The Palace Library

by Steven Loveridge

  “Well you can’t exactly blame her for being silent with a missing tongue or for that scar. Anyway, she was giggling when you talked about a fart in the carriage. Most adults don’t do that. Sophie has a feeling for people too and she hasn’t growled at her.”

  “But Sophie hasn’t exactly been affectionate to her either. Who could it be then?” asked Harry. “Master John?” They both agreed it was unlikely to be him. Anyway, they liked him too much. “He just seems too honest and easy to read,” added Harry.

  “It’s that Guy of Caen that I didn’t like,” said Grace, “but we’ve seen so little of him, it’s not exactly fair to judge.”

  “We had better just be very careful and keep an eye out for ourselves. At least we know each other,” added Harry as they turned the corner towards the River Axe.

  The village didn’t look like the Axmouth the children knew, but they could hardly expect it to. But they saw the lie of the land and recognised the big hills around them, with the old - or not so old - hill fort up above them. What surprised them all was how busy the little place was, with all sorts of inns and activity. It was a major port, Master John had said. But neither of them could imagine how the river they knew with its mud flats at low tide could possibly be a major port, even with a thousand years of difference. A few people looked at them strangely, especially at Harry’s plus fours and wax jacket, but when they saw they were with Anwen, the dwarf’s wife, they soon turned away. These were different people, and there were often strangers in the place too.

  Then the children saw the ship moored up beyond the Harbour Inn. It was quite unlike anything they had seen before and looked magnificent. There were two masts, one at the front and one towards the back. Gold and red lantern sails hung from them both. Then at the back of the ship - the stern - was a high poop deck with castellations around the side and living quarters below. Each side had holes for huge oars.

  But soon, they noticed the river and it distracted them from the boat.

  Eleanor ran to them, “Look at the river. It must be half a mile wide and Anwen says it’s really deep. That’s why this is such an important place. The ships can come up here and park away from the bay when it’s stormy. It’s amazing.”

  Anwen looked slightly bemused. She had lived in the village all her life and took it for granted. “It’s the way it has been and always will be,” she said.

  “Edwin will be some time. Come and look at the church. That was only built a few years ago.”

  Inwardly the children sighed. That was no fun and there was so much else to see, with the harbour to explore and the ship to look at. They had spent so much time cooped up too; they just wanted to run around.

  “There’s a mural of St George on the wall too,” said Anwen, trying to encourage them some more. “See if you can spot what’s different from Edwin’s story. I don’t think the painter can have heard his tale when he drew it, but that much can’t be helped. Edwin’s always grumpy when he sees it!”

  So they followed her into the church. It was tiny and dark, with stained glass windows in dark blue and red. It took a while for their eyes to become accustomed to the light before they could see the mural on the wall. The children stared at it.

  “St George shouldn’t be wearing armour,” said Harry. “It was too hot and too heavy for him to wear with all the dragon’s flames. But I can see the lance, Ascalon!”

  Grace added, “And the dragon is dead. It should have surrendered to St. George.”

  “You are both right,” laughed Anwen. “You see, the church is not so boring!”

  It was Eleanor who had the sharpest eyes though. She pointed to a purple flower at the base of the picture. “That’s the Purple Bane, the smelly flower from my book!”

  “I’ve never seen it in real life,” said Anwen, “and few people believe it actually exists, even amongst healers. It’s in all the pictures of St George I’ve ever seen. I know it by another name: Dragons’ Bane.”

  “Dragons’ Bane,” gasped the children. Then Harry added, “That’s in the Prophecy.” He knew it all by heart now and quoted the verse:

  “By Dragons’ Bane, the children three

  Will dull and lull the putrid lair,

  To pluck from him the oily stone

  By breathing out the vapoured air.”

  “Yes,” carried on Anwen. “The myth I’ve heard says it only grows where dragons live, so it’s no surprise that I’ve never seen it. A bane is a poison, but I suppose where there is an evil like a dragon, nature may provide a protection nearby. It’s like finding a dock leaf in the same place that a nettle has stung you. One provides relief for the other.”

  Eleanor was thinking and had pulled the book from the inner pocket of her cloak, flicking through the pages to find the picture of the Purple Bane.

  “Oh please don’t,” said Grace. “It smells like a fart.” Harry giggled.

  A priest was heading towards them. “It’s time to go outside,” said Anwen quickly.

  “The priest doesn’t like what I do with plants and herbs,” whispered Anwen. “He says faith should be enough to heal, but I believe nature is part of God’s world. In any case, as a woman, I shouldn’t be in the church alone with you or anyone. Let’s go.”

  She closed the book for Eleanor, and they headed back into the daylight, blinking as they went.

  “Eleanor,” said Anwen as they walked, “you must learn what this Dragons’ Bane does when you arrive at Hell’s Bay. With some plants, it is enough to touch them to implant their power. With others you must dry them and crush them. Others must be immersed in water. Others must be burnt to inhale the fumes. Use your book and what I’ve taught you.”

  As they left the grounds of the church, Anwen seemed to relax.

  “Stop!” shouted Grace.

  “What is it?” asked Harry.

  “We never visit this church without visiting Grandpa’s grave. We should go back.”

  “But he hasn’t even been born yet,” whispered Harry. “It’s 1164. There is no grave.”

  “But there will be,” said Eleanor.

  “You’re right,” answered Harry after thinking for a moment. “Will be or was or is. It doesn’t matter. Let’s go.” They turned, but after a moment, Harry looked at Anwen and said. “We won’t be long. Can you wait?”

  “Of course. I’ll wait in the inn.”

  The three children went around to the south side of the church where their grandfather would be buried and found a patch of rough wintery grass. “It’s here I think,” said Grace.

  “Shall we say a prayer?” asked Harry.

  “I don’t know what to say,” said Grace.

  “Nor do I,” answered, Harry. “Let’s just stay silent for a moment, shall we?”

  They all knelt down and Sophie sat beside them too, with her head bowed.

  After a minute, Eleanor said. “I wish we had some flowers. I’m going to try something.” She took the book out again and turned to the lavender. Then she flicked across the page, just as Edgar the Librarian had when he gave them their purple cloaks.

  They all looked. Suddenly it seemed as if a flurry of air lifted something off the page and settled on the ground. They stared for a minute longer, but nothing happened.

  “It was worth a try, Eleanor,” said Harry. “I think Grandpa would have liked that.”

  They moved quietly away from the church, a little disappointed by the lack of magic. What they would never know is that a beautiful lavender plant emerged there the following June. The priest would never know how it came to be there, but he tended it anyway.

  14. The Saint George

  The smell assaulted the noses of the three children when they first boarded the boat. They were glad of their little leaving gift from Anwen; three little cloth bags full of scented herbs. Now they knew what they were for. Even Harry, who thought it was a bit girly, held the bag to his nose to disguise the horrid smells. There was the smell of raw sewage, which hung over the air alongside the smell
of sweaty bodies. Then there was the rotting offal from the abattoir that stood by the quayside to supply the ships with meat. They weren’t even sure that the smell of Purple Bane or Dragons’ Bane scratched from Eleanor’s book might not be better. Poor Sophie with her sensitive nose didn’t have a cloth bag, but Eleanor sat down with her from time to time and shared her own. The deerhound breathed in the scent of the cloth bag deeply through her nose before lying down again and panting through her mouth to avoid the nauseous smells going up her nostrils.

  The children were standing right up on the poop deck at the back of the boat - or the stern, as they soon learned to call it. There had been tears from the girls when they said goodbye to Master John and Anwen on the quayside. Even Harry had been very silent and upright when he shook Master John’s hand, feeling little wells of water forming in the corner of his eyes.

  Edwin was down on the main deck, organising his tools and belongings to his own satisfaction. Eloise was below the decks, making up the Captain’s cabin, which had been handed over to Eleanor, Grace and Eloise for the journey. Harry was to sleep in a hammock in a tiny cabin with Edwin, while the Captain would make do with a cot in his chart room. But these were all places of supreme comfort compared to rest of the crew, who simply had to find a space to hang a hammock anywhere they could, sometimes on the open deck.

  If Harry had been asked to describe how the Captain of the King’s flagship might have looked, he might have imagined a man in a long blue coat with gold braid and smart white trousers. But the man who had welcomed them aboard looked more like a pirate than the captain of his imagination. A hook and a parrot on the shoulder would not have seemed strange.

  “I don’t like the look of the Captain,” said Eleanor. “His eyes never seem to stay still. They look around the place all the time.”

  “I don’t know how we can tell,” said Harry. “He seems to be doing so much all at once getting ready to leave.” Harry had had the sense to show the Captain the Queen’s signet ring at once when they arrived. They had been expected and there was little trouble getting on board.

  “Once we are underway down the river with the oars, you can tell me our destination and we will plot a course. We must leave within an hour with the ebb of the high tide.” These were just about the only words the Captain had uttered to them when they arrived.

  “I tell you who I really don’t like,” confided Eleanor. “It’s Guy of Caen. He came aboard just as we were leaving. He looked all self-important and well-dressed in the wrong sort of way with all that dark black. He had nasty tight lips. The Captain didn’t seem that pleased to see him either. And he smells funny.”

  “What do you mean smells funny? It’s not as if anyone around here exactly smells nice. I don’t think anyone washes in 1164,” said Harry. “Give us a few more days and we won’t be smelling that nice. Mind you, he did have terrible breath when I first came across him.”

  “I can’t pin it down, but Master John smelt all doggy and a bit ripe, but it was comforting. Guy of Caen smells off. Most of all though, Sophie doesn’t like him.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “I’ve been meaning to tell you ever since we left the carriage, but this is the first time we’ve been alone together. When we were with the Queen, all the hairs on Sophie’s back went up and she gave out a growl as he pushed past. She doesn’t like him.”

  Sophie growled a bit at that. “See, she understands me.” Eleanor looked at Sophie and gave her a hug. “I saw him talking to Eloise when we left the church too,” added Eleanor. “I don’t think she likes him much. She’s been very quiet since.”

  “Of course, she’s been quiet,” said Harry. “She can’t speak.”

  “You know what she means,” said Grace. “I’ve noticed it too.”

  Harry didn’t, but he wasn’t going to argue any further now.

  Eleanor carried on, “They were having a very heated conversation. At least, Guy of Caen was telling her something very aggressively. He was leaning right into to her and pointing at her. I think he understands some of her sign language too. She waved her arms about in reply and I thought that for a moment he was going to slap her, but he backed off and went away.”

  Just then, they jumped. A huge drum banged with a deep tone. Then another. Then another. The rhythm increased then settled down into a regular pattern.

  Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom!

  They glided silently out into the middle of the river and the children saw that oars were passed out through the side of the ship - twenty-five each side, they counted. There were three men to each oar at either side of the boat, each with bulging shoulders and arms. Although the ship had two masts for sails, it was being rowed down the river by the crew.

  Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom!

  The drums were used to keep all the rowers in time and they glided gently down the river towards the sea.

  The Captain turned from his own place at the front of the poop deck and walked up to the children, paying them some proper attention for the first time. This time, his eyes did not dart everywhere. Instead, he watched the children carefully and intently.

  “Well,” the Captain said, “I have cabin boys in my charge, but few are as young as any of you, Master Harry. And I have given young girls from the royal household passage to Normandy and to Aquitaine, but I cannot say that I have ever been told to obey the orders of anyone of your age before. I hope you’re going to prove that you are worth it.” He looked at them with a certain amount of worry, but he spoke to them like adults not like children and it made them trust him rather more.

  “Excuse me, Sir,” asked Harry, thinking of the conversation that the three of them had just been having. “What do you know about Sir Guy of Caen?”

  The Captain looked at Harry, wondering how best to answer him. “He’s the King’s agent and bears the King’s signet ring to prove his authority. That should be enough. I wasn’t expecting him, and if I’m honest I’m not sure about him. I tell you I would rather take orders from you three than from him.” The Captain then looked at them as if he had taken them into his confidence a little too much. “But don’t tell him I said that. I hope he will keep out of the way. I do not know his exact business other than the fact that he has been sent to keep an eye on us! Let’s hope he is what he’s meant to be and here to protect you and help you on our mission.

  “Now, you must come to the chart room and we must plan our journey.”

  They went down the steep ladder to the main deck and into the dimly lit chart room. The constant rhythm of the drums echoed around them. Each boom thumped strongly and faded away until they could hear the water around the boat and the creaking of the woodwork. Then another ‘boom’ would come and disguise the little noises until the sound of the drum faded out again.

  In the chart room, the Captain introduced them to someone he only referred to as the Sailing Master: he said was responsible, with him, for the navigation of the ship. There, the children told the Captain their mission. With as much confidence as they could muster, the children told them they must travel to Hell’s Bay, to the edge of Hell, and make sure the dragons were subdued so that Edwin could re-forge the Sword of State. The Captain and the Sailing Master stood in silence, digesting their fate, thinking they would rather fight their enemies on the opens seas than face dragons. The Captain mulled it over and said simply: “It is the Queen’s order. Make a course for Hell’s Bay, Mr Master.” Then he made a face and added, “Just as soon as we’ve worked out where exactly it is. For now we head west.”

  As if to break the spell, the rhythm of the drums changed. There were four sharp beats and then silence as the oars were lifted from the water.

  “I must go on deck,” said the Captain. “We are nearly at the mouth of the river and the sails must be set.”

  He went out of the door. As he left, he turned to the children and said, “There can be no better ship for our journey. Her name is The Saint George. Go up to the bow and you will see our figurehead. We
will be taking a dragon to meet dragons!”

  15. The Storm

  When they left the mouth of the River Axe, the sails were unfurled and began to fill with air. At the same time, the oars were drawn into the boat in perfect unison. As they passed the headland, the wind hit the sails and Sophie and the children were caught entirely by surprise. From being dead flat, the deck tipped at an angle. Instead of gliding smoothly along the calm of the river, the ship began to climb over the waves as well. Sophie scrambled with her feet to stay composed, but it was hopeless and she slid onto the bottom edge of the boat with her legs splayed around her. Every attempt to regain her composure failed, especially when Grace and Eleanor slid after her so that they all fell in a heap. Harry had somehow managed to grab the side of the boat to stay upright, but he was laughing so much at the other three, he was hard put to hold on.

  Once the children untangled themselves, a hearty sailor showed them how to stand with their legs apart and bend their knees so they could balance with the movement of the ship. Even with four legs, Sophie struggled and decided that in the interests of gracefulness, she would curl up at the edge of the deck. It didn’t stop her smiling though - or sliding all the way across the deck again when the ship suddenly tacked.

  The children went to the front and saw the tail of the magnificent dragon figurehead at the bow. Then they climbed up onto the back of it as if they were on a fairground carousel and felt the green scales carved into the wood. They would need to be in the water at the front of the boat or on dry land to see the figurehead in all its glory, with gilded wooden flames coming out of its mouth. Riding the dragon, they watched the most glorious sunset before they climbed down and returned to the stern of the ship.

  Then they saw the storm clouds gathering behind them in the east, huge grey clouds bubbling up from the horizon and pushing towards them. A nervous captain ordered everything to be stowed away. Oars were lashed down with rope and hatches battened down to stop water rushing into them. Until then, the novelty of sailing and the smooth passage with the wind on their port heel meant the ship was fairly comfortable, even if they did have trouble walking around. By the time they were back on the poop deck, the wind was beginning to whip around in an unpredictable way and at one moment Grace slipped headlong into the Sailing Master’s stomach. That hardly winded him, but he was clearly in no mood for jokes, “You’re to go to your cabin and stay there. It’ll be safer, and this storm will be far worse before it’s calm again. Now!”