“What is your name?”
“Charlie Watts sir.”
“And what is your position?”
“I am the new squire to Sir Geoffrey de Lancie of Bagshotte, the captain of the Earl’s men at arms.”
“Ah yes, Sir Geoffrey. I have met him a few times, a stout and likeable knight.” The King eyed Charlie up and down for what seemed like an age before he spoke again.
“I saw fear in your eyes, Charlie Watts, when you came through that door, a fear that I have seen in the eyes of men in battle when they know that their life is about to end. Do you suspect that the kitchen boy would have killed you?”
“I do not know but I do know that he was intending to stab or cut me with a knife that he keeps hidden in his boot,” said Charlie truthfully.
He had relaxed a little but was still in awe of the fact that he was in the presence of a king. He was also surprised at how normal the King seemed while still carrying an aura of superiority that couldn’t be ignored. When he spoke it was with a voice that conveyed power and commanded immediate attention.
“I must confess to being intrigued by you, squire Charlie Watts. There is an elemental strangeness about you. Where do you come from and what is your family?”
“I come from a village called Putney, well to the west, and my family are sheep farmers my lord.” The sheep-farming bit had occurred to Charlie on the spot and he was rather pleased with it.
“Putney?” said the King. “I know not of it, but I will ask my map maker to point it out to me. I am intrigued. How did you come into the service of Sir Geoffrey?”
“Sir Geoffrey found me wandering by the road and offered me a position with him. I accepted as I had no job or means of earning my keep.”
So far the King seemed to be accepting everything but his blue eyes sparkled with intellect and Charlie knew he was assessing everything he said. Whatever was wildly implausible or outrageous would be rejected in an instant.
“What is the device upon your face?” the King gestured to Charlie’s glasses.
“I call them spectacles sir,” said Charlie.
“What are they for and how did you come by glass?”
Charlie guessed that glass was probably wildly expensive in these times and how did he explain glasses?
“Near my village in Putney a new church was being built and the builder had placed some stained glass in the windows. I saw some small pieces lying on the ground and noticed that when I looked through them I could see well. My eyesight has never been good and looking through the glass improved it. I shaped the glass and made the frames to hold them in place over my eyes.”
“Show them to me.” Stephen held out his hand and Charlie took them off, hesitantly, and handed them to the King who took them and began studying them intently.
“This craftsmanship is extraordinary and what is this. small letters! What do they say?”
“They say Specsavers. That is my name for the invention and I wrote that on there.”
“You can write?” said the King with a look of disbelief in his eyes.
“I can Sir,” nodded Charlie.
“Come here.” The King gestured to the huge dark wood table that ran the length of the great hall. He pointed to a pile of parchments, a quill in an inkpot and other accoutrements of medieval writing.
“Make your name, and mine, on that parchment.”
Charlie sat at the table and selected a piece of parchment. He took the quill from the inkpot. He dipped it once or twice and shook off the excess
ink and then pressed the nib of the quill onto the parchment. He was inexperienced with this type of writing instrument and when he applied pressure to form the first letter of his name all he managed was a huge blob of black ink.
“I am sorry Sir,” he said, “It has been a while since I was required to write anything. He tried again and under the blob he wrote, “Charlie Watts, Squire to Sir Geoffrey de Lancie of Bagshotte” and “Stephen, King of England.” He deliberately formed the letters to make them look as archaic and medieval as possible and he was pleased that they looked quite authentic. The quill almost seemed to lend authenticity to the script. He sat back and handed the parchment to the King who read it and was clearly astounded.
“My word, I am intrigued by you. I have never met a squire who could write. How did you learn?”
The questions were coming thick and fast and Charlie was aware that he was developing an ever more complex web of lies. He desperately hoped he would not have to remember them all. He wracked his brains to think of how he may have been able to read and write, and then he remembered that monks of this period were often literate. He constructed his next lie.
“There is a small monastery near Putney. I was schooled by the monks there.”
“Were you expected to make a life in the church?”
“Yes, I think that was what the monks wanted, but I decided my destiny lay elsewhere so I decided to seek my fortune on the road. That is where I met with Sir Geoffrey.”
That tied things up rather neatly and this appealed to Charlie. He now had a story which could be embellished as the need arose; it was plausible and fitted with the times. He just hoped that there was a monastery near Putney; in fact, he hoped that there was a Putney, if anyone decided to check his story out.
The King looked pensive and appeared to be considering something of importance. He looked again at the parchment that Charlie had written on and considered it further.
“We will talk again, Charlie Watts; I feel that you have interesting things to say which I find surprising given your status and age. I suspect that you will not have to worry about suffering at the hands of that
rascally kitchen boy again. Take your leave, as I have some other matters to consider, but, be ready to attend on me again, when I ask.”
Then the King did an extraordinary thing, he clasped his hand over Charlie’s shoulder and smiled, “Keep well, Charlie Watts of Putney.”
Charlie thought for a second, and then bowed as low as he could, and walked back towards the door through which he had come.
“No.” said the King, “Leave by the main doors.”
Charlie obeyed and left the presence of King Stephen.
TWENTY-ONE
It was the early hours of the morning and Charlie was tossing and turning fitfully in his cell. He had been drifting in and out of sleep since he went to his bed. He was restless even though he had, for the first time since he had arrived in the past, a feeling of contentment and well being. Since the meeting with King Stephen he had not had a moment of trouble from Longhaired Nick. Whenever their eyes met, however, Nick would sneer at Charlie and occasionally draw his extended forefinger across his throat to signify that he would one day exact his pleasure by cutting Charlie in the same place.
Once, when Charlie had passed him in the courtyard, he had whispered, “You won’t have his protection forever and when the time is right, you will be mine and I owe you a goodly amount of pain.”
Charlie had shivered slightly and walked on as if he had not heard Nick’s words.
The meeting with the King had taken place five days ago and it was eight days since Charlie had first arrived in the past. He was starting to settle into his role and new life. He had developed a good friendship with Martin the Groom and they met each evening so that Martin could tell him of life in the castle and about the people that lived in it. Martin was also instructing him in the grooming of a horse. This would be important on the road with Sir Geoffrey as there would not always be a groom available. Charlie had also discovered that Martin could play chess and had an old battered board and a set of roughly carved wooden chessmen. The rules were exactly the same as the game he was used to playing. They had already played several games with Martin just ahead overall. Charlie liked Martin enormously and was glad of his f
riendship. He missed Jerry Squires, and their talks, but Martin more than compensated.
He had now fallen into a routine with Sir Geoffrey and knew exactly what he had to do each day. He diligently fulfilled the tasks of a squire. He had a lot to thank Martin for because he helped him in many of his tasks and Sir Geoffrey always seemed well pleased with Charlie.
He had seen King Stephen three more times, twice at a distance and once when they passed each other in the courtyard. The king had been with his retinue and another important looking noble. The king had halted and his entire group came to an abrupt halt as well, practically banging into each other like a motorway pile-up.
“Hello Charlie Watts,” said a good-humoured Stephen.
“Hello your majesty,” replied Charlie, bowing low.
The king turned to the nobleman next to him, “My Lord Baldock, this is the boy I have told you of, he can read, he can write and he has a cunning way with seeing devices. Your captain, Sir Geoffrey, retains him as a squire but you may find he has other uses as he grows older.”
“Yes, that may well be my Lord, thank you for pointing him out to me,” said Sir Richard Baldock.
This was the first time that Charlie had seen Sir Richard Baldock, the Earl of Sherebrook. It was also the first time he heard him speak. There was something in his manner that Charlie did not like and he considered himself a good judge of character. He suspected that Sir Robert was not in the least interested in him and that he probably thought the king’s interest in a lowly squire was laughable.
“I shall keep an eye on his progress,” Sir Richard assured the king, but there was no conviction in his voice.
“Good Richard, I would be glad if you did. Keep well Charlie Watts.”
“Thank you my Lord,” said Charlie, bowing again.
The group moved off again but not before Sir Robert looked back at Charlie and threw him a glance filled both with curiosity and hatred. Then, extraordinarily, Longhaired Nick appeared at the entrance to the kitchens and Charlie saw the two of them exchange a knowing look. He was desperately intrigued for a few hours but soon forgot about it. He had not seen Sir Robert Baldock again and did not care to either.
Now, as he was lying listlessly in his cell, Charlie realised that he lacked a plan. He had simply accepted his fate and had been acting in a way that suggested he would be content to stay here in the service of Sir Geoffrey on an indefinite basis-but that was not the case. He knew he
had to form a plan for getting back to his own time; he had reluctantly accepted that no one was coming to rescue him. Even if Gramps understood what fate had befallen him he would probably have no idea where he was in time and he could not simply pluck him out of the past and deliver him back to the twenty first century. He had to work it out on his own. So Charlie formed his plan.
He decided that, despite the anger that it would incur from Sir Geoffrey, he would leave the castle after the visit of Matilda. He guessed he owed it to Sir Geoffrey to at least support him during the visit as the knight was clearly starting to depend on him. Then he would make his way back to the place where he had first arrived; he did not know exactly what he would do when he got there but he would cross that bridge when he came to it. He believed that the clue to how to return would be found there. Something would happen; he knew it. If not, then he would make that area his home until something turned up. It was not much of a plan but it was all he had. His assets amounted to no more than the three pennies that Sir Geoffrey had given him, some food, an old dagger in a scabbard that Martin had given him and which now hung from his belt, and an effective medieval disguise that would not draw attention to him. With his mind made up, Charlie felt a certain weight lift from his shoulders, his course became clear and a sense of resolve and determination settled in his mind. However, or if ever, he was going to get back to his own time then the place it would happen, he had decided, would be where he had first arrived in the past.
In the short time he had known him Charlie had become very fond of Sir Geoffrey; the old knight reminded him a lot of Gramps. Although Sir Geoffrey could be very surly at times, it was clear to Charlie that he was also a kind and generous man and without him he could not have survived. He was saddened to have to leave Sir Geoffrey and was convinced that in other circumstances he would have made an excellent squire to the old knight. But more than this Charlie now wanted to be at home. He would also find it a wrench to leave the friendship of Martin behind but he would seek him out and say goodbye and thank him for being a true friend while he had been at the castle.
With his mind made up, and filled with new resolve, Charlie started to drift off to sleep when he was suddenly snapped awake by a soft noise
in the passageway outside his small cell. It had sounded like a stifled cough. He immediately sat upright and listened again.
Cough!
There it was again, still muffled and moving away. This time Charlie recognised the voice behind the cough-Longhaired Nick’s. He was creeping out of his cell, and Charlie wanted to know why he would be skulking around at this hour of the morning. It was one of Charlie’s traits, a burning curiosity, sometimes it worked for him-sometimes it most definitely worked against him.
He peeled back his threadbare cover and slipped his head out his cell. There was a full moon and the light fell in through the high arched windows of the lower floor of the keep and illuminated the passageway with a pale spectral glow. He peered out just in time to catch sight of a figure clad in black scuttling through the doorway to the kitchen. Charlie thought for a few seconds and then slipped nimbly from his cell and quietly padded after Nick.
He struggled with himself; whatever Nick was up to had absolutely nothing to do with him but, on the other hand, precisely because of who Nick was, Charlie was sure there would be something interesting to see if he followed. His mind made up he resolved to follow the medieval bully to see what he was up to. It occurred to Charlie that Nick was on some nefarious mission and that by observing him he might be able to learn something of interest to help Sir Geoffrey in his efforts to police the castle.
Charlie was convinced that Sir Richard Baldock was not all he seemed. He had chanced upon Longhaired Nick and Sir Richard deep in conversation two days ago. This was unusual because Sir Richard was speaking, in almost conversational tones to a simple kitchen boy and that didn’t seem right though, to be fair, Charlie had a similar relationship with Sir Geoffrey. He remembered the way that they had looked when they had seen him, and how they changed their postures to that of Lord and serf with Sir Richard seeming to be admonishing Nick, but Charlie could see that it was a show put on for his benefit. He remembered the glance they had exchanged when Charlie had encountered the king in the courtyard and he knew that there was more to their relationship than appeared on the surface.
Charlie was at the entrance to the kitchens. He looked across the worktables and saw Nick on the other side disappearing into the passage that led to the inner courtyard of the keep. He also heard the snoring of Tom Cook who habitually slept in front of the spice locker to prevent any pilfering of one of the most valuable commodities in the castle. Judging by the noise that Tom was making Charlie guessed that the fat man was not only asleep but quite drunk. Therefore he didn’t need be too cautious. He kept straight on with his pursuit of Nick and soon he too was in the courtyard of the keep. The light was almost bright out here with the moon shining directly above and Charlie could easily see Nick across the courtyard. He seemed to be pulling something out of the ground. Charlie could not quite make out what it was at first. Then he realised that Nick was lifting up a flagstone and disappearing into a hole in the ground.
The flagstone closed noiselessly over Nick’s head and Charlie quickly scurried across the courtyard and scanned the big flat stones. At first no stone seemed obviously different to the rest and, from his initial view of the scene; Charlie had not been able to pinpoint t
he exact stone under which Nick had disappeared. Then he suddenly caught sight of one stone that stood just a little proud of those around it. It was flush against the wall of the keep and had a small triangular piece missing from the corner, just enough to get a hand into. Charlie put his hand into the small hole and attempted to lift the stone. To his complete surprise the large slab came up quite easily and revealed a small round hole into which Charlie dropped without hesitation. He found that he could easily lower the stone back over his head which he did.
Charlie found himself in pitch black and he waited a few moments while his eyes adjusted to the near zero light. After a short while he could just make out that the hole was circular with stone walls and he realised that there was a small set of stone steps that circled down into the ground. Without wavering he started carefully down the steps. He was mindful not to get too close to Longhaired Nick.
Charlie felt his way cautiously down the spiral stone staircase in nearly complete darkness; he seemed to go around and around forever. Every fifth step carried him in one complete revolution. The walls were slimy and wet as were the steps. Twice he slipped as he put his foot down and had to struggle to maintain his balance. It felt just the same underfoot as stepping on seaweed covered rocks at the coast. He realised
that even though the castle keep was built on the top of a hill the steps were descending well past ground level, and that they must lead to some subterranean cavern or tunnel. He wondered why they were here, and imagined that they were designed as a quick and secret means of escape from an invading force. The stone seemed older than the rest of the castle and Charlie imagined that it had been a feature of the original structure that Martin had told him used to stand on the same site.
Finally, after what had seemed like an age, Charlie reached the bottom of the steps. The narrow staircase opened into a small room which was lit with a blazing torch held to the wall by a black iron bracket. On the far wall of the room was an opening that led to an arched passageway. Nick must have gone through this. Charlie could hear hushed voices speaking from inside the passage and he realised that Nick had met with someone down there. He crept as quietly as he could to the entrance to the passage and tried to see to whom the voices belonged. The passage seemed about thirty metres long and the speakers were at the other end but Charlie found that he could hear, perfectly, every word that they said. He thought the tunnel must have been constructed in a way which had coincidentally made it acoustically perfect; it was almost as if he was standing right next to them. The first voice that he heard was Nick’s.
Charlie Watts and the Rip in Time Page 12