by Peter Bently
We had just run a complete lap of the battlements when we heard the sound of hooves and wheels rumbling up to the gate.
“The baron!” cried Sir Percy. “He’s early. That’s all I need!”
In his panic Sir Percy failed to see a spare battleaxe lying on the ground.
“Sir Percy!” I yelled. “Watch out!”
Too late. Sir Percy tripped on the battleaxe, careered sideways and collided with the parapet with such force that his hat flew off and dropped into the moat below. He managed to right himself – but then Hercules caught up with him.
SNARL! SNAP!
“OOCHYA! OW!”
I winced as the dog pounced and sank his fangs into my master’s bottom. There was a ripping sound as Sir Percy leaped into the air in shock, lost his balance – and tipped over the battlements!
Patchcoat and I dashed forward and seized Sir Percy’s legs just in time. A moment later and he’d have plunged headfirst into the castle moat.
“Help!” he screeched from inside the skirts of his tunic, which had flopped over his head. “Get me up!”
This turned out to be easier said than done. My master was just too heavy. Not only that, but Hercules had his paws up on the parapet, ready to take another chomp of Sir Percy’s posterior as soon as we’d hauled it within reach.
“We’re – trying – Sir – Percy!” I puffed.
“Hey! You chaps need a hand up there?”
I looked down to see Jed and Rosie jumping from their caravan. It was them we’d heard arriving.
“Yes please!” I called. “But hurry! We can’t hold him much longer!”
“My boots!” Sir Percy wailed. “They’re slipping off. Help!”
Jed and Rosie sped to the gate and appeared on the battlements beside us moments later. Rosie pulled Hercules away while Jed reached a muscular arm over the parapet, grabbed Sir Percy by the seat of his pants and yanked him back to safety.
“There you go, Your Honour!” said Jed.
My master cringed feebly at Hercules, who growled back at him. Rosie restrained the dog, while I tied his lead firmly to his collar.
“I’ve no idea who you two people are,” groaned Sir Percy. “But just keep that disobedient brute away from me!”
“Brute? What, him?” said Jed. “But he’s as sweet as pie, Your Honour.” He ruffled Hercules’s fur. The dog instantly jumped up to give him a good licking. “Hey, boy!” he chuckled. “Less o’ that. I had a wash this mornin’. Sit!”
Hercules sat at once, his tail thumping the ground.
“Impressive!” I said.
“He’s a monster!” huffed Sir Percy. “Cedric, what on earth possessed you to bring home that beast?”
Um – YOU did, Sir Percy, I thought. But I just said, “Sorry, Sir Percy.”
“From now on I don’t want it anywhere near me. It can jolly well sleep outside the castle.”
“Yes, Sir Percy.”
“Well, at least he’ll have a nice place to sleep,” said Jed. “I’ve made that kennel.”
“Where shall we put it, Your Honour?” said Rosie.
“You decide, Cedric,” said Sir Percy. “I’ve had quite enough of dogs for one day. I’m going to change my tunic.”
With a nervous glance at Hercules, Sir Percy staggered down to the courtyard and back into the castle. Rosie stared after him.
“Now there’s a funny thing, Master Cedric,” she said. “I know I’ve seen Sir Percy before. But I can’t think where.”
“At the May Fair?” I suggested.
“Hmm. Not sure, dearie,” she said. “Maybe it was in me crystal ball—”
“Come on, Rosie,” Jed interrupted. “Let’s unload this kennel.”
We followed Jed and Rosie to the caravan. Strapped to the back was a large kennel, skilfully made out of sturdy logs.
Together we carried it to a spot near the drawbridge. Hercules dived inside at once with a contented WOOF!
“Right, we’ll be off,” said Jed. “It’s almost sunset and we might not find our camp after dark. Bye!”
“Bye. And thanks for making the kennel so quickly,” I said.
Patchcoat and I watched the caravan trundle off.
“Well, Hercules certainly likes his new home,” I said. The dog was already dozing in his kennel, his head on his front paws. “Perhaps he’s a bit too cosy in there. He doesn’t exactly fit the image of a fierce guard dog. He looks like he wouldn’t hurt a fly!”
“Except for Sir Percy,” Patchcoat said.
“Yes, I wonder what that was all about?”
But before Patchcoat could reply, we heard the sound of a trumpet.
ROOT-I-TOOT-I-TOOT!
It was coming from about half a mile away on the edge of the woods. There was another sound, too, like a heavy cart crunching over the ground.
“Uh-oh,” I said. “That’s definitely the baron this time. We’d better turn ourselves into guards!”
“Too right,” said Patchcoat. “I’d forgotten about that.”
We dashed to the battlements, where we’d left the spare gear from the cellar. A few minutes later I was dressed in a baggy adult-size mailcoat, a slightly mildewed surcoat and an oversized helmet that hid half my face. We grabbed a battleaxe each and hurried back to the gate to see Baron Fitztightly riding up at the head of a company of marching soldiers led by a sergeant. But it wasn’t the troops that caught my eye. It was what they were escorting. Clattering along on giant wheels, pulled by two enormous carthorses, was the biggest catapult I had ever seen.
“Company – HALT!” bellowed the sergeant, as the convoy reached the drawbridge. “Atten-SHUN!”
The baron rode across the drawbridge to the gate.
“You there!” he said to me and Patchcoat. “We’re here on the king’s business. Where’s your master?”
“Er…” I began. Good question.
Luckily, Sir Percy came scuttling across the courtyard at that very moment, hastily pulling a fresh hat on to his head. It was the wrong way round.
“Ah, there you are, Sir Percy,” said the baron.
“Greetings, my lord!” said Sir Percy. “I say, jolly nice battering ram you’ve got there. The king will be pleased!”
“Trebuchet,” corrected the baron.
“Bless you!” said Sir Percy.
“What?” snapped the baron. “Sir Percy, this is a trebuchet. It’s a type of siege catapult. I thought you’d know that, considering all the cities you’ve captured,” he added, raising an eyebrow. “According to The Song of Percy.”
That’s the title of my master’s book. It’s very popular. And also very, ahem, imaginative.
“Oh! Ah! Of course I knew that!” said my master. “It was just my, er, little joke, my lord. Ha, ha, ha!”
The baron frowned. “The Castlecruncher is the most powerful catapult in the kingdom,” he said. “It can fling a one-ton rock nearly half a mile. Demolish a whole castle in no time. It would be a disaster if it fell into the hands of one of the king’s enemies. Like Snorbert the Sneaky.”
King Snorbert was the ruler of Lumbago, one of the neighbouring kingdoms.
“On the way here I received an urgent despatch from the king,” the baron went on. “Our spies in Lumbago believe that Snorbert has sent a couple of his spies to try and steal the catapult. We can’t let that happen.”
“Don’t worry, baron,” said Sir Percy. “It’ll be as safe as houses here at Castle Bombast!”
“Good,” said the baron. He turned to the soldiers. “Right, men, bring it into the castle!”
Guided by the sergeant, the carthorses started to haul the catapult across the drawbridge. But the horses had only gone a little way when they stopped.
“What’s the matter, sergeant?” said the baron.
“Sorry, sir,” said the sergeant. “No room, sir.”
It was true. The swinging-arm was too tall to get through the gate of the castle.
“Oh, brilliant,” tutted the baron. “I knew we sho
uld have stopped at a bigger castle, but His Majesty assured me this was the safest place in the kingdom.”
“Oh it is, baron, it is!” said Sir Percy.
“It had better be,” said the baron. “We shall have to leave the catapult outside the castle. My soldiers need a good night’s rest, so I’m relying on your lot to protect the trebuchet, Sir Percy. I hope they’re up to the job.”
“Oh yes!” said Sir Percy. “My very best guards will be on sentry duty all night.”
“Glad to hear it,” the baron said, looking around. “Where are they?”
“Ah, here, my lord,” said Sir Percy. He nodded at me and Patchcoat.
The baron raised an eyebrow. “Your very best guards?” he said. “Really?”
Sir Percy hastily pointed upwards. “And I also have, er, a crack platoon patrolling the battlements.”
Baron Fitztightly peered up at the dummy guards. Luckily it was now early evening and the light was fading.
“Hmm,” he said doubtfully. “They don’t look like they’re doing much patrolling to me, Sir Percy.”
“Oh, and I have a highly trained guard dog,” said Sir Percy, who was obviously keen for the baron to stop staring at the battlements. “It lives in that kennel at the end of the drawbridge. Savage beast. Very rare breed, you know.”
“The kennel appears to be empty, Sir Percy.”
Yikes! In the panic to go and change into our guards’ outfits, I’d forgotten to tie Hercules up. We’d just left him dozing in the kennel. But where was he now?
It didn’t take long to find out.
There was a shriek from inside the castle. Then the kitchen door flew open and Hercules came hurtling out with a plucked starling in his mouth and a furious Margaret in hot pursuit.
“Come back ’ere, you mangy mutt!”
With a yelp of terror, Sir Percy dived behind the baron for safety as Hercules bounded towards us. I ran forward and managed to grab his lead – which wasn’t easy with a heavy battleaxe in one hand and a wobbly helmet falling over my eyes.
“Bad dog!” I said, as Margaret snatched the scraggy (and rather chewed) bird from Hercules’s slobbery jaws.
“First he snaffles all me leftover giblets, then he nicks one o’ me starlings,” she puffed. “If I catch that fleabag in the kitchen again, the next stew I make will taste of dog!”
She turned and stumped back inside, wiping the starling on her apron. I led Hercules away and tied him firmly to the chain of the castle drawbridge.
“Highly trained, eh?” sighed the baron wearily. “Sir Percy, kindly show me to my quarters. Your squire can bring my bag.”
“Er, my squire?” said Sir Percy. “Ah, yes. Right. My squire. Yes.” He turned to me and gave one of his embarrassingly obvious winks. “I say, you there, guard chappie! Run and tell Master Cedric to bring up the baron’s luggage, would you? Hurry now! Chop-chop!”
“Yessir,” I said, putting on a deep voice. “I mean, no, sir.”
I ran into the courtyard and ducked into the stables. I swiftly pulled off my helmet and chain mail, then ran back to fetch the baron’s overnight bag from his saddle. As I delivered it to his room, Sir Percy was telling the baron about the “exotic cuisine” Margaret was preparing for dinner. That reminded me that Patchcoat and I hadn’t eaten either. There would be no chance once we were outside on guard duty, so I nipped down to the kitchen and popped some bread and a big lump of cheese into a cloth when Margaret had her back turned.
After that I stabled the baron’s horse, then took some hay to the carthorses. There wasn’t room for them in the stables so they’d also be spending the night outside, tethered to the catapult. The sergeant was sitting on the edge of it with his boot off, rubbing a dock leaf on a blister.
“You and your men are sleeping in the – um – lower wing of the castle.” I said. “It’s not very luxurious, but better than sleeping outdoors. The cook will give you something to eat once the baron and Sir Percy have had dinner.”
“Thanks, sonny,” said the sergeant, pulling his boot back on. “Hold on, though. We can’t leave the catapult guarded by one measly sentry.” He nodded at Patchcoat, who was still at his post by the gate, cracking jokes with the soldiers. “Looks likes that other fellow has skived off somewhere!”
“I’ll go and fetch him,” I said. “I’ve got a good idea where he is.”
I nipped back to the stables, pulled on my guard’s outfit and returned to the gate.
“There you are,” said the sergeant. “Good. Now, where’s that squire? He was going to show us to our billet.”
“Oh, he, er, had to run an errand for his master,” I said in my deep voice. “The door to your billet is next to the kitchen.”
“Right, lads!” barked the sergeant. “Fall in! By the left, quick, MARCH! Left, right, left right…”
They filed off into the castle.
“Phew!” said Patchcoat. “So far so good, Ced.”
“Just about,” I replied. “Come on, let’s shut up shop.”
I closed the castle gates. Then, after checking that Hercules was safely installed in his kennel, we settled down for a night on guard.
A few hours later, the castle was quiet. The baron and the troops had all eaten and gone to bed. Patchcoat and I planned to take it in turns to sleep, but soon abandoned that idea. There was no chance of either of us dozing off. Not with Hercules snoring so loudly. And that wasn’t the only sound coming from the kennel. I blame Margaret’s leftover giblets. If the noise hadn’t kept us awake, the whiff certainly would have done.
We’d taken off our helmets and were sitting against the catapult, scoffing our scrounged supper, when something caught my eye. A small flicker of light, over in the woods. A second later it had disappeared. Patchcoat had seen it, too.
“That’ll be Rosie and Jed,” he said. “Looks like they’ve got a campfire.”
“But campfires don’t just vanish,” I said. “It was like a torch going out.”
“I wouldn’t worry,” said Patchcoat. “It’s probably just poachers.”
“Oh yes,” I said. “I spotted some in the woods earlier. I forgot to tell Sir Percy.”
“Poachers,” grinned Patchcoat. “Or maybe … King Snorbert’s spies sneaking up on the castle, eh, Ced?”
“Very funny,” I shivered. “I’d rather not think about spies, thanks very much.”
“Only kidding,” said Patchcoat. “Even if it was a couple of spies, they’d never be able to sneak off with this giant catapult. And even if they tried, we’d raise the alarm as soon as we saw them coming.”
I yawned. “You’re right,” I said. “Something tells me this is going to be a long, boring night. I’ll just have a quick stretch of my legs to wake myself up.”
I walked over to the moat. In the moonlight I spotted something floating by the edge of the water. I bent down for a closer look and realized it was Sir Percy’s hat. Just as I fished it out, I heard Patchcoat behind me, so I turned and said, “Look what I’ve found!”
But it wasn’t Patchcoat. It was a stranger, wrapped in a scarf and wearing a broad-brimmed hat. He looked vaguely familiar.
“Oh,” I said. “Who are you?”
And then something bashed me on the head and everything went dark.
I opened my eyes and blinked. I was lying on my back, staring at the stars. My head was throbbing. After a few seconds I remembered. The stranger in front of me. The clonk on the head from behind. The moon was much lower in the sky, so I guessed I’d been out cold for at least a couple of hours. It had to be after midnight.
I heard a grunt nearby and sat up. Over by the drawbridge I could make out Patchcoat getting to his knees. I stood up and staggered over to him.
“What happened?” he groaned, rubbing the back of his head.
“Looks like we were knocked unconscious,” I said.
“I’d sort of worked that bit out,” Patchcoat said. “But who did it?”
“Poachers?”
“Unlikely
. Poachers wouldn’t come so close to the castle,” said Patchcoat.
“Who, then?” I wondered. “Hey, do you think it was the spies?”
“Dunno, Ced. One thing’s for sure, though. Hercules ain’t gonna win any prizes for being a guard dog!”
It was true. Hercules was still snoring away in his kennel. I frowned as he let out a loud PARP.
“Something’s not right,” I said.
“You’re telling me!” said Patchcoat, holding his nose. “Pooh!”
“No, not that,” I said. “Maybe my head’s still a bit fuzzy. But I’ve got a feeling that something’s … missing.”
“Our helmets?” said Patchcoat. “We took them off, remember? When we were eating, over by the catap— Oh.”
I followed Patchcoat’s gaze and gasped.
The catapult wasn’t there. And nor were the carthorses.
Suddenly we heard the front gate open. We just had time to plonk our helmets back on when the sergeant appeared with one of his men.
“Thought we’d give you chaps a break,” said the sergeant. “’Ere! Where’s the catapult?”
“WHAT!” bawled the baron, as he stood at the end of the drawbridge in his dressing gown. “A whole blithering catapult and two carthorses, stolen from under your noses?”
“S-somebody knocked us out, sir,” I explained. “There were at least two people. I caught a glimpse of one of them before I was hit.”
“I see,” said the baron. “But it doesn’t explain why your fellow guards up there on the battlements didn’t notice what was happening and come to your aid,” he seethed. “And what about that guard dog? Why didn’t it bark?”
He indicated Hercules, who had finally woken up amid all the kerfuffle. I was holding him tightly by his lead to stop him jumping up and giving the baron a friendly licking.