by Euan McAllen
Come the time, Lady Agnes was there to see him off. She held his horse as he climbed up into the saddle and she wept as she kissed his hand. It was her best performance to date and Mozak was moved. Helmotti offered words of advice and caution but he shook them off. When he was listening Mozak was listening to no one but himself. He raised his sword and rode out of the main gate screaming at the top of his voice ‘men to me!’
This was his moment. He had never felt so good in his life. His only regret was that his brother was not there to see it. Instead his mother looked down from the tower, both mesmerised and appalled. Here was the next king: arrogant, angry and plain reckless.
Although far greater in number, as individuals the peasants were weak, and scattered. Mozak picked on one at random and chased after him, and managed to strike him down. It was a moment of great pleasure. He looked around clueless as to whom to go after next. There were so many, in all directions. It was like trying to round up sheep but without a sheepdog.
He and his men rode around at random, not knowing where to attack for the enemy was in all directions. A number fell under the sword but the rest were quickly rallied by their leader. They turned on their attackers and brought them down by the simple method of attacking the horses with knives, pikes, arrows, axes, hammers, and even large stones. Mozak was outraged. This was not combat by the rules. A burst of extreme pain shot up his bad leg and he dropped his sword whereupon a peasant grabbed it quick and stabbed at his horse. The horse threw Mozak to the ground. His last thought before passing out was ‘this is not how it is supposed to be’.
When Mozak awoke he was laid out on his bed. He felt his face. It felt swollen. His body ached. It was bruised and battered. He looked to one side: there was Lady Agnes, on guard, watching over him; loyal Lady Agnes. He looked across the room to see himself staring back. Tascho!
‘Why are you here? Come to gloat?’
‘Isn’t it obvious? To be with Esmeralda. You can never separate us. And I came to see how you were. I saw you fall. Helmotti got you back safe.’
‘How did you get in?’
‘Fargo let me through. I said I would try and change your mind.’
‘You can try as much as you like.’
‘I was lying. The man is mad, quite mad, a disgrace to God.’
Timothy suddenly approached the bed, threatening, like he was looking to pick up where the peasants had left off. Lady Agnes put out her hand to ward him off.
‘Why? Why did you treat her like that! After all she’s done for you!’
‘What do you mean?’ Lady Agnes asked on Mozak’s behalf.
‘She nursed you back to health when you were broken, abandoned, alone. It was a sacrifice for her and this is how you repay her!’
Like any guilty man Mozak had nothing to say.
‘I’m joining her,’ said Timothy.
‘What do you mean?’
‘In the tower. I won’t come out until she comes out. Don’t you try and stop me!’
Mozak wanted to laugh. ‘I won’t.’
Before he left, Timothy had one more thing to say.
‘By the way Mutz is here.’
‘Mutz, here? What’s he doing here?’
‘Come to get his family out, his cousins. He won’t leave without them, he said. Now there’s a family which looks after its own.’
Mozak missed the taunt. ‘Who are they then? His cousins?’
‘Sisters Parmina and Tarmina.’
Those two misfits? Mozak didn’t give a damn.
***
With Timothy yet again holding the moral high ground, Mozak locked himself away in an embittered, brooding state of mind; refusing to accept he had done wrong; unable to say sorry for no one ever said sorry to him. His mind was under siege. His body just wanted to fight. When Lady Agnes tried to prise her way in he dismissed her. She was his mistress, not his mother. Lonely, he called out for her to come back in and keep him company - though she did not cheer him up. That only happened when, from out of nowhere, Rufus paid an unexpected visit. But Rufus had not come to build bridges, or say get well soon, but only to make an offer.
‘What are you doing here, I thought you had gone?’
‘Visiting Tilsa - got stuck here.’
Rufus did not hang about. He made his offer. He would climb into the sewage pipe - the sewage pipe which ran into a stream which ran into the river: a dirty river which carried away the vice and spice of human activity until it could not be seen or smelt. He would make it to the river and from there go and raise the alarm. Mozak had to admit it: it was a good plan, worth a try. It was a shame Rufus was an uneducated peasant. He could have been one of his advisors, with a title to match. They could have become best friends. Such was the lottery of birth. Such was Mozak’s memory when it came to people he did not consider worth remembering.
‘You would do this for me?’
‘For a fee, yes.’
Mozak expected nothing less. ‘How much?’
‘A year’s wages, in gold.’
Mozak did not hesitate. His reply was emphatic. ‘Done.’
This would put things right between them, clear the debt. He tried to reach out to shake hands but his arm hurt too much. And his other arm was held in a lock by one very agitated Agnes.
‘Do it today, now.’
‘Of course. I’ll get Tilsa to grease me up.’
‘Do what?’
‘Cover me in grease, to keep me warm, and shit free.’
Lady Agnes looked at Rufus and felt sick whilst Mozak waved him away: too much detail.
‘Agnes.’
‘What?’
‘Go tell the others, the Chancellor, the Secretary - tell my uncle - tell them what I’ve agreed, word for word. They must aid him in every way possible. Tell them the Prince Regent has spoken.’
‘I want to stay here, with you!’
‘Go woman!’
She threw down his hand and stood up scowling, then proceeded to flounce out of the room. She had fooled herself into thinking she was now his equal and this was her rude awakening.
Tilsa sat shaking as her sweetheart told her of his plan, his great opportunity, to get them out of this place and set up for the future. She did not want him to go through with it. It was sheer madness. She pleaded with him to stay. It fell on deaf ears.
‘This will set us up for life!’ he protested.
‘Only if you succeed! Only if you don’t die!’ she cried.
‘I’m going! That’s the end of it! Now grease me up. Like you’re going to pop me in the oven.’
She gave up the fight and did as instructed. And still she kept her secret to herself: no point telling him now; it would only distract him. He might think she was trying to trap him, tame him, with the weight of responsibility. Wait until he was back. If he is back everything will fall into place beautifully - no, he will be back, she told herself for we have a child. Her last sight of him was disappearing down the waste chute in his underpants. She grabbed at his ankle at the last moment but it slipped through her fingers. Rufus slipped away from the Castle, following the trail of rotting food and human shit, and trying not to throw up. He was done with this foul place. Let him be a builder. He wanted to build.
***
A powerful melancholy affected those trapped within the castle as they waited for relief - or news of failure. Life slowed to a near stop. If anybody spoke it was in whispers, and rarely about things that really mattered. Small talk was the lifeline for such dark times. Outside, the peasants partied, high on alcohol and liberation, and power over their betters, and that thing called God. Only the Dowager Queen was unaffected for she had nowhere to go. Likewise, Helmotti, for he had somewhere to go.
Helmotti tried to get the queen released but Mozak was having none of it. T
he woman had to be taught a lesson. She had to learn to take orders. Helmotti had a strange sense of deja vu, one which would haunt him (but not the Hermit). He tried his utmost to bring the twins back together, but neither was having it. Esmeralda had told Timothy everything and he refused to come down from the tower without Esmeralda and without an apology. Mozak refused to release Esmeralda until he did, and demanding an apology from him was absurd. Timothy could never forgive his wicked, obnoxious brother who treated the female sex like dirt, like toys; there only to provide sex upon demand. Let the mad monk take this place. Let him have his revolution. Let him give these people God. He was going back inside, with the girl he loved. The monster Mozak would not stop him for God was on his side.
It took an age for Mutz to find his cousins for they had hidden themselves away, to hold hands and hope to be rescued first. Their world had crashed. They saw no future. They wanted to go home. They wanted to be hugged. But that was never going to be so they sank into despair. And then suddenly, out of the blue, everything changed! A cousin - one they did not know existed - popped up out of nowhere. He carried a letter from their father begging them to come home. All was forgiven - no matter what had to be forgiven. Father and Mother just wanted their daughters back home. The letter did not need to beg: the daughters did not need convincing.
Mutz held them tight to stop them shaking and promised them he would get them home safe. It was his mission, he promised - a promise which swept them off their feet. He was handsome. He looked fit and strong. He looked like a fighter. They both wanted to stay close by his side: he was their salvation. Both asked themselves the same question: was it acceptable to marry one’s cousin? Both asked themselves the same follow up question: did he know about their track record? Did he care?
A few peasants, bored, invaded the Infirmary on the off chance of finding valuables to steal. The doctor, once he had recovered from the shock, bought them off with bottles of medicine and the promise that they would perform magic on their bodies; and alcohol, for medicinal only; and blankets, and the second best food from the kitchen (the best having quickly been hidden by a quick thinking orderly). Before leaving the peasants paused to view the mad old woman and the mad man confined to bed. The two seemed to be tied together by some invisible bond. The movement of the man affected the movement of the woman. Fascinated they were for these two crazies were no peasants. Perhaps she was a witch and he was her victim - at which point the entertainment value was replaced by panic and they fled.
That night Prince Mozak clung to his Lady Agnes to avoid slipping further into his hell hole. That night Esmeralda clung to her Timothy as Dowager Queen Anneeni tried to cling to her son, leaving Timothy to contemplate that he was the piggy in the middle. That night Mutz had to keep reminding himself that these two young voluptuous women clinging to him (and not just out of fear) were his cousins. In the cottage Gregory clung to Stevie as his brother did his best to persuade him that all would turn out for the best in the end. His words fell on deaf ears and Gregory could only return a blank expression for Foccinni had no idea what he was talking about. Ex-king Helmotti could only walk the corridors of the Castle, and remember, while the Hermit, impatient to be gone, kept tugging him away. Also that night a subdued, exhausted Lady Tamatellini tried to stay awake for she had to protect her son. She nodded off, bit by bit, her head gathering weight like a ballooning pumpkin until it keeled over and came to rest on her son’s stomach. He never noticed: he was dead to the world - alive or dead.
In the middle of the night, as the Castle folk slept through troubled dreams and the King’s Banker double-counted his money, the Dowager Queen watched from her unique vantage point as the peasants sat in groups huddled around fires; chanting, clapping, passing around bottles and chewing on bread. She hated it that they looked so happy. She looked at her son and his girl huddled up together on the far side of the bed - both looking happy even in their sleep - and she hated it.
She thought of Bizi and Helmotti and she hated them both. She thought of Gregory and she despised him. Her self-destructive thoughts were interrupted when she spotted smoke coming from the centre of the garden maze. The peasants had started a fire in there! They had set fire to the bench! Outrageous! They must hang! She was confident again, but only because she felt safe now in her tower. It was a good place to be: remote, unreachable; yet a vantage point from which to watch the whole world come and go - second best when not able to rule it.
***
Next day, come midday, soldiers began to appear on the scene, at different times from different estates; led by knights and nobles in full armour, flags flying. Some were keen to prove their loyalty to the monarchy. Others were less so and had ordered their men to do nothing reckless, to not get hurt, to just make a show: they were, after all, just restless peasants with attitude.
At first, when the numbers were small and the soldiers held back, the peasants thought they could scare them off with lots of shouting and waving of weapons. The soldiers ignored it all: they held their lines; consolidated, solidified, reinforced and waited; never inviting battle but never retreating. This went on for a good hour or so until, without warning, an order was given to attack.
The peasants panicked under the onslaught of proper, pissed off impatient soldiers and fled in all directions. Some were hacked down with single clean blows. Some were kicked to death - especially by the knights and nobles who loved to kick peasants at every opportunity. Some were taken prisoner. The wounded were left to rot and die. One wounded peasant knocked back the bottle of medicine he had acquired in the hope that it would heal his wounds and he could run away at double-quick speed.
He threw it all back up and died shortly after. He had never had health care and during his life had never paid much attention to his health. About half of the original mob though were allowed to return to their homes and beg forgiveness from their masters - and promise to work harder - before returning to their duties. Rufus saw it all and felt so sick that he had to sit down in the mud. He could not look up. He did his best to hide within himself.
Mozak caught some of the carnage from his bedroom window and was pleased, just, for it occurred to him that it was the nobility who had all the men, and all the means. In theory they answered to him, so their men were his men, his army. But it didn’t feel that way. He felt like an onlooker, an accidental witness, a powerless prince.
Dowager Queen Anneeni saw even more and was ecstatic.
‘Run them down! Let no one live!’ she screamed, forgetting that if none were allowed to live there may not be enough left to gather up the harvest; to grind the corn; to make the beer and cider; to chop down the trees; to shear the sheep; to clean the shit out of the cowsheds and stables. Timothy and Esmeralda were both shaken by her outburst - Timothy especially so for this volatile side of his mother might be buried somewhere deep within himself, able to explode under the right conditions.
Later, when Mozak inspected the battlefield, the grand scale of the violence hit him hard, as did the display of power when the nobility came together as one. This was the real game and it did not look nice. Get used to it, he told himself. Get used to it if you want to survive and prosper. This is what men had to do to keep what was theirs. This was a time when only force mattered, where words had no place, when thinking had to stop and killing had to begin. There would be such times again and he had to be ready for the next time. The time was thinking crap was over.
Suddenly, all else seemed trivial, an unnecessary distraction. He told himself he had to spend every waking hour taking charge, being in charge, being seen to be in charge. He had to be in control. The nobility and the knights must respect him - even be scared of him. Their solders must only ever serve him, never their immediate masters. Timothy had to be gone, out of his sight. Family was a distraction. Women were a distraction if they simply did not knuckle down and serve. Mozak was determine to never break like his father, never give up
like his uncle, never be weak like his brother. Get them down from the tower and kick them out. Let them live their petty pretty little lives digging around in the dirt. He was the Prince Regent and one day he would be king. Suddenly in a space of ten minutes Mozak grew by ten years. Hangings, he promised himself. There must be public hangings to set a clear example. And that demon Fargo must be hung, drawn and quartered.
Lady Agnes was the first to notice the difference: her prince no longer spoke to her, only at her, and disagreement - about anything - would not be tolerated. The castle had been liberated but she felt like she had just been taken prisoner. The Chancellor was the second to notice: he could not get a word in edgeways.
When he was informed that the leader had not been caught, that he was gone, Mozak exploded and nearly had the unfortunate messenger thrown into the already overcrowded cells. His Secretary had to work hard to persuade him not to. Never kill the messenger, he advised. For you might need to send a reply.
Gallows were to be erected along both sides of the road leading up to the main gate, declared Mozak, and those peasants stupid enough to be captured would be hung tomorrow, for all to see and enjoy. On hearing of this Helmotti tried to dissuade him with an avalanche of clear-cut, unsentimental logic.
‘This is too much. Have a few beatings, a few whippings but otherwise show leniency. You’ll be better off in the long run. They were simply fooled - they are easy to fool. Hang their leader if you must hang someone but let them off lightly. If you want to control the peasants show mercy. Peasants are like dogs. You don’t kill a dog just because it bites you. You train it better.’
Mozak could only look at his impertinent uncle as if he was stupid. Helmotti was cast aside, his advice stamped into the ground.
‘You have no more authority here so kindly keep your mouth shut!’
And at that point the link between nephew and uncle finally snapped - not difficult as there was little of it left.
With the cells stocked full with the fresh meat of peasants, the Prince Regent announced that there would be a feast that night to celebrate: a small impromptu affair. It would be an intimate family meal; to show no bad feeling; to draw a line under things; to start afresh (though not necessarily for the better). Timothy and Esmeralda were invited and told in no uncertain terms to turn up if they wanted their ticket out. The Dowager Queen was invited but she declined, vehemently, which was what Mozak had hoped for. His uncle was invited, grudgingly: that way Mozak could keep an eye on him. Mozak had formed the impression that Helmotti, twice king, was nursing some secret agenda.