by Euan McAllen
‘Who put them there?’
‘What?’
Mozak was methodically stripping the leaves from a fern stalk, one leaf at a time, mesmerised by its repetitive structure. It was a nice distraction from thinking.
‘Who put the walls there?’
‘Builders they say, centuries ago.’
‘Why doesn’t anyone pull them down?’
‘Are you mad? That would take forever. And anyway they keep our enemies out.’
‘What enemies?’
‘I don’t know. Stop all these questions. We have enemies. That’s what they say.’
They drank water - each careful to watch that the other did not take more than his fair share - and rode on.
Come dusk they camped out under the stars, under an ancient oak tree. Rufus tried to count the stars, else thought of his sweetheart. Mozak complained about how uncomfortable he was as he rubbed his backside. It was done in. Rufus wanted to smack him to shut him up. With nothing to say to each other about such an uneventful day they quickly fell asleep.
***
The next day they set off again, at a pace which dulled the senses. Mozak, brought low by a feeble excuse for a breakfast, remained subdued. The monotony and emptiness of the landscape drained their heads and hearts and they had nothing to listen to except the sound of clopping hooves. There was absolutely nothing, nobody, no distractions of any kind; just the same landscape rolling by: wild, windy and weather-beaten. Each wanted something to happen, just as long as it did not harm or threaten. Nothing did. All they had to look at was a wall, and further on into the day, another as it popped up on the horizon. They found the junction and for the first time they could see three at once. Yes there were walls in all directions, they were in the middle of something big, something epic.
Stopping for a piss and slug of water Mozak was determined to talk. He decided to talk about girls.
‘You have problems with them?’
‘Who?’
‘Girls.’
‘No. Do you?’
‘No of course not!’
‘That’s good then.’
‘How many have you slept with?’
‘Just the one.’
‘One? How many times?’
‘Many times. A gentleman does not keep count.’ Rufus considered himself a gentleman.
‘Afterwards, do you feel guilty?’
‘No.’
‘Nor me,’ added Mozak quickly as he looked away. (Rufus was giving him one of his looks.)
They continued on and tried to carry on talking, but the vast empty space over which they were crawling, like insects, sucked them dry of motivation and words were not forthcoming. Without castle life intruding there was no common spark to set them off at each other, to force discussion over some issue: as far as Rufus was concerned it was Prince Mozak’s adventure and he was just along for the ride. So far, as an adventure, it didn’t aspire to much.
For the first time in his life Mozak experienced hunger pains and complained that Rufus was not feeding him enough. Rufus made it clear that they were on strict rations. They had to make food and water last. That was the way adventures worked. That made Mozak more grumpy: being told what he could and could not do by a servant. Meanwhile Rufus kept afloat by reminding himself of all the money he was making.
At one point they passed by a large hole in the ground. The pile of soil which stood next to it was covered in weeds. On its crown a bush had established itself. Nearby a wooden sign, old and weather-beaten, said ‘men at work’. That night they camped out under another tree.
***
Next morning Mozak awoke from a dream - a dream involving Lady Agnes - to the sound of hissing. It was a strange sound for Rufus to make. Mozak opened his eyes. It was not Rufus it was a snake, a big snake, and it was heading towards him. It was within licking distance of his bare feet. He jumped up smart.
‘Rufus!’
But Rufus was nowhere to be seen. Mozak backed up against the tree then, with no other option, grabbed the lowest branch and clambered up, to perch precariously. The snake, a really big snake, carried on towards him. It wrapped itself around the tree trunk and wound its way up, like an inverted corkscrew. It had no intention of letting its prey escape and it was not afraid of heights. Perhaps it was attracted by the smell: it had been many days now since Mozak had taken a bath.
‘Rufus where are you! Do something!’
Then he saw Rufus running towards him, then stop to take in the scene.
‘Don’t just stand there do something!’
Rufus pulled out his hunting knife, crept forward, and sliced right through the middle of the snake with one bold sweep. Engulfed by spasm the snake fell to the ground where it continued to writhe for what seemed an age until finally, out of steam, it died. Rufus kicked it to make sure.
‘You can come down now.’
Mozak dropped to the ground and stood up, and tried to exhibit some sense of composure.
‘I thought princes were supposed to be brave.’
‘We are brave, when it matters.’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘I don’t know. My uncle said it to me once. Anyway where were you?’
‘Taking a dump in those bushes, behind that rock. I think from now on we’d better take turns sleeping.’
‘Good idea,’ said Mozak. ‘I was going to suggest that.’
Rufus threw him a look which said it all. Out here he was the stronger, the natural leader and he knew Mozak knew it. As for the new sleeping rule: both immediately forgot it.
They carried on and a sense of misery set in as the weight of time consumed them. Each felt they were carrying the full burden on their shoulders, that the other was contributing nothing. To make matters worse they heard the sound of howling in the distance - wolves or dogs, they couldn’t be sure. They pushed on at a brisk pace, say nothing as neither wished to admit that he was alarmed. The sound was not receding, it was tracking them.
Their route took them into woods where they had to dismount and continue by foot. Now they heard the distinctive sound of barking behind them and Rufus felt sure it was dogs, not wolves, following them.
‘It’s a pack of dogs.’
‘Do they want to eat us?’
‘I don’t know. Perhaps they’re following us because they have nothing else to do. Suggest we don’t hang around to find out.’
They pushed on, tugging at the reins of their nervous ponies and tripping over tree roots. The woods got darker as the trees grew denser and imaginations ran wild. Was this how it was to end? Lost? Dead by starvation? Eaten by dogs? And then suddenly it all changed. They broke out into a sunny glade of long grass and tall wild flowers. It was the kind of place which invited one to stop and take a picnic. There they saw that a wall blocked their route, from left to right, without ending. They were stuck, between a rock and a hard place. There was no way over, and no way back. And the dogs grew louder, and they sounded more excited, more terrifying.
‘Why have we hit a fucking wall!’ exclaimed Rufus.
‘I don’t know.’
‘What do you mean you don’t know! You have the fucking map! You’re supposed to know which way we go! And we’ve walked straight into a fucking wall!’
‘I think we’re lost.’ Mozak’s reply was feeble. He did not sound like a prince.
‘You think we’re lost! And how long have you been thinking that?’ Rufus wanted to punch his pathetic prince in the face.
‘Ever since we entered the woods.’
‘And you didn’t care to tell me!’ By now Rufus was holding his prince by his once white but now very dirty collar.
‘I wasn’t sure,’ squeaked Mozak. He sounded like a distressed, stressed out mouse; one cornered by a cat.
‘I thought it might just be lack of detail. It was an old map remember.’
Rufus pushed him up against a tree. ‘I don’t care if you’re my prince. Out here you’re nothing and I’m going to thump you!’
Just as he was about to carry out his threat a cheerful voice rang out. It stopped Rufus in his tracks.
‘Are you two alright? You don’t look alright.’
As one they turned towards the voice. It was an old man. He was strolling towards them without a care in the world, looking cheerful in a way which was slightly disconcerting in such terrifying circumstances. He carried a bucket of water in each hand. Sloshing about they had soaked the lower half of his trousers, but he didn’t mind - or hadn’t noticed.
‘Good afternoon.’
‘Good afternoon,’ stuttered Rufus as he released his grip on Mozak, not wishing to look like a bully.
Both straightened themselves up, as if they were about to be introduced to someone very important.
‘Are you two lost? Probably are. No one comes this way on purpose. It goes nowhere, obviously. Yes, that is obvious.’
Mozak gulped and tried to reclaim his dignity and the right to take command of proceedings. He wanted this old man - whoever he was - to know that he, Prince Mozak, was in charge, whilst at the same time not wishing to infuriate Rufus further, afraid that he might still hit him.
‘Yes we are lost.’
Rufus did not let him off so easily. ‘Yes we are fucking lost. And whose fault is that?’
‘Where are you trying to get to?’
The old man directed his question at Rufus, thinking that the angry one needed calming down.
‘A village. The village? You know it?’
‘Ah yes the Village.’
With that the old man went quiet and the two watched him as they waited for him to speak again. The barking grew louder.
Rufus became irritated. ‘Look we need to get out of here fast. Is there a way out of here?’
‘Get away? Why?’
‘Why?’ Rufus stared at the bucket man like he was stupid and pointed towards the sound of danger. ‘Because of those dogs, that’s why!’
The old man smiled. ‘Oh don’t you worry about them. I know them. They just want to play. They rarely get to meet humans. They miss our company.’
He turned and shouted at them. ‘Boys! Come on now, shush!’
Then he laughed at some private joke, whistled, and shouted ‘Shep!’
The barking died down, to be replaced by the sound of yelping. At the same time a shaggy sheepdog rushed out of nowhere towards the old man and tried to climb up his trousers. Perhaps he had a bone hidden in his pocket.
‘Down boy down. This is Shep by the way. Say hello Shep.’
Shep tried to say hello to the strangers but sensed straight away that these two were not in the mood for dogs. He backed off, retreating back behind his master. Rufus and Mozak looked at each other, wondering what next.
‘Is there a way around this wall?’ asked Rufus.
‘Yes, but it’s a long way. And on this side you would have to fight your way through endless woods and thicket. No paths. You look tired. Fancy a drink, a bit of food?’
Mozak got in first. ‘Yes please.’
‘Come on then.’
The old man walked on, buckets wobbling, towards the wall before veering off left. Bemused, they followed in his footsteps; now wondering if the old man wasn’t quite right in the head. But he was quite right in the head: he led them to a recess in the wall. In it was a gate. He stopped, put down his buckets, and produced a key from under his tunic. With it he opened the gate.
‘I don’t know why I keep locking it. I don’t need to keep locking it. But you know how it is. You get stuck in a routine.’
Rufus knew exactly what he meant. Mozak didn’t.
The gate swung open to reveal a short tunnel. Shep rushed on ahead.
‘Wait for us Shep! Follow me, and mind you don’t slip. It’s wet in there. The paving stones are worn smooth.’
Intrigued they followed him in, tugging hard on their ponies who did not wish to enter a small dark place.
‘Does this lead to the village?’ asked Mozak.
‘I’m afraid not, just my place.’
‘Can you show us the way, to the village? We’re lost.’
‘Sure I can. Later.’
‘Your place?’ said Rufus. ‘You have a place here? In the middle of nowhere?’
‘That’s right. I live here.’
‘All by yourself?’
‘All by myself.’
The tunnel led out on to a big vegetable garden. Large cabbages caught their eye, as did the large cauliflowers, and the towering stalks of broad beans. And there was what looked like the tops of carrots pushing out of the ground. There were vegetables of all kinds growing everywhere and growing well. It was a gardener’s backbreaking paradise.
The old man could see that they were impressed. ‘Good isn’t it. Grow it all myself. It’s very good soil. Isn’t that right Shep? Very good soil.’
Shep barked in agreement and Mozak glanced at Rufus, looking for solidarity. For once he got it, no strings attached. Rufus raised his eyebrows.
The old man led them on up through the garden towards his house - a house built of the same materials as the nearby wall. Alongside the house stood a stable and a barn; and a very small, odd looking wooden cubicle, possibly a shed, possibly not.
Rufus had to ask and pointed at it. ‘What do you keep in there?’
‘Nothing. It’s the toilet.’
‘A hole in the ground?’
‘Yes if you like.’
The old man was proud of his invention and didn’t take kindly to it being simply described as a hole in the ground. It had a seat. Changing the subject he invited them to stable their ponies. That done, he led them into the house and directed them to sit at his kitchen table. They sat and watched as he emptied the buckets into a large tub which stood on another, smaller table. He filled a small bowl from the tub by means of a small tap at its base and placed it on the floor for Shep. Shep lapped it up.
‘Good boy Shep. Good boy.’
‘What’s that?’ asked Rufus.
‘What’s that?’
‘That thing which lets the water out.’
‘A tap. Don’t you have taps where you come from?’
‘No. At least I don’t think so. And you wouldn’t know would you?’ said Rufus turning to his master.
Mozak shrugged. ‘No. Why would I?’
‘Exactly.’
Mozak looked at his servant having completely missed the point.
‘So where are you two from then? Where are you two from? Where are they from Shep?’
‘The castle,’ replied Mozak, looking at Shep, as if challenging him to disagree.
‘The castle. Interesting.’ And with that information the old man became lost in thought.
The deafening silence - broken only by Shep’s panting - began to creep up on his guests. When he finally spoke it came as a great relief.
‘You two look like you could do with some food and drink. Am I right or am I right?’
Shep barked. He knew the answer.
‘You’re right,’ said Rufus.
There was the edge of sarcasm in his voice and Mozak threw him a dirty look. He was starving and he didn’t want Rufus blowing it.
‘Here have some milk.’ The old man served up two mugs of cold milk from a jug he kept on the floor inside a cupboard. ‘Fresh out of my cows today.’
He watched them throw it back like it was beer.
‘You like omelette? I can knock up a nice omelette, with cheese, cheese and mushroom.’
‘What’s an omelette?’ asked Moza
k. It sounded like some strange animal. Was it game? Like chicken? Or red meat?
‘Eggs and milk. Trust me. You’ll like it. Eggs and milk. You can always trust eggs and milk.’
‘We are starving,’ explained Rufus. ‘We’ll eat anything. Even eggs and milk.’
Mozak threw him another sharp look but refrained from publicly giving his servant a ticking off.
As the old man cooked he asked about the castle. He looked surprised when told how big it was; and how many peasants lived beyond its walls; and how many lords and ladies and knights lived both within and beyond its walls. The name of the current king meant nothing to him: the name of the Dowager Queen even less, which annoyed the prince but which Rufus found amusing. The fact that Mozak was a prince also carried no weight, which annoyed Mozak even more, which amused Rufus even more. The old man sensed a rivalry, and found it fun to watch. He half listened as the prince proceeded to tell him about his life as a prince - the only prince - and how great it was being a prince, and that he would be king one day. Meanwhile Rufus looked around the room, and was the first to notice a picture on the wall. It was a sketch, of a wall; a wall under construction.
Finally the old man set down two large plates containing two big yellow omelettes splattered with the grey of mushrooms and invited them to get stuck in. They needed no persuading.
‘What is that all about, that picture.’ asked Rufus, pointing at the picture with his fork.
‘Those are my ancestors building the wall, or rather part of it. Yes one part of it. It’s a good picture. It’s been in the family for generations. A very good picture. Black ink.’
‘Your ancestors?’
‘Yes my ancestors. I’m a Builder, probably the last. I build walls - or rather I would if anybody asked me to build one. Perhaps they will one day, after all they must fall down sometime. Eat up boys. Eat up.’
Boys? thought Mozak. I’m not a boy. Boys? thought Rufus. There’s only one boy round here and it’s not me.
The strange dish tasted good, cheesy, and the mushrooms were excellent. Was it the cheese or the mushrooms sending their heads spinning or just the fact that they were famished. Whatever, it made them feel extremely good. The old man watched them chew on every mouthful, like he was checking that everything went down, like a nurse watching her patients for signs of recovery after the application of medicine.