Author: lazaruscarpenterauthor

After receiving an invite to the Book Show on http://www.showboat.tv obviously like anyone, I thought must have a look at this Internet TV Channel based in Pembroke, Wales. So, here I am scrolling and clicking and then, click, advertising. Terms for 10,000 views at £9.99 ($13 US). I had to look again, after making a cup of coffee, and looking again, just to be sure. As a very busy Internet TV Station, I thought, sign up. what you got to lose (£9.99). I did. Switched on today and the first thing I saw .. Crach Ffinnant – The Prophecy, my book advertised on TV.

The gates of the city were guarded by the King’s soldiers who carefully checked all the contents of our wagons closely before allowing the circus caravan to enter. We slowly trudged wearily through the gates which were surrounded on all sides by wooden ramshackle houses with smoke billowing through holes and makeshift chimneys upon thatched roofs. It was filthy and muddy. Flowing uneasily were pools of excrement which filled the gutters, blocked in places by all forms of cast-off rubbish. The smell that invaded my nostrils reminded me of my first moments in Shrewsbury, only worse.

 Rolling slowly through the mud, our caravan passed through streets that were hustling and bustling with folk busy about their daily tasks. Groups of armed soldiers marched here and there, seemingly keeping a close eye on everything to maintain order. I saw a big burly soldier bearing the King’s insignia on his tunic, stretched across a broad chest, kick out savagely at an old man who was begging at the side of the road. In my homeland of Wales, we would never treat a person in such an uncaring way. Never had I heard of such cruelty and certainly had never witnessed it as I was doing now. The old man rolled into the gutter, grasping his middle where the soldier’s boot had struck him unnecessarily and mercilessly. The soldier kicked him again in the small of his aged back, making the old man curl up like a baby, groaning in the gutter, tears of pain, resentment and fear streaming from his tired eyes. The King’s soldier then stepped over the old man and turning on his heel he drew phlegm from deep down in his big chest and spat. The spittle landed in the middle of the old man’s face, spraying onto his cheeks. He strode off, leaving his victim prostrate with ne’er a backward glance.

 The streets were full of beggars and ragged dressed people, many with no shoes, shuffling around in the cold, looking lost, hungry and frightened. Two riders in half armour rode around a corner in front of us on proud spirited black horses. They trotted towards us, mud and stones flying from heavy hooves which struck the earth forcibly and with purpose. A few paces behind, riding a black charger, sat a young knight with a silver helmet adorned with a blue plume, wafting in the wind as he rode. As they came closer, I thought I recognised the harsh bitter features of the face under the helmet. I was as sure as ‘day follows night’ that it was the man Glyndwr had saved them from – Edmund the bully from Worcester. He wore the helmet and plume and he was riding a stallion, just as predicted by Llwyd ap Crachan Llwyd in his prophecy.

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A few stragglers remained, amongst whom were the young gentlemen, including Edmund. They stood huddled closely together, talking to each other now much more quietly than before. The young gentleman who had defended the ragged man must have been in disagreement with the rest of them as he pulled himself away from the group, remarking loudly so all could hear.

“I will have no part of this! Gentlemen do not behave in this way!” He stood to face them all and again asserted himself. “You are wrong by your intended actions and bring disgrace upon your houses and families.” He stepped further back as Edmund stepped forward.

“Have a care, Glyndwr, or I will stick you like a rabbit!”  Edmund threatened, shaking a finger into the ‘defender’s’ face, challenging for authority. In a flash, Glyndwr moved like lightning, grabbing at Edmund’s wagging finger and twisting it, bringing Edmund to his knees, wincing with pain.

“You have a care, Edmund, and never address me in that way again!” Speedily and almost unseen, his hand that had gripped the once wagging finger of Edmund, slid into a hard slap across his cheek that all heard. Edmund stepped back as his hand shot towards the dagger hanging from the leather belt at his middle. Glyndwr, as swift as an arrow, stepped into the full body of the blonde bully and pushed him hard, grabbing the dagger by the hilt before Edmund was able to reach it. He brought his left fist up and struck Edmund hard in the face, drawing blood from a now shattered nose. Edmund fell to the ground with one hand holding his face, blood dripping through his fingers. Glyndwr stepped back and stood tall against the bully. “Let this be the end of this stupidity. The end!” Glyndwr addressed Edmund firmly and all could see that the fight, if that is what it was, was now at an end. Edmund was helped to his feet by another of their group. Holding his bleeding face, which was now becoming swollen from the strength of Glyndwr’s blow, Edmund stared firmly into Glyndwr’s eyes with a fixed gaze.

 “I won’t forget that, you Welsh churl!”

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We are so proud to have been invited to appear on Showboat TV’s Book Show. Filming is booked for Friday afternoon, so a leisurely drive to Pembroke in the morning, spot of lunch and a glance around local bookshops. Roll on Friday. Crach Ffinnant on television, an omen perchance!

‘WATCH THIS SPACE .. FULL OF CRACH’O’MAGIC’

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It was a bumpy ride. The wagon jolted as it rolled out of one rut into another but at least the sun shone and it was much warmer today. Fluffy white clouds drifted casually across a blue sky, little wind blew and the heat from the still rising sun felt pleasant on my skin. Crow snapped loose reins and whistled quietly to himself. Wasp dozed in the back of the wagon, small snores issuing forth, buzzing like a tired bee. I sat next to Crow and stared at the lush greenery of England. It was not what I had been led to expect by my Master, Llwyd ap Crachan Llwyd. I suppose it was because we thought the English were so evil and dark that their country would be also. But this was a beautiful place to behold indeed. Rolling hills and lush forests reminded me of Wales and for a moment I found my mind drifting back to my homeland.

“A good day to journey, Crach?” Crow stopped whistling, smiling at me as he continued.  “We will camp for two nights before our next show.”

“Where are we going?” I mimed, scratching my chin while pointing into the distance and trying to look quizzical.

“Worcester!” He answered, cracking the reins again.

I had never heard of this place. Mind you, I had never heard of Shrewsbury either until my Master sent me on this journey. “Is it a big place?” I gesticulated, spreading my arms and again appearing quizzical by raising first one eyebrow and then the other, hoping this would aid my ‘dumb’ question to be understood. Crow seemed to understand my every expression. Oh, what joy I now felt! I was getting so used to pretending speechlessness that it felt quite natural and my friends appeared to have no difficulty in grasping meanings encapsulated by my actions.

“Bigger than Shrewsbury, more people too, thus probably a much bigger audience than last night. We always earn more there but it can be a bit dangerous at times.” Crow replied.

His words rang in my ears. Well one word to be precise, the word ‘dangerous’. I did not like the sound of that. I did not like it at all. ‘Dangerous in what way?’ I wondered. Crow must have seen fear in my face as he continued.

“Don’t worry, Crach, Master always protects us. As there are a lot more people in Worcester than in Shrewsbury, it means more opportunity for us to encounter folk that may not be too nice, especially to dwarves!”

I remembered how I had been shunned and verbally attacked when entering Shrewsbury, not to forget my close encounters with buckets of slops hewn from windows, accompanied by abuse, before shutters were instantly slammed shut by an unknown assailant. I knew we were either revered for our magical abilities or hated due to tales of curses becoming true when issued by dwarves. Well, there is always some truth associated with rumour but man could often demonstrate more evil intent than any dwarf was born to even consider. Men were vicious, unkind and many times acted without thought. Dwarves never acted without thinking first, it’s in our blood to be naturally cautious. Quick to thought and slow to act gives us time to consider a correct response. We do not like violence, and that has nothing to do with our size. I had always thought of brutality as being needless and futile. Although I was yet to learn that in some situations there may be no other choice. Crow started to whistle again, Wasp snored in the wagon, whilst I leant back against a sack and began to daydream with the warmth from the sun aiding my drifting mind.

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