Read the Story
Guess the Song
here's a clue...
A
shiver ran down Rulf’s spine. Though the castle doors were barred, he was still
fearful of the sound of horses approaching. With so few men, the king had put
his sons on lookout, but the king himself was still here in the Great Hall, as if
nothing was amiss, as if Mortreth’s army were not at this very moment hurtling
towards them through the dark.
The
king was too proud and wouldn’t surrender. He would let them all die here
rather than ask his rival and neighbour, Blanchland for help. In desperation, the
queen had tasked Rulf to get a message to Blanchland at Brinburgh Castle
without her husband’s knowledge.
The
king glanced towards him. Rulf’s heart thudded, he had a feeling the king could
see where he’d been; out to the stables to see his brother Ulric, when going
out of the keep and the courtyard was strictly forbidden. Servants had been
whipped for less.
‘Give
me a song, or a jest, Rulf,’ The king ordered from the high throne on the dais.
‘That’s what I pay you for, is it not?’
Rulf
picked up his lute. His fumbling fingers slipped on the strings. He told
himself to be calm. He must obey the king, act as if this was just another day.
It was the fool’s role in life, to make the royal household laugh. Even when
they knew they could not possibly hold the castle with so few men, and death
was just around the corner. It was at times like this that he wished he’d not
had a withered leg, and that he’d been trained in archery instead of playing
the fool.
The
lute sounded thin in his fingers, and the song he chose too brittle and bright.
He saw his lovely Alys, the queen’s maidservant, glance over at him with a look
of disdain as she passed with a pile of arrows she had been fletching. She
would think him shallow, to play at a time like this. His heart quickened at
the sight of her; the urgent need to get her away from this place. But even if
he could, where would they go? There was not another dwelling for miles around,
the castle was an island in a sea of forest and plain. The nearest place was
Brinburgh Castle, and that was two day’s ride. He hoped his plan would work. A
slim chance, but what was the alternative? This couldn’t be their fate, to die this
way at the whim of a tyrant king?
Alys
began to take away the meat platters, and other bare-footed servants hurried in
and out with sweetmeats to the king’s table, whilst incongruously, the men
loaded their bristling quivers at the great doors. The king, stubborn as ever,
was determined the banquet and jesting must continue, even though preparations
for war were inevitable. His barons were at table with him, talking business
and drinking wine. They knew to humour him as if nothing was amiss, although he
saw their uneasy glances at the windows. Rulf wondered that a man could be so
careless of his subject’s lives, all for his own bravado and vanity.
Rulf
continued his song, the plaintive twang of the lute echoing in the rafters,
though he longed to stop. He was afraid he would not hear the first sounds of
Mortreth’s army approaching. The king though, ignored it, as if to shake a fist
at their impending doom.
‘Enough!’
The king said, flapping a greasy hand at Rulf. ‘Your mournful face displeases
me. You, girl, go and see what news there is from the ramparts.’ He gestured to
Alys, whose eyes flared in surprise, but she nodded mutely and disappeared up
the stone stairway.
Rulf
watched her go, his chest constricting. Pray God his brother Ulric was in the
queen’s bedchamber by now.
Alys
hurried to the stone stairs. It was bad of the king to make Rulf play the lute
at a time like this, when all they longed for was silence. She could see
nothing from the slit windows as she ascended, but her mind conjured a
nightmare of figures moving stealthily in the dark. Only forty men, they had,
and Mortreth would have more than a hundred. What chance had they against such
a force? Her stomach roiled. How many more hours of life?
Up
the curving stairwell to the battlements. She creaked open the door to the
slash of rain. What a night. The moon skulked behind thick cloud, but she saw
the dark figure of Prince Benedic, no helmet, keeping watch, his hair plastered
to his head, his leather breastplate sodden as he paced back and forth.
‘Anything?’
she asked.
‘Not
yet,’ he said, ‘but it’s hard to see in this rain. What’s my father doing?’
‘Eating.’
She shrugged.
‘Did
he send you? Has he found a safe place for you women? My mother?’
‘Away
from the bedchambers, safe in the west tower, sir, I made sure of that.’
Benedic
sighed, shook his head. No-one was safe anywhere, and well he knew it. ‘We need
a miracle,’ he said. ‘Wait.’ He stiffened, peered out into the dark. ‘What’s
that?’
She
looked to where he was pointing. Dark shapes, pinpricks of torches, the wavering
shadow of a pennant. Prince Favian, who had also been on watch, came running
up, ‘Mortreth’s men. Quick! Send word below!’
Her
innards turned to water, but Alys hurtled downstairs, shouting ‘Take arms!’
On
the second floor, she ran through the upper rooms, making sure all the women
had fled to the west tower. As she flung open the door of the queen’s
bedchamber, a man leapt to his feet. Startled eyes. Wet hair, rain running off
his shoulders. A stranger.
The
queen’s coffer was open. And he was holding the queen’s favourite necklet – a distinctive
circle of gold with four rubies set in the shape of a cross.
He
made to run, but she blocked the doorway. ‘Who are you? What are you doing?’
‘Nothing,’
he protested. ‘The queen asked me to fetch this—’
‘I’ve
never seen you before, and I’m the queen’s maidservant.’ Yet even as she said
it, she recognised something familiar about him. Wasn’t he one of the stable hands?
‘Where did you come from? How did you get in?’
‘The
queen’s fool; he let me in the back, through the servant’s gate.’
Alys
barred his way. ‘Rulf? No. You lie. Nobody comes and goes. The king forbids it.’
Yet she could see the rain on his clothes.
‘There’s
no time, woman.’ He withdrew a dagger from the sheath at his side. ‘Mortreth’s army
is coming for us. There’ll be a mighty battle and you’ll be the losers unless
you let me fetch help. I’m to take this to Blanchland, to prove who sent me.’
Was
he telling the truth? He made to push past her, but she grabbed his sleeve,
unwilling to believe him. As he descended the stairs, she clung to his arm,
half-falling, until he took out a blade and pointed it to her throat. ‘Leave
go, if you want to live!’
A
swipe towards her throat. She gasped and stumbled back. It was enough time for
him to race for the stairs.
She
pelted after him, clinging to the rope handrail, twisting down the narrow
stairs. ‘Thief!‘ she shouted.
By
the time she got to the bottom, all was panic and confusion. Men were massing
at the main door and arming themselves. The king was ushering the barons up the
stairs to the keep. What did it matter now if someone took a hundred of the
queen’s jewels?
‘Stop
that man!’ Alys cried, but her voice was uncertain and nobody heard her.
To
her surprise, Rulf threw down his lute and the wet-haired stranger grasped him
by the arm and hugged him. He held up the queen’s jewel, and Rulf gave a smile
of acknowledgement. Seeing them side by side, the resemblance was
unmistakeable. Same dark eyes, same broad forehead and short, square chin.
‘Not
the main door,’ Rulf said, as the stranger pulled him towards the kitchen. ‘There
must be another way out of here.’
Alys
ran and put herself in their way. ‘What’s all this?’ she said. ‘Where are you
going?’
‘No
time to explain. This is my brother, Ulric.’
‘He
tried to stab me,’ she said.
Ulric shrugged. ‘You were in my way.’ He pulled Rulf away. ‘Hurry. The servant’s gate
– the way I came in. Quick before Mortreth has the castle surrounded.’
‘You
have horses, brother?’
‘Ready
by the back gate,’ Ulric said. ‘But are you sure you want to? I can go alone.’
‘We’ve
been through this. I know people think of me as just a fool, a man in motley who
can only jest, and do nothing useful or serious with his life. I want to do
this one thing, to prove I’m a man, like all the rest.’
‘You
are a man to me, Rulf,’ Alys said. ‘You always have been.’
Rulf
took hold of her shoulders and pressed a kiss to her forehead. ‘Then wish us
luck, my love. We’ll fetch help, or die trying.’
‘Don’t
you dare die, d’you hear me?’ Her words were cracked. ‘Now ride like the wind.
God speed you both.’
She
followed them down to the back gate, persuaded the men-at-arms to let them go.
She watched them gallop away, mud and stones splattering up from the horses’
hooves, towards the dark bulk of the forest. When they’d gone the men bolted the
door fast. The scrape of the bolt sounded like a prison gate.
The
siege was almost over. Nine days and they had managed to hold off Mortreth’s
men, but at what cost? There was scarce a man left alive. The ramparts were
filled with their dead. The king himself had fallen, trying to drag Benedic’s
body down from the battlements. Favian, his other son, an arrow through his
back, had toppled into the enemy and been swiftly dismembered. Only then did
the king realise, with a desperate bellow of pain, what his pride had cost him.
Now they were to be starved out. Mortreth would simply wait.
Alys
tried to comfort the queen, but after the loss of her sons she had lost the will
to survive. ‘I can’t surrender,’ she said. ‘He
would expect me to stay.’ She meant the king, who had brought about this
calamity. With no men to protect them, it meant rape and death for them all.
Alys kept her from the doors and prayed until her knees were rough and raw from
the cold stone floor. Was Rulf alive, or was he one of the pile of dead killed
that dark night and strewn over the fields? Not knowing was the worst.
Coming
down from the queen’s chambers, weak and faint with hunger, Alys peered out
through the slit in the stairwell. Encamped below, like a black fungus
surrounding the castle walls, were Mortreth’s men. The rain had stopped and
smoke from their fires hung in the air blackening the walls. In the far distance,
she thought she heard the growl of a wildcat. She shuddered. It would be
feasting on their dead.
She
was about to turn away when the smoke began to billow. The wind must have
changed. Through the smoke she saw two riders approaching, but behind them, a
dark blur. She blinked. The blur turned into a great tide of men and horses,
filling the horizon.
There
was no noise, except the rushing of a wind howling inside her head. Below her, Mortreth’s
men leapt up, gestured towards where Blanchland’s army ploughed onwards looming
larger every moment. At the sight of them they scrambled for arms, but then
sensing defeat they began to scatter. Everywhere men ran, falling over
themselves, like vermin leaving a burning building.
The
sight brought tears to her eyes. Alys ran down the stairs. ‘Blanchland’s men
are here,’ she shouted. But already the women were crowding the windows.
It
took six women to lift the heavy wooden bars from the door, and then to haul
open the courtyard gates. Alys was first into the open. It was only now the
wind in her head stopped and she was able to see Rulf and Ulric dismount.
Rulf
walked towards her, his gait uneven, but his shoulders back. ‘I feared we’d be
too late,’ he said.
‘What
took you so long?’ she said. But she was smiling through her tears.
And
all along the watchtower, women were waving their kerchiefs to welcome him
home.
© Deborah Swift
Did you guess the title?
All Along The Watchtower - Jimi Hendrix
Website www.deborahswift.com
Before publishing her first novel Deborah worked as a set and costume designer for theatre and TV. She also developed a degree course in Theatre Arts at the Arden School of Theatre, where she taught scenography and the history of design. In 2007 she took an MA in Creative Writing at Lancaster University, and since then has juggled writing with teaching. Deborah has been published by St Martin’s Press, Pan Macmillan, Endeavour Press, Accent Press and Sapere Books.
Reviewed by Discovering Diamonds |
Leave a comment below...
like... share...
#DDRevsStorySong
Thank you!
There will be another story inspired by a song tomorrow!
< Previous story ... Next story >
The Full List of Authors
December
4th Helen Hollick Promises, Promises
5th Paul Marriner Memories
6th Pam Webber One Door Closing
8th Barbara Gaskell Denvil Sticks and Stones
9th Judith Arnopp Secrets
10th Erica Lainé Silk Stockings
11th Anna Belfrage Hold Me, Love Me, Leave Me?
12th Annie Whitehead Frozen
13th Tony Riches Alas, My Love
14th Clare Flynn, Zipless
15th J.G. Harlond The Last Assignment
16th Elizabeth St John Under The Clock
17th Alison Morton Honoria’s Battle
18th Jean Gill The Hunter
19th Patricia Bracewell Daddy's Gift
20th Debbie Young It Doesn't Feel Like Christmas
21st Ruth Downie Doing It Properly
23rd Elizabeth Chadwick The Cloak
24th / 25th (Christmas Break)
27th Barbara Gaskell Denvil Just The One... Or Maybe Two
28th Deborah Swift Just Another Day
30th Cryssa Bazos River Mud
31st HAPPY NEW YEAR
Note: There is copyright legislation for song lyrics
but no copyright in names, titles or ideas
Love the song choice! You misled me nicely with the story title :) Stuck with a mad king - plus ça change :( I hope the rescuers are on their way for us too. Reminded me of another song too - Fools to the left of me, jokers to the right...
ReplyDeleteThanks Jean - yes I had to be cunning with this clue as the song is so well known. I couldn't have an easy-peasy watch tower could I? :-)
DeleteThank you Jean! Couldn't resist writing about this song. It gave me a taste for writing historical fantasy!
DeleteExcellently atmospheric!! For a lot of the story I thought it was 'Nick of Time' by my favourite, Bonnie Raitt, but the last line changed my mind!!
ReplyDeleteYes, the last line ISA bit of a giveaway!!😀
ReplyDeleteVery atmospheric! And I'm glad Rulf won out at the end.
ReplyDeleteEnjyed this a lot. Didn't guess the song - I think I should give up trying and just enjoy the stories = lol
ReplyDelete