The Dragonboy of Regnaville - Page 10

The purse bulged with gold.  Holger was mesmerised by the way the rim of one of the coins peeked out above the drawstring closure.  As he imagined the weight of it in his hand, his heart pounded.  Like a drumbeat so loud he wondered that no one was alerted to his intentions.  No more thinking.  The gentleman blinked and the purse was gone.  A second later, Holger was standing in front of the entire assembly, rescuing the fair maiden from the terrifying monster to great applause, when the cry, 'Thief!' went up.  'I've been robbed!  There is a thief amongst us!'

The confusion was useful.  Not only was Holger's alibi secure, but there was something else.  Karl, the gypsy, had shown Julian how to take a mouthful of plum brandy and spit it out while lighting it with a tallow candle to create a fire-breathing effect when challenged by the brave knight.  It was only after they left the outskirts of the town that Holger remembered he had meant to replenish the supply of brandy.  But he'd forgotten.  The jar had been empty for the last fifty miles.  Julian could charred the bark of a tree with his own breath.  The cry of 'Thief!' had been a distraction.  No one had thought to ask the obvious question.  At least, almost no one.

This wasn't the only change in the young man.  He was becoming quick to anger, so that Birgitta had to learn how to use great diplomacy when asking him to do things.  Collect wood, mend the wheel of the caravan, water the horses.  When he wasn't raging around their overnight campsites, he looked exhausted and frequently fell into deep, dark pits of depression.

One evening, an innocent remark - 'My darling, please light a fire' - caused him to grab his mother and bellow into her face.

'Julian, light a fire.  Julian sweep out the caravan.  Julian fetch a bucket of water.  I am not your slave!'  A soon as the words left his lips he felt distressed, so sorry for his actions.  He ran off into the forest and didn't reappear until the following evening, his clothes ragged, his face, shoulders and arms a patchwork of scratches, the skin on his elbows peeling and the bones protruding.  He sat down between his parents, the colours of the blazing fire reflected in their anxious faces.  Birgitta and Holger glanced sideways at each other.  At last, Julian began to mumble.  'Make me a cage, Father.  Make it strong.'