Charlie Watts and the Rip in Time

by Marcus Anthony (UK) Eden-Ellis

  “Hmmm…” mused Matilda, I see a flaw in your plan immediately. “ I am alone in the hall with the king and you burst in with your men. He will no doubt be taken by surprise but he will still have enough time to call for his guard and to draw his sword.”

  “I have considered this, my Lady,” answered Sir Robert. “When you toast each other with some wine, you must drop into his drink a small amount of a substance which my apothecary will prepare for you. It will act very quickly and will make the king susceptible to anything. He will still be able to walk but his reactions will be very slow and his voice mute. We will be upon him before he has time to counter.”

  “It seems like a good plan, my brother. Are you sure it will work?”

  “I am leading the men myself. It will work. Once the king is in our hands there will be nothing to stop you being crowned the undisputed and unchallenged Queen of England. Once Stephen is our captive, there will be no earl or knight that will not switch to your side immediately. The day will be won and the country will be ours.”

  “Mine,” corrected Matilda.

  “Of course my lady. I apologise for forgetting myself.”

  “You will have your rewards Sir Robert. I will give you the choice of the lands belonging to supporters of the king.”

  “I am honoured and indebted to you,” said Sir Robert and then, as an afterthought, added, “Your Majesty.”

  Matilda could barely suppress a smile. “It has an inevitable ring to it, wouldn’t you say, Sir Robert?”

  “Indeed my Lady, it does. Oh, by the way, I too have added to the population of your prisons this morning.”

  “Oh really? What poor unfortunate has found his way into your displeasure? A wronged husband, or someone who couldn’t pay his gambling debts, I’ve no doubt.”

  “Actually, neither my Lady,” said Sir Robert. “I have imprisoned a young boy called Charlie of Watts.”

  “Why? And where is Watts? I have not heard of a town or village by that name.”

  “I caught him listening to our plan to take the king captive. I was discussing the matter with a spy I have placed in the castle and this Charlie of Watts witnessed the secret meeting. My spy gave chase and caught him just in time. He would have raised the alarm if he had made good his escape. I understand him to be favoured by King Stephen himself and to be squire to Sir Geoffrey de Lancie-the king’s captain of guards. This youth is very strange; he speaks with a curious voice and makes peculiar conversation. I think he may be foreign.”

  “Why did you bring him here? Why did you not just put him to the sword or hang the pathetic creature and be done with it?”

  “I considered that course of action but something told me that he may prove valuable. Perhaps I am wrong. If I cannot get any further useful information from him, under inquisition or otherwise, I will have him executed.”

  “Very well Sir Robert. As you will. Just one more question, is your spy reliable?”

  “Very reliable my lady. He is in the kitchen service of Sir Richard Baldock, Earl of Sherebrook, who, as you are aware, is your loyal but secret supporter and he personally vouchsafes the spy. Sir Richard tells me what he can but Longhaired Nick, for that is his name, hears more, sees more and keeps me fully informed of what is going on around the castle. He is a wily and cunning operator and I met with him personally last night when we caught Charlie of Watts.”

  “As you say, Sir Robert. I personally find Baldock an objectionable man but, as he is providing his castle as the means to capture the false king, I suppose I can overlook my distaste for him and his kitchen serf spy. How distasteful all these matters are.”

  Matilda called for her retinue and they nearly fell over themselves in their haste to get back into the room.

  “We will continue our discussions presently, Sir Robert. In the meanwhile I must make preparations for my journey to Sherebrook castle. I cannot keep a king waiting, you know!” When she smiled, she had the look of a particularly poisonous snake, which is what she was.

  TWENTY-SIX

  “Who is crying there?” whispered Charlie into the small crack that he had discovered at the base of the cell wall. He had heard the weeping and immediately started a closer inspection of the wall down near the floor of the cell. This had led to the discovery of a gap between two large base stones where the mortar had crumbled away because of the damp. He could see right into the next cell. His field of vision was very narrow but he could see reasonably well as the other cell had the same eerie grey light that fell into his cell.

  He received no answer so he tried again, a little louder this time, “Hello in there, can you hear me? I am Charlie Watts. Hello?”

  The crying started to fade away to be replaced by a series of snotty sniffs. Then there was silence. He was still peering through the gap when all of a sudden his vision was filled with a single eyeball on the other side of the wall.

  “Hello?” said a tentative voice.

  “Hello,” said Charlie again. “Why are you crying and who are you?”

  “I am Gwendolyn and I am crying because I am in a jail. Why do you think? Who are you?” The voice was that of a young girl and had a slightly superior quality to it.

  “I am Charlie Watts,” repeated Charlie. “I am squire to a knight, Sir Geoffrey de Lancie of Bagshotte, and I am a prisoner of Sir Robert of Gloucester. I think.”

  “You think? Do you not know for certain?” The voice was now regaining some proud composure and the last question had a sarcastic edge to it.

  “Well, I know I am in the Earl’s prison because the jailer told me that I was at his pleasure. A man I have not met before abducted me but I am

  assuming they are one and the same. I was brought here this morning. How long have you been here Gwendolyn?”

  “I too was brought here this morning. Why are you in the prison? Why would the Earl abduct a boy?” Gwendolyn had completely stopped sniffing now.

  Charlie wondered how much he should say. This may be a trick, he thought, to get him to talk and tell what he knows about the king and the castle. Gwendolyn had a very nice voice, even though her manner seemed to suggest that she was very stuck-up. Charlie decided to be cautious at first. He adjusted his position to be able to converse more comfortably with the girl.

  “I am here for theft,” he lied.

  “Oh are you?” Gwendolyn sounded intrigued. “What did you steal, Charlie Watts?”

  “Five pounds from my Lord Robert.” Charlie didn’t know what the punishment would be for stealing five pounds but he guessed that it would be severe.

  “You will hang,” said Gwendolyn in a matter of fact tone.

  That was pretty severe, by anyone’s standards, thought Charlie.

  “So, if you stole five pounds, why did you do it, and where?” she asked through the crack.

  Charlie realised that the questions were going to become more difficult to answer and that the scenario he was constructing was becoming more complex as he added each layer of lies. He also knew that his story would be less convincing as he embellished it, so he decided to simply change the subject.

  “Look, I stole five pounds from a purse and that’s it. Why are you in here?”

  “I displeased my Lady Matilda this morning and she had me put in here.”

  “What did you do to displease her so?”

  “I combed her hair badly and broke one of her combs. She said I am not to be fed for three days. I don’t know if I will ever be released, Charlie Watts.”

  Her thin veneer of arrogance peeled away and she started to sob gently again.

  “Hey, hey,” said Charlie in a soothing tone. “I am sure that you will be released soon.”

  “You do not know my Lady Matilda, Charlie Watts, she is the vilest of women and I know that she has thrown people in jail for a lot less and they have never bee
n seen again. I am afraid that I may be one of those people.” She was controlling the sobbing again but it was just under the surface.

  “You’re telling me the truth aren’t you?” asked Charlie cautiously.

  “Yes, I am. Did you doubt me?” she sounded hurt.

  “A little. I am afraid that I have learned that sometimes peoples’ motives are not always clear, no matter how sad their story.”

  Charlie was apologetic, and he was also getting uncomfortable lying on the stone floor. He shifted and he heard a plaintive moan of despair from the other side of the crack.

  “Don’t go, Charlie Watts. I do not want to be alone. I would like to talk to you some more.” She seemed to be genuinely distressed.

  “Don’t worry,” said Charlie. “I am just getting more comfortable. But I must try and think of a way of getting free. I have some urgent news that I must deliver to my master Sir Geoffrey de Lancie.”

  “Whatever your news is, Charlie, I fear that you may never get to deliver it. I have not heard tell of anyone escaping Richmond jail.”

  So that was where he was-Richmond. He knew Richmond well. He also realised that he must have been unconscious for a considerable period because he estimated that it must be about twenty miles to Sherebrook castle from here.

  “I need to go to Sherebrook castle. How long would it take to travel there Gwendolyn?”

  “On foot or by horse?”

  “On foot, I suppose.”

  “It would take you about two day and nights depending on how well you walk but by horse it is a day of hard riding.”

  That was it then. Charlie had to work out a way to escape immediately if he was to stand any chance of warning Sir Geoffrey of the plot. He would have to get to Sherebrook before Matilda’s meeting with the king and that would taking place the day after tomorrow. He hoped that Sir Robert would be too involved in the kidnap plot to be worried about the boy he had in his dungeon. But then he shuddered again as the thought

  of torture leaked back into his mind from where it had successfully been evicted for the last half an hour. Charlie had once visited the Tower of London with a school party from Cuttleworth. Whilst there his class had been shown some replica torture instruments such as the rack, the manacles and the Scavengers Daughter. He had no desire to meet with the original apparatus or to have first hand experience of them.

  “I admire your hope, Charlie Watts,” said Gwendolyn from her side of the wall. “But take a look at your surroundings. Do you not see that there is no way of escaping?”

  Charlie took Gwendolyn’s advice and looked around his cell again. His eyes were now used to the light and by some small miracle his glasses had survived intact, although the left lens had a crack in it. What Gwendolyn said was true, there was no way out and Charlie knew it.

  Just then a small hatch in the door opened and the jailer peered in, looking around. Charlie could tell from the look on his ugly face that he was slightly perplexed that Charlie was lying on the floor with his face against the wall. Something flew through the hole and landed on Charlie’s back.

  It was a small piece of stale bread that Charlie took a look at but could not summon the will to eat. He was very hungry but the bread was very stale, smelled weird and was hard as rock. He tossed it back toward the door and simply stared at it. He looked at the door and let his eyes wander over it, up the surface and to the lintel that ran across the top and supported the stones above. He had the beginning of an idea, a desperate plan for escape.

  “Gwendolyn!” he whispered urgently.

  “Yes Charlie Watts?” came her despondent reply.

  “If I can escape from here, do you want to come with me?”

  “Charlie Watts, if you can free me, I shall follow you anywhere!”

  Charlie got up from the floor and walked over to the pail in the corner. He picked it up, testing the weight in his hands; it was the heavy kind he had expected. It was made of chunky short planks of oak and bound together with thick bands of black iron. Around the bottom rim of the pail was a heavy iron band that prevented the wood from wearing. He jerked the pail up and down in his hand a few times and then swung it in a full circle. His plan was now fully formed and he knew that he would

  have one shot at it. If he failed, he would almost certainly spend the rest of his short days in this prison, assuming that he wasn’t killed on the spot.

  Charlie went to the door and looked up to the lintel; it jutted out above the door by about eight inches which would be enough for him to stand on if he could reach it. With some struggle he managed. He undid his belt and passed it through the handle of the heavy pail and then he re-buckled it really tightly and adjusted it so that the pail hung down behind him. He then jumped and caught hold of the ledge and using all his strength managed to pull himself up to the level of the lintel and get the top half of his body over it. Then he swung one leg and then the other until he was lying along the lintel at full stretch facing the wall of the cell above the door. His purchase on the small ledge was precarious and at least half of his body was hanging out over empty space. With some delicate manoeuvring he managed to undo his belt and reach around behind himself to catch hold of the pail. Then came the tricky part as he had to turn over so that he was facing the cell. It took him twenty minutes, and several false starts, to get himself into the position that he wanted, a crouch, wedged between the lintel and the ceiling of the cell. He was jammed in tightly enough to keep him there but he could still swing the pail with his right arm.

  He then put phase two into operation: he started to swing the pail so that it banged against the door below him, over and over again, trying to attract the attention of the jailer. He did not even know if the jailer would hear him but he kept going. He banged against the door as hard as he could, never letting up. The noise was deafening as it reverberated around his tiny cell. He was getting desperate now, the pail was growing heavier and his arm muscles ached and his ability to swing it was decreasing by the minute until finally he thought that he could do it no more. It was only on the last bang that the small hatch flew open again and the jailer peered in.

  “You can bang against the door all you.” he began to snarl but he stopped in mid rant and although Charlie could not see him, he could imagine the look of bewilderment on the man’s face, as Charlie was nowhere to be seen.

  Then he heard the bolt being drawn back and the jangle of keys as one was selected and hurriedly rammed into the lock. This was the moment Charlie had hoped for and he realised that all he had was the element of

  surprise. The door was slammed violently open and Charlie looked down and saw the slimy bald head of the jailer thrust into the cell. He had the perfect opportunity but he waited a few seconds longer as the fat man took two more steps into the small room. Suddenly, the jailer twisted his head around and looked up.

  “Hi,” said Charlie and swung the pail again with every ounce of strength that he had left in him. The heavy metal rim of the pail caught the jailer square on the top of the head immediately leaving a violently purple weal that stretched like a crescent moon from ear to ear. The big man did not move but simply stared, with bulging red-veined eyes, up at Charlie with a fixed expression of incomprehension smeared across his face.

  Charlie knew that the game was up and that the blow had not succeeded in knocking out the ox. Depression swept over him but he still had the strength for one more swing. He immediately swung the pail up again and took another shot. But it was not needed. The jailer was already falling backwards on to the straw covered floor without so much as blinking and lay there motionless. The first blow had knocked him senseless.

  Charlie tossed away the makeshift weapon, relaxed his body so that he was no longer wedged into the small space, and quickly jumped down from the lintel. He saw that the jailer still held the big bunch of keys in his huge fleshy fingers and steeled himself to
snatch them. He had no idea what damage he had done to the man but he assumed he had knocked him unconscious. He had no idea for how long, and he sure as hell wasn’t going to stand there and time it. He rushed to the prone body and grabbed for the keys which easily came out of the jailer’s limp hand.

  He suddenly heard Gwendolyn calling from the other side, “Charlie Watts! Charlie Watts! What is happening? Are you safe?”

  He turned to run but as he did so a blood freezing scream filled his ears, it came from the jailer who had suddenly regained his senses and, although still groggy, had reached for Charlie’s ankle and snared him like an animal caught in a trap.

  “You little bastard. I am going to cut you up feed you to my dogs tonight…”

  Charlie stooped and reached for the pail that was lying where he had dropped it and he swung around wildly and landed another blow to the

  head of the man as he was getting to his feet. The momentum carried Charlie around in a full circle and he began to topple over but managed to just keep his balance.

  The jailer was knocked flat on his back again but was still conscious and, even now, struggling to his feet. Charlie dived out of the open cell door and immediately spun around to slam it shut. As he did so he saw the awful, twisted, hate fuelled face of the jailer charging at him but he managed to get the door closed and slid the bolt into place all in one swift movement. He slumped down, panting for breath, but euphoric in victory. He had done it, he was outside the cell and the jailer was inside. Confidence and adrenalin were coursing through his veins in equal measure.