The Stones of Ravenglass (6 page)

The widows in the tower insisted on using her full name, Berenice. Beri preferred the shortened version. She knew she was being prepared for marriage. Some of the girls left the tower soon after their fourteenth birthdays. Beri wondered about the husbands they might have. Were they old and wrinkled? Were they knights, or were they fat and greasy councillors? She couldn’t bring herself to imagine her own fate.

She decided that she must leave Castle Melyntha and search for a better future. Perhaps she could persuade Timoken and the four Britons to go with her?

The servant-girl, Mair, often brought news to the tower. A few hours after Timoken’s escape, Mair came to the girls’ chamber, where Beri stood alone, gazing out of the window.

‘Did you hear the guards?’ Mair laid a clean dress on one of the beds. ‘Your friend Timoken has escaped.’

‘Escaped?’ Beri was puzzled. ‘How so? He was free to come and go as he wished.’

Mair solemnly shook her head. ‘No. They put him in prison.’

‘Why?’ asked Beri, astonished.

‘He killed Mabon, the archer.’

‘Impossible!’ Beri furiously paced about the chamber, shaking her head. ‘Mabon was Timoken’s friend. They were like this.’ She linked her fingers so tightly together that the knuckles showed white.

‘I know,’ Mair agreed. ‘It’s a mystery. They say that Mabon was killed with an arrow, but the African has never used a bow.’

Beri sank on to the bed. ‘Something is very, very wrong. The prince would never put Timoken in that dreadful cell.’

‘There’s talk . . .’ Mair faltered and tears filled her eyes. ‘They say that Prince Griffith is dead. Sir Osbern holds the castle now. Some of the Britons speak of leaving. They believe that soon the castle will be filled with the conquerors’ men.’

Beri stared at Mair. ‘What will it mean for us, Mair? You and me?’

Mair shrugged. ‘Welsh Britons, like me, will have the worse time of it. As for you, Lady Berenice, I think Sir Osbern might start locking this tower, and you’ll all be prisoners, like Timoken, though in more comfortable surroundings. If I were you, I’d try and go, soon as you can. Though I can’t advise where.’

One of the widows called to Mair and, rolling her eyes at Beri, she ran off, whispering, ‘Go soon.’

For several minutes, Beri sat perfectly still, puzzling, wondering, trying to make sense of everything she’d heard.

‘Zobayda will know what to do,’ she told herself. ‘We’ll go together.’

Berenice went to her small window. Below her lay the forest, its bright autumn canopy fading to dull gold in the distant morning mist.

Where was Timoken now?

Beri had a sudden thought. She had forgotten the baby. They would have to take him with them. But could a baby survive such a journey? It might take many weeks, and who knew what dangers lay in that vast, wild forest?

Chapter Six

Eri had fallen asleep, his head resting between Timoken’s shoulder-blades, his bony hands locked together round the boy’s waist. Even in sleep the wizard had an iron grip.

Frost began to edge into the wind. Timoken shivered.
We must descend soon,
he thought,
or we’ll fall to earth like blocks of ice
. The image amused him and he chuckled to himself. ‘Down soon, Gabar,’ he shouted into the wind.

‘Here!’ Gabar began to drop through the cold air.

Timoken looked down. He saw a great stretch of milk-white land. Gabar was swiftly falling towards it. It was sand, for it was bordered, on one side, by the sea. There was something ominous about the vast, pale sweep.

‘Not here, Gabar,’ said Timoken, tugging at the reins.

‘Here,’ Gabar grunted defiantly.

‘No. There’s something wrong.’

‘It’s sand,’ the camel argued. ‘I long for it. I
will
go down.’

‘No, Gabar!’ Timoken gave an angry bellow.

The wizard woke up. ‘What’s happening?’ he grumbled.

‘We’re descending,’ Timoken shouted over his shoulder. ‘Gabar wants sand, but I don’t trust the land beneath us.’

Eri squinted down at the bleached sweep of earth. ‘Stop your mulish creature,’ he cried. ‘We’ve reached the Deadly Sands. They will swallow us.’

‘Swallow?’ yelled Timoken, tugging at the hair on Gabar’s back. ‘Gabar, do you want to be eaten by the earth?’

‘Sand,’ said the camel stubbornly, ‘is always good.’ He dropped again.

‘No!’ Timoken looked down. Almost luminescent against the dark sea, the sand seemed to beckon, to draw like a magnet. ‘Believe me, Gabar. Have I ever lied to you?’

‘No, Family,’ the camel admitted. He struggled in the air for a moment, kicking out his legs and twisting his head. ‘The sand calls me,’ he moaned regretfully, ‘and I can’t escape it.’

The camel dropped again and the deadly beach rushed towards them.

Timoken could sense how his camel battled the draw of the sand. He tugged helplessly at the shaggy back, but it was like trying to lift a thousand camels. And then it came to him, almost too late. Tearing the moon cloak from his shoulders, he threw it over the camel’s head.

‘Now you can’t see the sand, Gabar,’ he said. ‘There is no sand, and it can’t call you.’

‘I’m blind!’ bellowed the camel.

‘Climb, Gabar, climb!’ yelled Timoken.

He felt the camel’s muscles ripple, heard a grunt of defiance. A huge heart-beat throbbed through Gabar’s body and slowly, very slowly, he lifted away from the deadly sand.

‘On now, Gabar. Onwards, and I’ll let you see again.’ Timoken patted the shaggy back.

Gabar galloped into the sky, rolling his head this way and that, trying to rid himself of his blindfold. Frantically, he climbed his way upwards, higher and higher, until the moon cloak slipped from his head and fell into Timoken’s arms. But still the camel climbed, his great forefeet treading the wind, while the wizard moaned and grunted, sinking his nails into Timoken’s shoulders until he bruised the skin.

Timoken gritted his teeth and let the camel continue to climb a moment longer before crying, ‘No higher, Gabar, or we’ll freeze to death.’

‘Where, then?’ snorted the camel. ‘Ice or sand?’

Hoping they had passed over the white beach, Timoken said, ‘There are many places between ice and sand, Gabar. You can fly lower now.’

‘I hope you’re instructing the creature to descend,’ grumbled Eri. ‘I’m likely to become an ice-man very soon.’

‘Take this,’ Timoken passed his cloak to the wizard.

Eri looked doubtfully at the cloak, before wrapping it round his shoulders. ‘Shivering stars,’ he breathed. ‘This flimsy cloak is as warm as sheepskin.’

His words were lost in the wind as Gabar, suddenly blown sideways, plummeted through the clouds. To Timoken’s relief, a rusty-coloured headland appeared beneath them.

‘Here, Gabar,’ Timoken shouted. ‘Let’s go down.’

The camel’s descent was so swift, Eri, caught off guard, found his legs flying out behind him. ‘Slower,’ he screeched, his bony fingers now biting into Timoken’s waist. But the camel’s feet were already skimming a field of bracken. He pawed the earth with one foot, then another, absorbing the shock of a sudden landing. Gabar was now an expert at smart touch-downs.

They found themselves on a high finger of land, jutting out into the dark sea. Far below, the waves crashed and slapped against a scattering of rocks.

The first stars were beginning to show and a thin splinter of light sliced through the darkening sky; the new moon. For more than two hundred years, whenever the new moon appeared, Timoken had sipped a drop of Alixir from a bird-shaped bottle. The liquid came from a moonlit pool, deep in the African forest, and the jinni who made Timoken’s cloak had also cast a spell on the moonlit water, transforming it into the water of life.

‘I see the new moon,’ grunted Gabar.

‘I see it too,’ said Timoken.

‘Where is the bottle?’ Gabar’s memory was not perfect.

Timoken sighed. ‘I’ve told you a hundred times. We lost it when you fell into the river.’

The wizard had started wading through the bracken. He had seen a small stand of trees in the distance. Looking back at Timoken, he shouted, ‘What are you two whispering about?’

‘A camel couldn’t whisper even if it wanted to.’ Timoken laughed, running to catch up with Eri.

‘Hmph!’ the wizard grunted. ‘How should I know?’

They spent the night beneath the trees. All three were so weary they barely had time to light a fire before they fell asleep. Timoken shyly offered the wizard a place beneath his cloak, and Eri eagerly accepted.

When they woke up they found they were on a hilltop that sloped gently down to a wide valley of autumn trees. There was not a wisp of smoke to show the presence of another human, not a sound, except for the calling of eagles and a soft animal rustling in the bracken.

‘It’s like a new land,’ said Timoken. ‘Perhaps we can stay here. We’re far from the conquerors now.’

Eri looked doubtful. ‘Not far enough,’ he said.

‘I’ll go into the forest and look for signs,’ Timoken said eagerly.

‘Without a weapon?’ Eri shook his head.

Timoken had been unable to reach his sword and shield before their flight from the castle. He would have to make another. But not yet.

‘Don’t worry, Eri. I can defend myself.’ Timoken ran down the hill. The air was crisp, the sky a bright, frosty blue. He felt invincible. When he reached the first line of trees, he looked back and saw the wizard standing in the field of bracken. The sleeves of his earth-brown robe fluttered in the wind, and a hood covered his head. Timoken couldn’t see the wizard’s eyes, and yet he felt the weight of the man’s gaze on him. He lifted a hand, but Eri remained motionless. With a little shiver of apprehension, Timoken let his hand fall to his side and ran into the trees.

It was an ancient forest. The oaks, broad with age, bore leaves the colour of bronze. Some of the trees had died and lay where they had fallen, maybe a thousand years ago. Tiny creatures darted through the gleaming moss that covered the bark, and the dark, rotting wood bristled with life. The constant fluttering and calling of birds filled the soft air.

No one had walked here for many hundreds of years. And yet Timoken knew he wasn’t the first. He took off his shoes to feel the footsteps far beneath the earth. Who were they, the people who had once stepped through the forest? No conqueror had set foot on this rich earth, no Saxon. Perhaps not even the Britons’ ancestors.

Whoever they were, their spirits seemed to welcome Timoken, the boy from Africa. He began to run. Spreading his arms and using every animal language he knew, he called to the creatures of the forest.

‘I have found you, my home,’ he sang. And he thought of his brave mother who, before she died, had told him that, one day, he would find a new home.

Timoken lay on a fallen tree and sank his hands into the deep moss at his side.
Somewhere here I’ll build a home for us
, he thought.
For me and Eri and all my friends, and we’ll be safe
.

What about Mabon?
said a voice in his head. He couldn’t answer that.

He rolled off the tree and walked on until he found a wild, tumbling river. On the other side, a red cliff reached high above the trees. Timoken flew up to the cliff-top and looked west, expecting to see the ocean, but he saw only trees sweeping to the horizon. How far had he come? He leapt from the cliff and flew above the forest for a while.

A chill in the air sent him down to the forest for warmth. But the sun had gone and a cold mist was beginning to seep from the earth. Timoken felt a light touch on his cheek; a tiny droplet of freezing water. When he tried to draw his cloak tight around himself, he was aware of a slight tug, as though someone was pulling at it from behind. But there was no one there. And then, from the corner of his eye, he glimpsed a pale shape drifting through the trees beside him; another followed it. He turned his head and saw a dull light gliding between distant branches. Timoken began to run.

It was almost dark when Timoken left the forest. In the bag at his waist, he carried nuts and berries for his camel and the wizard. As he walked through the bracken, he could see Gabar dozing at the edge of the trees.

‘I’ve got food for you, Gabar,’ cried Timoken, running up to his camel.

‘I’ve had plenty. Where’ve you been?’ Gabar grunted reproachfully.

‘In our new kingdom.’ Timoken crouched beside the camel. ‘It’s a fine place, Gabar. And I’ll build a castle to keep us all safe.’

‘Any sand?’ enquired the camel.

‘Perhaps,’ Timoken said uncertainly.

‘Perhaps,’ echoed the camel. He yawned and lowered his head. ‘I’ll believe it when I see it.’

Timoken stood up and patted the camel’s neck. ‘I’ll make sand if I have to,’ he assured him.

He had expected to find the wizard under the trees, wrapped in his cloak and sleeping. But there was no sign of him.

‘Where’s Eri?’ Timoken asked the camel.

‘Gone,’ said Gabar.

‘Where?’ Timoken looked anxiously over his shoulder.

‘He didn’t tell me.’ Gabar would never admit to a failure of understanding.

‘Of course not,’ Timoken said quickly. He gazed at the field of bracken, his eyes roaming along the edge of the forest. Night was falling. No doubt Eri had found somewhere safe to sleep. The warm hollow of a tree, perhaps. He was a wizard, after all, and had the means to look after himself.

Timoken lit a fire and sat a moment, staring into the flames. In spite of the sinister beings in the forest, the certainty that he had found his place in the world was stronger than ever . . .

He could picture how it would be; he and his friends, together again, sitting before a great fire in their new home. Safe from Osbern, safe from Stenulf and Aelfric. And then he thought of Mabon and the bright picture was shattered. What would Osbern do to Mabon when he discovered he was still alive, after failing to kill an African who might be a king? Timoken’s eyes began to close. Just before he fell asleep he found himself murmuring, ‘Eri, where are you?’

Timoken was still asleep when the camel woke up and went in search of water. He found a stream and drank thirstily. The grass on the bank had a light dusting of frost, but Gabar was used to the cold. That didn’t mean he liked it. Nor did he like the damp bracken that brushed his knees. He thought of the great beach of sand that lay just to the south of the headland. He longed for it. Just one quick look, he thought, to savour the memory, to imagine the feel of dry sand beneath his feet.