory with sad puppy dog eyes. He was exhausted. Iedazimus looked at Timothy with contempt. I should send him back now, he thought: the look on his face accidentally transmitted his sentiment to Gregory who returned a look which said ‘No way! He’s with me, all the way!’
Gregory persuaded them to push on, just a little, then just a little more, and then an extra little bit more. Another twenty minutes would do it.
‘Do what?’ ask Jeno.
‘Get us to an alcove, so shelter from the rain.’
‘But we have our wraps, we’ll be dry underneath,’ said Tippo.
‘But I don’t,’ retorted Gregory. ‘I’d rather be out of the rain.’
Gregory upped his pace and pushed on. The others had to keep up, like it or not. For the moment Gregory was in charge, and enjoying it.
He was proved right: they reached the alcove in another twenty minutes. It was not much: just enough for three or four people to shelter from the rain. It had a shelf on which or under which they could sit. The intention, long ago, had been to decorate it with pots of flowers, statues, or other ornaments. Now it had a use again.
Timothy, run down, needed spiritual sustena
nce. He gave a prayer to God, asking for strength to see him through, repudiating bad thoughts. Iedazimus heard him and stared, with nothing less than contempt for God worshippers, and the message that he should stop right now, before he got punched in the face. Timothy ignored him while Gregory looked on nervously. Iedazimus looked really angry: he wanted to leave God behind. But tonight he was too cold, wet and miserable to turn his anger into action.
Mutz was the first to climb up onto the shelf and make himself comfortable. Timothy quickly followed suit. (Both had spotted as the best place to be.) There they sat hunched up, back to back; the rest huddled up beneath them, squeezed together like sardines, each looking like a fish out of water. Timothy and Mutz, hidden under Mutz’s waterproof wrap, pushed away both the world - both outside and inside - and talked, exchanging comments on the weather and how tired they were, and how miserable it was; but nothing of substance, just the smallest of small talk. The others just sat in stony silence.
It was a miserable night and no one could sleep through it. They snacked on their supplies of food and drank beer from the flasks Iedazimus had provided for his mates. (Timothy and Gregory excluded.) They all secretly prayed for the rain to stop - even Iedazimus. It didn’t - though there were intermittent stoppages designed to give false hope. This is no adventure, thought Mutz. This is a washout.
***
Come dawn there was a lot of groaning, and stretching, and spitting, and the breaking of wind, along with the rubbing out of the eyes, and then they were off again. Like old engines they spluttered back into life under protest. Timothy mumbled a short prayer, refusing to be intimidated by the godless, heartless Iedazimus. Fortunately Iedazimus was out of earshot, taking a leak up against the wall.
They continued on, now hating every step they took for the rain refused to let up. It was too cold to talk, and difficult to walk at first for their joints had frozen up overnight. They moved on slowly - no demanding Iedazimus today - and the boredom set in: no change of scenery, just walls. Timothy looked up from time to time to see if the sky had changed. But the sky never changed: it remained just a thick grey blanket with an infinite supply of rain. It offered no sunshine, no relief.
