THE WIZARD
He was The Wizard to a thousand kings and I met him when I was wandering. He had a cloak of gold and eyes of fire and when he spoke, I felt a deep desire to free the world of its fear and pain and help the people to feel free again.1
His eyes sparkled with passion as he spoke of heroic deeds and power over life and death, whilst his cloak fluttered in the early evening breeze around him. His flowing white hair had escaped from the pointed black hat and now danced in time to the cloak. The flicker of the campfire made it look as if the motifs of stars, moons and lower animals were on the move.
He leaned towards me, shot glances left and right and beckoned me to move my ear closer.
"I'll tell you ... and only you," he whispered. He paused for a moment and looked about again.
"You're sitting on his treasure - the king's treasure - the greatest treasure of all time."
"Whose treasure?" I asked quietly. I felt that a conspiratorial voice was required.
"Him as lost it in the Wash."
I laughed at the thought of a king doing his washing. I could just imagine him pegging out his undies on the line, wearing a crown. The royal orb at his feet was forgotten as he ran back to do the next chore.
The Wizard's eyes flamed at me from underneath his bushy white brows.
"Disbeliever!" he screamed and sank back into the deepening shadows to sulk.
I had not wanted to hurt his feelings, so I held some chocolate out towards him. I had to hold it out for some time before he snatched it from my hand. After that, we continued chatting about nothing until I fell asleep dreaming heroic dreams.
I woke up in the morning to a fine mist hovering over the field next to which I had camped. He was gone, but his aura remained. I could feel him close, like a vivid dream that stays with you throughout the day. The embers of the fire were dead, but the designs on his hat seemed to be there. The swirling mist looked like a washed-out version of his swirling cloak. The sun rising sparkled through the trees like his eyes. However, the most potent reminder was a sense of purpose I had not felt in a long time.
His smile had been so sincere. His wish for a better world had seemed so honest.
I kicked the embers in frustration, urinated onto the field and turned my back towards the sun. Why should he have so much power and be so potent when I had had to take to the road to survive as a person? Why should he be able to speak to kings when jumped-up local government Councilors kicked him out of their surgeries? Why should he have power over life and death when I did not even have power over my own life?
Normally, I would have moved on, but something kept me there. By lunchtime, I had gathered more wood for the evening and had gone to the little shop in the nearby village - not that they were pleased to have my custom.
"Bloody tramp if you ask me," I heard her say to the next customer as I left. Still, these weeks on the road must have left me looking worse than when I started.
I had started heading south the day I left, but then decided to cross to Essex and follow the coast round. The realisation that all my wife had wanted me for was my earning capacity had hit me hard when I was made redundant. No, I had no earning capacity, just an unemployment benefit number. The rows about my being useless and no good to anyone anymore had started well before my last day at work, but the days at home had made the pressure constant. She had taken to taunting me in front of our friends, who visited less frequently. It was when Eve and Danny left, visibly shaking their heads, that I slunk upstairs, packed my rucksack with odd clothes, passport and benefit book. I pocketed my wallet and came back down the stairs. The last thing she shouted as I slammed the door behind me was, "Where's a no-good git like you going now?"
That hurt. After all those years together, that really hurt and gave me the strength to keep going when it was raining or cold. I had left in spring, now summer was arriving, and it was getting warmer and easier. I still had no idea where I was heading, but I felt that there had to be something better waiting for me somewhere. The last giro had been cashed in King's Lyn, and I was continuing my journey north along the coast. The sign outside the village said Holbeach, but that meant nothing to me. Geography had never been my strong subject. It was just a pleasant village resting quietly in a tapestry of fields of twittering birds.
The gentle walk back along the lane to my campsite had improved my mood. I settled down with one of the books I had bought in the second-hand shop. Not being a drinker or a smoker, this was one of my vices, chocolate being the other. Tonight was going to be a first. I had not slept in the same place two nights running before.
The book dropped into my lap as my eyes closed in the warm sun. I felt happy and secure again. I knew I was secure because I could just make him out standing guard quietly over by the hedgerow. His benign presence generated warmth and contentment in me, which was the opposite of the rage I had felt earlier.
It is an odd feeling to know that you are asleep and still be conscious of your surroundings. I dreamt of men with swords and chain mail riding horses close to me. One man came past with a golden helmet. He was swaying in his saddle and looked very ill. He was being supported by another man riding close with a large, pointed hat. No one seemed to notice me there, probably because it was raining so hard and it was dark, even though I still knew I was warm. Then I saw the cart swaying towards me. The waterlogged ground dragged at the wheels, trying to pull it from the narrow track into the water and mud on either side. I looked in horror as the horses pulled the cart through a particularly sticky patch. I knew what was going to happen, but I was unable to move. The cart lurched forward. It hung in the air for a moment. Then it crashed down. The load it carried started to topple in my direction. Then the whole cart came crashing down on top of me.
I awoke gasping for breath. The feeling of being crushed and suffocated was so real that even the bright late afternoon sun could not penetrate the dream. Sitting up, I put my head between my knees to recover.
"You saw me then with King John?" His dark brown voice startled me, and I looked up directly into the sun. All I could make out was his silhouette, the edges fuzzy with sunlight. His pointed hat was the apex of the triangle that was the Wizard. I put my head back down to recover.
"John was an evil man," he continued. "The Orb magnifies the power within. He lost his treasure and was glad of it. He knew that it would kill him. Despite what you may have been told, no search was made for the royal treasury until after John's death, a week later. Dysentery is not a nice way to go."2
He paused. I had recovered enough to be able to sit up straight, but I still could not see him properly. He shook his head.
"John took power through evil intent. He knew the power of The Orb because he was schooled in the power of The Orb. All royal children were. They knew that if they possessed it, they could bend others to their will. This was The Orb of power - the original power - the power and divine right of kings. After John, kings still carried an orb, but it was not The Orb.
I have waited a long time for someone I could trust with The Orb to rest here. Seek and ye shall find."
I blinked as he said that. By the time my eyes had opened again, he was gone, so I started to dig with my bare hands.
1 - Adapted from The Wizard by K. Hemsley and I. Clarke, recorded by Uriah Heap - 1971.
2 - King John lost his treasury somewhere in the Wash on 12th September 1216. That land has now risen slightly and lies outside the village of Holbeach, Norfolk.
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