Knight's Castle (4 page)

Dinner was good, and the children had one small glass of wine each, which was interesting, but made Ann yawn all through her pecan pie until her mother said they had had a long day and Ann should go to bed now, but Roger could stay up and play for half an hour more.

"Good," said Eliza. "Let's have the siege."

Ann sent Roger a beseeching look.

"No," he said, nobly. "It wouldn't be fair without Ann."

"Let's have it, anyway," said Eliza, not nobly at all. But her father gave her a stern look and she subsided. And good nights were said, and five minutes later Roger sat on the floor of his room, to the sound of toothbrush noises from the bathroom, and gloated over the castle, and thought about the things he would do with it and the things that would happen in it, and pretty soon his head began to feel heavy, and he got up without being called, and went into the bathroom and brushed his teeth and put on his pajamas, and came out again and called good night to Ann, and climbed into bed.

He turned his light off, but the light from the hall (that Ann had asked to have left on) sent a golden glow into the room. It was a hot night, and pretty soon Roger pushed the bedclothes off, so that some of them slid down to the floor. The last thing he saw before sleep came was the castle, glimmering goldenly at him from across the room.

When he woke up the golden glow was gone and it was daylight. Right away he looked across the room, for the castle. Then he stared.

The castle was there, all right, but it seemed hundreds of times bigger, and yet at the same time it seemed hundreds of times farther away. And then Roger looked down, and he saw that he wasn't in his room at all. He was lying on a great plateau of white rock, and there must have been a landslide recently, for there was a fall of rock and rubble to one side, leading down to the grassy plain below. And then suddenly he remembered the Old One, and then he knew. This was the adventure he had asked for, and magic was happening to him at last.

He waited a minute to see what would happen next, and nothing did, and the castle stood there, its turrets gleaming at him in the bright sunlight, and it was plain to Roger that the first thing to do was get over there near it.

He started picking his way along the fall of rock, which seemed to be the only way down from the plateau. The rocks hurt his bare feet, and he wished the magic had been thoughtful enough to provide shoes. The way got steeper as he went along, and he slid the last half of it, skinning one knee.

No bones were broken, however, and he got to his feet and began the long walk across the flat greensward toward the castle. He felt rather conspicuous and a bit chilly in just his summer pajamas with the short trousers, and he felt rather small, too, as he drew near the castle's lofty walls and saw how
very
lofty they were. Either the castle had grown to life size or he had shrunk to the height a toy soldier would be if he were eleven years old, and it didn't really matter which, because it came to the same thing in the end.

He began walking slower. He didn't exactly want to turn around and run, but he didn't exactly want to go on, either. At last he stood at the edge of the moat, looking up at the parapets, far above him. The castle presented a grim aspect. The drawbridge was up and the portcullis was down. The moat had real water in it now, and the water looked deep and cold. Roger shivered.

"So this is Torquilstone," he said aloud, trying to sound jaunty, "and I'm at the siege of it."

He wondered if he were meant to venture inside the castle, or if he hadn't better go find Robin Hood's attacking party instead. Yes, he decided, that would be much the safer plan.

But when he looked around for the besiegers, no living soul was in sight. He must remember to tell Eliza she was a good ambush-maker, when he got back. If he ever did.

At this moment a voice broke in on his thoughts. The voice came from a window slit in the watchtower next to the drawbridge.

"Halt, paltry knave," said the voice.

"I
am
halted," said Roger. "Paltry knave yourself," he added, but he didn't add it very loud. The window slit was too narrow for him to see the face of the gatekeeper, but he could tell from his voice that he wouldn't like him at all. He sounded, in fact, like a foul churl.

"Stand where ye are," the churlish voice went on. "Come ye on aught of business with my lords, or mean ye mischief to us and ourn?"

"No, I'm just looking," said Roger. "Now I'll be going."

He turned to go. An arrow whistled past his ear, and then another. There was nothing for him to hide behind and if he ran he would be a perfect target; so he did the only thing he could think of. He fell flat on the greensward and shut his eyes.

Behind him he heard a creaking sound that could only be the drawbridge being lowered, a sight that doubtless would have been very interesting at some other time, only not now. Then came a sound of mailed boots on stone, and a foot spurned Roger where he lay.

There is nothing like being spurned by a mailed foot to make a person stop being frightened and start being angry instead. Roger sat up and glared around him indignantly.

Three men in armor stood looking down at him.

"What witless wight art thou," said one of them, "that cometh a-knocking at our door all half-naked of a morning?" He took Roger by the ear and pulled him to his feet.

"Ow," said Roger.

"Nay, 'tis a mere boy!" said another of the men.

"'Tis a sign! 'Tis witchcraft!" cried the third, in alarm. "A changeling boy out of Elfland left on our doorstep in his shift, pardie! What can it mean?"

"Don't be so superstitious, Lionel," said the first man. "More likely some scurvy Saxon trick. Be ye Saxon or Norman, boy? Parlez-vous français?"

"Non," said Roger, in one of the two French words he knew.

"Aha! What did I tell you? A Saxon spy!" cried the first man. "Quick! Hail him before our masters!"

And Roger was seized and trundled across the drawbridge and through the outer courtyard and into the great hall of the castle keep. Two of the men hurried off in different directions to fetch their masters, and the third man, Lionel, was left on guard.

Now that the worst seemed to be happening, Roger began to feel more cheerful, and even a bit reckless. After all, every magic adventure he'd ever read had turned out fine for the hero in the end. I do not know how he came to be so sure that he was the hero of this one, but he was. It is simply a thing that one knows, and if you have ever been the hero of an adventure yourself, you will understand.

He stood looking about the great hall interestedly. It was just about as yeomanly as a hall could be, what with trophies on the wall, deerskins on the floor, and a whole boar roasting merrily on a spit in the great fireplace.

Then he looked at Lionel. Lionel smiled nervously and backed away a few paces, and this gave Roger an idea. He decided to have some fun with the superstitious guard. He went on looking at him for a minute, and then suddenly he made a terrible face and uttered a sepulchral cry.

"Beware!" he cried.

Lionel jumped. "What didst thou say?"

"Woe!" Roger went on, pleased with the success of his efforts. "Wurra wurra. Pity the poor Normans on a day like this!"

Lionel was looking pale. "Wherefore sayest thou such?" he asked. "Whence earnest thou hither?"

"Wouldn't you like to know?" said Roger, forgetting to sound like a grim oracle and sounding like a mere boy. Then he recollected himself and started over. "Ask not the dread name of whence I came," he said, "but hearken to my dire words. This day bringeth doom to all Normans within this castle!"

"Oh, dear," said Lionel. "Doth it really? What shall I do to be saved?"

"Flee," said Roger.

Lionel turned, and started to flee. But at that moment Brian de Bois-Guilbert and Maurice De Bracy entered the hall.

Both knights were thoroughly out of sorts, because they had both just been interrupted in important love scenes, and both their ladies had just rejected their proposals. Bois-Guilbert in particular was in a vile mood. He stalked up to Roger and stood glaring down at him.

Roger began feeling less reckless. It is one thing to play with a toy castle and wish you were back in the golden days of chivalry, and it is another thing to be really there, and have one of the greatest villians in all legend stand glaring down at you and breathing the hot breath of wrath in your direction.

Bois-Guilbert went on glaring for what seemed like ages. Then he said, "So!"

"Hello," said Roger, trying to smile in an offhand manner.

"Silence," said Bois-Guilbert. "I perceive that thou art a vile spy. Thou shalt hang from the castle battlements for the crows to pick at, as a warning to all Saxons!"

"Nay!" cried Maurice De Bracy, ever the less evil of the two villians. "'Tis too harsh a punishment. He is but a child."

"He is no child," gibbered Lionel, excitedly, "but an elfish spirit come to warn us of disaster!"

"Tush, Lionel," said De Bracy. "What old wives' tale is this?"

"Take note of his garb, sir!" Lionel went on, almost in tears and pointing to Roger's summer pajamas. "Saw ye ever the like of that on mortal boy? Nay, but be sure the small fiends dress so, down below, what with the hot climate and all!" Fearfully his hand shot out and caught Roger by the collar of his pajama jacket. He saw the label inside the collar, and recoiled. "B. V. D.!" he read, in tones of horror. "Meaneth not that 'Bene volens diabolus,' or 'Best wishes from the devil?'"

"Pish, Lionel," said De Bracy. "Thy Latin waxeth rusty." But his voice sounded a bit worried, all the same.

Bois-Guilbert was made of sterner stuff.

"Go to," he said. "Never yet did Brian de Bois-Guilbert quail before witch or warlock. I defy the foul fiend. And besides, I don't believe it, anyway. Kneel, minion." And he pushed Roger rudely to his knees before him. "Confess who hath sent ye hither and from what Saxon pigpen ye hail!"

"Nobody sent me. I came of my own accord," said Roger. "From Baltimore, Maryland."

"I know no merrie land save England," said De Bracy. "And la belle Normandie, of course."

"Quiet!" said Bois-Guilbert. "Who conducteth this inquiry, anyway? Minion," he said again to Roger, "for the last time I bid ye speak. What is your errand here?" And he, too, spurned Roger with his mailed foot.

Once again the spark of anger glowed in the soul of Roger. "All right," he said, in words more spunky than yeomanly. "All right! I came to help the good guys beat the bad guys! And that means you!"

Bois-Guilbert burst into unpleasant laughter. "And didst think a Templar's cheek would pale before a minikin
your
size?" he cried. "Away with him to the dungeon for the rats to nibble till he is ready to speak the truth!"

Maybe it was the mention of the rats that did it. Because if Roger had thought twice, he'd have gone quietly to the dungeon and bided his time, and let the story go on from there, and the ending might have been very different. There might have been a fair jailer's daughter to set him free, or there might have been a secret passage from the dungeon, or the rats might have proved friendly, and nibbled his bonds instead of him.

But which of these fascinating things would have happened will never be known, for Roger didn't think twice. He lost his temper instead, which is a dangerous thing to lose when you are in the middle of a magic adventure.

"Your time is up, Templar!" he cried. "Might as well throw in the sponge now! Wilfred of Ivanhoe beats you in the end, anyway, you know!"

"Ha!" cried Bois-Guilbert. "So
he
is thy master, is he?" He spat elegantly into a corner. "
That
for Wilfred of Ivanhoe! Knowest thou not he fell wounded at the end of the tournament and none hath seen him since? Where's your Wilfred of Ivanhoe now? Dead, that's where!"

"A lot you know about it!" said Roger, throwing precaution to the winds. "He's lying wounded right here in this castle now!"

"Oh, he is, is he?" said Bois-Guilbert, interestedly.

"Yes, he is," said Roger. "Rebecca's been taking care of him."

"Oh, she hath, hath she?" said Bois-Guilbert.

"Yes, and then when the castle catches fire he gets rescued," said Roger.

"Oh, the castle catcheth fire, doth it?" said Bois-Guilbert.

"Yes, and you know what? Robin Hood and his band are waiting outside right now, getting ready to besiege you, and guess who's with them? The Black Knight, that's who! Only do you know who it really is? It's King Richard, back from the Crusades, in disguise!" Roger finished triumphantly.

"Oh, it is, is it?" said Bois-Guilbert.

"Yes, it is," said Roger.

"One thing more," said Bois-Guilbert. "About this fire in the castle. Where doth it start?"

"Well," said Roger, "in the book it starts in the fuel magazine, but in the movie it starts in the dungeon."

"I know not this word movie," said Bois-Guilbert, "but just to be on the safe side ... Guards, ho!" he suddenly called.

Men in armor started pouring into the room from all sides, and it was then that Roger realized, too late, what he had done. He had been overconfident. He had been boastful and too full of himself, and he had given the whole show away, and betrayed Ivanhoe and his friends into the hands of their enemies! Even so, he couldn't understand it. This wasn't the way the story went, at all!