Charlie Watts and the Rip in Time

by Marcus Anthony (UK) Eden-Ellis

  “Where did you see him?”

  “He was walking toward the lower gate and I thought that he might be going into the village.”

  Sir Geoffrey seemed to be considering this information and then said, “I will leave it at this for the time being kitchen boy. But mark my words, if I find that you have been party to any foul deed concerning my squire, you can expect to be brought before me and I will not waste good rope hanging you. I shall simply run you through with my sword. If you hear anything I expect you to seek me out and inform me immediately. This is also the word of your king; do you plainly understand what I am telling you?”

  Nick nodded. In his heart he hesitated a little at the use of the king’s name bur Sir Robert of Gloucester and Sir Richard Baldock had promised him a purse full of gold coins if he would be their spy for the Lady of the English People, Matilda. The lure of more money than he could earn in his entire life, ten life times in fact, had simply proved too thrilling a prospect to turn down. Longhaired Nick’s loyalties lay wherever he thought he was best off. He saw nothing wrong with that, and if he got to bash a few heads in and cut a few throats along the way, then so much the better. He would let the old fool think that he had scared him and would simply ignore his instructions. Charlie Watts was now in the hands of Sir Robert of Gloucester and if Nick knew anything that meant that he was in the deepest darkest dungeon imaginable. He supposed that he had seen the last of that annoying, strange, arrogant little prick. He was disappointed that Sir Robert had not allowed him to kill Charlie himself. Nevertheless, that was a small price to pay for the peace of mind that it brought him to know that Charlie was rotting away in a rat infested foul prison with stale food and no one to talk to.

  Wet and pained from the kicks, Longhaired Nick allowed a small smile of satisfaction to dance on his lips. He watched Sir Geoffrey stomp off. He delighted in the knowledge that the king would soon be in prison too and that he, Nick the kitchen boy, would have his reward. He would be able to rub it in the faces of those that thought he was not worth bothering about.

  TWENTY-THREE

  Sir Geoffrey was deeply troubled by Charlie’s disappearance. He had a meeting with the king this morning to discuss the final security arrangements for the visit of Matilda. During the meeting the king had asked him about Charlie, how the knight had come to acquire him as a squire, and what he knew of his upbringing. Sir Geoffrey related the story of their meeting in full. He also told of the incident with One Tooth in which Charlie had been quick-witted enough to save his life. Sir Geoffrey told King Stephen that he found the strangeness of Charlie both intriguing and amusing in equal measure. The king had concurred, he too had such feelings when talking to the lad and desired to speak with him some more. The king felt that he had an interesting perspective on life, a perspective at odds with what one might reasonably expect of someone his age. It was as though he was a man of some wisdom encased within the body of a small boy.

  They then discussed the arrangements for the visit of Matilda. Although representatives of Matilda had agreed the format of the meeting, in advance, it was as well that they go over it again. It was agreed that Matilda would arrive with a party that would include several nobles, most notably Sir Robert of Gloucester and twenty knights. Her security force would not be allowed into the castle but would make camp outside the walls; however the main gate would remain open and be watched by men from the king’s guard and by Matilda’s men. King Stephen would receive Matilda in the great hall of Sherebrook and all personal security guards were to be dismissed to the waiting hall. The doors would be closed and barred and the discussion between the two feuding monarchs of England would begin. The king and Sir Geoffrey agreed on some finer

  points and then Sir Geoffrey left to brief Sir Richard Baldock on the plans. It was, after all, his castle.

  Sir Geoffrey also had agreed to send his squire, Charlie Watts, into the king’s presence later that day as the king had expressed a keen interest in conversing further with the lad. After he had discussed the final plans for Matilda’s visit Sir Geoffrey had made his usual tour of the battlements, the armoury, the stores and the barracks and then decided to find Charlie and to inform him of the king’s request to see him. He went to the kitchens where he expected to find Charlie. When he got there Tom Cook informed him that the boy had not been seen that morning for his breakfast, as he normally would. In fact no one could remember seeing him at all that morning. Tom Cook suggested issuing some punishment for Charlie for making himself absent and he volunteered to administer it. Sir Geoffrey warned the cook not to lay a finger on the boy but to leave the matter of disciplining his squire to him. He then checked Charlie’s sleeping cell and he was not there.

  Sir Geoffrey was growing fond of Charlie and actually looked forward to seeing him each day. The knight had never had a son of his own, he had always been too busy engaging in battle, running his estates and living the life of a knight to consider marriage and the raising of a family. But now, in his later years, he occasionally regretted choosing to avoid that aspect of life. He realised that Charlie had raised a paternal instinct that had lain dormant until now and now he was concerned for the boy.

  It had occurred to him that Longhaired Nick might have some knowledge of Charlie’s whereabouts and it might be worth questioning him. He did not trust the scrawny bag of malevolent bones any more than he would his worst enemy. He knew that Nick had had it in for Charlie since they had first met but he had decided that it would be best for Charlie to fend for himself at the castle. If that meant taking the occasional beating from a bully, like Longhaired Nick, then that would serve to toughen him up little. And heaven knows Charlie could do with it.

  Sir Geoffrey went back to the kitchen and asked for a pail of freshly drawn well water because that would be nice and cold. He then went to Nick’s cell and threw the water over him.

  The resultant conversation had left him no further clues and so he decided he would take a walk into the village, outside of the walls, and asks some of the traders if they had seen him. They had not.

  “Where are you Charlie Watts?” said Sir Geoffrey to himself, turning around slowly and scanning the entire castle complex. “Where are you?” he repeated and then made his way back into the inner keep.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  Charlie was thrown into a tiny cell with such force that he ended up in an untidy heap on the flagstone floor, slumped against the opposite wall. The repulsively fat and dirty jailer who had thrown him in let out a gargling, phlegm filled laugh followed by a roaring belch that filled the air around him with the aroma of partially digested meat and onions. Then he hawked up a mouthful of something horrible from his throat and spat it out at Charlie. Charlie had recovered enough to dodge the incoming pellet of spit, phlegm, onion and meat fragments as it splattered into the wall next to his face.

  “You’ll be in here a while, young pup,” snarled the jailer. “Make yourself comfortable. We change the straw every year and you’ll be fed whenever I remember. You will next speak to someone when the Sir Robert decides, but don’t hold your breath while you wait.”

  He let out a belch filled rattling laugh and scratched vigorously at his huge dirty belly that spilled out over his leather leggings. Then he jangled the huge bunch of iron keys that he carried, as if to taunt Charlie; he ducked down through the doorway and left the cell, slamming the thick oak door shut behind him. Charlie heard a heavy bolt slide closed on the other side and then a key turn in the lock and he slumped down further, completely beaten, tired and feeling more alone than he had ever felt before in his short life. What would happen now? He expected to die in this hideous little stone room.

  He was not sure how he had got to this place, wherever this “place” was. He was even less sure of what was going to become of him. The last thing he could remember was the conversation with the nobleman that he had overheard conspiring with Longhaired Nick and then-nothing. He assum
ed that the jailer had referred to Sir Robert of Gloucester, half

  brother of Matilda, and that was the man who had abducted him. It all started to fit together now; Longhaired Nick was working as a spy for Sir Robert of Gloucester, Sir Robert was in league with Sir Richard Baldock and they both were supporting Matilda in her effort to overthrow King Stephen. Now they had a plan to kidnap the king, when he would be the least guarded. Charlie knew he had to take action and warn Sir Geoffrey-but how? His one and only chance had been thwarted when Longhaired Nick had caught him and there seemed to be no way of ever leaving this grim place. Once again a wave of helplessness and hopelessness crashed over him. He had a crushing headache.

  This, he assumed, was because Longhaired Nick had hit him over the head with something very hard. He gingerly felt the back of his head and sure enough there was a lump the size of a small egg and he also felt a crustiness that he guessed was a clot of dried blood. He had regained consciousness as he was being manhandled down the set of stone steps that led to the cell. Initially, he had struggled but the jailer had held him firmly and then thrown him in here, into this cold, damp and stinking prison. Charlie ran his hand through his hair and felt how greasy it was. He had not washed it in weeks and although he had tried to maintain his personal hygiene it had been a losing battle. He realised with a start that he had not seen his own reflection in as long and had no idea how he looked. Rough as old boots, he imagined.

  The edifice of Charlie’s heroic resolve cracked just a little; he felt the pressure of tears behind his eyes and he started to feel desperately sorry for himself. All this time he had displayed strength of character, bravery and resourcefulness but he was drained of these personal resources and was starting to remember that he was, after all, just a fourteen year old boy. He was alone in an alien time and place with nothing to comfort him except his own thoughts and memories. He really wanted to see his mother and hear her loving, patient voice. He wanted the comfort of his own bed, he wanted the things he knew and drew comfort from, and he wanted Sugar Puffs and a cup of tea. Most of all though, he wanted a really hot bath; the grime of medieval England was clinging to him like a second skin and the cleaner he tried to keep himself the more dirty he felt. But then, as suddenly as he had begun feeling sorry for himself, he snapped out of it. “Charlie Watts,” he said to himself, “shape up and think

  this through. You need to find some way out of here and you need to reach Sir Geoffrey and tell him about the plot to kidnap the king.”

  It felt good to hear a voice, even if it was his own, and he forced the salty tears back where they belonged. He started to assess the situation more like the Charlie Watts that had survived, so far, being thrown back nearly a thousand years in time.

  Now that the door to the cell was closed it was almost pitch black but he was saved by a rusty grate in the ceiling that threw in some dim moon-like light which landed, like a misty grey puddle, on the floor of the dungeon. He could not see the source of the light but he was grateful for it. He looked around and saw that the cell was about four metres long, ten metres wide and about four metres high. It was completely bare save for a wooden pail in the corner and a narrow stone bench that ran along the rear wall. There was straw on the floor and he could tell it had been there a long time, it was damp and smelled musty and was probably crawling with any number of bugs.

  He picked himself up off the floor and began to systematically investigate his surroundings. He moved around the cell running his hands over the walls-the close fitting stones felt cold and completely solid. He studied the heavy wooden door in minute detail. There appeared to be no way of opening it from the inside and it was gradually dawning on Charlie that for all his bravado he was in a situation from which there was simply no escape. His mind suddenly raced back to the brief interrogation by his abductor, Sir Robert, and the word “torture” clattered ominously around in his brain. Charlie knew that he would offer no resistance if they decided to do horrifying things to him; his mind filled with images of bodies pulled apart on racks, red hot pokers applied to bare flesh and the screams of men undergoing the most unimaginable pain. Rather than let these overwhelm and crush him, Charlie renewed his resolve. There had to be a way out. Again he checked his surroundings and yet again he found nothing upon which he could build a plan for escape.

  He slumped down on the stone bench and the tears started to come again, not tears of fear or loneliness, but of utter frustration. He knew when he was beaten. He could hear his own crying and tried desperately to be quiet, to keep the sobbing to himself, he thought he sounded just like a girl. Then he realised that in actual fact he was not crying, but, curiously, he could hear a girl who was.

  TWENTY-FIVE

  Sir Robert, the Earl of Gloucester, was Matilda’s half brother and, even though he loathed her, he had decided to throw his lot in with her and support her claim to the throne of England. He was a powerful nobleman with nearly a hundred knights and over a thousand men at arms at his disposal and he was a good ally for Matilda. Stephen had once invited him to join his army with his own, but Robert saw that Stephen was weak. He saw that Stephen had humility and compassion which were character traits that did not meet with the requirements of kingship in these turbulent times. Or so Sir Robert believed. Stephen had allowed Matilda to enter the country and award herself the title of Lady of the English People, just short of proclaiming herself queen. Stephen had also allowed her to reach London and build a power base there with the support of some very influential barons. Matilda had sought and gained support from certain powerful bishops, whose influence was far ranging. Chief amongst these bishops was Bishop Henry of Blois, King Stephen’s own brother, who had been denied the post of Archbishop of Canterbury by the king. This had enraged Henry so much that he had immediately thrown his weight and influence behind Matilda’s claim to be the rightful monarch and in return she promised that the injustice of Stephen’s neglect would be corrected as soon as she became queen.

  Matilda was strong, arrogant and resourceful and Sir Robert knew that she would eventually beat Stephen into submission. He thought it best to swallow his pride and allow his half-sister her moment in the sun. After she had stolen the throne from Stephen, with his help, he had further plans that certainly did not involve her. The truth of the matter was that Sir Robert of Gloucester saw himself as king and believed it was his proper destiny to sit upon the throne. This was his principle objective

  and prime desire and he had never shared this aspiration with anyone-ever. Once Matilda had usurped Stephen and announced herself queen then he intended to overthrow her and then proclaim himself king. No one would stop him-the people were powerless and the barons would just knuckle under to whoever was the most brazen in their actions-as long as they had the force of arms to back up their claims. It was all rather simple really, she could do all the hard work and then he would just step in and take over.

  Now Sir Robert was waiting for Matilda, he was pacing up and down impatiently in her waiting room. He hated this woman who believed she was so superior to him but for the sake of expediency he gritted his teeth and bore it; it was a part of his master plan. If his ultimate goal was to ascend the throne was to succeed, then kissing Matilda’s bony white hands a few times was not too high a price to pay.

  Finally, the doors to the room flew open and in strode Matilda with a grim look set hard on her ugly face. Sir Robert surmised correctly that something had served to mightily vex her this morning. She sat, or rather slumped, down into a magnificent gold and red velvet upholstered chair that was set on a raised dais. Sir Robert approached her, and then dropped to his knees, lowering his head in a huge outward show of obedience and humble servility. It was almost on the point of theatricality. A group of servants, advisors and ladies in waiting that had entered the room with Matilda withdrew to a respectful distance so that Sir Robert and Matilda could converse in privacy.

  “Sir Robert. Dear brother,�
� she declared in a tone that could have had a mocking, sarcastic edge to it, if you had been looking for it.

  She offered her ring-covered fingers for him to kiss. He took them lightly in his own hand and did so.

  “I have had a very trying morning. I have been assaulted by a bitch of a servant and have had to throw her into my prison. What do you think of that? What news do you bring me? I do hope that you will be lightening my mood.”

  “Much of interest, my Lady,” he replied, looking around to the silent group of lackeys. “But I feel that we would be best served by discussing our matters in even greater privacy.”

  Matilda looked up at the group on the other side of the room and issued a firm order, “Leave us, all of you, close the doors and no one is to enter until I give you leave.”

  The courtiers all began to file out and soon they were completely alone.

  “So then, dear brother, tell me what you will.”

  Sir Robert, with another melodramatic flourish, checked once more that they were alone and then, having satisfied himself, he began; “My Lady, the plan is set and agreed, all eventualities have been considered, the King will be in your hands after the truce meeting next week.”

  Matilda’s rock hard demeanour softened a little.

  “Explain it to me in full, from the beginning.”

  “You will arrive at Sherebrook castle as arranged three days from now and we will follow the arrangements to the letter. Your force will pull up just outside the main walls of the castle and camp there and then you will proceed into the castle with a small group of personal guards. At that point I will lead a small detachment of knights to the entrance to the secret tunnel, which leads into the keep courtyard below the main hall. All guards will have been ordered out of the courtyard as a security measure so we shall be free to pass into the keep and then to a concealed passageway and staircase. The staircase ends in a door, which opens directly into the main hall, where you will be meeting the king. We will enter unexpectedly and take him captive, retrace our path and be outside of the castle before anyone suspects anything. You will come with us and we will make good our escape.”