‘Were there no guards?’
‘All the false monks were asleep in a stone house beside the barn. The dogs were our guards; three great brindled hounds that set up a great barking at the slightest noise.’
‘And they did not see or hear you?’
‘They did. But we had saved a little of the meat that evening, and hidden it beneath the stones where we sat. I threw it to the dogs and they let me pass, but their first warning barks had woken the false monks, and one came stumbling out of the house. He must have thought the dogs were eating a rabbit, or some other creature, for he cursed them for their noise and went back to bed.’
Timoken’s mind began to race. He was confident that he could rescue Edern’s friends, but he had to plan his actions. ‘How many of you are there?’ he asked.
‘There were twenty or more. But only twelve of us survived the sickness. We must rescue them soon,’ Edern said anxiously. ‘Tomorrow they will be on the move again.’
‘Perhaps they have gone already,’ Timoken said. ‘Would those brigands stay another night in the same place?’
‘They were waiting for someone,’ said Edern. ‘We heard them talking. One of the girls is to be collected tomorrow. She is in a cage.’ He paused for a moment and added, with a frown, ‘I am afraid for her, Timoken. I am afraid for all my friends, but the way those false monks talked, I think they expect a large sum of money for this girl, and so they will guard her very closely. Perhaps we cannot rescue her.’
‘Nothing is impossible,’ said Timoken. ‘I have a plan already. We will wait for moonlight.’
That evening he packed the bags for travelling. Everything had dried in the sun, even the woollen blankets. Gabar had thoroughly recovered and ate a hearty meal of dried fruit and grass before dozing off.
Timoken unfolded the moon cloak and laid it under the trees. The boy watched, his expression a mixture of wonder and curiosity.
‘What is that?’
Timoken hesitated. Should he tell Edern the truth? The boy already knew so much about him, what did it matter? Timoken trusted him. He was certain that Edern was not the one whom the ring had warned him about.
‘It is made from the silk of the last moon spider,’ he said at last. ‘I call it the moon cloak, and it will protect us. We must get some sleep before we set off to rescue your friends.’ Timoken lay beneath the moon cloak and beckoned to the boy.
After a moment of uncertainty, Edern crawled in beside him. The red-haired boy was soon asleep, but Timoken lay staring up at the night sky. Where was the moon? They needed a good light if they were to rescue all the children and escape. He had been gazing at a pale splinter of light for several seconds before he realised what it was. The new moon was rising in the eastern sky.
Quickly rolling from beneath the moon cloak, Timoken ran to the bags that were piled beside Gabar.
The Alixir was kept in a small pouch of red calfskin. But it was not there.
‘It must have been lost in the water,’ Timoken said to himself, ‘when poor Gabar fell in the river.’ He looked again at the thin slice of moon and shivered. He had found no home as yet, but he was going to grow. He would be like other mortals. The prospect was exciting, and a little alarming. He had been eleven years old for almost two centuries; in less than another eleven years he would be a man.
Edern woke up. A thick blanket of clouds obscured the stars, and yet there was a light in the grove where he lay.
He could see the camel, its head lowered and its eyes closed. He could see the branches of the trees, spread like a canopy above his head. He sat up, and light rippled across the cloak that covered his legs. It was like seeing the moon reflected in water. Edern ran his hand lightly over the glimmering threads. They were so soft, he could hardly feel them. Beside him, Timoken stirred in his sleep; the band of gold around his head glinted in the gentle light.
‘A king,’ Edern said to himself. Something his father had said came into his head. ‘To be a king is an honour and a burden. He cannot show fear, and he cannot
shoulder the huge weight of his responsibilities without our support. Never forget that.’
Edern looked at his sleeping companion.
I won’t forget
, he thought.
He shook Timoken’s shoulder and the African woke with a start. ‘I have never slept so deeply.’ He yawned and stretched his arms.
‘I think we should go now,’ said Edern.
‘Of course!’ Timoken exclaimed. He went over to the camel and began to load him up.
‘It is night,’ grunted Gabar.
‘I’m sorry. We have a task to perform – a rescue!’ Timoken lit a small lamp and hung it at the front of the saddle.
Gabar wearily lifted his rump. ‘Rescue?’ he snorted. ‘At night?’
‘Yes. And don’t get up yet. We have to climb on your back.’
‘Two again,’ grumbled Gabar.
Timoken smiled. ‘We weigh hardly anything.’ He got into the saddle and called Edern over, telling him to climb up behind him.
When they were ready, Gabar raised himself to his
feet and, at a touch of the reins, began to walk down the mountain track. It had widened out into a rough road, and on either side trees grew thickly, keeping the camel safe from another tumble.
As they travelled Timoken described his plan to Edern. They would stop a little way before reaching the barn, so the dogs would not hear them. When he was quite sure no animal had been alerted, Timoken would fly into the trees above the buildings. He would talk softly to the dogs, commanding them to be silent, and then he would ask the horses to be quiet and steady while he untied the ropes that tethered them to the trees.
‘They keep the saddlery in a hut beside the stone house,’ Edern said. ‘Shall I saddle the horses while you are freeing my friends?’
‘No,’ said Timoken firmly. ‘I will do it. I will call to you when all is safe. If you do not hear from me before dawn, it means I have failed, so you must find some other route, and continue alone on Gabar.’
It had not occurred to Edern that Timoken might fail. He could find nothing to say, except, ‘I understand.’
‘Treat my camel well,’ said Timoken. ‘He is family.’
‘I will,’ Edern said huskily. ‘But you will not fail.’
They reached a sharp turn in the road and Edern said, ‘We are close to the barn. It is maybe two hundred strides away.’
Timoken guided Gabar into the trees at the side of the road. He took the moon cloak from a bag and swung it across his head. Edern watched in awe as the clouds rolled back and starlight filtered down through the trees.
Timoken leapt from the camel’s back, and the last Edern saw of him was a pale shape, floating high in the trees. The moon cloak streamed behind him, like a pair of silvery wings.
The girl in the cage looked up through the hole in the roof and saw what she thought was an angel. One of the boys saw it too. ‘Look! Look!’ he cried.
Beri knew they must be quiet if the angel was to rescue them. ‘Sshh!’ she hissed. She could smell fire.
Other children were waking up now. The angel perched on the roof and looked down at them. He put a finger to his lips and whispered, ‘Hush!’
Silence fell. The angel had a dark face and wore a thin
gold crown. The children were a little afraid of him. They had never seen an African before. Beri had seen many. Now that he was close, she doubted that he was an angel, even when he dropped lightly to the ground, as though he were borne on wings.
Timoken whispered quickly to the children while he severed their bonds. He told them he could not remove the heavy chains across the door, but he could carry them up, one by one, through the roof. They would find horses saddled and ready, but they would have to ride two to a horse. When they were all free, he turned his attention to the cage.
‘How will you open this?’ asked the girl, shaking the iron bars.
Timoken grinned. ‘Wait and see.’ He walked around the cage, stroking his chin like an old man.
The others began to whisper urgently. ‘Please, get us out. The false monks will hear. They’ll catch us before we can ride away.’
Timoken turned to them, frowning. ‘Hush!’ His tone was severe. ‘Climb on each other’s shoulders if you can’t wait!’ He walked around the cage again. The door was padlocked; the key, presumably, in one of the false
monks’ pockets.
The little pearl-handled knife would not do. All Timoken had were his hands. He put his ringed finger on the padlock and murmured, ‘Help me, ring! Melt! Click! Open!’
The girl couldn’t understand him. ‘What are you doing?’ she asked.
Timoken was too absorbed to answer her. His finger felt as though it were burning. The pain was almost unbearable. And now he thought his whole hand was being boiled, but he kept his finger on the padlock until, suddenly, with a loud click it opened and fell to the ground.
The girl stared at Timoken in astonishment. ‘So you are a magician, not an angel,’ she said. Cautiously, she pushed at the cage door.
‘Quickly!’ urged Timoken. ‘Get out!’
The moment the girl stepped out of the cage, Timoken seized her around the waist and flew up through the hole with her. His feet had hardly touched the roof before he was floating gently down to the ground.
The girl saw flames billowing up in front of the stone house. Timoken had built a pyre against the door and set it alight. The false monks could be heard shouting inside
the house. There was only one window and that too was engulfed in flames.
‘They will burn,’ said Beri with satisfaction.
‘No,’ Timoken told her. ‘It will rain and the fire will die.’
‘How do you know?’ Puzzled, the girl stared at his solemn face.
‘Find a horse and wait for one of the others,’ he commanded, giving her a little shove in the direction of the house.
Some of the other children had already managed to climb on to the roof and were even now jumping to the ground. Timoken flew up to collect the others and remained on the roof while they found their horses. As soon as they were all mounted, he gave a loud bellow and Gabar came thumping through the trees with Edern on his back.
‘Edern!’ cried the Britons. ‘You found a camel.’
‘A camel and a friend,’ Edern replied.
Timoken leapt from the barn roof and landed lightly in the camel saddle. ‘Go now,’ he called to the others. ‘We will follow.’
The six horses took off immediately, their riders
calling loudly to one another, keen to put a distance between themselves and their captors.
‘What are we waiting for?’ Edern asked anxiously.
‘There is another horse,’ said Timoken. ‘He pulls the wagon. I untied the rope that tethered him, but he would not move. The other horses listened to me. They were happy to obey, but not this one. If we leave him, the false monks can follow us.’
They rode into the woods at the back of the house. The big horse was standing under a tree. He had not moved since Timoken had spoken to him.
Gabar seemed uneasy. He was reluctant to go too close. But Timoken urged him forward until they were only three strides away from the horse. He was a huge beast, jet black, with feet bigger than a camel’s.
‘Go now,’ said Timoken in a rough snort. ‘You are free.’
A deep and dreadful sound came from the horse. It was more of a roar than a neigh. It made no sense to Timoken. ‘Horse, why won’t you go?’ he asked.
The great beast pawed the ground. It looked as though it was about to charge at them, and the camel stepped back nervously. The black horse thrust out its head and
rolled back its lips, revealing its huge teeth. Then, from its throat, came a snarl that had no meaning.
‘Let’s go,’ cried Edern. ‘I have never seen such an evil creature.’
Timoken was shaken. Until now he had understood every animal that he had met. They all had a language, but not this beast.
It is possessed by an evil thing
, he thought.
It worried him that, even here, wickedness existed, when he thought he had left it far behind. He gave the camel’s reins a light tug and grunted, ‘Go, Gabar. Go like the wind!’
Gabar was only too happy to obey.
As they passed the stone house, Timoken saw that the flames had reached the roof, and burning rafters were crashing into the building.
‘They cannot follow us now,’ muttered Edern.
But Timoken could not bear the false monks’ screams. Waving his arms at the sky, he called for rain, and within seconds, raindrops the size of pebbles came tumbling down on their heads.
Gabar gave a snort of disgust and galloped down the road.
Timoken did not stop the rain until he was sure that enough water had fallen to douse the fire.
Edern was disappointed. ‘They will follow us now,’ he grumbled. ‘They have the wagon and that brute of a horse. And they have weapons. When they catch up with us, we are done for.’
Timoken just laughed. ‘If they follow us, then I will bring thunder and lightning on their heads. Don’t be so gloomy, Edern. I have weapons, too, even though you cannot see them.’
Edern grinned. ‘So you have. We’d better catch up with the others; they may be in need of your special weapons.’
‘Let’s find them, Gabar,’ said Timoken. And Gabar’s pace increased.
They trotted across the valley, past small hamlets and lonely farmhouses, through dense woods, over bridges and below a castle that stood proud on a rocky hill. But there was no sign of the eleven children, and Timoken began to fear that they had been caught again, by bandits or worse. The children had no protection but their wits.
‘Peredur Sharptooth has wits as well as teeth,’ said Edern, almost as though he had read Timoken’s thoughts.
‘Then let us hope that his wits are as sharp as his teeth,’ said Timoken.
In spite of the danger, Edern found himself laughing.
The next day they came to a village where something odd had happened. Something ominous. The usual scent of woodsmoke was absent. There were other smells: death and decay. Night was falling fast but the houses were all in darkness. Not a light showed anywhere. The village stood in a great, hollow silence.
Timoken was reluctant to stop. He was afraid for the eleven children, and wanted to find them before it became too dark. But Gabar demanded a rest. He had seen a stone trough standing beneath a pump in the centre of the village, and he made towards it. As the camel bent his head to drink, Timoken suddenly jerked the reins, forcing Gabar away from the water.