Roland's Castle

Roland’s Castle

  Becky York

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  Chapter 1

  The battle was lost.

  The old enemy had returned, more powerful, more cunning, more ruthless than ever before. They had swarmed across the darkening sky, killing all in their way until the tower itself was at their mercy.

  The sacred tower! The very cord of life!

  The young woman stood on the ledge beside the breach. Her hands reached down as if to pick up the child who slept far below, the child she would never hold again.

  “My poor boy!” she cried. Then she leapt…

  Roland’s father had promised he would return "from the dawn”. Roland knew that it really meant from the east, but still he made sure that every day he watched at sun rise, hoping to see his father riding back across the meadows. The bold knight had been gone for over a year now. Roland’s mother had died when he was a baby and he had no brothers and sisters. At just ten years of age he was left as master of his own castle – or, at least, he was meant to be…

  As usual, on a bright spring morning he leapt from his bed, dressed and quietly made his way from his bedroom up the winding staircase to the top of the tower. For a while now his bedroom had been in the oldest and smallest tower in the castle. It was draughty and cold but he didn’t mind. It was supposed to be a punishment but really he was very thankful that he was a long way away from his aunt and uncle. The tower was very old, so old that no one remembered why the staircase ended abruptly, with only the broken promise of more storeys above and only a steep drop beyond the topmost step. Whatever was meant to be up there had never been built, hence it was known as the Unfinished Tower.

  From the top of the bit that had been completed Roland could peer out into the mists of the dawn, as he did every morning.

  He sighed as he stared out at the hills beyond the castle, then down at the castle itself. It had once been beautiful, its towers gleaming proudly before the dawn, but now it was wrecked, broken, smashed as if a hurricane had passed through it – or a madman in a rage armed with some monstrous siege weapon. The madman bit was probably right – or at least half right – as Roland suspected that his uncle was half mad. Roofs had been torn off to expose secret rooms that didn’t exist, walls had been torn down to reveal secret passages that were no more real, the ground had been dug up to unearth secret chambers that had never been there in the first place.

  Uncle Dagarth and Auntie Hildegrind had arrived almost the moment after Roland’s father had gone – to “check Roland was alright,” they said – they would “only stay a few days.” Those few days turned into a month and that turned into yet more months … Slowly, various members of their own retinue arrived together with Roland's cousins, Dogwood and Dagwood. Dogwood and Dagwood were slightly older and rather bigger than Roland was, and rather nasty too.

  From the moment he arrived Dagarth had begun to ask questions – actually only one question, but put many times, in many different ways. At first he had been subtle, or as subtle as he could be, which wasn’t really very subtle at all. He had become even less subtle, and quite overbearing, as time had gone on. The question was: “Where is the treasure?” or just “Where is it? Well! Come on!”

  When he didn’t get the reply he wanted he threw a tantrum. He waved his arms about and shouted: “I know there is treasure here! I was sent away from here as a child before I could learn its secret – to stop me learning its secret! I was deprived of it! I was a deprived child!”

  He asked everyone; Roland, the servants, the men-at-arms — and Firebrace, of course.

  Firebrace had been vassal to Roland’s father, and his father before that. He had fought side by side with both in many campaigns. The old man had been left to look after Roland whilst his father was away, but he could do nothing to prevent Roland’s uncle from taking over the castle. Dagarth was a lord in his own right. Firebrace was a mere commoner. Firebrace had watched on as the usurper took over the castle as if it didn’t really matter and nothing important was happening. That infuriated Dagarth too, who got even more angry when he interrogated the old man. “Where is it? Where is the treasure?”

  “It is not hidden,” Firebrace replied.

  “Well, why can’t I find it then?” Dagarth thundered.

  “Because you can’t see it,” Firebrace had responded, and Roland had stifled a giggle.

  “I know that you idiot! If I could see it I would have found it wouldn’t I! Now tell me where it is so I can see it!”

  “You could see it if you had eyes,” Firebrace said. “It is between the earth and the sky.”

  “Everything is between the earth and the sky you old fool! You won’t have any eyes if you don’t tell me!”

  And Dagarth tugged the end of the old man’s beard. In response Firebrace stared into his eyes with a look that made Dagarth stand back, fearful for a moment and more.

  “Throw the old fool in the moat!” Auntie Hildegrind said, spouting the words out around a chicken drumstick clamped between her teeth. “Clap hot irons on him!”

  Dogwood and Dagwood, took up the suggestion. “Yes! Clap hot irons on him! Set his beard on fire! We’ll do it! We’ll do it!”

  They both ran to the roaring fire, pulled out burning sticks and ran around with them.

  “I haven’t finished with you old man!” Dagarth growled in the most sinister of ways. He turned his back on Firebrace and walked back to his throne.

  The throne was something that puzzled Roland. Why did Uncle Dagarth need one? Roland’s father had never had one –he had never found it necessary. He sat on the ordinary chairs like everyone else. Now there was a grand throne and the living room had become the throne room, a cold and cheerless place where once there had been warmth and laughter.

  After the questioning had failed the demolition had started. men-at-arms had been ordered about with pick axes and shovels, rushing about like a scavenger hunt in full armour. It looked quite silly and Roland had laughed at it. Perhaps that was the final straw that had got him sent to the tower. It had been long coming, according to Auntie Hildegrind, as he was being so stubborn and defiant by not letting his poor cousins have their fair share of the family fortune. “Shame on you!” She had chided, “How selfish can you be? A few months in the Unfinished Tower might help you feel more charitable and giving…”

  Roland had had a tough few months. As he continued to stare out from the top of the tower that spring morning he wondered why his father had left him to such a plight. How could his father have done this? Deciding not to dwell upon it, he went back to his room, washed and went to the hall for breakfast and the usual interrogation, with the usual question.

  Roland was only allowed out of the tower for meals – and questioning, but on this day Auntie Hildegrind had other plans for him. It was time to commence knightly training – not his, but that of Dogwood and Dagwood. After breakfast-stroke-interrogation he reported to the courtyard where his auntie and cousins were waiting impatiently.

  “Where have you been Roland?” Auntie demanded.

  “Usual breakfast grill,” Roland replied.

  “Well, you should have answered the question truthfully by now, then you wouldn’t have had to keep us waiting,” and she turned to her own sons. “Now boys, you mustn’t tease little Roland, just because you are strong and brave and he is the – almost certainly - illegitimate son of a proven, craven, coward who ran away and left him. Just because he is a little scoundrel who won’t share the fortune that is secrete
d somewhere in the walls of this castle – and won’t tell us where – it doesn’t mean that you have any right to be nasty to him…”

  First Dogwood and Dagwood were to learn swordplay, and were given bright new swords forged by the castle’s blacksmith. Auntie Hildegrind handed them to her sons, and had then turned to Roland. “Now Roland, because you are never going to be any good at swordplay and you might hurt someone,” – and she looked at her own sons – “I am only going to give you a pretend sword,” and she pretended to hand Roland a pretend sword. Roland pretended to take it, and pretended to look at it.

  “We must keep health and safety in mind at all times,” Auntie Hildegrind said.

  Dogwood and Dagwood also had shiny new suits of armour also specially forged by the blacksmith. They looked very smart too, despite the fact that they clanked every time they moved.

  “Roland,” Auntie Hildegrind insisted, “must have some protection. After all, one day he might be willing to tell us where the treasure is,” and she gave him another of her special issue inquiring glares.

  An old chain mail tunic had been found for Roland. It was much too large for him, but he was glad of it as it protected him right down to his knees. It also had a few holes which he had had to darn for himself with some wire and a pair of pliers.

  “We must make sure that you aren’t tempted to move during the exercises so I am going to tie this belt around your ankles,” Auntie Hildegrind said, making sure that it was nice and tight and that Roland was totally immobile, as if he had been glued to the spot.

  “All we need now is a target,” Auntie Hildegrind said. She produced a round piece of cork with concentric rings on it to fix to Roland’s chest. “Now boys,” she said to her sons, “you know what to aim at!”

  Dogwood and Dagwood did their best to miss the target and hit Roland instead. They took great pleasure in lunging and thrusting at his chest whilst he did his best to parry with his pretend sword. If they had been any good Roland would probably have been hurt, but even with an immobilised target their attempts to injure him were puny.

  After the swordplay they moved on to jousting practice. This consisted of Roland running around with one of the boys on his back. Whichever one it was – Roland was beyond caring which – had a lance and the idea was that Roland carried them up to a target which they were supposed to hit with it. It wasn’t very successful as both of the boys took great pleasure in digging their spurs into his sides, causing him to wobble about.

  “It really isn’t fair,” Auntie Hildegrind scolded. “Roland! How are my boys to have proper practise at jousting if you will not run in a straight line?”

  After the knightly training was over Auntie Hildegrind left the boys to play by themselves for a while: “You boys play together nicely – and remember don’t tease little Roland, even if he is weaker than you and is never going to be anything noble or glorious or even fit to look after your horses! I am off to consume a pig with a very large plate a truffles followed by several roast chickens…”

  After Auntie Hildegrind had waddled off Dogwood and Dagwood turned to Roland.

  “So little cousin, why won’t you tell us where the treasure is?” Dogwood demanded.

  “I don’t know where it is,” Roland replied, quite honestly.

  “Our dad will get it out of you!” Dagwood said. “You’re weak and puny! I bet you fight like a girl - just like your dad! He ran off ‘cos he was too scared to defend the treasure and thought he would be killed for it!”

  “It’s not true!” Roland said, “At least my dad isn’t crazy, going around whining and shouting all the time!”

  Dogwood became angry and pushed Roland as Dagwood put out his foot to trip him. Roland fell backward into the mud. Dogwood laughed and told Roland, “Your dad wet his pants and ran away, so he could wet his pants another day!”

  Dagwood added: “And now his son has wet pants too! Suits them both!” and they both laughed.

  From the edge of the courtyard Firebrace watched on, his face growing red with anger.

  Back in his room, clothes changed, Roland collapsed on his bed. He was exhausted, depressed and angry, especially about what Dog-poo and Dag-pee had said about his father. He clenched his fists but then tried to relax.

  His eyes were tired, just like the rest of him. Maybe that was why he thought he saw the roof beams moving, very slightly, as if the centre of the ceiling was swelling and reaching down towards him. The walls also appeared to be moving. It seemed as if the whole tower was breathing. He thought he heard a voice, soft and faint, calling his name. Then he was aware that someone came into the room. He raised his head slightly to see Firebrace standing a short distance from the end of his bed. The old man’s face wore a fierce scowl. Roland’s first thought was; what have I done now? His second thought didn’t have time to enter his head as Firebrace started shouting: “You are broken and humiliated but you must not let your enemies conquer your pride or your will! This is the time you must be on your guard the most!” and with that he drew a sword and threw it point first at the pillow beside Roland’s head. Roland quickly rolled off the bed onto the floor in time to avoid it. He looked up to see the sword buried in the pillow. But he didn’t have long to look at it as the old man was rounding the bed, still rattling on about how Roland was broken and humiliated but that this was the time he needed to fight.

  “The strength is inside you and must be brought out.” Firebrace yelled, and grabbed the sword from the pillow and started waving it about in a most alarming manner. He thrust it at Roland who was forced to get out of the way - and to keep on getting out of the way as Firebrace followed up with further lunges. Roland leapt up on the bed and off it again on the other side, but the old man simply leapt right over the – very wide – bed in one go and landed rock steady on his feet, within an arm and a sword’s length of Roland. He had the most amazing strength and balance for a man of his age. With a swift sweep of his arm Firebrace tucked the point of the sword right beneath the tip of Roland’s nose. Roland went cross-eyed as he looked down at it.

  Jeepers!

  As if Roland hadn’t been through enough today already! Now his father’s oldest and most faithful servant had gone berserk and was trying to kill him! He dodged and ducked as Firebrace again thrust the sword at him and then put his hands up trying to plead for an end to it. “Health and safety! Health and safety! We must remember -Health and safety!” – he finished the sentence as he dived under a clothes chest to avoid a particularly close swing that nearly cut his forelock off. Health and safety was plainly not Firebrace's thing – it just wasn’t his bag at all. He was an excellent fighter and Roland had the suspicion that if he really was trying to kill him he would already be dead. It was still terrifying though. Dog-poo and Dag-pee were quite pitiful compared to Firebrace. They hadn’t been able to hurt him much even when he was tied up like dinner on the spit. The old man had him dodging and ducking in fear for his life.

  Roland stuck his head out from under the chest in the vain hope that the coast was clear. It wasn’t. Firebrace was still there, swinging his sword about, waiting for him to come out. The old man quickly lost his patience and shoved the chest away with a mighty kick leaving Roland exposed. Roland thought his time was up but instead the old man took hold of him, not roughly but gently, in a kindly way, and stood him up.

  “It is time for you to learn. Your father and I put this off too long so that you might enjoy something of being a child. You must now learn to be a knight! You will make a fine knight!”

  He guided Roland to the wall of the chamber where he pulled a tapestry aside and put his hand on a stone in the wall. The stone, and others around it, slid aside to leave a doorway. Roland gasped and looked inside.

  “Is this the treasure room?” He asked.

  “No,” Firebrace replied firmly, and strode inside. He turned and gestured for Roland to follow.

  Roland entered with trepidation. He was now sure that the old man didn’t really want to
kill him and hadn’t really been trying. It was just his way to shake him up a bit and put him on alert. It made sense, in a barmy kind of military way, Roland concluded. His heart was still pounding, though, and he was wary that more frightening surprises might lie ahead.

  The room was enormous - and preposterous. Preposterous because Roland knew that the wall they had just passed through was an outside wall – they should be walking in air beside the tower now. Instead they were inside a huge chamber. If it was there – if it was always there – shouldn’t it be visible from outside? Roland knew it wasn’t. There was no such room visible from outside. There never had been, not today, not yesterday, not ever. There was no such room at all.

  “This is your practice room,” Firebrace said.

  The room was lit by torches as there were no windows. It was mostly empty with stone walls hung with tapestries. Yet even if there had been a carnival in progress Roland might well not have noticed. His attention was totally taken by just one thing. Before him, in the middle of the room, was the nastiest, most sinister looking suit of armour he had ever seen in his life. It was dark – very dark indeed. The only light coming from it was the reflection of the torches from the sheen of its metal. The workmanship was beautiful, but despite that it just looked plain nasty – evil, in fact.

  As Roland looked at it he realised it was swaying gently, as if it were in a breeze. But there was no breeze. They were inside. The torches did not flicker. Then Roland realised – it was alive! He gasped, “Who is it?”

  “Not who, what.” Firebrace replied. “It has no voice. It has no will of its own. It is your practice companion. It will follow your instructions as you practise combat with it. It will match you – test you. Every time you succeed against it, it will judge your performance and move up to a new level.”

  “Why does it have to look so awful?” Roland asked.

  “It is made in the form of one of our greatest enemies. Our enemies take many forms. Some of them seem foolish, but beware; they are not. Some expose their true colours in their clothing, their weapons, their armour. The worst of our enemies have no need for subterfuge…”

  Firebrace clapped his hands and behind the Companion’s visor two eyes, up until now invisible, glowed and glowered. They were a grim, malevolent red. It advanced towards them and stopped just a few paces away. Roland felt a tinge of fear but Firebrace put a comforting hand on his shoulder. The Companion’s arms were by its side and out of its right arm a sword emerged, as if it just flowed out like oozing treacle. The sword hardened and dropped into the metal gauntlet below.

  There was a rack of swords to their right. Firebrace took one and handed it to Roland. Roland took it cautiously. The Companion watched intently.

  “It awaits your next move,” Firebrace said.

  “I have to…?” Roland asked.

  “Strike! Attack it!” Firebrace encouraged.

  Roland did so. After all, fighting this opponent could be no worse than ducking and diving Firebrace’s sword. As he attempted to strike at it the Companion successfully avoided his attempts to land blows.

  “Keep still!” Roland commanded. The Companion obeyed and Roland landed a blow on its chest which caused a dull, hollow clank.

  Firebrace laughed. “That is cheating!” He commanded the Companion, “On guard!” and it immediately struck a defensive pose. He lunged towards it, striking out with a ferocious rain of blows. The Companion responded in equal measure and both were quickly involved in the fastest and most furious swordfight Roland could ever have imagined. It lasted a few minutes until Firebrace finally had the better of the Companion. He said to Roland, “Your turn.”

  Roland braced himself and then copied what Firebrace had done, lunging at the Companion with a rain of blows. For him the Companion became an easier opponent, as Firebrace had said it would be, but it was still a proper test of skill. Firebrace encouraged him onwards and he fought until his arms finally grew tired. He was amazed at his own strength. He had felt exhausted after the session with Dogwood and Dagwood, but now he was fresh and strong again. Firebrace was right; he had great strength within him. It was only because he was feeling beaten that he had felt tired. Now he felt like he could fight – and win!

  Firebrace eventually called an end to the session and congratulated him on his progress. You have already done better than your father in his first session – and he was one of the best! One day you will even be able to defeat me!”

  Roland somehow doubted it, but was cheered by the encouragement. But one thing troubled him, of course. He asked. “Will I ever have to fight for real?”

  “You are the rightful master of this castle. When the time comes you must take charge of its defence, in the name of your father and his father, and his father before him.”

  Roland thought for a moment.

  I don’t want to always be giving orders and shouting and upsetting people, like Uncle Dog Breath.”

  Firebrace very nearly laughed at the nickname Roland had given his uncle. The old man did have a sense of humour, it seemed. Roland was pleased to see it. The old man said. “All that is really quite unnecessary for a person of true stature. You already have grace and magnanimity. People will do as you say because they respect you and not because they fear you. Those are different things, but some people get them confused!”

  Then Roland asked a question he had long thought to ask. “Why didn’t Uncle Dagarth inherit this castle if he is older than my father? Why was he sent away?”

  “Let us just say there was something wrong with the boy – something that still shows. You see the way he behaves. A madman cannot be allowed to command this castle. It is more than a castle – more than a kingdom! You will understand. For now you must rest, so you can practise fighting again!

  Lying in bed Roland was glad that his sinister new friend with the scary eyes – with the scary everything – was on the other side of a wall. He just hoped it didn’t know how to use the door. For a moment he imagined it coming into the room and standing at the end of his bed.

  Aaaaarrrrrrrrgh!

  He pulled the covers up and over his face to hide, then, after a few moments, pulled them away again. It wasn’t there. He had fought it bravely earlier on but it was still a bit frightening to think of. Why did they have to make a practice opponent so scary? Roland knew the answer – to make it as realistic as possible.

  He rolled over onto his side and began to relax. Soon he was lightly asleep. As he dozed he thought he heard a woman sobbing – softly, but distinctly… Was he dreaming, or was it real? He woke and sat up in bed, listening intently. He looked up at the ceiling and again it seemed to bow and bulge. Then, to his horror, it changed completely, as if it broke open and the beams became a pair of arms, with hands, reaching down as if to grab him. He rolled out of bed, just like he had done earlier to avoid Firebrace’s sword. As he did so he thought he heard a woman’s voice – no! His mother’s voice! – call out his name in hushed tones. “Roland!”

  Landing on the floor woke him up completely. Just a dream – it must have been, surely…

  It really was time he relaxed a bit more - got out a bit. They always say that being in the same room too long makes you strange. Perhaps he had tower fever? It was time for another adventure, with a real person. Tomorrow night, he promised himself, and rolled over and fell asleep again.