by Euan McAllen
Mother looked bad. She sounded bad. Tascho sensed a woman with a heavy load on her mind but no way to off-load it. Mozak sensed trouble. Both felt bad about it. Mother gave them a chill. She would look them each in the eye, as if to test. She didn’t like them acting cheerful. She didn’t like them being cheerful. And they felt it. That added to the chill.
The animosity between their parents - bordering on pure hatred which both could not always suppress in front of their children - was a talking point for the twins when alone. Was it their task to try and bring them together, heal the wounds? asked Mozak. No, replied Tascho. Who are we to interfere? We are their children are we not? asked Mozak. Exactly, replied Tascho. So we must stay out of their war, else we might end up taking sides. Mozak hated to admit it to himself but sometimes his brother was very good at speaking sense.
One day the Queen asked - she had to beg - the King to allow Valadino to visit her. Bizi refused at first, before finally being persuaded by Tascho who was forced to mediate on her behalf. Valadino was after all once her personal advisor, he told the king. Strangely though, Gregory refused to see her - and he hated being referred to by his old name. When Tascho asked why, he refused to elaborate, except to say ‘too much history’.
The growing paranoia and mental instability of the King seemed to spread to the Dowager Queen. She fretted and fantasized about what was happening ‘out there, around her’. She badgered her sons for all the information and gossip they could give: it was not much, and their lack of enthusiasm made her lash out at their lack of cooperation. She wanted to know everything that bastard Bizi was up to. What was he planning? Who was he seeing? Still those sister slags? Still that foul pig? Yes to the pig.
The onslaught of her questions wore the twins out but they continued to visit, reasons being to show solidarity and to spite their father. Mozak often marched out whereas Tascho marched on, with God at his side. His mother needed God like never before and he did his best to share God with her. It seemed to work: talk of God and what God meant calmed her, though she had yet to declare that she actually believed in him. For her, now, God was little more than a comfortable, warm, alcoholic drink; or time spent relaxing in a hot bath; or falling asleep in the sun, exhausted.
***
As the severity of their mother’s treatment became clear to them, the twins turned against their father, but only in private: in public they continued to smile, agree with him; they pretended to admire him, respect him, like him, even love him and promise devotion to him. It was torture, at times unbearable. At times Tascho felt he was back in the hands of Adolphinus the Chief Monk, and being leached. The twins were saved only by the close attentions of one energetic, lustful Lady Agnes Aga-Smath and one grateful, sometimes clinging but sexy Esmeralda. And King Bizi’s growing paranoia, and state of imbalance, and sense of isolation made him the most difficult father possible, the most unlovable person possible. Even his mistresses had given up on him.
The increased drinking did not go unnoticed. Bizi staggered around at all hours: after evening meals; after lunch; even after breakfast. Mozak and Tascho hated it, and tried to pretend that it was not happening as much as it was. The state of their father disturbed them. He did not look or sound good. Tascho sensed a man in serious trouble, a man troubled to the point of collapse. Mozak sensed trouble. It was another reason to avoid him - and Bizi knew it. His concerns prompted Bizi to go see their mother. He banged on the door before breaking in. He did not delay in making his point. He did not want to hang around.
‘I think I’ve messed things up with the boys. I don’t think they like me as much as they should.’
Queen Anneeni could only laugh and bang the table with her fist. It was all too much.
‘Get out!’ she screamed. It was all she had to say on the subject.
Bizi, face on fire, head bursting, wanted to throttle her there and then but he managed to control himself and made a fast exit, spitting at the carpet on the way out. Anneeni wanted to throw something at him but there was nothing close to hand. She spat back instead.
Their growing contempt for their father united the twins, as did their pity for their imprisoned, beleaguered mother. The Queen of the realm deserved better than this - they deserved better than this. Tascho shouted his frustrations out loud one day and Mozak grudgingly agreed - but only after telling his brother to lower his voice, calm down. The servants might hear, he explained. Their pity for their mother made her even more difficult for them to handle; for she clung to them, constantly demanded loyalty, constantly asked why they didn’t turn against the king rather than indulge him. She pulled them in tighter each time they made a visit - until they were finally sick of it. Mozak found excuses to keep away, abandon her, whereas Tascho continued, for he had God and she needed God right now. That split disunited them like nothing else, not even the complications of young women who were after their hearts and minds.
While his brother was locked away, out of sight, Bizi could think of nothing else. He went to sleep each night with Helmotti’s weathered, aging face stuck inside his head like a sore - a sore point. And it was still there when he woke up. It would hit him, out of the blue, when he was eating, shouting, pissing or shitting. He could not kill him: Helmotti was his half-brother; even he, King Bizi, had his limits. The intolerable situation consumed him. The hunting lodge was not a permanent solution. Stick his trouble in a tower like his mother? With his mother? And watch him slowly rot? As he too was rotting? At such low points Bizi would gaze down at Pig: Pig had it so good. Pig ate well and slept well, and had no enemies, and never had to do a day’s work. (It slipped Bizi’s mind that when it came to work, neither did he, really.) He even had a friend in Tascho’s stupid little dog. Pig had it too good. And where was his bow tie? At one point Bizi nearly kicked his pig before reminding himself that Pig was the only friend he had. (He had family, yes, but family were not the same as friends. Family could never be friends. That was an unbreakable rule of Nature.) Meanwhile Helmotti sat, or slept, or chewed on the food provided, or stood alone staring out of the one window; mostly calm; mostly accepting his situation, his low point; in complete contrast to his incomplete half-brother.
When Bizi sat eating he was watching, for signs, of what he did not know. Likewise when on the toilet he was watching the door, as if someone was on the other side listening to his every movement. In bed, eyes closed, he listened out as he struggled to stay awake and not think about his horrible half-brother. Watched by all when he thought he was not being watched Bizi wandered the castle and grounds, even entering the garden maze, as if in preparation for entering the other, bigger, more mysterious maze which kept throwing out surprises. At all times he kept Pig close by his side, along with his two most loyal, longest serving guards. He paid them extra (like he fed Pig extra) and they served him well, for their job was easy. Bizi thought everyone was watching him - many were - monitoring his every move - a few key individuals did. He could only trust his pig, and his sons: if only he had something to trust them with. He hugged Pig, his pig, and fed Pig more than he could eat until he was sick, like Bizi.
Bizi threw off all remaining restraints and refused to act like a king was supposed to act. He did not care if he was not seen as a king fit to rule - he was king. And to add to his woes his foot began to swell and throb. He arrested some, snatching them without warning or explanation. But Lord Fucho he dare not touch. His interfering Chancellor protested in the only way he could: refusing to engage with the king directly; doing official business only by sealed letter. His Secretary had to invent and write down Bizi’s replies: he refused to write ‘sod off, Chancellor’, putting ‘best we don’t meet until our relationship improves’ instead.
Bizi - the current, ‘not quite legal’ king - visited Helmotti - once perhaps still king - only once, to make sure he was still there, still secret. Unable to step inside, and having nothing to say, he stared at his brother through the
window. Yes, he was paranoid and scared witless over his brother’s return out of the blue but strangely he was not angry with him. Once they had been close: he remembered those times well - happy times, when their father the King left them to enjoy themselves. They had played together to win against others: he remembered those battles well - battles fought with wooden swords and shields, and later mugs of beer. Once they had stood proud, side by side, while their father had tapped them each on the shoulder and pronounced them ‘knights proper’ of the realm.
Refusing to stand up, despite the guard’s insistence, the ex-king looked up at the usurper; an emphatic look of pity on his face for his younger brother and the state he was in. King Bizi would not stand for that: he would not be pitied by his older brother. He stormed off, for he never could and always did. Pig squealed at being tugged away with so much unnecessary force.
Helmotti sat or slept counting time. He stared at the walls, at his feet, hands and arms. He did his best to meditate: closing his eyes he imagined himself back by the river; catching fish; snaring rabbits; chasing off - chasing after - wild dogs. Now the Village felt like a nice place to spend time growing old, a useful place to die. He promised himself no more bad or derogatory thoughts about the Village.
He wondered what madness had made him return to this awful place and the awful, demented, pitiful souls who inhabited it. He had spent a second life creating distance, forgetting, disentangling himself, rebuilding himself. And now he was back, his freedom stolen from him, with a brother who was clearly mad. And he was as confused as ever over whether the twins were in fact his. Had the crazy woman lied to him again? Did he care anymore? No, was his final verdict. He felt old, tired. He wanted his simple life back without complications of family - royal family, the worse kind. He just had to convince mad Bizi that he just wanted to leave, in secret, to never return. But to do that he needed Bizi to meet him, sit with him, speak with him. In the meantime all he could do was wait and scratch his beard, and hope that Esmeralda was surviving this mad place, and hope that Mozak was looking after her for she had earned his support, and hope that the twins were not killing each other. He missed his royal seal. He liked to play with it, finger it in times of boredom or stress. Bizi always stole his best toys.
Bizi dismissed both his mistresses. They were expected to leave the Castle. He did not want them taking up space in his bed again, not even at the same time. He was sick of them. He wanted them out of sight and out of mind. They had become too needy, too above their station; simply too boring to be around. And he was afraid he might talk in his sleep, give away his secrets. And he didn’t like it that they didn’t like Pig. He put his pig above both of them. When one of them - he was too drunk to know which - infiltrated his bedroom to try to worm her way back into his heart, bed and affections he sent her packing; smacking her then throwing a half-full pisspot at her and yelling obscenities. She ran screaming back into the arms of her sister who told her off for attempting such a stupid thing.
‘We are fucked,’ said Lady Parmina to Lady Tarmina.
‘Yes, we are,’ replied Lady Tarmina to Lady Parmina.
Both missed the other’s unintended joke.
No one missed Mutz - except possibly Timothy (if he still existed). He had headed off to one of the outlying estates to make contact with his uncle; to find family; to rediscover family life; determined to start a new life. Unbeknownst to all, Mutz found family and after convincing them of his credentials, that he was indeed their long lost nephew, they took him in, into their hearts and home. His mother’s sister almost cried herself to death when she learnt of her sister’s miserable demise. She wanted to love her long-lost nephew to death and her husband wanted to kill the scoundrel.
And meanwhile Fargo, the desperate, undiluted man of God, was making friends with as many peasants as he could dig up, whip up. They would stop toiling and stare at him; taking the measure, the gain, the pain of foreign things and the foreign words invading their heads. Like caged animals they stared out at the new face on the other side of the bars. He was something quite different, and he seemed to want to be on their side.
Initially it was not easy trying to make the sales pitch. Peasants toiling in a field, digging up potatoes, looked up in unison to see a stranger striding towards them. He was not the outdoors type. He looked clever. He looked intense, like he had lost something important. Collectively they held their breath as he stumbled across the uneven ground into their midst. He just wished to say hello, he lied. They did not and backed away. He told them not to be frightened for he had come to help them. What kind of help? they thought.
Fargo was in his element. He had never felt so happy: the last time he had felt so happy was when Adolphinus had praised him for a good deed well executed. He had arrived in a place where he was truly welcomed, wanted, needed (at least by the peasant stock). Thank God! The peasants embraced him. Thank God! Some - females, mostly, and a few boys - wanted to fall in love with him. Thank you God, for the females! With strong words and passion to match, Fargo held them up by the scruff of the neck and dangled God in front of them like a big juicy apple or a bottle of strong spirits from which to sip and draw confidence. Like a herd, when one followed, changed course, others followed; not wishing to miss out or be left behind. Fargo promised them salvation, a better life, even life after death. Amongst a crowd of simpletons he was suddenly the wise man. He was like a god. It was only the landowners who slammed the door in his face. Their loss, not his, thought Fargo. (Must not think of revenge, he also thought, but with less conviction.)
***
On the day before the banquet, Esmeralda was struggling to cope, to concede to the truth that the high point of her new adventure had passed and she was slipping back downhill. Tascho was ignoring her. He hated having to talk to her. She felt rejected and kept asking herself ‘what have I done wrong?’ Lady Agnes did not provide comfort, simply saying ‘you must have done something wrong’. And Esmeralda believed her.
Lady Agnes seemed to have some hidden agenda which made the friendship feel false at times. But Lady Agnes was the only girl friend she had so she had to stay with it, believe in it, keep faith. Lady Agnes was strong and knew what she was doing. Esmeralda needed a friend like that in a place like this. This place: she wanted to be part of this place, fit in, but this place did not want her it seemed. She had returned to the cottage, again and again, to see her oldest friend Gregory, hoping her other friend might reappear out of the blue. But even Gregory disappointed: he seemed to have sunk into a state of gloom and despondency, even though he was home amongst his own people after eighteen years on the run. This she found strange to reconcile. Perhaps this is the way of adults, she told herself, always questioning the simple pleasures and gains in life, which was exactly what she was doing.
Lady Agnes was surprised to receive a last minute invitation. Tascho’s doing? She wanted to thank him, smother him in kisses, but he did not wish to see her. He did not wish to see anybody. Nerves, explained Mozak. Unlike me, he added boldly. She was also surprised - but not on second thoughts - to learn that Esmeralda had also been invited. By Mozak? For balance? Or by Tascho out of guilt? Later Esmeralda would tell her that Mozak had asked her to sit with him at the high table - demanded it even.
Esmeralda went for a walk through the castle, aimlessly, without direction, when suddenly as she turned a corner there was the king, in all his glory and madness, with his pig, on a lead. He had a walking stick and looked like he was suffering. Esmeralda too was suffering and felt for him. Poor man. She didn’t know what to do. Stop, turn, flee? Stop, wait, wait to be addressed? Stop, wait, curtsy? Carry on as she was but slowly, then stop when told to stop? Whilst all these permutations fluttered around inside her head unwilling to settle the king’s voice boomed out.
‘You girl. You’re the girl from the village yes? The one Mozak told me about?’
Esmeralda curtsied. ‘Yes, Sire.�
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‘So what do you think of them, impressed?’
‘Yes, Sire.’
The king pointed his stick. ‘Turn around, all the way round. Let me see you.’
Esmeralda did as instructed, for the king had commanded it, not wishing to know the reason why, simply wishing to be on her way.
‘Not bad looking. I can see why he likes you. But don’t think for a moment you can ever have him. He is a prince. You are a girl from a village, a peasant.’
Esmeralda did not respond. She did not want to listen to this. She simply wished to be gone.
Suddenly the king seemed to take pity on her. He transferred his walking stick to his other hand and held out his free hand as an invitation.
‘Here, come with me Esmeralda - it is Esmeralda?’
‘Yes - yes, Sire.’
‘Let me show you something.’
She didn’t want to see anything but had no choice except to take his hand - his sweaty grubby hand - and be led away. As she walked on she looked behind her as if to check if she was being watched - or perhaps hoping that she was being watched, watched over. The king led her back to his rooms, saying nothing, much like he led his pig: difference being Pig made a noise whereas Esmeralda remained stony silent. He led her into his reception room still clutching her hand.