The Palace Library (10 page)

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.

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.