The Letter for the King

  “We are almost there,” said Brother Martin.

  They soon reached the edge of the forest. Before them lay a rolling landscape, with cultivated fields, a sprinkling of white cottages and green copses, and blue mountains in the dim distance. To the south, the forest continued and in front of the trees stood a small church and a larger building, both built from wood and brown stone. A winding path led the way there.

  “That is our monastery,” said Brother Laurentius, pointing down the path. “And there’s the road to the north. It meets the Great Road that leads to the west, up at the Blue River. You can’t see the Green River from here. It runs through the forest, behind the monastery.”

  As they made their way to the monastery, Tiuri looked back over his shoulder at the forest. He was glad to have left the trees; that part of his journey was over now.

  Brother Laurentius knocked at the gate of the monastery. The gatekeeper, a small man with a ruddy complexion, came to open up. He greeted them warmly and led them through the gate and into a small cloistered courtyard. It was a very pleasant place, full of blossoming flowers and with a well at its centre.

  “Your garden’s looking fine, Brother Julius,” said Brother Laurentius.

  “It’s beautiful,” said Tiuri with a contented sigh.

  The gatekeeper beamed at him.

  “This is Tiuri,” said Brother Martin. “We met him along the way and he’s staying here tonight. The peace and quiet will do him some good. He was just attacked by robbers who took all of his belongings.”

  “How awful!” exclaimed the gatekeeper. “Thank goodness he escaped in one piece. And your health is worth a great deal, my boy. Let it be a consolation to you.” He looked Tiuri up and down and then said, “Did you travel from the east, through the forest?”

  “Yes, Brother,” replied Tiuri.

  “I’m sure there are many young men who travel through the forest from the east,” continued the gatekeeper, “but it could be… Yes, indeed it could.”

  “What is it?” asked Tiuri, suddenly a little worried.

  “Someone came to the gate this morning,” said the gatekeeper, “and asked me if I’d seen a young man… of around your age. He spoke in a very loud voice and he said… Now what was it again?”

  “What did he say?” asked Tiuri. “And what did he look like?”

  “It was a knight, a knight in grey. He had a squire with him too. I was working in the garden when he knocked at the gate. I opened up and there he stood. He asked me about a young man. A young man with blue-grey eyes, I believe… Yes, like yours.” The gatekeeper shook his head. “He was rather impatient, but I said to him, ‘Would you raise your visor, sir knight, and tell me who you are?’ I prefer to talk to a face, you see. And he did so. I mean, he lifted his visor. But he still didn’t tell me his name.”

  “What did he look like?” asked Tiuri.

  “He was a rather fierce-looking gentleman, very dark and bearded. And I said I hadn’t seen a young man who looked like that. Well, I hadn’t at that point. Then he rode away, in a great hurry. I watched him go and saw him disappear into the forest. And I heard a horn. It was very loud and clear.”

  Tiuri felt the colour drain from his face. His enemy had even been here, to this peaceful monastery. The three monks looked at him curiously.

  “Do you know this knight?” asked Brother Martin.

  “No,” said Tiuri, truthfully. “I don’t know any of them. There are four knights, and their four squires. And they are looking for me.”

  “But why?” exclaimed the gatekeeper.

  “I don’t know,” said Tiuri. “Or rather, I think I do know, but I’m not allowed to say. If they find me, they’ll kill me.”

  It felt as though a dark shadow moved across the pleasant courtyard.

  Brother Martin laid his hand on Tiuri’s shoulder. Tiuri looked at him and said, “I do not know these knights. I have done them no harm. But they are pursuing me and they wish me dead.”

  “There is something mysterious about you,” said the monk, “and I understand that there are things you are unwilling or unable to tell us. But you should know that you are safe in this monastery. No knight in grey will be able to harm you here.”

  “A sanctuary,” said Tiuri.

  “Exactly. This place is a sanctuary,” replied Brother Martin.

  “My thanks for your trust in me,” said Tiuri. “I am grateful to you for allowing me to stay here.”

  “You may stay for as long as you wish,” said Brother Laurentius.

  “Just until tomorrow,” said Tiuri. “Then I must move on.” He sighed. The outside world seemed so hostile and full of dangers.

  “Do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself,” said Brother Martin. “First you must rest.”

  “If that knight returns, I shall say nothing,” promised the gatekeeper. “Imagine you being the very boy he was looking for! Oh, now I remember something else. He mentioned a ring. You don’t have a ring, do you?”

  “Yes, I have a ring,” said Tiuri, placing his hand on his chest.

  “Come,” said Brother Martin. “Brother Julius, would you show Tiuri to his bed? Brother Laurentius and I must go to see the abbot.”

  “Follow me,” said the gatekeeper to Tiuri. “We’ll be eating in half an hour, so you have arrived just at the right time.”

  “We shall see you later,” said Brother Martin. He and Brother Laurentius left with a friendly nod.

  Tiuri followed the gatekeeper around the cloister and up a flight of stairs. They came to a long corridor with lots of doors. When they reached the very end of the corridor, the gatekeeper stopped and opened a door.

  “You may sleep in this room,” he told Tiuri and then he left.

  Tiuri stepped through the door. He found himself in a small, whitewashed cell, which was furnished with a narrow bed and a small bench. A few rays of sun peeped in through the high window. Tiuri sat down on the bed and looked up at the crucifix on the wall.

  Then there was a sound of hurried footsteps and the gatekeeper returned, carrying a faded brown habit.

  “Here,” he said, “you can wear this. It’ll be better than your torn clothes.”

  A little later, Tiuri, dressed in the habit, went for a walk in the garden. The gatekeeper proudly pointed out some of the more unusual flowers to him. Then he said he had something to do and he left Tiuri on his own. Tiuri wandered around the deserted cloister. In one corner he saw an open door with another courtyard beyond. On the far side of that courtyard, a few steps led up into the church. Quietly, he entered the building. There were some monks kneeling at prayer and a candle burning on the altar. The evening light streamed in through the stained-glass windows, bathing everything in a mysterious glow. Tiuri knelt and put his hands together.

  After a while, he stood up and returned to the first courtyard, where Brother Martin came towards him, followed by a tall, dark-haired monk. The monk introduced himself as Father Hyronimus, the abbot, and he welcomed Tiuri to the monastery. Then a bell rang, indicating that it was time for dinner.

  In the refectory, Tiuri sat at a long table between Brother Martin and the gatekeeper and enjoyed a simple meal with them.

  After dinner, the abbot beckoned Tiuri to go with him and he followed him to his cell.

  “Brother Laurentius and Brother Martin have told me all about you,” said the abbot. “Or at least everything that they know. They say you intend to remain as our guest until tomorrow and then travel on to the Blue River.”

  “Yes, Father Hyronimus,” said Tiuri.

  “Will it be a dangerous journey for you?” asked the abbot.

  “Yes, Father Hyronimus,” replied Tiuri.

  “Brother Martin told me there is much that is mysterious about you,” said the abbot. “You are very young to be undertaking a journey that is so fraught with peril.”

  “I’m sixteen,” said Tiuri.

  The abbot smiled. “Where are you from?” he asked. “And where are yo
u going?”

  “I come from the City of Dagonaut,” replied Tiuri, “and I am on my way to the source of the Blue River… to Menaures the hermit.”

  “Menaures the hermit! It is such a long time since I last saw him. Do give him my best wishes. And is your visit to him the reason for your journey?”

  “N-no,” said Tiuri. “I’m not actually allowed to tell anyone where I am going.”

  “If your path is taking you to Menaures, it is a good path,” said the abbot. “And your eyes and your voice tell me the same thing. I shall not enquire about your destination or your mission. I should only like to ask if there is any assistance I can offer.”

  “My thanks, Father Hyronimus,” said Tiuri. “Would you please tell no one that I have been here and that I am going to the Blue River?”

  “I promise,” said the abbot. Then he frowned and said, half to himself, “But you’re going to need some protection.” He fell silent for a moment and then said, “You must keep the habit you are wearing. If you pull the hood up, it will offer some disguise.”

  “Thank you, Father Hyronimus,” said Tiuri.

  “And now you must sleep,” said the abbot. “May the peace of this place lend you new strength.”

  Tiuri thanked him again and returned to his cell. He slept peacefully that night, and had no dreams.

  The next morning, Tiuri said farewell to the monastery and to the monks, to Brothers Laurentius, Martin and Julius the gatekeeper in particular. Then he knelt in front of the abbot and said, “Father, please give me your blessing.”

  The abbot laid his hand on Tiuri’s head and blessed him.

  “May God be with you, my son,” he said, “on your long and arduous journey.”

  PART THREE

  CASTLE MISTRINAUT

  1 A PILGRIM

  Feeling refreshed and in good spirits, Tiuri set off for the Blue River. He felt safer now. In the brown habit, with the hood pulled up over his head and a staff in his hand, he could pass for a pilgrim. His enemies would be far less likely to recognize him as the boy they were looking for. He walked briskly along the road that led northwards through the rolling fields. On his right was the dark forest he had left the previous day. Tiuri could see no sign of the Grey Knights, and he did not hear the sound of the horn either. The people out working in the fields greeted him cheerfully as he walked by. Tiuri nodded and waved back at them.

  Halfway through the morning, a donkey cart came up behind him. The suntanned farmer sitting up front asked Tiuri if he wanted to travel with him for a while, and Tiuri gratefully accepted. He hopped up beside the man and told him he was on his way to the Blue River.

  “I’m not going that far,” said the farmer. “But you’re welcome to ride with me for some way, brother. It’ll save your legs. You’ve come from the Brown Monastery, haven’t you?”

  “I have indeed,” replied Tiuri.

  “On a pilgrimage?” asked the farmer.

  “Yes,” said Tiuri. “You could call it that.” He realized then that it was true: in some ways, his journey was like a pilgrimage.

  “Lots of pilgrims used to go to the Blue River in my younger days,” said the farmer. “They travelled upstream to the spring at the source of the river. A hermit lived up there, in the mountains. I can’t remember his name, but he may even live there still. You know, some people don’t understand why anyone would want to go on a pilgrimage, but I always say that it can be of great benefit, even if that benefit is not immediately obvious. One man might stay at home and do his work, while another wanders afar and yet also finds favour in heaven. I always say: you never know what good it might do! Don’t you agree, brother?” He did not wait for an answer, but continued, “In the past, people around these parts had great respect for pilgrims, hermits and the like. My father – God rest his soul – used to talk about them. Times were hard back then and, when people can’t get by on their own, they hope for help from heaven. I remember very little about those days myself and, of course, you won’t remember them at all. But I’m sure you’ve heard about the evil that ruled at Castle Mistrinaut in those days.”

  It was the first Tiuri had heard about any evil power at Mistrinaut, so he remained silent. The farmer didn’t seem to notice and just went on talking.

  “But now, thank the Lord, this land is peaceful and prosperous,” he said. “And perhaps that’s why there are fewer pilgrims. Have you ever been to the Blue River before?”

  “No, not this part of the river anyway,” Tiuri replied. “I’ll be able to get there by this evening, won’t I?”

  “Oh, yes. No trouble,” said the farmer. “You can sleep at Castle Mistrinaut tonight. It’s on the opposite bank of the Blue River, where this road meets the Great Road. You can see it from a long way off.”

  “Castle Mistrinaut?” said Tiuri, thinking about what the farmer had just said about the evil that had dwelt there.

  “Yes, you do know there’s nothing to fear now, don’t you? The present lord of the castle drove out the evil years ago. Haven’t you heard the story? He came here from another land and boldly defeated the previous resident of the castle and routed the evil spirits. The king himself gave him his thanks. Now Mistrinaut is a very hospitable place. The drawbridge is always down, everyone is welcome, and they will give you a bed and as much food as you can eat. I’ve stayed there a few times myself, when I’ve been to visit my brother who lives on the other side of the river…” And so he went on, telling Tiuri stories about his brother, and then about his wife, his children and his farm.

  The farmer talked and talked, and Tiuri did not mind in the slightest. It meant all he had to do was listen and there was no need for him to talk about himself.

  Towards the end of the morning, they came to the village that the farmer was travelling to. But the friendly farmer didn’t want to say farewell until he and Tiuri had eaten together.

  “Safe travels, brother,” he said when Tiuri left. “Remember me in your prayers. I hope it’s not late when you reach the castle and the Blue River. I think we’re in for some bad weather.”

  The day was warm and sunny as Tiuri continued his journey on foot, but later that afternoon the farmer was proved right. The sky became overcast and a cold wind blew up. Tiuri started to walk faster. He could see a castle ahead, outlined sharply against the dark sky. It had to be Castle Mistrinaut, and so the Blue River and the Great Road must also be nearby.

  As Tiuri stepped onto the Great Road, the rain came pouring down. The Blue River was not blue at all, but as grey as lead. The river was narrower here than when it flowed through the City of Dagonaut, and the current seemed much stronger. The castle stood on the opposite bank.

  Tiuri had never heard of Mistrinaut before, although he knew the names of most of the castles in Dagonaut’s kingdom. But this part of the country was somewhat isolated, as it lay beyond the forest, and it had not often played a role in the legends and history of the land. Tiuri stood in the rain, looking at the river and the castle. An open drawbridge led to the gate, which was positioned between two large towers. Even though the drawbridge was down, Tiuri thought the castle didn’t look at all friendly or welcoming. It was big and dark and mysterious, with grim walls and forbidding towers.

  He looked around, but there was nowhere to shelter nearby. So why not cross the bridge, he thought, and ask for a place to sleep in the castle? He was safe in his disguise and preferred not to sleep out in the fields that night if he didn’t have to. Someone was lighting a lamp at one of the windows. It’d be dry and comfortable inside.

  Tiuri crossed the drawbridge and banged the heavy knocker on the gate. The door in the gate opened immediately.

  “Come in, come in!” said the guard. “What dreadful weather! Are you very wet, reverend brother?”

  “Not too bad,” said Tiuri. “I wish you a good evening. Might I be able to spend the night here?”

  “Of course,” said the guard. “Were you invited by the lord of the castle?”

  “Erm… No,
I’m afraid not,” replied Tiuri.

  “Oh, you are still most welcome in any case,” the guard replied. “The question was merely a matter of form. Everyone who passes this way may stay the night here. Would you please come with me?”

  Tiuri followed him to a small round room in one of the towers beside the gate, where another guard was sitting at a table, gazing thoughtfully at the pieces on the chessboard in front of him.

  “We have a guest,” said the first guard. “Will you sign him in?”

  “Wait a moment,” said the other guard. He moved one of the pieces and announced with satisfaction, “Your castle’s in danger!” Then he stood up, walked over to a cupboard and took out a big book, a quill and an inkwell. He sat down again, opened the book and said to Tiuri, “And what is your name, brother?”

  “Tarmin,” said Tiuri. It was the first name that occurred to him.

  “Brother Tarmin,” repeated the guard. He dipped the quill into the ink and slowly wrote down the name. “From the Brown Monastery?” he asked.

  Tiuri nodded.

  That answer was carefully noted as well. The guard blew on the ink and closed the book. “There,” he said, “now that’s taken care of. Our master likes the names of all of his guests to be written in this book. It’s getting to be quite a long list.”

  Then he looked at his fellow guard. “It’s your turn to make a move,” he said, pointing at the chessboard.

  “You’ll just have to wait,” he replied. “First I’m going to show Brother Tarmin where he needs to go. And you should mind your manners! You haven’t even welcomed our guest yet.”

  “Greetings, Brother Tarmin,” said the guard, rising to his feet. He tucked the book under his arm and bowed. “Pray for me, poor sinner. Don’t keep my friend here talking too long. He’s slow enough as it is. And tell him he should guard his castle better. I don’t mean Mistrinaut, where our drawbridge is always down, but that black rook of his on the chessboard.”