by Euan McAllen
‘She won’t talk about him.’
Foccinni didn’t want to go there. ‘Anyway, back to the point. She-’
‘Who, my mother?’
‘No my friend, Esmeralda. She-’
‘Your friend Esmeralda? You have a woman in there?’
Foccinni looked insulted. ‘She’s not my woman. She’s just a slip of a girl, barely fifteen.’
Mozak raised his eyebrows to make a juvenile point. Here was fun to be had.
‘You devil.’
Foccinni slapped his knee. ‘Stop it. Stop being silly. She really is a friend.’
‘Where? Where did she meet this man, this man with the tattoo?’
‘The village.’
‘The village in the maze. The place we are not allow to go. Brilliant.’
Foccinni leant forward again. ‘That’s why you must keep this totally secret.’
‘Don’t tell mother?’
‘Definitely don’t tell her.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because she might tell the king, and then what? All hell would break loose and I’ll end up in irons.’
‘Why would she tell him? They can’t stand each other.’
‘Your parents had a bad falling out before he was expelled.’
‘But that wasn’t her fault. Was it?’
Mozak eyeballed Foccinni, demanding a full explanation. Foccinni fed him a little of it.
‘Well, there was a time, after your father was gone, when she gave her heart to your uncle Bizi.’
Mozak’s jaw dropped. ‘She never told me.’
‘Hardly surprising, Anyway it didn’t last, as you can see.’
‘Why are you telling me this now?’
‘Because you are nearly eighteen. You have a right to know what your family has been up to.’
Foccinni stood up to stretch his legs.
‘Anyway, that’s history. Don’t let it get to you. Those two had always fought over your mother. Point is-’ Foccinni looked out of the window again. Still nothing. ‘I’m going back in there, back to the village. When I’m recovered. I’ll seek him out this time.’
‘Why not last time?’
‘Had a problem with a blacksmith.’
‘How long will you be?’
‘Three weeks? Four? Depends.’
‘What will you do if you find him and it is him?’
For the first time Foccinni was unsure. ‘I’ve really no idea. Not sure I should do anything. Anyway one step at a time.’
One step at a time, thought Mozak. Not sure I can handle that.
‘Let me come with you!’
‘No, that’s impossible and you know it.’
‘But I’m the prince, the only prince.’
Foccinni looked at Mozak with blank expression, as if weighing up the pros and cons of disagreeing with him. He beckoned at the door, and moved towards it.
‘You better get back.’
‘Be quick.’
‘As quick as I can.’
Mozak turned at the open door, intending to have the last word. But he had nothing to say. So he left, mounted his horse and rode away, for a while alongside the wall, not wishing to return directly to the castle. Foccinni watched him go, hoping he would turn out alright.
The wall led to a gate, the entrance to the maze: a great maze some said, which took you nowhere except trouble and dead ends. Mozak both admired the wall and loathed it. Either way he was fixated by it. It dominated the landscape. It kept the castle lands safe, it was said. But from what? A silly little village? How could a silly little village full of stupid peasants be a threat to the kingdom - his kingdom one day.
The walls of the maze were massive, over one hundred feet high, and very old. They choked on creeping vegetation and in places were painted green by moss. Here and there a tree grew close up to the wall. Years earlier Mozak had tried to climb to the top of one to see over the top, to see what was on the other side. He never made it and nearly fell to the ground, which left him forever nervous of climbing trees again. Mozak turned his horse and galloped back to the castle, his last thought being, what if someone knocked them down? What would he see? Perhaps one day, when he was king, he might try and knock one down, or at least bang Rufus’ head against it.
He arrived back in the castle courtyard with a heavy heart. There was now more mystery surrounding his mother. His mother and his uncle? Mozak wanted to throw up. A groom took the reins and led the horse away. The hangover was long gone but in its place was a thumping headache. He decided to crawl back into bed early. Thinking was killing him. And to think, somewhere out there his father might still be alive? And he could tell no one - but who did he want to tell? Certainly not his mother. To bed, Mozak pleaded to himself. To bed.
***
Prince Mozak waited and waited for the return of Foccinni until he could wait no more. During that time things got worse with family: he fell out bad with his mother when he refused to marry that girl Agnes. You will, she had told him in no uncertain terms, making it clear that he had no way out. And things were becoming tense with his uncle. The king seemed to resent him these days. Was it because he was soon to be eighteen, soon to be a man? Did uncle Bizi see him as a threat? Perhaps he thinks I’ll overthrow him one day, like he did my father, thought Mozak one night alone in bed. Perhaps I will: quicker than waiting for the fat bastard to die of over consumption. And to think, my mother once fancied him over my father.
It didn’t bear thinking about, so he didn’t. Instead he waited, and did his best to avoid the fat loathsome Lady Agnes Aga-Smath: whenever he heard her annoying shrieking laugh approaching he would do a u-turn and run, or hide and wait for her to pass on by. When he failed he was forced to witness her big cheeky grin, and talk to her about the coming event.
One day Mozak bumped into the king as both turned a blind corner. The man pushed him away as if afraid of infection. Mozak bade him good day and hurried on but his uncle called him back.
‘Did you know that Foccinni is missing again?’
‘No.’ Mozak felt eyes drilling into him.
‘Hear you’ve been talking to him.’
‘No.’ Mozak tried to pull away.
‘Don’t cross me Mozak.’ The king now spoke less like his uncle - his half-uncle - and more like a pissed off despot.
‘No.’
Prince Mozak broke free and carried on, slightly alarmed that his uncle was taking an interest in what he was up to these days, which wasn’t much. He needed to escape this place. It was suffocating him. He needed escape.
The crunch came when he had to attend a formal celebration and declaration of his betrothal to one Lady Agnes Aga-Smath. He had to meet her parents. They were insufferable social climbers. They thought he was wonderful - or pretended so. They thought he would make their daughter very happy - or pretended so. They were looking forward to lots of grandchildren. Lots! As he sat and ate cake - Dowager Queen looking on satisfied - he felt his freedom being stripped away; his manhood diluted, traded in, reserved for someone else’s use. He looked across at Lady Agnes Aga-Smath. He would have to make love to her again and again until she produced a screaming, smelly, shit producing baby. And just as he thought it could not get any worse the girl took his hand and squeezed it, and smiled at him; and her parents clapped; and Mozak nearly choked on his mouthful of cake. He had had enough. He had to get out. He had to escape. He needed adventure, one with a purpose. And he had one. Foccinni’s absence had dropped him right into one - or dropped one right into his lap. He decided to enter the maze and find his way to the village, and then, do something next. One step at a time, just like Foccinni had said.
Later, with a belly full of beer, Prince Mozak sat back and considered the implications of his decision. Yes it would be an adventure.
Yes he would stick two fingers up at his mother and uncle. Yes he might - he would - miss his wedding. Lost in battle would be his excuse. He would have to take ‘stuff’: stuff to sleep on; stuff to cook with, and stuff to cook. Cook? He couldn’t cook to save his life. Food just appeared in front of him on a plate. No way. Rufus would have to come with him. Loyal Rufus. And he needed someone to talk to at night, to break the boredom. And beer? What about beer? He would need beer. How much could Rufus carry?
Rufus was not impressed. He stopped polishing his master’s boots and looked up, as if the prince was mad.
‘You can’t go in there, not without the king’s permission.’
‘I can. I’m the prince. And anyway I’m his nephew.’
‘Meaning what?’
‘Meaning he won’t touch me.’
‘You’re going crazy.’ Rufus resumed polishing.
‘We’re all going crazy in this place.’
Rufus looked up again. The prince had actually said something meaningful - profound almost - for a change. But still he refused. He hit Prince Mozak with a hard question.
‘And what will you do then, if you find him, and he is your father?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Say hello then head home?’
Mozak was flummoxed. He waved the question away.
‘And if they find out, stop us, I’m in deep shit.’
‘Trust me I’ll take all the blame.’
The words ‘trust me’ cut no ice with Rufus and still he refused. Mozak tried to tempt him with the excitement of the unknown. But Rufus made it clear he wasn’t after excitement. Finally what did it was the money: Mozak offered him first double then triple wages. Rufus was in. When Rufus told his sweetheart she wasn’t impressed.
Mozak decided to set off three days before the day of his formal betrothal. Three felt like a good number. It had a ring to it. Wishing to cover his bets he composed two letters - with the help of the Royal Tutor: one for his mother; one for Lady Agnes. Both were short and to the point. To his mother he said ‘I need adventure. I seek fame and fortune. I need to prove I am a man and worthy to marry that wonderful girl. I want you to be proud of me. So please don’t make a fuss’. The other said much the same: ‘need adventure, seeking fame and fortune, need to prove I am worthy of you, don’t wait up’.
With a disgruntled Rufus on look out, Mozak broke into Foccinni’s cottage and found a dog-eared, worn out map of the route to the village. It was split in places along fold lines, and it was where Foccinni always kept it: under his bed. Mozak knocked up a copy and later showed it to Rufus who was not impressed.
‘We’ve only got to make one mistake, take a wrong turn and suddenly that thing is useless. You should have copied it all.’
‘Stop complaining. There is no more. He has just a fragment, just enough to get him to the village and back.’
Rufus didn’t stop complaining, especially when Mozak forced him to deliver the two letters just before they left.
‘I’m not a post boy,’ he complained.
***
The day of departure was a warm sunny day, a good day to start an adventure. Rufus had prepared the ponies and provisions, and was now simply waiting while his sweetheart watched from a servant’s entrance, her face a mix of concern, anger and desperation. Prince Mozak was late - as he was always late - this time late with good reason for he had one more thing to do: he wanted to question his mother one more time about his father. This time he would not be fobbed off, sent packing. He was older, stronger, tougher.
He cornered the Dowager Queen during her ‘hair dressing’ appointment in her special room reserved for ‘matters of hair and other parts of the body’. He put the thorny question to her as she sat calmly in her large, purpose-built chair, and saw her visibly tense up. He even thought he saw her hair stand up on end.
‘You said my father had to leave because the nobles turned on him?’
‘You’ve asked me this before. Nothing’s changed. He pushed it too far with them. They had had enough. He couldn’t stay king. He had made too many enemies. Some wanted him dead.’
‘And uncle Bizi had nothing to do with it?’
‘No.’
‘You swear?’
The Dowager Queen glared at her impertinent son.
‘I don’t need to swear,’ she replied in a voice so sharp it could have cut through a well done steak.
This time that didn’t put him off. ‘And you had nothing to do with it?’
‘What! How dare you!’
I do dare, thought Mozak.
She sat up straight, face red, ripping out some of her hair which was still caught up in the brush her attendant was currently employing to put order back into the mess. The attendant lost her grip on the brush and it was left dangling in the pile of hair.
‘Apologies your majesty.’
‘Go away.’
‘Yes your majesty.’
‘Not you! Him! You, Mozak! Go away and don’t come back until you’ve learnt some manners!’
Mozak hurried out of the room. Enough of her. He wanted to be gone: jump on his pony and gatecrash the gate which led into the maze.
‘And don’t be late for your wedding!’ she shouted after him.
Had she been too harsh? she asked herself afterwards. No. Her son had no right to question her past. Her past was a private affair - a number of private affairs.
Prince Mozak returned to his room, changed into his ‘adventure’ clothes, and filled his belly with a final farewell of beer. Now convinced he could take on the world he headed out to meet Rufus. He knew he was late and that Rufus would complain, and he looked forward to it. A good spat with Rufus helped circulate the blood, get it to the brain and dispel the headache. Rufus was of course on time and fully prepared: qualities that Mozak grudgingly admired but would never try to emulate. He was above that sort of thing.
‘You’re late,’ said Rufus as he handed Mozak the reins of a pony.
‘My prerogative, and anyway what’s the rush?’
‘That we may have been spotted? That at any moment guards may jump on us and drag us back to explain ourselves to the king?’
Rufus had a point and it spurred Prince Mozak into action.
They mounted their ponies and looked around one last time before heading off, both in a bad mood. At the gate there stood a guard hut - just big enough to swing a cat in. According to tradition - and tradition meant everything in this place - the gate was always left open, to welcome visitors to the castle. In practice it was always guarded by one of the king’s men and none could pass through it without his permission. Keeping close to the wall the two edged up to it slowly, stopping just out of sight, hoping that the guard on duty would go take a piss somewhere convenient - convenient for them. He never did, so Mozak, impatient, decided to brazen it out. He was the prince and that had to carry clout. Rufus was not convinced. When the guard saw them approaching he raised his pikestaff and stiffened.
‘Who goes there?’
‘Me of course. Don’t you recognise me!’
‘Yes, of course. Sorry your highness.’
‘I’m passing through. I have an errant.’
‘Passing through? Do you have a pass? You must show me your pass.’
‘I didn’t get one. I don’t need one.’
‘Then I can’t let you through. It’s against regulations.’
‘Foccinni had no pass. Wasn’t a problem for him was it?’
‘I don’t know what you mean.’
‘I think you do.’
The man shifted and tried to look elsewhere but Prince Mozak had him pinned down.
‘Let me through or the king - my uncle - gets to hear of the bribes you’ve been taking - and your brother. And your father?’
/> The blood drained from the man’s sunburnt face.
‘Look I can’t let you pass, but what I can do is walk over to that rock and take a long piss behind it.’
‘Yes you can do that.’
Rufus was impressed. The prince could be strong, statesmanlike; and serious, deadly serious.
The guard, one of only three who guarded the gate - a family tradition - did as promised and dropped his breeches behind the rock. When they heard the stream of urine hitting stone they were off. And they were through the gate. They had entered the maze; the massive, mountain of a maze which dominated the landscape in all directions but which here, close to the castle, barely made its presence felt. Little was known about it in the castle: only that it was there; its walls so far apart that it was not obvious that they were in any way connected.
Once inside the rules changed, but Mozak didn’t appreciate that yet. He would not be able to ring for assistance. There would be no one to serve him breakfast in bed - no bed - and Rufus would not be providing him with three meals a day. No one to run a hot bath. No one to give him a change of clean clothes. His status meant nothing in here. And he would have to live by his wits. This was not an empty, sterile place. Rufus didn’t care that much: he had been paid in advance. The sooner his master Mozak gave up and turned back, the better. He wanted to be home quick. He didn’t want his sweetheart going off with some other guy - prime suspect being the second assistant chef.
They pushed on, not talking, Prince Mozak always slightly in front as if to make the point that he was in charge. When a new wall slowly came into view they headed towards it then bore left, keeping it in sight on their right. It was the strangest feeling, the hardest to get used to, having a great big wall just sitting in the middle of nowhere for no apparent reason. At one point Mozak boasted ‘this should be easy’, trying as he was to convince himself that it would be so. Rufus knew better. The stories that were passed around between staff spoke of ‘bad things happen in there’.
During a comfort break Rufus sat and stared at the wall in the distance. These walls were starting to get to him. They stuck up like an eyesore. They had no right to be there. They messed up the landscape and blocked the view. You couldn’t get from one point to another without some stupid wall blocking your way. And who put them there? And why? Rufus rolled over on to his side.