‘Well,’ said Humphrey, ‘I hadn’t anticipated this.’
All three of the prisoners were wearing iron masks.
Forty-Eight
Good old Leo. Even when he was supposed to be ruling, he was shagging. Not that he was shagging right now, because that would be awkward. But he was sprawling on his throne – a huge jewelled one he’d had made, not that spindly old thing that had been around for donkey’s years and went straight on the woodpile when he became king – with no shirt on, and he had a comely damsel on his knee, naked except for a silk sheet wrapped around what was quite clearly a top-notch bod. Her hair was messy and she looked a bit dazed.
‘Hello Leo,’ said Edwin.
Leo stared at him. He didn’t even smile.
‘What?’ said Edwin.
Leo inclined his head just slightly.
Oh yes! Bow. Leo was the King, so Edwin had to bow, even though they were brothers. Edwin bowed, making a mental note to ensure that Leo bowed to him if he ever came to Puddock.
‘So,’ said Leo, ‘to what do I owe the …’ He yawned and made a vague gesture with his hand. Edwin waited for him to finish his sentence. After a while it became obvious that he wasn’t going to.
‘Well,’ said Edwin, ‘I’m sort of on honeymoon, so I thought I’d drop in.’ He had decided to put a positive gloss on things until he figured out how much Leo knew. And, in any case, it was semi-true. He and Martha were both travelling after their wedding. Just not together.
‘On honeymoon?’ said Leo. ‘Really? I heard about your wife getting snatched. You couldn’t hold on to her for more than a day. That’s pretty shoddy, even for you.’
‘I’m going to have her killed when I find her,’ said Edwin, ‘once I’ve managed to get a sprog out of her, anyway. So it doesn’t really matter.’
‘Ever the romantic,’ said Leo. He pinched the damsel’s nipple through her sheet. She squealed and then laughed, but it didn’t look as if she found it very funny.
‘I should introduce you to my fiancée,’ Leo said.
‘You’re getting married?’ said Edwin.
‘I wouldn’t need a fiancée if I wasn’t,’ said Leo.
‘Congratulations, brother.’ Ha ha, I got married before you! ‘It’s a pleasure to meet you,’ he said to the maiden in the sheet.
‘Oh, this isn’t her,’ said Leo, ‘don’t be absurd. No, I’m marrying a fat milch cow from a good family who’ll breed me lots of brats. Her name’s Annabel or Arabella or something. She’s already knocked up. The physician said she’s having twins. She didn’t want to submit to me before we got married, but I’ve always believed you should try before you buy. She was all right. Cried a bit, but I can beat that out of her.’
‘Well, gosh,’ said Edwin. ‘So you’re going to be a father now. Lots of sleepless nights for you! Of course you’re used to that, from all the carousing and bonking and stuff. But I mean, sleepless nights with a baby! Two babies. Wow! Imagine if Daddy had lived to be a grandfather!’
‘He did live to be a grandfather. I sired my first child at fourteen.’
‘Oh. Yes. But you know, a real grandfather, to real kids.’
Edwin was starting to feel, as he so often did with Leo, like someone trying to climb a steep slope of loose pebbles. The harder he strove, the more he fell backwards. ‘Well, congratulations anyway,’ he said. ‘I’ll send you a pair of silver spoons. That’s traditional, isn’t it? Although how do you get the spoons into their mouths before they’re born?’
‘My God, Edwin, you are thick.’ Leo looked up at the ceiling in a pantomime of exasperation.
‘Ha ha,’ said Edwin. ‘You’re so funny, bro. Ha ha.’
It was like old times. Two brothers together.
Leo’s hand slid up underneath the sheet of the maiden on his lap, and she started to move and moan. Edwin took the opportunity to look around for somewhere he could sit down. He’d been riding for days and he was bloody knackered. He wouldn’t mind a drink too, and a bit of grub. Leo’s throne was on a high dais, and on the floor beside him on a thick Persian rug was a golden jug with matching goblets, cool beads of condensation slipping tantalisingly down its side, and a silver dish filled with exotic fruits and those little continental biscuits that come wrapped in pieces of thin paper that fly up into the air when you set fire to them. The paper, not the biscuits. The rest of the throne room had a floor of bare stone, and was decorated with the stuffed carcasses of animals that Leo had killed. Just the big ones, the bears and wolves and stags. Not the bunnies, which would probably go into the nursery after Leo’s sons were born. There weren’t any chairs, and Edwin was buggered if he was going to kneel to his brother, king or no king, so he was forced to carry on standing. Christ, he was starving.
Once the moving and moaning of the girl in the sheet had been completed to Leo’s satisfaction, although not perhaps her own, Leo wiped his hands on his britches, slapped her on the arse, and told her to go and wash. She giggled again and started to leave.
‘Stop. I’m keeping the sheet,’ said Leo.
So the maiden unwrapped herself and walked naked across the throne room and out of the double doors to where Noah, presumably, was still waiting. She didn’t smile or say goodbye to Edwin or anything. She was a very unfriendly girl, but he’d been right – her body was tip-top.
Leo tossed the sheet at Edwin. ‘Have a whiff of that,’ he said. ‘Remind yourself what pussy smells like.’
Edwin caught the sheet but he couldn’t tell if Leo was joking so he only half sniffed at it before dropping it in a heap beside him.
‘I suppose you want help finding this missing bitch of yours,’ said Leo. He poured himself a goblet of wine and drank deeply from it.
‘Well, actually,’ said Edwin, ‘I went to Camelot, and Arthur, that’s the King, King Arthur, but I just call him Arthur because we’re friends now, anyway Arthur gave me one of his best knights from the actual Round Table to look for her, because that’s the kind of high esteem I am held in by King Arthur.’
‘Is that right?’ smirked Leo. ‘Well, actually, I heard about your little trip to Camelot, and the tit you made of yourself there. They’re laughing about it from here to Cornwall. Arthur gave you one of his best knights, did he? What’s the name of this most excellent knight?’
Edwin hesitated for a moment before saying, ‘Sir Dorian.’
‘Sir Dorian? As in, Sir Dorian and the …?’
‘What do you mean?’ said Edwin.
‘Well, the best knights all have something famous that they’re associated with, don’t they? Sir Gawain and the Green Knight. King Pellinore and the Questing Beast. Sir Dorian and the what, exactly?’
‘Maybe it’s Sir Dorian and me,’ said Edwin.
‘Sir Dorian and the Foolish Prince? I suppose it’s possible,’ said Leo. ‘Well, if he’s doing such a good job of looking for your lost chit, what on earth are you doing here?’
‘The Lady of the Lake told us – told me – that this is where Martha was heading.’
For a split second Leo looked genuinely surprised. If you didn’t know him as well as Edwin did you would have missed it – Leo hated to betray any real emotion, and had steely control of his face – but Edwin caught it. He didn’t know she was here, he thought. So she’s not his prisoner.
‘How interesting,’ Leo said coolly. ‘That would explain why I caught another knight sniffing around here the other day. I had him arrested for questing outside his jurisdiction. And wouldn’t you know it, he wasn’t even a Knight of the Round Table. He was from the Table of Less Valued Knights. Do you know what that is?’
‘Yes,’ said Edwin.
‘It’s the table where they put the cowards,’ Leo went on anyway, ‘the invalids, the talentless, the lazy, the decrepit, the battle-maddened, the corrupt, the incompetent, the stupid, the useless idiots they can’t trust not to wet themselves at the first sign of trouble. Those are the people who are looking for your runaway cunny. That’s the esteem in which you
are held by your dear, dear friend King Arthur. That’s your table, Edwin. That’s where you belong.’
Edwin, incensed, drew his sword and advanced on his brother.
‘Oh, are you planning to kill me, now?’ said Leo, without a flinch. ‘Is that the idea? So that you can finally be King of Tuft like you’ve always wanted to be? Might I remind you that I’ve got a couple of legitimate heirs in Abigail’s belly, so if you kill me, whichever one pops out first will be the King, and you’ll just be a rotting head on a pole?’
‘They’re not legitimate. You haven’t married her yet.’
‘I’m not stupid, unlike you. I signed a document naming them as my heirs. I can do that. Unlike some people, I’m the King.’
Edwin wavered for a moment. Then he recovered his resolve.
‘Fine,’ he said. ‘I’ll kill you and then I’ll kill her.’
‘You won’t kill her. You don’t know who she is. Even I don’t know what her name is. Anthea? Alicia?’ Leo furrowed his brow in a show of trying to remember. ‘It definitely begins with A.’
‘Then I’ll kill every woman whose name begins with A in the whole kingdom!’ cried Edwin.
‘No you won’t. You’re not a good enough speller. Go home, Edwin. Go home, rule your backwater kingdom, polish your teeth, and hope that your Queen gets bored with running and comes back, dragging her tail behind her.’
‘She doesn’t have a tail,’ said Edwin.
‘You’re a loser, Edwin,’ said Leo. ‘You always have been. Prince Consort of Puddock is the best that you can hope for. Accept what you are and go home.’
Forty-Nine
All three men had their hands in shackles behind their backs, and were attached by chains from their wrists to the walls of their cells. None of the masks had eye-holes. Two of them were ornately fashioned, even beautiful, the curlicues of the faces frozen in eternal terror. The third was artless and misshapen, an upturned bucket with a slit for a mouth.
‘I think we can guess which one was made by our friend Roddy,’ muttered Humphrey.
Apart from the iron masks, the three men were dressed identically, in itchy-looking floor-length sackcloth tunics, with Property of the King – Never to Leave Dungeon stitched on the front. They had heaps of rotting potato peel in front of them, which was evidently all they were given to eat. Water had been left for them in dishes to be lapped up like dogs. A hole in the corner of each cell served as exactly what you’d expect a hole in the corner of a cell to serve as. It wasn’t an escape route, that was for sure.
‘Well, we evidently haven’t found the Queen,’ said Humphrey. ‘They’re all men.’
Martha thought of a few things she could say to that, but kept quiet. Humphrey stepped forward to speak to the prisoners, but Elaine grabbed his arm and motioned them all into a huddle.
‘What is it?’ whispered Humphrey.
‘How do we know which one’s Sir Alistair, or even if any of them are?’ said Elaine.
‘We’ll take all their masks off.’
‘I’m not sure if I’ll recognise him,’ said Elaine. ‘I only met him once.’
‘Now that’s true love,’ said Humphrey. ‘I suppose we’ll ask. Unless anybody’s got a better idea?’
Leila rattled in her scabbard. Martha raised her eyebrows at Humphrey.
‘Better not,’ said Humphrey. ‘That thing’s got an agenda and we don’t know what it is. We don’t want her acting up the way she did when she first met me. Save her for emergencies.’
He stepped away from the group and cleared his throat. ‘Which one of you is Sir Alistair Gilbert?’
Total silence.
‘Let me rephrase that,’ said Humphrey. ‘We’re here to rescue Sir Alistair Gilbert.’
All at once, two out of the three men started shouting, ‘Me! Me! Sir Alistair Gilbert? That’s me!’
The other man – the one in the bucket-like mask – said nothing.
‘Perhaps that wasn’t the best approach,’ said Humphrey. He turned to Elaine. ‘Ask them something.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Something only Sir Alistair would know the answer to.’
‘Oh Lord, this again,’ muttered Martha.
‘I don’t know anything about him,’ said Elaine.
‘Names of his parents?’
‘Lord and Lady Gilbert! We weren’t on first-name terms.’
‘Siblings?’
‘No idea.’
‘And you’re marrying this man?’
‘Yes,’ said Elaine, ‘I’m marrying him. I’m not studying him for an exam.’
One of the vocal prisoners started yelling again. ‘I’ll marry you, darling! I’ll marry you right here, just bring your quim closer to these bars!’
‘I hope it isn’t that one,’ said Elaine.
‘Maybe you should ask them how much money they’ve got,’ said Humphrey.
‘That isn’t fair,’ said Elaine, stung.
Humphrey turned back to the prisoners. ‘Gentlemen,’ he said. ‘What is the name of your fiancée?’
There was a pause. Then: ‘Mary Margaret Elizabeth Margot Nadine Angela Esmeralda Buttercup Susannah Jane Elvira Catherine Lucy …’
Elaine shook her head. ‘Maybe it’s him.’ She pointed at the third man, who so far had remained silent.
Humphrey stepped up to the third man’s cell.
‘Are you Sir Alistair Gilbert?’ he said.
‘I’m afraid not,’ he said. ‘Sorry.’
‘Are you sure?’ said Humphrey.
‘I think I know my own name,’ said the man in the iron bucket.
‘What is your name?’
‘Not telling.’
‘Why not?’
‘I’m here in an iron mask. Not revealing your identity kind of goes with the territory. I can’t see you. You could be anybody.’
‘It doesn’t matter who he is,’ said Martha. ‘We’ll take him with us and Roddy will take his mask off and then we’ll find out.’
‘I don’t want to go with you,’ said the man in the iron bucket. ‘And I don’t want to marry that woman.’
‘Maybe you’re pretending not to be Sir Alistair so that you don’t have to marry her,’ said Martha.
The man in the iron bucket laughed. ‘No. But then I would say that.’
‘He doesn’t want to come with us,’ said Humphrey, ‘and the other two aren’t Sir Alistair, and they certainly aren’t Martha. Let’s leave them and get out.’
‘Wait!’ said Martha. ‘The sword wouldn’t have brought us here for no reason.’ She turned to the man in the iron bucket and said, ‘Are you Jasper?’
The man in the iron bucket jumped, making his chains clang against one another.
‘No,’ he said, after a short silence.
‘I’m Jasper! I’m Jasper!’ the two other prisoners cried immediately.
‘You mean Jasper, the Queen’s brother?’ said Humphrey.
Martha ignored him. ‘You don’t seem sure,’ she said to the man in the iron bucket.
‘I’m not Jasper,’ he replied.
‘If you’re Jasper, you’ve got to come with me.’
‘I don’t have to go with anyone.’
‘Please.’ A note of desperation entered Martha’s voice. ‘I’ve been looking for you for a long time.’
‘What do you mean, you’re looking for him?’ said Humphrey. ‘Jasper’s dead.’
‘No, he’s not,’ Martha said. ‘That’s what the Lady of the Lake really told me. That Jasper’s still alive. That’s who I’ve been looking for.’
‘Marcus, you’re so full of lies I don’t know what to believe any more. What about the Queen?’ said Humphrey.
‘She’s still alive too. But she doesn’t want to be found.’
‘So this whole thing’s been a colossal waste of time,’ said Elaine.
‘Not if this man is Jasper.’
‘And who are you?’ said the man in the iron bucket to Martha.
‘I’m your … I�
��m his …’
Martha looked at Humphrey. Then she looked back at the man in the iron bucket.
‘I can’t tell you who I am,’ she said. ‘And frankly even if I did, you wouldn’t believe me. But I mean you no harm. And if you come with me, you’ll make Leila very happy.’
‘Leila?’
‘Yes, my magic sword. She was very keen on us coming to this dungeon.’
‘Your sword’s name is Leila?’
‘I know, I know. Swords are male, everyone keeps telling me.’
There was a long pause.
‘Well, I’ve got to admit this is intriguing,’ said the man in the iron bucket. ‘But I don’t want to leave here under false pretences. And I’m not Jasper.’
‘I don’t believe you,’ said Martha.
‘That’s as may be, but it’s fairly easily proved.’
‘How?’
‘Come here and look at my feet.’
‘What?’
‘My feet. Come up to the bars of the cage, lift up my tunic, and have a look at my feet. Come on.’
Martha approached the cell. She hesitated.
‘Don’t kick me in the face,’ she said.
‘Wouldn’t dream of it,’ said the prisoner. ‘Cross my heart and hope to die. Though it’s quite hard to cross my heart with my hands chained behind my back, and I’ve hoped to die for some time now. But you know what I mean.’
Martha knelt down. The man in the iron bucket walked as far forward as his chains would allow. Martha lifted his tunic. In the murky light of the dungeon, neither Humphrey nor Elaine could see the man’s feet. Martha dropped the tunic and sat back on her heels.
‘It’s not Jasper,’ she said.
‘Sorry,’ said the man who was not Jasper. ‘I did warn you.’
Martha put her head in her hands and began to weep.
‘We should go,’ said Humphrey.
‘He’s right,’ said Elaine. ‘But we’ll take them all with us, of course. We can’t possibly leave anyone here, regardless of what they’ve done.’
The Table of Less Valued Knights Page 20