Five Children and It
"It's no use thinking about it," said Anthea. "Let's go on exploring.
Perhaps we might find something to eat."
This lighted hope in every breast, and they went on exploring the
castle. But though it was the most perfect and delightful castle you can
possibly imagine, and furnished in the most complete and beautiful
manner, neither food nor men-at-arms were to be found in it.
"If you'd only thought of wishing to be besieged in a castle thoroughly
garrisoned and provisioned!" said Jane reproachfully.
"You can't think of everything, you know," said Anthea. "I should think
it must be nearly dinner-time by now."
It wasn't; but they hung about watching the strange movements of the
servants in the middle of the courtyard, because, of course, they
couldn't be sure where the dining-room of the invisible house was.
Presently they saw Martha carrying an invisible tray across the
courtyard, for it seemed that, by the most fortunate accident, the
dining-room of the house and the banqueting-hall of the castle were in
the same place. But oh, how their hearts sank when they perceived that
the tray _was_ invisible!
They waited in wretched silence while Martha went through the form of
carving an unseen leg of mutton and serving invisible greens and
potatoes with a spoon that no one could see. When she had left the room,
the children looked at the empty table, and then at each other.
"This is worse than anything," said Robert, who had not till now been
particularly keen on his dinner.
"I'm not so very hungry," said Anthea, trying to make the best of
things, as usual.
Cyril tightened his belt ostentatiously. Jane burst into tears.
CHAPTER VII
A SIEGE AND BED
The children were sitting in the gloomy banqueting-hall, at the end of
one of the long bare wooden tables. There was now no hope. Martha had
brought in the dinner, and the dinner was invisible, and unfeelable too;
for, when they rubbed their hands along the table, they knew but too
well that for them there was nothing there _but_ table.
Suddenly Cyril felt in his pocket.
"Right, _oh_!" he cried. "Look here! Biscuits."
Somewhat broken and crumbled, certainly, but still biscuits. Three whole
ones, and a generous handful of crumbs and fragments.
"I got them this morning--cook--and I'd quite forgotten," he explained
as he divided them with scrupulous fairness into four heaps.
They were eaten in a happy silence, though they had an odd taste,
because they had been in Cyril's pocket all the morning with a hank of
tarred twine, some green fir-cones, and a ball of cobbler's wax.
"Yes, but look here, Squirrel," said Robert; "you're so clever at
explaining about invisibleness and all that. How is it the biscuits are
here, and all the bread and meat and things have disappeared?"
"I don't know," said Cyril after a pause, "unless it's because _we_ had
them. Nothing about _us_ has changed. Everything's in my pocket all
right."
"Then if we _had_ the mutton it would be real," said Robert. "Oh, don't
I wish we could find it!"
"But we can't find it. I suppose it isn't ours till we've got it in our
mouths."
"Or in our pockets," said Jane, thinking of the biscuits.
"Who puts mutton in their pockets, goose-girl?" said Cyril. "But I
know--at any rate, I'll try it!"
He leaned over the table with his face about an inch from it, and kept
opening and shutting his mouth as if he were taking bites out of air.
"It's no good," said Robert in deep dejection. "You'll only---- Hullo!"
Cyril stood up with a grin of triumph, holding a square piece of bread
in his mouth. It was quite real. Everyone saw it. It is true that,
directly he bit a piece off, the rest vanished; but it was all right,
because he knew he had it in his hand though he could neither see nor
feel it. He took another bite from the air between his fingers, and it
turned into bread as he bit. The next moment all the others were
following his example, and opening and shutting their mouths an inch or
so from the bare-looking table. Robert captured a slice of mutton,
and--but I think I will draw a veil over the rest of this painful scene.
It is enough to say that they all had enough mutton, and that when
Martha came to change the plates she said she had never seen such a mess
in all her born days.
The pudding was, fortunately, a plain suet one, and in answer to
Martha's questions the children all with one accord said that they would
_not_ have molasses on it--nor jam, nor sugar--"Just plain, please,"
they said. Martha said, "Well, I never--what next, I wonder!" and went
away.
Then ensued another scene on which I will not dwell, for nobody looks
nice picking up slices of suet pudding from the table in its mouth, like
a dog.
The great thing, after all, was that they had had dinner; and now
everyone felt more courage to prepare for the attack that was to be
delivered before sunset. Robert, as captain, insisted on climbing to the
top of one of the towers to reconnoitre, so up they all went. And now
they could see all round the castle, and could see, too, that beyond the
moat, on every side, tents of the besieging party were pitched. Rather
uncomfortable shivers ran down the children's backs as they saw that all
the men were very busy cleaning or sharpening their arms, re-stringing
their bows, and polishing their shields. A large party came along the
road, with horses dragging along the great trunk of a tree; and Cyril
felt quite pale, because he knew this was for a battering-ram.
"What a good thing we've got a moat," he said; "and what a good thing
the drawbridge is up--I should never have known how to work it."
"Of course it would be up in a besieged castle."
"You'd think there ought to have been soldiers in it, wouldn't you?"
said Robert.
"You see you don't know how long it's been besieged," said Cyril darkly;
"perhaps most of the brave defenders were killed early in the siege and
all the provisions eaten, and now there are only a few intrepid
survivors,--that's us, and we are going to defend it to the death."
"How do you begin--defending to the death, I mean?" asked Anthea.
"We ought to be heavily armed--and then shoot at them when they advance
to the attack."
"They used to pour boiling lead down on besiegers when they got too
close," said Anthea. "Father showed me the holes on purpose for pouring
it down through at Bodiam Castle. And there are holes like it in the
gate-tower here."
"I think I'm glad it's only a game; it _is_ only a game, isn't it?" said
Jane.
But no one answered.
The children found plenty of strange weapons in the castle, and if they
were armed at all it was soon plain that they would be, as Cyril said,
"armed heavily"--for these swords and lances and crossbows were far too
weighty even for Cyril's manly strength; and as for the longbows, none
of the children could even begin to bend them. The daggers were better;
but Jane hoped that the besiegers would not come close enough for
daggers to be of any use.
"Never mind, we can hurl them like javelins," said Cyril, "or drop them
on people's heads. I say--there are lots of stones on the other side of
the courtyard. If we took some of those up? Just to drop on their heads
if they were to try swimming the moat."
So a heap of stones grew apace, up in the room above the gate; and
another heap, a shiny spiky dangerous-looking heap, of daggers and
knives.
As Anthea was crossing the courtyard for more stones, a sudden and
valuable idea came to her.
She went to Martha and said, "May we have just biscuits for tea? We're
going to play at besieged castles, and we'd like the biscuits to
provision the garrison. Put mine in my pocket, please, my hands are so
dirty. And I'll tell the others to fetch theirs."
This was indeed a happy thought, for now with four generous handfuls of
air, which turned to biscuits as Martha crammed it into their pockets,
the garrison was well provisioned till sundown.
They brought up some iron pots of cold water to pour on the besiegers
instead of hot lead, with which the castle did not seem to be provided.
The afternoon passed with wonderful quickness. It was very exciting; but
none of them, except Robert, could feel all the time that this was real
deadly dangerous work. To the others, who had only seen the camp and the
besiegers from a distance, the whole thing seemed half a game of
make-believe, and half a splendidly distinct and perfectly safe dream.
But it was only now and then that Robert could feel this.
When it seemed to be tea-time the biscuits were eaten, with water from
the deep well in the courtyard, drunk out of horns. Cyril insisted on
putting by eight of the biscuits, in case anyone should feel faint in
stress of battle.
Just as he was putting away the reserve biscuits in a sort of little
stone cupboard without a door, a sudden sound made him drop three. It
was the loud fierce cry of a trumpet.
"You see it _is_ real," said Robert, "and they are going to attack."
All rushed to the narrow windows.
"Yes," said Robert, "they're all coming out of their tents and moving
about like ants. There's that Jakin dancing about where the bridge
joins on. I wish he could see me put my tongue out at him! Yah!"
The others were far too pale to wish to put their tongues out at
anybody. They looked at Robert with surprised respect. Anthea said--
"You really _are_ brave, Robert."
"Rot!" Cyril's pallor turned to redness now, all in a minute. "He's been
getting ready to be brave all the afternoon. And I wasn't ready, that's
all. I shall be braver than he is in half a jiffy."
"Oh dear!" said Jane, "what does it matter which of you is the bravest?
I think Cyril was a perfect silly to wish for a castle, and I don't want
to play."
"It _isn't_"--Robert was beginning sternly, but Anthea interrupted--
"Oh yes, you do," she said coaxingly; "it's a very nice game, really,
because they can't possibly get in, and if they do the women and
children are always spared by civilised armies."
"But are you quite, quite sure they _are_ civilised?" asked Jane,
panting. "They seem to be such a long time ago."
"Of course they are." Anthea pointed cheerfully through the narrow
window. "Why, look at the little flags on their lances, how bright they
are--and how fine the leader is! Look, that's him--isn't it, Robert?--on
the gray horse."
Jane consented to look, and the scene was almost too pretty to be
alarming. The green turf, the white tents, the flash of pennoned lances,
the gleam of armour, and the bright colours of scarf and tunic--it was
just like a splendid coloured picture. The trumpets were sounding, and
when the trumpeters stopped for breath the children could hear the
cling-clang of armour and the murmur of voices.
A trumpeter came forward to the edge of the moat, which now seemed very
much narrower than at first, and blew the longest and loudest blast they
had yet heard. When the blaring noise had died away, a man who was with
the trumpeter shouted--
"What ho, within there!" and his voice came plainly to the garrison in
the gate-house.
"Hullo there!" Robert bellowed back at once.
"In the name of our Lord the King, and of our good lord and trusty
leader Sir Wulfric de Talbot, we summon this castle to surrender--on
pain of fire and sword and no quarter. Do ye surrender?"
"_No_" bawled Robert; "of course we don't! Never, _Never, NEVER_!"
The man answered back--
"Then your fate be on your own heads."
"Cheer," said Robert in a fierce whisper. "Cheer to show them we aren't
afraid, and rattle the daggers to make more noise. One, two, three! Hip,
hip, hooray! Again--Hip, hip, hooray! One more--Hip, hip, hooray!" The
cheers were rather high and weak, but the rattle of the daggers lent
them strength and depth.