The Chocolate Rose

Arrik wished he had been taught to ride. The roads appeared to be choked with armed men going one way and unarmed women and servants going the other. It was taking all afternoon to get there.

The men marched on the Palace to lay siege. On every crossroad they meet with folk coming from every corner of the kingdom, by horse or by cart or by foot. All with one cry, "Down with the Count and long live the Prince".

When the first of Arrik's supporters reached the Palace, they were met with a fusillade of arrows, which the people collected and passed onto the few archers brought with them, so that they could be fired back when they were ready to attack. Their leaders met with Arrik when he arrived with the Mayor, to find out what they must do.

Arrik noticed that the tower had only one window at the very top, and there are no arrows being fired from the tower. In the gathering twilight, he could see the flicker of torchlight, or possibly a fireplace in the top-most room. The wall was sheer, but for a strong, experienced and determined climber like Arrik, there were handholds to be found between the stones.

"Anyone got a rope?" he cried to the host around him. Arrik wondered if he could get up there with a rope and have others follow him, an armed band to breach the thick defensive walls.

Someone, a carter, offered him a coil of strong rope from his wagon. Arrik measured it roughly by the span of his arms and reckoned it a couple of spans short. The carter had more rope, though lighter and of lesser thickness, and expertly ties it onto the end of the first rope for Arrik's use. Now he has several spans spare.

The rope is heavy, but Arrik is strong. However, he tied one end of the lighter rope around his waist, leaving the rest on the ground, so he would not bear the whole weight of the rope until near the end of his climb. The men around him became excited and started up a cheer. He hushed them, lest they warn the guards of his plans and asked them to move well away and make more noise elsewhere to distract the guards. Some laugh, a few slapped him on the back and wished him well, but they all moved off to provide the distraction. The light was beginning to fade, it would be dark soon and the moon not likely to rise for some hours.

He started to climb, using a buttress to begin with. At the top of the buttress, the tower was near vertical. He found plenty of handholds in the masonry. About halfway up, some of the stone used was poorer quality than the lower blocks and some crumbled away in his hand and he almost fell. He steadied himself, as his foothold from his soft leather boots remained secure. It was almost completely dark by then. He didn't want to look down as the torch lights from the castle besiegers would affect his night vision. He moved right until he felt more solid stone under his fingertips, at a place where there was more shelter from the weather, although there was some lichen growing here. He grinned, climbing the mountains back home, he was used to moss and lichen on the stone and his confidence grew once more and he continued his climb steadily and surely.

He was unarmed except for a small knife, his trusty sling and a pouch full of selected pebbles.

Eventually Arrik reached the window sill. He peered in. He saw Elvira lying on a palliase. Her eyes were closed, so he thought she was asleep. As he squeezed through the narrow window, she started, instantly alert.

"Arrik? How?"

"Shh, El. I am here to rescue you."

"The door is locked and double bolted on the other side, there is no way out through there."

He would have to change his plans, there was no way he could bring a force of men up here, they would be trapped.

"Fine, I've brought rope enough to carry you down from here."

She was tethered to the bed post by a leather thong around her wrist, which he cut. She struck a flint and lit a candle, to amplify the light from the dying embers in the fireplace.

"I must get to Tompty," she insists, "I am worried for him, he may not survive his being moved for long, without me to care for him."

Of course she needed to go to his cousin. Arrik realised that this beautiful maiden, who had made such an impression on him, had her heart set on the better man. Tompty was not only Arrik's best friend, he was taller, much more handsome with his dark hair and stronger build. A bookworm prince was no match for a dashing knight, injured in brave and righteous battle. Arrik could not hold any grudge against his dear cousin, who was prepared to die for him, in defiance of his powerful father. He could never deny the happiness of the two people he loved most, just couldn't.

"He is in the infirmary next to the kitchen." Arrik said. "The cooks fleeing the palace said as much, and Tom is in danger."

Elvira looked out of the window, and gasped, seeing the rope trailing down to the ground.

"I can't believe that you climbed all the way up here on your own."

"Well, I had to rescue you, and I need you to save Tom."

"The kitchen is down there, round to our right. The infirmary is the extension on the end. Can you get us down there from here?"

"No problem, I'll cut off a piece of this lighter rope and tie us together round our waists. You'll have to put your arms around my neck and hold on tight, although if you do slip, the rope should hold you."

He cut off the rope a length equivalent to a span of his arms, which he draped over his shoulders for a moment. He tied the end of the long rope to Elvira's solid wooden cot, which was bracketed to the wall. He tested it for strength, it didn't move. Then he pulled Elvira to him, looped and tied the spare rope around them. She raised her arms and held them around his neck. They were so close that Arrik could taste her sweet breath on his tongue. Arrik had to force himself to breathe normally.

"You know what they are saying, Rik," she looked into his eyes, "they wanted to burn me in the morning ... as a witch."

"I know, El, I heard on my way here and I couldn't bear to let that happen."

"I think it is true, though, my mother was a witch. She was killed by the Count when he took over the kingdom. He murdered all the witches, he was proud to declare as much. I was only a child at the time." She continued in a whisper, "You know that the people believe that he murdered your father, too, it being no accident. He separated you and the Queen. He wants to rule the kingdom and he will kill you if you get in his way."

"Not if I kill him first, El." Arrik grinned defiantly, "Reading between the lines, El, I think my uncle killed his wife and child first, to leave himself free to marry my mother once he'd murdered my father. He has a lot to answer for."

"First we must save poor Tom's life."

"Yes, we'll go to him now."

They squeezed out through the window. Arrik leaned back with his feet on the wall and the rope wrapped around his back taking the strain. Naturally, El being tied to her rescuer, she was pressed tightly against him. She could see the ground over his shoulder at first, so she buried her head in his chest, Arrik was almost intoxicated by the smell of her hair. He drove himself on, "walking" along the wall to his left, playing out the rope gradually as he descended onto the roof of the kitchen.

Using his knife, he cut his way through the thatch and stuck his head inside, the kitchen was lit by several torches, while the cooking fire blazed away merrily. It was empty of people, no doubt either already run away or were defending the walls of the Palace. There was still plenty of rope, so they descended from the pierced roof to the tiled floor, with Elvira still hanging onto his neck. Once grounded, Arrik let go of the rope and severed the threads tied around their waists.

They ran together through the door of the kitchen into the infirmary. There were no nurses in attendance, nor were there any wounded yet. Clearly the besiegers and defenders we're still sabre rattling and hadn't commenced battle yet.

Poor Tompty lay in a rude cot, naked, covered only by a thin blanket, a huge dressing on his chest, spotted with blood as the wound had opened up again. He was pale as parchment and his breathing shallow and laboured. Elvira laid her hands on his chest and immediately his breathing improved. He opened his eyes.

"Water?" Tompty croaked.

"I'll get some," Arrik offered. He had seen a pitcher in the kitchen as they walked through. He had been tempted to a drink after his climbing but his anxiety for his cousin had priority.

He first poured and drained half a goblet of water to slake his thirst, then he topped it up again to take through to the infirmary.

Suddenly the kitchen door on the other side of the room was thrown open. Standing in the doorway, sword in hand, was his uncle, behind him two men at arms, who hadn't drawn their weapons yet. They must've noticed Elvira missing and the rope leading down from the tower window to the kitchen roof, Arrik speculated.

Arrik hadn't seen his uncle for over three years but was easily recognisable, even though he was stouter, his hair thin and grey. But what stood out were his eyes, he looked mad with fury.

"Arrik, boy, you are proving to be a bug that needs squashing!" the Count snarled, "I gather the rabble of farmers and tradesmen outside baying for my blood is all your doing?"

"Yes, uncle, and they will be your undoing."

"You young pup! You'll pay for this uprising with your life!"

The Count raced across the kitchen, sword held aloft to chop down his meddlesome nephew. Arrik looked around, behind him was the open cooking fire and, leaning against the stonework, was a long iron spit, just a little longer than the ones he used to clean in his chores back home. He had played with such things in the warm kitchen for hours during long winter days, ever since he was a small boy. Grasping the spit, it felt comfortable in his hands.

It was a little heavier than he was used to, but he was able to parry the Count's chopping sword with a clash of steel against wrought iron. Arrik tilted the iron rod and guided the sword under its own impetus down to the ground, swinging the other end of the skewer until it connected against the right shoulder of the Count, causing him to drop the sword with a ringing clatter on the floor tiles.

The Count staggered back, holding his stinging shoulder. He cursed his nephew loudly and called his men forward to chop him into mincemeat. The pair of soldiers drew their swords and approached this young stranger with rather more caution than their furious master had. One circled around to Arrik's right, the other spread to his left, with the Count standing in the middle, having drawn his dagger, his discarded sword being well within the reach of Arrik's iron rod, which he held horizontally with his arms held out comfortably in line with the width of his shoulders.

The assailants were wheeling their swords around their wrists, biding the right time to strike in concert. When the one on Arrik's left had the tip of his sword pointing away from Arrik, the Prince feinted to jab at the man on his right before thrusting the sharp point of the iron spit at the left swordsman's wrist, sending the sword crashing to the ground, before Arrik swung the point round to smack him hard under the chin. He could hear bone and teeth crack under the weight of the blow.

Then Arrik twisted to face the right swordsman, who had advanced to take advantage of the successful move against his companion. But Arrik only had to lift the other end in a small arc to jab the on-comer in the stomach with the blunter end of the bar. The man fell back, winded, rubbing his bruise.

The first man, angry now and with blood streaming from his mouth, picked up his sword and rushed at Arrik screaming, the sword held above his head. Arrik dropped the blunt end against the stone step in front of the fire behind him and swung the pointed end at his attacker and held on tight, as the man ran straight into the dense iron bar, which stabbed him right through the chest.

The Count saw an opportunity and rushed the now disarmed Arrik with his dagger poised. Arrik grabbed a copper pan resting by the side of the oven and parried the stab of the knife, spinning around with the pan at full stretch, gathering momentum, and caught the Count with a glancing blow on his left shoulder. The Count fell to the ground, sprawling at the feet of Elvira, who had come to the door of the infirmary to see what the noise of the battle was about.

The Count scrambled to his feet and ran away out of the door he had entered and along an open-air crenelated passageway connecting the kitchen to the base of the tower. His surviving man at arms arose and limped after him rubbing his stomach. The man with the iron spit through the chest lay twitching in his death throes.

Arrik poured a fresh goblet of water and carried it through to Tompty, who was now sitting up, wondering what had taken place. The last time he was conscious he was in Newmarket town hospital.

"Tom, your father has gone mad and is trying to kill me, he has already had two attempts himself, and it looks like he had ordered his captain and archer to kill me back on the road. He also planned to burn El at the stake at dawn."

"I know he's mad, Rik, I've been lying in a daze thinking. He must've killed my mother and baby sister first in his bid for power. I can never forgive him for that, or for trying to kill you or El. Help me up and I'll-"

"No, you will not help!" Elvira was firm. "You nearly died today, if we don't get you to the hospital for treatment and rest, you might open your wound again!"

"Hold firm old friend," Arrik said, "we'll leave now, before the Count can regroup and have another go at us."

Arrik checked the outer door to the infirmary, it was locked and bolted shut. The only way out was back through the kitchen and across the outside passageway that the Count just left through. Arrik knew they couldn't get out through the tower. In the kitchen he worked out how much rope he could use. He whispered to Elvira.

"We can lower Tom down by rope from the passageway, then you slide down to take care of him, and I will follow."

They dragged Tompty through the kitchen to the passageway. Soon after they emerged, however, the door into the hall at the base of the tower opened and the Count and a host of soldiers followed behind him, many of them carrying torches, the night has fully descended by now and it was pitch black outside.

Arrik pulled out his sling, loaded it with a pebble and fired it at the advancing Count, who was now wearing a helmet. The Count had never seen a sling used as a weapon before and he sneered as the Prince swung it in his hand, but as soon as the projectile headed towards his face with the speed of an arrow, his jaw dropped in shock and he barely moved before the stone accurately hit him square between the eyes in the slot in his helmet. The Count collapsed to his right as his legs gave way and stumbled between the crenellations in the fortifications, they were much lower on the inner side. Arrik's second stone, despatched immediately after the first, hit his uncle in the chest and he fell through the gap, grabbing at the tunic of the man at arms next to him but dropped through and disappeared from view. The soldier was also pulled towards the battlements, but he put out both hands on the battlements to save himself, dropping his torch in the process, which followed the Count over the wall. All his men stopped stock still as they heard a bloodcurdling cry of agony from the Count.

Elvira was closest to the wall and she peered over. Although the distance to the ground was less than the height of three men, the Count had fallen on the stake that he had planned to tie Elvira to at first light. The stake was surrounded by stacked cordons of wood, soaked in cooking oil, ready to be lit to destroy the maiden he accused of witchcraft. The torch landed on the cordons in a shower of sparks and the whole lot went up in flames, the Count screamed and continued to scream in agony as the flames engulfed him.

A couple of bold soldiers recovered their wits and stepped forward, swords drawn, but were struck down, maimed but alive and groaning, by the lightning strikes of Arrik's deadly sling. The remaining soldiers were perplexed and leaderless. They did not know what to do.

"Hold men," wheezed Tompty, leaning heavily on Elvira's shoulders, "You know me, men, I am Sir Tompty, the son of the Count, I have trained or served with most of you before. Some of you have served on rotation at the lodge, you and you and you, you know the Prince. Put down your arms, there is nothing to fight for now other than maintain the rightful rule of law. This noble young fellow here is the rightful heir to the throne. The Count tried to kill us to claim the Kingdom for himself. Bow down to His Highness Prince Arrik,"

The men looked at each other and, as a man, threw their arms down. And kneeled at the Prince's feet.

Arrik called out to them, "Get into the courtyard, men, put out those flames, the Count must survive and stand trial for his crimes against the Kingdom."

"Aye, Sire!" they cried in unison, turned as one and ran down to save what they could. The bonfire below had already become too fierce to peer over the battlements any more.

The three companions made their slow progress down to the courtyard. Someone had already opened the main gates, in order to fetch buckets of water from the moat. The Palace guard held the farmers and tradesmen at bay although news that the battle was over and the Prince victorious spread like wildfire.

Elvira's father, as leader of the rebels, was allowed through to find out how his daughter fared. Arrik and rebels helped with buckets too, and the fire was soon extinguished, but it was too late to save the Count from his horrific injuries.

***

Now

Prince Arrik peered out of the Palace tower window. He had adopted Elvira's former lofty prison as his personal bedchamber, with new bed and fittings which had been carried up the circular staircase.

As far as the eye could see the ground around the Palace lay white with snow. Soft white flakes fell from a leaden sky.

"In three months' time I will be crowned king, the most powerful man in the Kingdom. But I am alone, friendless and with no princess to share my crown." He spoke sadly to himself.

Today there were no lessons, no court, nor crowd of advisers clamouring for attention. The day was his to do with what he wanted, however solitary his activities might be.

"Right, Connie," he said, "you better have the bacon on!"

He laughed, remembering the last time it snowed, when in the mountains just two months since. How much had changed in so few short weeks.

Connie was happily cooking up a storm in the kitchen, with serving maids rushing back and forth, each laden with jugs of wine, ale, platters and covered trays of breakfast food to ferry to the main dining hall. She smiled as Arrik came through the door and plonked himself down at the kitchen table, where the servants would have their breakfast, once all the Palace family, staff and guests had eaten their fill. She would tolerate Arrik in the kitchen while he was still a prince, but when he was King, she might have to ask him to eat in the hall with the others, at least some of the time.

Tompty didn't come into the kitchen very often any more, Connie heard he was interested in one lady in particular. As Arrik was adjusting to his permanent role, so was Tompty settling down at last. She felt sad that for some strange reason there appeared to be a growing distance between her two former charges.

"I knew you'd be chasing me for your usual pile of bacon and eggs, Rik, before venturing out into the snow," Connie observed with a warm smile, "you should be pleased and excited by the change of weather, but you look more like you've swallowed a wasp!"