Within the castle, angry murmurings filled the air. Certain members of the king’s entourage had serious misgivings about the captain of the guard.

“What right does the king have for putting him in charge,” a short fellow complained. “He knows nought of our ways.”

“True. This Charly bloke spends most of his time above the king’s own chambers.”

A tallish bloke had other concerns.

“Have none of you noticed that since his arrival we have had nothing but trouble?”

“I noticed that,” another quipped.

“What about the way that he dealt with that malady. The settlement was put to fire and sword.”

“What if he decides to do the same here?” the short bloke added.

“We won’t be safe in our beds,” the tall gent said.

“We should at least put our complaint before the king,” another suggested.

“He is under Charley’s spell,” the short gent said. “He will stand by him whatever he does.”

“So what are we going to do about it then?”

The rebels just stared at each other.

“We should get rid of him,” the tall bloke said.

As murmurings grew, a new problem was brought to the monarch’s attention.

As he sat regally upon his throne, a deputation had arrived from a settlement with some bad news.

“Three in our village have died already sire. The wise woman is treating four others.”

“Is not her potions working then?”

“They appear not to be sire. Word has it that your captain knows of ways to help people.”

“You wish me to despatch him then?”

“It would be the desirable thing to do.”

The king thought this over for a bit and summoned Grant and Charly.

“Welcome captain, these gents need your expert assistance.”

“What seems to be the trouble?”

He listened patiently as the details were repeated.

“Can you say what symptoms they have?”

“Well sir, they start coughing violently before inhaling with a
weird noise. On the second day they turn blue and perish.”

Charly thought this over.

“Sounds like a severe case of whooping cough to me. So what is this wise woman treating them with?”

“With potion and bleeding sir.”

Grant winked at his friend.

“A good old medieval trick that.”

“Yes indeed but one that rarely works mate. We will return and see this malady for ourselves.”

The ride to the village took around three hours, and the sun was well down when the stockade gate was opened.

“The sick are being treated in our great hall sir. This way.”

The great hall was of course a misnomer. A largish squat building made entirely from wood, it was often used for gatherings and the rare feast days.

When Charly entered, he saw the four sick individuals lying upon thick woollen blankets and the old woman mopping their brows. She glanced up as Charly approached.

“So you did get help then. There was no need.”

Charly smiled at her before kneeling beside the patient. As he did so, a coughing fit took hold, followed rapidly by a loud whoop.

“What do you think it is mam?” Grant asked.

“Fever of course. Though of a type that I have never encountered.”

Charly drew the woollies down and saw the feeding leeches upon his chest.

“They remove the bad humours sir. A well tested treatment.”

Charly just groaned.

“I know that it goes back to the Greeks mam but it only weakens the patient.”

The woman was far from pleased.

“I have always used this sir. Even upon myself and I still breathe.”

Grant smiled.

“I’m glad to hear it,” Charly said.

“I understand that you also use a potion? May I see it?”

The happy woman smiled and led him across to the nearby table.

“This be it sir.”

He peeked inside the ceramic jar and saw the thick goo with a little distaste.

“It looks thick enough to choke the poor sods.”

The woman shook her head as if he was daft.

“I add a little grape wine sir. It helps with dilution.”

As they spoke, one of the deputation suddenly alerted them.

“This one’s turning blue!”

Charly and the woman dashed back as the patient gasped with a thick rasping sound.

“He’s going,” the woman said sadly.

The patient’s back arched as his last breath rasped out.

“Now we have lost four,” Grant commented.

Charly rubbed his head.

“This is more than just whooping cough Grant.”

He covered the body and examined the next patient.

“This one has a very high temperature and by the way he’s breathing
I would say clogged lungs.”

“Can you help?” Grant asked.

“I did my Red Cross course ten years ago mate. It might help.”

The woman was puzzled by the reference.

“I no heard of that?”

As Grant smiled, Charly whispered, “Well before your time mam.”

“Come on Grant, help me to sit this fellow up eh? You lot, do the
same for the other two.”

After a moment Charly said, “Now do as I do.”

He started rubbing and strongly tapping the space between the shoulder blades, which quickly produced a violent response. The patients went into a spasm, violent coughs bringing up an odorous green sputum.

“You must keep them warm and make damn sure that they sleep upon their sides. Use wedges if you have to.”

The wise woman watched the strange remedy and the even stranger effect. When the coughing stopped, at last the patients were laid upon their sides.

As Charly pulled the leeches off the old woman said, “I’ll just fetch my potion. It should speed the recovery.”

“You do that then,” Charly whispered.

“Will they recover sir?” the head of the deputation asked.

“It will take time but I think so.”

As the woman returned with a drinking bowl Charly asked, “What’s in it by the way?”

The wise woman smiled.

“Well sir, aloes, tomato seeds, a mushroom and of course hemlock.”

That word made Charly gasp.

“Is there something wrong?” the woman asked. “My mom used to swear by it.”

Shaking his head Charly said, “What do you mean hemlock? If you miscalculate by even a gram the consequences can be devastating.”

“You mean she poisoned them?” Grant asked.

“We must report this to the king,” the man said.

Charly shook his head.

“That will not be necessary. After all she was only trying to help.”

He gave the now frightened woman a glassy stare.

“You must never use that again?”

She shook her head violently.

“Not as long as I live sir.”

As an afterthought Charly asked, “Can you make a thin broth?”

“I’ll do that now sir.”

“That’s great mam. It will perk them up a bit. No bread mind.”

The woman nodded and dashed off.

Smiling at the deputation he said, “We’ll stay till sunrise and then be off. These poor souls will be on the road to recovery by then.”

A little after sunrise the friends galloped from the village towards the castle and home. A single track led through an open common and Grant spotted an armed group coming their way.

The friends pulled the reins, and as their steeds came to a halt, the group of four slowed and drew their sword.

“This does not look good mate,” Grant said.

Charly recognised the individuals and called out, “Did the king send you?”

“Ney lad,” the leading ruffian replied.

“Then why are you here?” Grant asked.

“To free our king from your magic,” the second ruffian replied.

The horses reared as the ruffians charged the friends without any further warning.

“This way,” Charly yelled as he led the escape.

Across the common they went, as the ruffians followed hard upon their heels.

“Where are we going?” Grant asked.

“See that escarpment?”

“Oh I see.”

Their steeds reached the higher ground before Charly swung the horse around. Pulling his sword, he charged.

The sudden attack threw the malcontents off balance and Charly cut the first down quite easily. Grant struck the second. But the remaining two smashed their steeds against him.

As Grant was roughly dismounted, Charly threw his sword and it pierced the attackers back. The only survivor headed across the rough ground as Charly yelled. “Not that way!”

Charly saw Grant sitting up and went after the retreating man.

“The fool is heading for Thor Height!”

The rascal did not know this of course. He guided the steed across the rocky ground and stared ahead. As a huge cliff came into view, the ground suddenly fell away.

Charly heard the scream and pulled the reins hard.

“Damn it!”

He turned the horse and galloped back to where his bruised friend waited.

“You okay mate?”

Grant nodded as Charly retrieved his bloody weapon from the dead rascal.

“He got away did he?”

Charly shook his head.

“He went over that ruddy ravine mate. With the horse I’m afraid.”

“Will you tell the king about this rebellion?”

“Not yet. Hopefully we got them all. In any case, when they do not return, any others will be a lot less willing to deal with me.”

He dug his heels and the steed bolted towards home, as Grant followed a little way behind.