As the cheers died down, the Queen smiled again at Roderick. ‘When you woke up this morning, Roderick, did you imagine that before lunchtime you would have saved the Queen’s life and become a knight?’ There were more cheers.
What Roderick wanted to do was to thank the Queen for her generous offer and politely decline, but that was impossible because the Queen’s offer was not actually an offer. Queens don’t make offers. They make pronouncements. The politest invitation from a Queen was as impossible to refuse as a direct command. Any sign that he was unhappy would have been unthinkably disrespectful and quite possibly treasonous. Roderick may have saved her life, but the Queen was still the Queen.
As Roderick stood in silence, the Queen continued, her voice loud enough to be heard by everyone on the bridge. ‘My people, to celebrate the fact that I have survived, there will be a great feast for all in the town square tonight.’
Everyone went berserk. The Queen knew how to please a crowd. She also knew that once you had them cheering, it was time to go. She remounted, gathered her knights (except for one who stayed behind to tell Roderick when to turn up at the castle, what to bring, and ask if he had any special dietary requirements), then gave one more grand wave and rode off into the distance, leaving Roderick with a new life that he did not want.
It was only just after breakfast, but it was already the second-worst day of his life.
CHAPTER 2
A VERY IMPORTANT MISSION
Roderick tentatively gripped his sword, his stomach in knots.
‘It’s not a broom, Sir Roderick!’ boomed Sir Shamus. ‘Hold it up! Like you mean business!’
‘But I don’t mean business,’ was what Roderick wanted to reply, but instead he raised the point of his sword a bit higher and tried to look tough, or at least a bit less un-tough.
He and nine other new knights were training in a dirt yard behind the castle. The barrel-chested and big-bearded Sir Shamus had paired them up and was making them hurt each other. The swords were only wooden, but they still stung when they hit, and Roderick was getting hit a lot. His opponent was Sir Evan, who wasn’t especially big or fearsome-looking, but he was fast and skilful with a sword. Or at least he was compared to Roderick.
‘Attack!’ roared Sir Shamus.
Nine knights rushed at each other. The tenth took a tiny, tentative step forward. Roderick held his sword up weakly, more for protection than anything else, as a barrage of blows rained down on his arm, side, ribs, chest and head.
‘Ow! Ahhh!’ he cried, collapsing to the ground.
Sir Evan snorted and turned contemptuously on his heel.
‘Up, Sir Roderick! Up!’ yelled Sir Shamus, looking disgusted. ‘Now, everyone regroup and let’s do it again!’
For the eighteenth time that day, Roderick groaned.
A few dozen whacks, bashes and bruisings later, he hauled himself up the fourteen flights of stairs to his room on the top floor of the castle and collapsed onto his bed, legs curled under him so he looked like a question mark. His room was shaped like a piece of pie and was only slightly bigger. There was no room for a full-sized bed, which is why the end of Roderick’s had been sawn off. The only other piece of furniture was a cupboard that was tall, wooden and for some reason, bright pink.
As bits of him throbbed (left shoulder, from falling off a horse), ached (chest, from a lance blow and many sword strikes) and oozed (right hand, blood blister from swinging a mace) he stared at the wardrobe and longed for his old life back.
Since the day his father Larn had died four years earlier – the worst day of his life – Roderick had run the family farm. Larn had not only grown herbs and made potions, he had also been a healer, and ultimately it was his commitment to helping the sick that had killed him. When a woman in a nearby village had contracted Fripe fever, a rare, deadly and terribly contagious disease, Larn had taken what precautions he could, but to treat someone you had to get close to them. Thanks to him, the woman had survived. He, however, had not.
His death had not only caused his family great sadness, it had also meant that they had had to work out how to re-organise things so that they could still make enough money to survive. Roderick, who had always been more interested in his father’s work than his sister and mother, had taken over the farm. He had spent mornings in the herb garden, digging, planting, pruning, cutting and daydreaming, and afternoons in the shed creating the healing remedies that his mother and sister sold at various markets. His father had taught him how to make potions, pastes and ointments that could do almost anything: increase energy, cure a fever, quicken the healing of a wound and even cheer up a grump.
Roderick had few friends and rarely left the farm, but his work kept him busy and active. At the end of each day, as he lay down in his small plain bed in his small plain room in his small plain home, Roderick knew that when morning came, there was nothing he would rather do than head back out into the garden.
And now that was all gone.
He was just starting to disappear into the delicious escape of sleep when a tremendous ringing blasted through his head. ‘Arrrgh!’ he screamed as he leapt to his feet, staring frog-eyed about the room. Then he dropped his arms and sighed. He’d never get used to it. The huge castle bells were located just above his ceiling. It was dinnertime.
The knights ate in the Great Hall at long wooden tables with benches on either side. At the front upon a raised dais was the Queen’s table, where she sat flanked on one side by Sir Drayshus, the head knight, and on the other by Sir Lilley, her chief adviser. As always, the Queen looked radiant. No matter how miserable Roderick felt, seeing her always lifted his spirits.
The meat that night was lamb and, as always, it was served with potatoes. The token second vegetable was carrot and as usual no one ate it. Knights weren’t into vegetables.
Roderick let most of the conversation pass him by because it was, as always, about jousting techniques, what to feed your horse before a big battle and, of course, the age-old question of whether a powerful, broad and heavy sword was better than a lighter and more manoeuvrable one.
When most had finished eating, the Queen rose. Instantly there was silence. Slow eaters lowered their cutlery and quickly swallowed.
‘My knights,’ she began, ‘we have been blessed with a long period of peace. Our nation is prosperous. We are on good terms with most of our neighbours, and the giant cockroaches of the north have not attacked for some time. Many of you, thankfully, have never known the horrors of war. Others . . .’ she gestured to the senior knights at the front tables, ‘remember the dark years.’
The Queen gazed slowly about the room. ‘Gentlemen, our period of peace may be about to end.’ She paused. She had everyone’s complete attention. Even if she had been reading out a shopping list, she would have had everyone’s complete attention. She was the Queen.
‘We stand at a turning point in Baronia’s history. What we do will determine whether we continue to live as we have or, once again, face the death, destruction and dismay that war brings.’
She paused. ‘The reason we have had peace with our neighbours the Nareeans for so long is not because they have become peace-loving.’ The Queen lowered her voice. Everyone leant forward. ‘Know this. If they believed that they had the strength to defeat us, they would attack.’
She took a deep breath. ‘I have recently received information that suggests that the Nareeans are on the verge of gaining control of a weapon so mighty that, should they use it against us, we would be powerless to resist.’
Murmurs broke out. Uh-oh, thought Roderick, his tummy beginning to churn.
Sir Shamus rose to his feet. He was known for his fierceness and had the words Peace Kills Knightly Skills painted on the ceiling above his bed.
‘Your Majesty, I fear nothing,’ he shouted, which was his normal way of communicating. ‘We will overpower whatever new weapon our enemies hav
e discovered, or die gloriously in the attempt. We will crush and hack and destroy them!’ He smashed his fist on the table for emphasis, knocking over several goblets of wine, including his own.
Agreement hummed from the knights. Many were starting to get excited. They felt there had been a bit too much peace lately, and it was about time there was a reason for them to go and chop some heads off and remind everyone how fantastic they were. One of the problems with peace, if you were a knight, was that if you were not out there fighting to protect the peasants, they started to resent the fact that their taxes paid for your food, drink, lodging, horse and sword, and lately an increasing number of peasants had been doing an increasing amount of resenting.
‘I do not doubt your strength or readiness, my knights,’ said the Queen, ‘but if the Nareeans are able to find and use the weapon they seek, I fear we will be unable to stop them, no matter how well trained and fearless we are.’
Sir Shamus held his arms wide. ‘But what could possibly be so powerful that it could overcome us?’
‘Not what,’ said the Queen softly, ‘but who.’
The knights looked around at each other in confusion.
‘How many of you have heard of Ganfree Banfor?’ the Queen asked. No one put their hand up, but that was because putting your hand up was not a very knightly thing to do. Towards the front of the room there were several nods and murmurs of recognition.
‘When I was young, he was a great sorcerer. Some say he is Baronian, others that he is Nareean. No one seems to know whether he was born with his special powers, or he somehow learnt them. What we do know is that by the time he was a young man he could read and control minds. In battle his sorcery could make one side’s soldiers virtually invincible, and cause their enemies to become confused and afraid. Some say he could make enemy soldiers see giant cockroaches racing towards them when there were none, or make them think they were drowning when they were on land, or that they were unable to move their feet. Many years ago when my father was King . . .’
‘Bless his gracious soul,’ came the automatic response from the knights.
‘. . . Ganfree Banfor worked with our army, and they had many great victories. Such was his contribution to our cause that my father made him a knight. But loyalty did not come easily to him. There were many wars back then. Sometimes Banfor would side with us, but other times he would help the Nareeans, or the Danovians.’
Sir Shamus was once again on his feet. ‘What sort of man is this Banfor if he would fight first for one side, and then for the other?’
At that moment Roderick noticed a bee hovering above him. He was a bit scared of bees. ‘Shoo,’ he whispered, trying to wave it away.
‘Shhh!’ hissed Sir Lovegold next to him.
‘It is said,’ replied the Queen, ‘that Banfor used his talents to help whichever side offered him the most gold.’
‘He is a worm,’ growled Sir Shamus scornfully. Several others nodded in agreement.
The bee buzzed next to Roderick’s head. He flapped his hands at it, trying to drive it off.
‘Be still,’ Sir Lovegold snarled.
Roderick smiled stupidly and pointed at the bee, except he didn’t because it had flown away. Sir Lovegold shook his head in disgust.
‘About fifteen years ago, Banfor suddenly disappeared,’ continued the Queen. ‘Since then, there have been rumours, but no one knows where he is. Of course, a man with his powers would have no trouble keeping himself hidden, but up until recently we did not even know if he was alive or dead. But now we do.’ She paused, looking slowly about the room. ‘He is alive.’
‘If I may ask Your Majesty, how do you know?’ asked Sir Malarf, a tall and thoughtful knight.
Roderick heard a faint buzz above his head. He looked up. The bee was back. He willed himself to stay still and quiet. He had to be brave. It was only a bee.
‘As you may know,’ the Queen went on, ‘we have spies within both Nareea and Danover. Recently, we received information from an informant in Nareea who said that the Nareeans have discovered that Banfor is alive, and more alarmingly it seems that . . .’
Suddenly the bee dived at Roderick.
‘AAARRRGH!’ he shrieked, throwing his body backwards off the bench and waving his hands frantically about. He hit the ground head first, and then rolled away as fast as he could, over and over. Eventually he slowed down and stopped, curled up in a ball, eyes tightly shut.
There was a long silence. Roderick cautiously opened his eyes and looked around. Everyone was staring at him, and nobody looked happy.
Then the bee stung him on the bum.
‘AAAARRRRGH!!!’ screamed Roderick. His bottom felt like it had been hit by an arrow. He grabbed it and rolled around and around on the floor. ‘OW! OW! OW! MY STUPID OUCHING BUM!!’ He rolled and moaned until the pain began to recede and then he slowed down to a stop.
Once again he carefully opened his eyes. He seemed to have rolled right up the centre aisle of the hall towards the front table. When he looked up, it was directly into the eyes of the Queen. She looked a lot less than pleased. He slowly looked around at the knights. Disgust was the most common expression, although he also saw contempt, pity and stifled amusement. He managed to get his mouth working. ‘Sorry, er . . . There was a bee. It stung my . . . you know.’ He patted his bottom and tried a smile. No one joined in. In complete silence, he hauled himself to his feet and walked stiffly back up the aisle, footsteps echoing, to his bench where he tried to sit on his bottom’s unbitten side. His face burnt with shame and he stared at the floor. When at last he slowly raised his head he found himself staring, once again, into the eyes of the Queen.
Oh, Roderick. Roderick’s eyes widened. Her voice was laced with disappointment, but that was not the surprising bit. The surprising bit was that her mouth had not moved. He had heard her voice inside his head.
‘If you are unharmed, Sir Roderick, perhaps we can continue.’ It was the Queen again, but this time her mouth was moving. All eyes once again focused on her. ‘As I was saying, it seems that the Nareeans have discovered that Ganfree Banfor is alive, and where he is. Our spy believes the Nareeans intend to find him, and persuade him or force him to use his great powers to help them make war against us. If they are able to do this, Baronia will be in grave danger.’
Sir Malarf spoke. ‘But Your Majesty, if this Banfor has not involved himself in war for fifteen years, why would he suddenly decide to help the Nareeans?’
‘Perhaps, as in the old days,’ replied the Queen, ‘all the Nareeans will have to do is to offer him gold, or a comfortable house with servants or something else he desires. Or perhaps they will be able to force him to help them. Banfor always had great talent in working with minds, but he was no warrior. If the Nareeans can reach him, who can say what tortures they may inflict to persuade him to do their bidding. What we do know,’ the Queen’s voice rose in volume and power, as she rested her hands on the high table and leant forward, ‘is that every time Banfor has joined with an army that army has been invincible. If he helps the Nareeans, our people will suffer, we will suffer, and our kingdom will suffer. That is why we need to find Banfor before the Nareeans do.’
There was a buzz of agreement. Sir Shamus leapt up yet again. ‘There is no time to lose. Tell me where this Banfor is. I will take a company of men now! We will ride through the night!’
‘Patience, brave knight,’ soothed the Queen, a slight edge in her voice possibly betraying a growing irritation with Shamus’s continual interruptions. ‘It is not that simple. Our information is that the Nareean King knows where Banfor is, and has sent a company of knights west to look for him, but that is all we know. The Nareeans know where Banfor is but we do not.’
Sir Shamus puzzled over this. He shook his head, rubbed it vigorously with his hand, then clenched his fists and looked around for something to hit. He was used to solving problems with ac
tion, not thought. Eventually he sat back down.
‘If their knights are heading west,’ said Sir Malarf, ‘it is towards us.’
‘Indeed,’ said the Queen. ‘We have scouts along our eastern border watching for them. None have yet been seen, but it is possible that they may have already crossed into Baronia unnoticed. We must find Banfor before they do.’
‘But how, Your Majesty? They know where he is, and we do not,’ said Sir Dale.
The Queen looked around. ‘There are sixty-eight of you in this room. You will spread out, travel in sixty-eight different directions and search like none have searched before.’
Sir Shamus was unable to contain himself. ‘Majesty! There is another way.’
‘Sir Shamus?’ prompted the Queen, with exquisite politeness but little enthusiasm.
‘We could attack the Nareeans now, before they have Banfor. They have knights away looking for him, which means their capital is unprotected. We could raise an army and make for it tomorrow. In three days’ time we will be there, and by the end of the fourth we will have taken the city!’
A few others made encouraging noises. Roderick gulped and rubbed his bottom.
‘I have considered that option, Sir Shamus, but I will only unleash a war that will cause bloodshed, death and grief if it is the very last option. Even if we win a war, many of our people will die.’ She paused. ‘In all likelihood, many of you will die.’
An uneasy silence followed. Roderick put his hands under the table so no one would see them trembling.
‘Besides,’ continued the Queen. ‘The unfortunate truth is that if there was war between us and the Nareeans now, even without Banfor, I do not know if we would win.’
There were gasps of outrage. Sir Shamus leapt to his feet again, but before he could speak, the Queen held up her hand. ‘It is true, my knights. We have grown comfortable. Life has been easy. While we have prospered, the Nareeans have been quietly increasing their strength. They now have more than a hundred knights and a large and well-prepared army. They might be able to beat us even without Banfor’s help. With it, there is little hope for us. But if we can find Banfor first and persuade him to come to Palandan and accept our protection, then the Nareeans will surely fear his power too much to attack us.
The Adventures of Sir Roderick, the Not-Very Brave Page 2