Siege (2)
Blimey started down the steps skipping as fast he could, two or three steps at a time. “Fire! Run you little maggot! Run! Quicker, I say! Quicker! Run! There’s a fire! Run like Hell!” Spicer kept close behind Blimey as they ran down the spiralling steps until they were outside in the bailey. Blimey bent over, breathing hard to get his breath back. Looking up at the building, he couldn’t make out a fire, not even one lick of flame. “I thought you said there was a fire?” “I did say there was a fire,” laughed Spicer, looking particularly pleased with himself. “Only joking with you though, hah. Come on, I need your help with some carrying. Hah, can’t believe you fell for it.” “Don’t you bloody well do that again. Almost had a heart attack.” “At your age? Come on you little maggot. Quickly now, ain’t got all night.” Five “So how did it go?” asked George, his face very close to Agraff’s. “Was alright,” replied Agraff, quickly. “Yes, erm, yeah it went alright, George, alright. So, what do I do now?” “Pukka’s been informed, I suppose?” “Should have been, yes, Sacha sent young Blimey up to tell him. Can trust him, nice kid.” “Yes, I suppose he is, Agraff, I suppose he is. We must talk to Spicer and put him in charge of stocking the keep and getting our swords ready. You seem troubled, Agraff, is anything the matter?” “Troubled? No, not troubled, concerned.” “A fascinating comparison.” “Well, it’s just that, well, I don’t know how to put it. Well, I went in there and she was naked. I don’t want to turn you away, George, you’re my best friend, and I want to confide in you with this problem.” “Certainly.” “Well, I went into her room and she was naked, and I could not lay my eyes on her, I had to shield them with my hand.” “That is the proper way of doing things, Agraff; we were brought up in that way. The groom is not allowed to lay eyes upon his betrothed’s naked body before they are married.” “True, I know. But in that brief moment of viewing her flesh, I had an urge. Of course, I have had such urges before when I have looked upon women, but never so strong. I wanted to do something. Let’s face it, I wanted to make love to her, kiss her, breathe on her, lick her all over. But I am concerned, George, I am concerned. Tonight, upon when we are married, she shall expect me to take her and grind her until it is daylight, yet I have never done it before. I am a true believer that one should not make love to another before marriage.” “A well kept tradition. Surely she is in the same boat, as they say?” “No. I first met her down at Archie’s Fun House in Lummux. She worked there, working for a gold coin a week. Very well paid work and she was expensive too.” “Then surely you have done it before? And with her to boost?” “No, no, we just talked. I didn’t have the nerve to touch her, or look at her body. I didn’t even have the nerve, George. That is why I asked her to live in Castle Utter, with me, that we may one day get married...you know, have kids and what not.” “I understand.” “Surely you can tell me how I should go about it?” “Yes, well I am married after all. Used to be, anyway, haven’t seen my better half in years. It’s all pretty basic stuff, Agraff; you know how it all works. She was a working girl, she’ll lead you and you’ll be fine. Don’t worry about it.” “Thankyou, George, I knew I could rely on you. Then to Spicer, we must go. To go to lay eyes on that horrible mug of his.” “He may be ugly, Agraff, yet he shall be the muscle behind our defence. His previous tactical knowledge shall hopefully guide us to victory or a quick death at least. Best be killed in combat, I say, than be captured and tortured. You may live longer, but it won’t hurt as much if you’re already dead when they stampede their cattle across your corpse.” “They do that?” “A tradition. After every battle, I believe, even with their own dead. They paint the cattle red and green for some reason and then, after the stampede, they gather the cattle that have been killed in the skirmish and cook them. Ripping off their legs, each of the tribe bites a chunk out of the flesh and spits it onto the battlefield. Don’t even ask, Agraff, your face tells all.” “Then we shall win, George, to save good cattle.” Agraff led the way along the corridor and down a thin spiral staircase, their hands gliding along the stone to balance themselves in the darkness. Passing two floors, the pair stopped descending when on the ground floor and passed through a wooden door into the bailey. Across the open space, a fire blazed outside a small wooden building, two figures lumbering about in the darkness grumbling at each other. “Right,” started Spicer, wiping his worn hand over his dry mouth, “you take those pitchforks over to the stables like a good lad and come back ‘ere when you’re done.” Blimey waddled off and Spicer grabbed a thin sheet of metal and slammed it into the blazing fire. As it heated up, the blacksmith smacked it with a large hammer, crunching it into shape. “George,” said Agraff, “go tell Blimey that I want a bottle of Dandy’s Tap from the cellar, and remind him not to take anything else. If I find anything missing, I’ll chuck him in the moat.” “I will, Agraff.” “Ah, Lord Agraff,” said Spicer, looking up, “what can I do for you?” “Tomorrow we go to battle, Spicer. The Jabadabs are upon us.” “The Jabs? This is it, then sir, this is it. We’re fighting them then? I thought we would, sooner or later. What do you need me to do?” “I need you to have our swords ready for combat and boiling oil ready for tomorrow morning at the barbican. I plan to use the portcullis as much as I can.” “That’s if they attack from that direction, but I suppose it is more than likely.” “Indeed. But what is most important is that you stock the keep with food. Enough for a month if needs be. We have plenty in the kitchen, so get it from there.” “Very good, m’Lord.” “Right, I’d better chat to our two archers.” “Chat?!” “Yes, I know what you mean.” *** Bourbon and Pompey sat in silence. They had purposefully taken seats as far away from each other as it was humanly possible within the small house on top of the barbican. Made of only quickly assembled logs and fabric, it got quite chilly during the night so a fire was kept going for as long as was needed. These days, they had to stay on the lookout all night so they took shift work, but at other times they were allowed their own rooms in the house. Between them was a low table, upon it resting two cups of steaming coffee, also placed as far away from each other as was possible before they toppled onto the floor. The coffee was fresh. “Taka bak, craka karab maken fak!” said Pompey in his very serious foreign accent. All he talked in was this weird language that no one else could speak so conversation was pretty thin, yet he seemed quite angry over something or other. Bourbon on the other hand, was mute, and cowered on his stool, his brow ruffled angrily. He looked like he wanted to burst with bad and naughty words, yet whatever it was that was stopping him did so as well as it could. “Paken laka taka vak,” mumbled Pompey, crossing his arms. If it was name calling, Bourbon was none the wiser and picked up his bow and started cleaning it with a new cloth. “Ah, lads,” said Agraff appearing out of the darkness. Refusing to sit, he cleared his throat and looked out upon the mist over the wall. “Now, tomorrow Castle Utter is going to be attacked by a great force. There is no way that it won’t fall; there is no way of winning. But it is the principle that counts, men, and therefore, we shall stay and fight. I need you both to be ready and on the lookout. Your skills will be much appreciated. We shall all fight and die together. As for tonight, I am to be wed to Sacha and I’d like very much for you to attend.” “Raken qak,” nodded Pompey, smiling humbly. “Yes, of course.” A great bell rung from the top of the house, beating out across the bailey and to the barbican. “Come on then,” said Agraff, leaving. Pompey stayed where he was, confused, until Bourbon dragged him to his feet. Six Agraff and the two archers were the last to enter the large room in the house. It was usually used for the odd birthday party or gathering, letting the guests ogle at the multitude of weapons attached to the walls, with armour, paintings and the heads of large, stuffed wild animals, as well as a pair of large antlers as if an elk had ran straight into the other side. Through the front door and into a wide hallway, on the right being a door-less archway into the room that was brimming with Pukka, George, Spicer, Blimey and Sacha, who was in a luxurious white gown with headdress propped with bright yellow flowers. Sacha face grew a large grin as Agraff entered the room and she jogged up to him to wrap her arms around her to-be-husband. “Are you feeling well, Agraff?” asked Sacha, her eyes opened wide with the same smile attached to her face. “Indeed I am, Sacha,” replied Agraff, his eyes glancing over to the refreshment table. Frowning, he checked it again. “Blimey! Come here a minute.” Blimey hopped in front of him, staring at Agraff’s beard rather than his eyes for fear of losing his good spirit. “Blimey, where is the bottle of Dandy’s Tap? Why isn’t it on the table? That stuff’s very expensive you know and I don’t want any bottles smashed.” “Dandy’s Tap? But you didn’t tell me to get any, m’Lord.” “Not buy some, if that’s what you mean. I just wanted you to get some from the cellar, that’s all. I thought George told you...” Agraff looked over his shoulder to find that George had left. “George, m’Lord? Who’s George?” “Don’t give me that nonsense,” said Agraff, whacking the teenager round the head. “If I find that you’ve stolen any, I’ll put you in the stocks myself! Now go and fetch a bottle from the cellar and be quick about it!” Pukka coughed rather loudly to get the attention of the betrothed. “How about the marriage?” “Yes, of course,” said Agraff, shaking what had just happened from his mind and taking Sacha’s hand in his. They stood in front of Pukka who read from a small book in his old hands. “We are gathered here today,” started Pukka, reading the book through his glasses, intermittently looking up to see Agraff and Sacha, and then behind them standing next to each other were Spicer, Bourbon and Pompey. Pompey was staring at the many things on the walls as he obviously either had no interest in what was going on or had no idea of any sort of what was occurring, or possibly he was confused as to where he actually was. “...to celebrate the joining of Agraff Byrne and Sacha Pibbles. In the valley of the Great Gonus and in memory of the Tayfab Munneries, with special thanks to blah blah blah...don’t need that...skip that bit...oh, hate that part...few pages more...I hereby pronounce you man and wife.” Pukka slammed the book shut and stared at the couple eagerly. “You may salivate all over the bride.” Agraff put both arms round Sacha to grab her closer and their mouths entwined, their tongues moving over each other like friendly slugs. Slowly their mouths parted, and both looked into each others eyes for a moment before Sacha squeezed Agraff’s hand, tugging him away out of the room to the staircase. Blimey walked through the second doorway straight from the cellar, a cool bottle of Dandy’s Tap in one hand with a cork screw in the other. “Over here, boy,” said Pukka, taking the bottle away. With a roll of Pukka’s eyes the cork popped out and the liquid inside suddenly found its way into the wizard’s mouth, chugging down his throat as if a dam had burst. “Cor, that’s some good stuff, a good year I guess.” “Raka sak okal!” exclaimed Pompey, grabbing the bottle out of Pukka’s hands and running through the doorway.” “He’ll be a sorry foreigner,” said Pukka annoyed, hands on his hips. “Why’s that, wizard?” asked Spicer, rubbing his chin. “The bottle’s now full of my piss. Learnt that one back at high school.” Spicer laughed loudly and shook his head, following Bourbon out through the archway, through the front door and back into the bailey. “Tell me Pukka, who’s George?” asked Blimey, noticing everyone else had gone.
Copyright © 2004 Jack M Brown |