Sir Bigwart Page 4

  ‘Um, so I’ve heard, sire,’ said Crispin.

  ‘Even so,’ replied Firkin, ‘I’d like to give you something to help with your quest. A magic axe perhaps that can split a rock in two? Or a hunting horn that will call the birds of the air?’

  Sir Bigwart scratched his beard. ‘That’s very generous,’ he said, ‘but I’ll tell you what. I don’t suppose you’d be willing to part with that cooking pot of yours?’

  ‘The pot? Of course!’ said Firkin. ‘Though it is quite heavy. Are you sure you can carry it?’

  ‘Oh, don’t worry – my squire will take care of that,’ said Sir Bigwart.

  They made their farewells and set off, promising to call in again on their way home. Crispin trudged along behind his master with the big black pot strapped to his back like a snail carrying its shell.

  ‘Magic cooking pot!’ he muttered to himself. ‘A fat lot of help that’s going to be!’

  Chapter 8

  Marigold Gets Lost

  ‘Yikes! Is that where we’re going?’ gulped Crispin.

  The Princess nodded. ‘It’s quite big, isn’t it?’

  ‘Quite big’ didn’t begin to describe the castle that rose out of the swirling fog ahead of them. Even from this distance it looked immense. Half-hidden in the mist, it seemed to float above Ghastly Fell like a ghostly ship. Four crumbling grey towers stood, one at each corner, their ramparts almost touching the clouds.

  Crispin shivered and drew his cloak around him. A wooden signpost pointed across the moor.

  ‘CASTLE OF FELL – ONE MILE’

  Below this someone had carved the words:

  ‘TREZPASSERS WILL BE EATEN’

  ‘Are you OK? Only you’ve gone rather pale,’ said Princess Marigold.

  ‘Me?’ said Crispin. ‘Just a little chilly.’

  ‘Anyway, don’t worry,’ smiled Marigold. ‘When we get home, you’ll be able to write a poem about all this.

  ‘Giants are big,

  Ogres are tall, Cut off their heads, And they don’t bite at all.’

  She laughed, pleased with the rhyme she’d made up. Crispin had to admire her. Either she was the bravest girl he’d ever met or she didn’t know much about ogres.

  ‘Well, no point in putting it off,’ said the Princess.

  Sir Bigwart grabbed hold of her arm.

  ‘Where do you think you’re going?’

  ‘To the castle, of course.’

  ‘Are you out of your mind? We can’t just walk up to the front door and knock.’

  ‘Why not?’ asked the Princess.

  Why not? Marigold made it sound as if they were dropping in for tea and cake!

  ‘There are two blood-dripping, bone-crunching ogres in that castle. They eat people. Princesses included.’

  ‘He’s right,’ nodded Crispin. ‘It’s best to be careful.’

  ‘What do you suggest?’ asked Marigold.

  ‘Wait a while,’ advised Sir Bigwart. ‘You know the saying – never slay an ogre on an empty stomach.’

  ‘You just made that up,’ said Marigold.

  ‘No I didn’t – it’s in the knight’s code of conduct. Anyway, I think we should set up camp here and have a spot of lunch while we work out a plan.’

  ‘Such as?’ asked the Princess.

  ‘Well I don’t know, maybe mutton broth with chicken pasties.’

  ‘Not lunch! What sort of a plan?’ The Princess was losing patience. Anyone would think Sir Bigwart didn’t want to reach the castle at all.

  ‘Oh, I see,’ he said. ‘Well, after lunch we’ll keep watch to see if anyone comes out. We might need a snack just to keep us going –’

  ‘Sir Bigwart!’ the Princess interrupted.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘You’ve never actually killed an ogre before, have you?’

  ‘Me?’ said Sir Bigwart.

  ‘Yes. No more stories – I want the truth.’

  ‘Well, er … maybe not an ogre as such,’ stammered the brave knight, turning red.

  ‘Or a giant,’ said Marigold. ‘Or a fire-breathing dragon. In fact you’ve never killed anything at all, have you?’

  Sir Bigwart studied the ground sheepishly. The visor of his helmet swung down with a loud clang.

  ‘It’s true,’ he admitted, pushing it back up. ‘I never really wanted to come on this quest. It was my mother who pushed me into it. Up till now I’ve never been beyond the village.’

  The Princess stamped her foot. ‘You mean we’ve come all this way for nothing?’ she stormed. ‘It all makes sense now. No wonder you kept losing the way in the forest.’

  She was marching up and down, waving her arms about. ‘You never meant us to reach the castle at all, did you? Well you two brave heroes stay here if you like and discuss what you’re having for lunch – I’ve had enough!’ Saying this, she stomped off and in seconds was swallowed up by the fog.

  Crispin called after her. ‘Marigold! Come back! Marigold!’

  Sir Bigwart shook his head. ‘She’s gone.’

  ‘Gone? But you don’t think she’d …?’

  Sir Bigwart shrugged his shoulders. ‘Princesses! I told you, it’s no use trying to talk to them.’

  Crispin stared. Marigold was somewhere out there on Ghastly Fell, heading for the castle. They had to stop her before it was too late.

  * * *

  ‘Marigold? Marigold, where are you?’

  Crispin’s voice died away on the chilly air. It was hopeless. They had been trudging across the fell for what seemed like hours, but in the swirling fog it was impossible to see anything.

  ‘Crispin!’

  Crispin turned his head. The Princess’s voice sounded far off and a little scared. They followed the sound until it led them to the edge of an enormous crater. The hole was a curious shape, almost as if it had been scooped out by a giant hand. At the bottom was what looked like a grubby old sheet and a very cold and muddy princess.

  ‘Don’t worry, we’ll get you out,’ promised Crispin. ‘Wait there!’

  But rescuing the Princess turned out to be harder than it looked. The hole was deep and slippery. Even when Sir Bigwart held on to Crispin’s ankles and tried to lower him down, he couldn’t reach the Princess’s hand.

  ‘It’s no good,’ groaned Sir Bigwart at last. ‘We need a ladder.’

  Crispin wasn’t listening. The ground had started to tremble. At first it was just a small vibration, then the earth itself, the trees and the bushes actually began to shake as if an earthquake was brewing.

  ‘What’s happening?’ cried Marigold. Clods of loose earth were falling in on her and she was starting to panic. Crispin gripped Sir Bigwart’s arm to steady himself.

  Boom – Boom – BOOM!

  The ominous noise was growing louder and Crispin has a horrible feeling he knew what it was.

  Boom – BOOM – BOOM!

  He gasped as he glimpsed an enormous pair of muddy boots coming out of the fog. Each boot was so big he could almost have wriggled through one of the eyeholes. Above the boots a pair of legs the size of tree trunks strode along. The ogre was an astonishing sight. Crispin had never seen anyone quite as frightening in his life.

  ‘It’s them!’ cried Sir Bigwart. ‘Run!’

  Crispin might have argued, but his master had him by the arm and dragged him behind a hawthorn bush just as Dungbean reached the hole.

  From their hiding place, he saw the second ogre arrive. This one had a huge red beard falling over his belly which rose and fell like the sea. He seemed absurdly proud of this beard, stroking it constantly like a cat. Crispin saw him pick out a scrap of something and pop it into his mouth, licking his fat pink lips with relish.

  ‘I told you,’ said Grimbeard. ‘I is smelling them. They is close by.’

  ‘You is dreaming,’ scoffed Dungbean. When he opened his mouth, a stomach-churning odour filled the air. Crispin thought he was going to be sick.

  Grimbeard looked around. ‘Whomans can be tricksy,’ he muttered. ‘They
hide under rocks. They is close, I is telling you. I can smell their stink.’

  Dungbean wiped his mouth with his sleeve. ‘Well, stop your snivelling and look in the trap. I’ll bet my boots ‘tis empty.’

  To Crispin’s horror, the bearded ogre got down on his knees and peered into the hole. ‘AHAAA! What is I telling you?’ he cried in triumph. Thrusting in his hand, he grabbed Marigold and pulled her out.

  ‘Got you, you little hornswoggler!’ said Grimbeard. ‘So who is the clever one now?’

  The two ogres examined their catch. Grimbeard caught hold of Marigold’s golden hair and pulled it. ‘Oww!’ she screamed. ‘Let go of me, you brute!’

  ‘Who is you calling a boot?’ asked Grimbeard. His breath was like a warm, putrid gale. Marigold felt dizzy and wondered if she was going to faint. She tried not to look down at the drop below or at Grimbeard’s horrible mouth.

  ‘What is a hobgoblin doing in these parts?’ he asked.

  ‘I am not a hobgoblin,’ replied Marigold. ‘I am the Princess Marigold.’

  ‘A princess?’ Dungbean grinned at his twin. ‘I never did scoffle one of those. Does they taste sweet?’

  ‘How should I know, you bogglehead? I never did taste one,’ replied Grimbeard.

  ‘Shall us have her roasted or frazzled in goose fat?’ Grimbeard gave Marigold a poke in the ribs with his finger. ‘’Taint much meat on her,’ he grumbled. ‘She’s as skinny as a goat.’

  ‘You’re right,’ said Marigold. ‘You wouldn’t want to eat me.’

  ‘Oh no? And why is that?’

  ‘Princesses are all skin and bone. Look at my arms.’ She rolled back the sleeves of her robe to show them her tiny wrists. Grimbeard peered at them.

  ‘’Tis true. I could snap them in half easy as a twig,’ he said, scratching his thick beard thoughtfully. ‘Maybe us should fatten her up.’

  ‘Feed her bread and dripping, you mean?’ said Grimbeard.

  ‘Exactly. Then when she is plump as a porker, cook her with carrots and dumplings.’

  Dungbean produced a filthy old sack and held it open.

  Marigold struggled to escape. ‘Let me go! Wait till my friends get here!’

  Grimbeard pricked up his ears. ‘Friends? What friends is you meaning?’

  Marigold bit her lip. She hadn’t meant to give the others away. Looking down, she caught sight of Sir Bigwart’s bottom poking out from behind a bush. If the ogres caught them, there would be no one left to rescue her.

  ‘They’re on their way,’ she said. ‘And they’re bringing an army of a hundred knights to cut off your ugly heads.’

  Dungbean smiled a horrible smile. ‘Let them come,’ he leered. ‘We will squish them like tiddly ants. And when they is dead we will cook them in a pot and throw you in to join them.’

  ‘Meantime, enough of your jaw-twaddle,’ said Grimbeard. ‘In the sack you goes.’

  Saying this, he dropped Marigold into his sack and the two ogres set off, striding across the foggy moor in the direction of the castle.

  When the ground had stopped shaking, Sir Bigwart and Crispin crept out from behind the bush and looked at each other.

  ‘Now we’re really in trouble!’ groaned Sir Bigwart.

  ‘We’re in trouble? What about Marigold?’ asked Crispin. ‘You heard them! They’re going to eat her!’

  ‘Right,’ said Sir Bigwart. ‘Which reminds me, we still haven’t had any lunch.’

  Chapter 9

  A Very Hairy Climb

  Crispin’s heart was pounding as if it was trying to break out of his chest. Finding a way into the castle had been simpler than he expected. The great oak door was so huge they were both able to squirm through the gap underneath. It was more difficult for Sir Bigwart, who wasn’t really designed for squirming through anything. He had insisted on bringing along Firkin’s cooking pot, which made a loud clang when Crispin got it stuck under the door. Luckily the noise went unnoticed. Crispin couldn’t see what use it was going to be in any case. You could hardly threaten a hungry ogre with a cooking pot.

  The room they were in seemed to be the ogres’ dining hall. A fire crackled in the gigantic grate, throwing dancing shadows around the walls. Slumped in an armchair in front of it was the massive figure of Dungbean, sound asleep. His eyes were shut and his mouth lolled open. A web of dribble ran down his chin on to his leather doublet.

  Crispin noticed a sour-sweet smell in the room. On the table was a gigantic pitcher containing Dungbean’s home-made crab-apple cider – a drink so disgusting that no one but an ogre would have touched it. Dungbean was very proud of his secret recipe for this brew, which he made by crushing up crab apples with his bare feet. Dirt and the odd toe-nail turned up in the mixture but he swore this only added to the cider’s powerful taste. Once he’d added salt, yeast and buckets of green water from the castle moat, he left the foaming brew to ferment for four or five years in the castle cellar.

  The ogres drank the cider by the gallon, setting off belches like firecrackers and squabbling over which of them could burp the loudest and longest. When Crispin and Sir Bigwart found them, they had just finished one of these quarrels and had fallen into a deep sleep. Grimbeard had dozed off at the table, where his snores ruffled the curls of his enormous red beard. The table was bare apart from a plate of cheese crumbs and a silver birdcage as big as a church bell. Inside was Princess Marigold.

  Crispin knew they didn’t have much time. They had to find a way to rescue Marigold before the ogres woke up. It was impossible to climb the table legs, which were as smooth as marble pillars. There was only one way up and it would be perilous. He would have to climb Grimbeard.

  Leaving the cooking pot behind, he approached the ogre’s boot.

  ‘Are you coming?’ he whispered.

  Sir Bigwart gazed up at the massive figure of the sleeping ogre.

  ‘Up there? Are you out of your mind?’

  ‘We’ve got to reach Marigold. I thought knights were brave.’

  ‘They are … I am,’ blustered Sir Bigwart. ‘But one of us should stay here and keep a lookout. I mean just in case one of them wakes up.’

  Crispin shrugged. If Grimbeard woke up, he thought he’d know about it soon enough. Setting his foot on the toe of the ogre’s boot, he began to climb.

  The first part wasn’t so difficult. Back in Eggnog, Crispin had always been good at climbing trees and scaling an ogre wasn’t so different. Grimbeard’s filthy trousers were riddled with holes which made good footholds. Once he reached the knobbly hills of the ogre’s knees, he paused for breath. Close up, the ogre’s red beard looked like a tangled forest, wild and overgrown. It hung over Grimbeard’s swollen belly, rising and falling in time with his steady snores. This is the dangerous part, thought Crispin.

  If he pulled too hard or lost his footing, the ogre would wake up – and he didn’t like to think about what might happen then. Taking a deep breath, he grabbed hold of a tuft of beard and began to haul himself up.

  Luckily, when Grimbeard had drunk a lot of cider he slept like a baby. But as Crispin stepped over an egg crumb, he felt the ogre shift beneath him.

  ‘’Tis mine, you snivelling weevil!’ he growled. ‘Give ‘im here!’

  Crispin hung on tight, burying his face in the ogre’s horrible locks, not daring to move. Seconds passed. At last the steady rumble of Grimbeard’s snoring began again. The ogre wasn’t awake – he had been talking in his sleep.

  Looking over his shoulder, Crispin could now see the top of the table. The gap he’d have to jump was as wide as a ditch. And if he didn’t make it, the drop below was waiting. It was now or never.

  Letting go, he jumped, twisting in the air and landing with a heavy thump near the table’s edge. He got to his feet, relieved to see Dungbean’s eyes were still closed.

  ‘Crispin!’ It was Marigold’s voice. She was reaching out to him through the bars of her cage. He put a finger to his lips and went over.

  ‘Where have you been?’ she whispered i
mpatiently. ‘I’ve been stuck here for hours!’

  Crispin sighed. ‘Hello’ would have been nice. Or even, ‘Thanks for risking your life.’

  ‘Stand back,’ he instructed. ‘I need to get the door open.’

  He dragged the ogre’s fork across the table and squeezed it through the bars of the cage. Using it as a lever, he pushed against it with all his weight. The catch clicked and the door sprang open with a twang. Marigold burst out and grabbed him by the hand.

  ‘Come on!’ she said. ‘We have to hurry!’

  ‘Yes, I know,’ said Crispin. ‘No – not that way!’

  Marigold had halted at the edge of the table, staring down at the dizzying drop to the floor.

  ‘Follow me,’ said Crispin. ‘We have to climb down the ogre’s beard.’

  But Marigold was rooted to the spot and seemed unable to move.

  ‘It’s all right,’ said Crispin. ‘I’ll go first.’

  Marigold’s mouth was working and she was pointing behind him.

  ‘R … ru … RUN!’ she blurted out.

  Crispin turned in time to see the shadow of a gigantic hand fall over him. He was lifted high into the air and found himself staring at the red hairs sprouting from Grimbeard’s nose.

  ‘So,’ leered the ogre. ‘What has we here then?’

  Crispin caught sight of Marigold, who was struggling to escape from Grimbeard’s other hand. ‘Let go of me, you big oaf!’ she cried. ‘Let go or I’ll bite you!’

  She sank her teeth into the ogre’s forefinger but Grimbeard only roared with laughter.

  ‘Call that a bite? You is weaksome as a wormwiggler!’

  Grimbeard carried them over to the fireside, where he gave his brother’s chair a savage kick.

  ‘WAKE UP, YOU DOZY LUGABOUT!’ he roared in Dungbean’s ear.

  Dungbean’s eyes blinked open. He stretched up his arms and belched, filling the room with a smell like rotten apples.