Chronicles of the Red King #3: Leopards' Gold

  “True.” Urien nodded. He took an apple from a bag hanging on his belt. “What chance do I have of finding the bellman,” he mumbled as he chewed. “Your brother Amadis will come closest.”

  “We know.” Tolly gave his pony a light kick and then he raced away.

  “Good hunting, Urien,” called Petrello as he galloped after Tolly.

  The boys had explored the forest many times, but it was so vast they knew it was unlikely that they would ever know every part of it. Paths spread through the trees like the threads of a giant cobweb: deer tracks, goat tracks, paths made by the knights’ horses, the almost invisible trails of creatures that were rarely seen, and the paths of the villagers who came to collect wood for their fires, to catch hares and pigeons for their tables.

  The Knight Protectors rarely hunted. They didn’t have the same urgency as the villagers to fill their larders, for King Timoken could multiply, and the food that was stored in the castle stock house could be doubled in less than a day.

  At the base of the mountain, the trees began to thin; soon, only gorse and windblown thorn trees clung to the mountainside. A track made by wild goats led to the summit, where a covering of snow glistened in the sunlight.

  Petrello was ahead when they began to ascend the mountain. He was looking up at the eagle hovering above him when he heard a shout. He looked back and saw his brother’s pony tossing its head. It stamped and gave a whinny of distress. Tolly had vanished.

  Unable to turn his pony quickly on the narrow path, Petrello leaped off its back and ran down into the trees.

  “Tolly! Tolomeo! Is this a joke? Answer me!”

  A rock smacked into the back of Petrello’s head. He tried to keep his balance, but dizzy with pain he fell forward, his face buried in a thicket. Hands grabbed his ankles, small rough hands. He tried to turn his head but the pain was too great, and covering his face with an arm, he had to let his assailants drag him backward over the stony ground.

  “Let me go!” Petrello shouted. “I have nothing.”

  “You ain’t got your dignity, that’s for sure.” It was a boy’s voice, a boy no older than Petrello himself by the sound of it.

  It’s a game, thought Petrello. He almost relaxed, but then he became angry and yelled, “Stop this! I’m the king’s son.”

  “We guessed that!” This was a different voice, pitched higher. Perhaps it belonged to a girl. She sounded hard and spiteful.

  They began to tie Petrello’s ankles together, their small hands twisting the rope so tight his bones grated. As they pulled back his arms, he managed a quick look over his shoulder. He saw curtains of thick brown hair almost covering a pale face streaked with mud. The girl grinned, showing a toothless gap in her lower jaw. She couldn’t have been more than eight or nine.

  Once his feet and hands were bound, Petrello was allowed to roll over. He found himself in a dark cave, the ceiling a damp rock veined in green moss. His brother lay in a corner. Tolly’s hands and feet were bound and his eyes were closed, but he appeared to be breathing.

  “What have you done to my brother?” Petrello glared at the two ragged children grinning down at him.

  “Knocked him on the head,” said the boy. He looked very like the girl, though his hair was shorter and his chin wider. “He’ll be all right,” went on the boy. “I’ve been hit on the head worse than he has, haven’t I, sis?”

  “That you have. And you ain’t dead.” The girl cackled.

  Tolly began to moan. His eyes opened and he mumbled, “What happened?”

  “See?” said the girl. “I told you. He ain’t dead.”

  Tolly began to wriggle into a sitting position. “Aw, my head. Trello, where are we?”

  “You’d better ask them.” Petrello nodded at the two children.

  Tolly looked up at the mud-streaked, smiling faces. “We can’t give you anything. We haven’t got money, or jewels.”

  “You got ponies,” said the girl.

  “I suppose you could take one,” Petrello said reluctantly. “But leave us the other, so we can get home.”

  The boy pouted. “Don’t want your ponies.”

  “What do you want, then?” Petrello wondered if he and Tolly were to be dragged away by the children’s family; bandits, no doubt. Would they be killed just for being the sons of a king?

  “We want to come and live in your castle.” The girl had lost her smug little grin. She squatted in front of her brother and her voice became soft and confiding. “We’ve heard about the Red King who can multiply anything, so his people never go hungry. They say he can make rain come and go, and he talks to wolves and eagles and all sorts of animals, just like they were friends.”

  “And thunder,” added the boy, kneeling beside his sister. “He can make clouds, can’t he, and rainbows? And we know about the castle that disappears….”

  “And the loveliness inside.” The girl was almost crooning now. “And the fine clothes you wear. Look at your jackets, they’re like magic, not what normal people wear, even lords and ladies.”

  “And your boots,” said the boy. “I wish I had those.”

  “But we’re not going to take them,” the girl said quickly. “’Cos we’re proud. We just want to live in the Red Castle.”

  “So we’re going to ransom you,” the boy said with satisfaction.

  “Ransom?” Tolly and Petrello said together.

  “Yeah. That’s right.” The girl’s eyes were shining now. “We send a note to the castle. We tell them we’ve got princes. But we’ll give them back if we can come and live in the castle.”

  The brothers stared at the ragged children. Their sudden cheerfulness made Petrello feel uncomfortable. He had never given his clothes a thought, nor the food he ate. Were they so fine?

  “You’ll have to write the letter,” said the boy, “because we can’t.”

  “Have you been planning this for a long time?” Petrello asked thoughtfully.

  “We saw you on your ponies with their fine harnessing and pretty saddlings,” said the girl. “And Gunfrid just thought of it. ‘Let’s catch them and ransom them,’ he said.”

  “Because Zeba and me’d been wondering how we could get into your castle.” Gunfrid smiled. “And there you were.”

  The boy looked so confident, Petrello felt sad. Their plan was hopeless. The two half-starved children would be caught by the guards as soon as they showed their faces. He shook his head. “It won’t work.”

  “Will!” Gunfrid and Zeba shouted.

  “You don’t know …” Gunfrid stopped and looked up at the roof of the cave. Dust fell onto his face and he sneezed.

  A series of dull thuds echoed around the rocks. Hoofbeats. There was a horse above them.

  Petrello opened his mouth, and then closed it. There could be worse than these children out in the forest. Zeba and Gunfrid were of the same mind, it seemed. They froze, their eyes wide with apprehension.

  Tolly didn’t share their fears. “Here!” he shouted. “Help!”

  Gunfrid brought up his fist, his face an angry red, but he didn’t hit Tolly. It was an empty threat.

  Petrello peered through the low cave entrance. He could see the black legs of a horse but the rider was out of sight. Gunfrid and Zeba had their backs to the entrance. Now that Tolly had given them away, Petrello felt he had nothing to lose. “Here!” he shouted.

  The man outside dropped to his knees and looked into the cave.

  “Amadis!” cried the brothers.

  In one glance, Amadis took in his brothers’ bound hands and feet and the two ragged children. “What mess have you got yourselves into, little brothers?” he said.

  Gunfrid and Zeba scuttled over to the brothers. Gunfrid produced a small knife and held it to Tolly’s throat.

  Amadis shook his head. “Boy, put down your knife!”

  “I will not,” Gunfrid said defiantly. “I will cut your brother’s throat, if you … if you …” He looked imploringly at his sister, who shrugged her thin shoulder
s and grimaced.

  Amadis made a strange noise in his throat. Petrello recognized the sound. He knew what would happen next.

  The wolf, Greyfleet, slipped past Amadis and walked into the cave. Gunfrid and Zeba began to scream, even before the wolf revealed his long fangs.

  “Hush,” said Amadis. “The wolf will not hurt you, but I suggest you use your knife to cut my brothers’ bonds. If you do not, Greyfleet here will be on you in a moment, and then nothing can save either of you.”

  Zeba had wriggled into the darkest corner of the cave and there she stayed, her eyes never leaving the wolf.

  Greyfleet moved not a muscle. Petrello and Tolly knew him well. He would do anything that Amadis asked of him, but he was a wild creature for all that, and would revert to his savage nature in a second.

  Gunfrid rapidly cut through Tolly’s bonds, but when he began to sever the rope around Petrello’s ankles, his small hands began to shake.

  “Don’t cut my flesh, I beg you,” said Petrello with a laugh.

  He had hoped to calm the boy with a joke, but there was a sob in Gunfrid’s voice when he replied, “I don’t mean to cut. I’m doing my best.” He crawled around Petrello and quickly released the hands tied behind his back.

  Bending his head to avoid hitting the low cave roof, Petrello moved swiftly past the wolf and joined his brothers outside.

  The two children sat very close to each other, staring at the wolf. Greyfleet still hadn’t moved. When Amadis made a sound low in his throat, Greyfleet’s ears flicked. He turned and loped out of the cave. Amadis touched the wolf’s head as he passed and then Greyfleet was gone, gliding into the trees until he became one of the many shadows that moved incessantly across the forest floor.

  “I found your ponies,” Amadis told his brothers. “We’d best be getting home.”

  “You can’t go home, Amadis,” Petrello said gravely. “That’s why we’re here. We came to warn you.”

  Amadis gave Petrello a quizzical look. “You speak in riddles, brother. What do you mean?”

  Tolly said breathlessly, “The guard on the South Gate has accused you of being in league with the bellman’s abductors.”

  Amadis did something unexpected. He chuckled.

  “Believe us,” begged Petrello. “He says you threatened to set your wolf on him if he prevented the bellman’s capture. The chancellor’s men are searching for you. You must ride away, now, Amadis, before they find you.”

  Amadis gave a small frown, but the next moment he was smiling, and then he was laughing.

  Petrello, worried for his brother’s sanity, cried, “Don’t you understand, Amadis?”

  “I hear what you’re saying,” said Amadis. “But it makes no sense. I was on my way back to tell the king that the bellman is being taken to Castle Melyntha. The eagles told me. They saw it all. Why would I reveal the bellman’s whereabouts if I had assisted in his capture?”

  Petrello couldn’t answer.

  Tolly said, “John, the guard, was lying.”

  Why? The unspoken question hung between them. Petrello remembered the way the guard had stared at Lord Thorkil, and then looked away, as though he were afraid. “I think it might have something to do with the chancellor,” he said.

  Amadis looked serious for once. “Come on, boys. I’ve tethered your ponies. We must unravel this mystery.”

  Petrello turned to the cave. Gunfrid and Zeba had scrambled out. They stood together, their eyes darting from one brother to another.

  “Please …” Gunfrid spoke in a thin, choked voice.

  “We must take them with us.” Petrello looked at the homeless children.

  “That boy would have killed you,” said Amadis.

  “No. He was frightened. Gunfrid and Zeba have nowhere to go, and we have so much.”

  Amadis smiled. “You have a soft heart, Petrello.” He patted his horse’s neck. “Come on then, Gunfrid and Zeba. You had better ride with me.”

  Amadis lifted the two ragged children onto his horse and jumped up behind them. The children were so thin, the three of them fitted comfortably on the fine saddle with its golden pommel. It had been a gift from the king on Amadis’s seventeenth birthday.

  As soon as Petrello and Tolly were mounted, they set off along the forest track. They could hear movements in the trees, the occasional shout, and, once or twice, a horse whinnied.

  “They’re still searching for the bellman,” said Amadis. He cupped his hands around his mouth and called, “Hey, Sir Edern, Sir Peredur! I have news!”

  The other Knight Protectors were obviously some distance away. Perhaps they couldn’t make out the words that Amadis was shouting. Petrello was anxious. The chancellor’s men might have heard his brother’s voice. Amadis would be arrested before he had time to explain.

  “Maybe it would be better not to shout, Amadis,” Petrello suggested. “The wrong people might hear.”

  “And you’ll be caught,” said Tolly.

  “Don’t worry, little brothers. I have my guardians.” Amadis gave a soft yelp. “See!”

  He pointed at the thickets bordering the track on both sides.

  The boys glimpsed the bobbing head of a wolf, then another, and another. There were four wolves, two on each side of the track. The wolves showed themselves, briefly, and then disappeared.

  “Greyfleet and his brothers.” Amadis looked over his shoulder and smiled.

  Gunfrid and Zeba stared nervously at the undergrowth. They hunched their shoulders and lowered their heads.

  Amadis patted the boy’s shoulder. “You’re safe with me.”

  All at once, Gunfrid muttered, “In Castle Melyntha, they hate the Red King.”

  “And how do you know this?” asked Amadis, frowning.

  “We come from there,” said the boy. “Our lord, Sir Osbern D’Ark, hates the king because he is a magician and his castle is hidden, and because he stole Sir Osbern’s bride.”

  “That would be our mother,” said Amadis. “Sir Osbern is descended from a conqueror, is he not?”

  “His grandfather was a conqueror,” cried Zeba, suddenly animated. “One of those men who invaded our country and killed our true King Harold.”

  “That was a hundred years ago,” said Petrello, airing his knowledge.

  “Yes, when the false King William came,” said Gunfrid. “But conquerors still come, many, many, many of them, and the new false king gives them our land and our houses and our cattle and our forests.”

  “We know our history.” Zeba raised her rough little voice defiantly. “Our parents told us, over and over, so that we should never forget it.”

  “And they hated the Red King as much as the conquerors,” added Gunfrid.

  “Why?” Amadis was genuinely astonished.

  “Because he never came to rescue them,” said Gunfrid. “Our parents were children of wealthy merchants. They rebelled against the conquerors and were killed for it. But their children, our parents, ran into the forest and lived there, until they were caught by Sir Osbern’s men. Some of their friends escaped and went to live with the Red King. And our parents thought that because the Red King was a magician, and very powerful, he would come to rescue them. But he never did. They waited and waited and waited, and now they are dead, too.”

  “They worked hard even when they were sick,” said Zeba. “Because they were slaves, and so were we, until we escaped.”

  Even Amadis was lost for words. Petrello didn’t want to believe the scruffy children, and yet he found it hard to doubt them. Their voices ran with passionate resentment.

  “If our father was so disliked by your parents,” Amadis said at last, “why do you want to live in the Red Castle?”

  After a moment’s hesitation, Gunfrid said, “We want to live a magical life and be safe.” He sounded a little ashamed.

  Zeba mumbled something and Amadis asked her to speak up, for no one would be angry with her.

  Hardly raising her voice, Zeba murmured, “I want to know why the Red Ki
ng didn’t save our parents.”

  “I see,” Amadis said thoughtfully. He whinnied softly and his horse began to canter.

  Petrello’s pony followed; Tolly, humming to himself, came last.

  Amadis seemed eager to get back; his horse gathered speed and Petrello found it hard to keep up. Tolly was left far behind.

  There was a sudden, distant shout. Petrello reined in his pony and looked back. There was no sign of Tolly, but the track twisted and turned so often, he could have just been beyond the nearest bend. The shouting grew louder. “Hey there, Amadis!”

  “Hey there, Sir Edern!” Amadis turned his horse just as Sir Edern came galloping up with Tolly in his wake.

  “Young Tolomeo tells me you’ve news of the bellman,” said Edern, his horse slowing to a trot.

  “Indeed,” said Amadis. “I have spoken with the eagles. The bellman is being taken to Castle Melyntha.”

  “Aha!” boomed Sir Edern. “Castle Melyntha.” He took a small hunting horn from his belt and blew several long blasts. “Well done, lad!” He raised a gloved hand to Amadis, wheeled his horse around, and galloped away, calling, “I’ll have to find Peredur, he’s gone far south, but the others will have heard my call. Tell the king …”

  The rest of his words were lost in a thunder of hooves and a crackling of undergrowth, all accompanied by the shouting of Knight Protectors in different parts of the forest.

  Amadis smiled to himself. “One mystery solved,” he said, “but another to be fathomed. Come on, boys!”

  Petrello thought about the chancellor’s men. Had they heard the horn? Perhaps they had gone east, to search the town of Rosemellon. It wasn’t far. They might have returned to the castle already.

  The trees thinned toward the edge of the forest, and the castle came into view, the South Gate directly facing them. The chancellor’s men were stationed in a line before the entrance, the great doors were open onto the courtyard, and a bustling of soldiers could be seen behind the Gray Men.

  Amadis whispered to his horse and it began a gentle walk. His brothers fell in behind him.

  “Who are those men at the gate?” asked Gunfrid. “Their look is fierce.”

  “Not for long, I hope,” said Amadis. “They are Chancellor Thorkil’s men, and they take their duties very seriously.”