‘This is an exquisite sword,’ the old man said, as he placed it alone in a narrow cupboard. ‘Does it have a name?’
‘Does what have a name?’ I asked.
‘Your sword-a weapon as superb as this should have a name.’
‘Oh, of course-I-I call it,’ I announced, “the Lawnmower!”
Chapter Nine
Since my first experience of a castle was inside a sewer-scented dungeon, I was expecting the other side of the door to be filled with disgusting barbarians in bearskins. I imagined them chomping on huge legs of animal flesh as they slapped the backsides of passing serving wenches, their greasy chins glistening in dim torchlight. How wrong can a boy be?
This place was spectacularly elegant. We were no longer strictly in the castle but in the Great Vineyard, a football-pitch-sized courtyard adorned with fountains and huge black and white marble statues. The statues were like oversized chess pieces strewn about in a haphazard manner-some upright, others on their side. It was as if the gods had just dumped out a giant chess set before they set up for a game. Roofing the courtyard was a black trellis that supported grapevines with fruit as big as plums. What was left of the day’s light filtered through the leaves, giving the room a majestic green hue.
Remembering the incident with the apple, the first thing I did was place my hand on a vine and ask nicely if I could have a grape. ‘NO YOU MAY NOT!’ The answer came back so clear it made my head hurt. These were proud plants.
Fergal whacked me on the back, ‘You weren’t thinking about plucking a grape from the Great Vineyard, were you?’
‘Who, me?’ I lied. ‘I wouldn’t be that stupid.’
‘Come on, let’s try Gerard’s new vintage.’
The party was in full swing. The music was infectious. It instantly lifted me into a party mood and made my walk resemble a little dance. It reminded me of Irish traditional music-but not quite. I was starting to think that there must have been some cultural exchange between my world and this one, because so much of The Land was almost familiar. The couple of hundred guests were standing around with mugs or sitting at wooden tables. I noticed that no two tables were of the same wood and each one would have made an antique dealer drool.
It seemed that all were welcome here. The guests’ clothes ranged from farmers’ rags to elegant flowing gowns, and everyone was mixing. I was expecting to get that we don’t like strangers around here stare but everyone was smiling and nodding, especially to Araf. We got to the bar and Fergal ordered ‘three of the new stuff’. While we were waiting for our wine, Fergal noticed he was standing next to someone he knew and slapped him on the back. He was a tall, lean man with very straight, shoulder-length blond hair. I could see by his expression that he liked being slapped on the back almost as much as I did.
‘Esus! How the hell are ya?’
‘Ah, Fergal, this must be your first celebration at Castle Muhn.’
‘It is indeed.’
‘And good evening, Master Araf,’ the tall man said.
Araf bowed.
‘Esus,’ Fergal said, ‘I would like you to meet Conor. Conor, Esus.’
‘Good evening,’ I said, bowing in the same manner as Araf.
The tall man bowed back, but only slightly.
‘Esus,’ Fergal explained, ‘is the Elf that takes care of the trees around Castle Ur.’
‘You’re an Elf?’ I blurted before I could stop myself.
‘I have that distinction-yes.’
‘Well,’ I said, trying to recover my composure, ‘some of my best friends are Elves.’
‘Oh yes,’ Esus said, ‘who?’
What a stupid thing to say. What was I going to do now? This was the first person I had met in The Land that I hadn’t tried to stab-I was starting to miss my old method of greeting people.
‘Ah…Legolas. Do you know him?’
‘No,’ said Esus. ‘What clan is he in?’
‘I don’t know,’ I said. ‘Hey, when I said best friends, I really meant acquaintances.’
The awkward moment was saved by the arrival of our wine. Fergal and even Araf got very excited.
‘Ah, my first taste of the new vintage. To Gerard and his vines,’ Fergal toasted, and we all clinked our mugs.
I’m not a real big fan of wine. Oh, I’ll have the odd glass at a posh dinner, but by and large I’d rather have a beer any day of the week, but this was wine I would sell my soul for. It was the nectar of the gods. I had an image of Bacchus, the Roman wine god, waltzing in and throwing a barrel of this stuff over his shoulder.
I don’t know why I was so surprised that this was the finest wine I had tasted, as everything I had tried in The Land had been the best thing I had ever seen or smelt or tasted-but surprised I was. ‘Wow! This is awesome!’ I shouted, so loud that everyone around the bar turned to look.
‘It’s alright,’ Esus said, dropping his voice to a whispered, ‘I think Gerard is skimping on the gold a bit this year-but so is everyone.’
‘You mean there is better wine than this?’ I said, between slurps.
That was a mistake. Esus went into a litany of vintages, giving detailed descriptions of each year’s colour, flavour and bouquet. He was a wine bore. I spotted it instantly and didn’t even try to keep up. While I pretended to listen to him, I contemplated meeting my first Elf. He didn’t look like an Elf. Here I was in a room full of Elves, Imps, Banshees and God knows what else and everyone looked so-normal. To be honest I was a bit disappointed. In the back of my mind I wanted this party to be like the Cantina scene in Star Wars, but it seems that the difference between an Elf and a Banshee is like the difference between a Norwegian and an Italian. Sure, you could tell the difference, but underneath they were all pretty much the same.
The sun had almost set, and the light shining through the vine trellis was waning. Just as I thought, We could use a little light in here, as if on cue about twenty of the waiting staff entered the room each holding a small pyramid of glowing gold wire balls. A handsome and distinguished man, also holding five glowing wire balls, strode into the centre of the room. The golden glow from his hands was brighter than all of the others-it illuminated his purple velvet outfit and his silver beard, and twinkled in ancient but still-mischievous eyes. He looked like a king out of a pack of cards. The crowd parted and applauded as he made his way to a small dais in the centre of the room.
Fergal nudged my side. ‘Look, it’s Gerard.’
Gerard tried to raise his hand to quiet the crowd and almost dropped the balls he was holding. He laughed heartily at this, as did everyone. We all quietened down to hear.
‘My good friends,’ he boomed, and I instantly knew he meant it-he loved these people and they loved him. ‘Welcome to Muhn. Every year I am amazed and humbled that so many of you would travel so far just to sample my newest vintage.’
Someone shouted, ‘Wouldn’t miss it for the world!’ and the assemblage replied with a, ‘Hear, hear!’
‘Thank you,’ Gerard continued. ‘I am especially heartened that so many of you have come for this harvest. I know how difficult a time you have had this year.’
The crowd mumbled. I heard Esus whisper, ‘That’s a first.’
‘What is?’ I asked.
‘Gerard never makes political statements like that.’
‘But as you know,’ Gerard continued, ‘Castle Muhn is no place for talk like that-even by me. Anyone heard grumbling tonight will be tossed out of my highest window’-this brought laughter and cheers-‘for tonight is a celebration!’
