Grimus

The bishop, a chubby, grey-haired fellow, walked across the castle courtyard and looked into the stable.

“Get the prince’s horse ready Grimus. They’re about to leave.”

“Yes, Your Excellency,” the squire replied.

Grimus peeked through the stable window. Soldiers were mounting their horses in the yard. He brushed the stallion’s neck then led it through the stable door where the bishop stood waiting.

“Don’t forget your duty to God and to the queen.”

“I won’t, Your Excellency.”

Mounting his horse, Grimus rode towards the group, leading the prince’s stallion behind him.

“Good day my lords,” Grimus bowed as he led the stallion past the soldiers. Kneeling by the royal steps, he waited on the prince, as was his duty.

Duty was indeed what Grimus did best. He was an excellent Squire, with an eye for detail and enjoyed serving the knights. “Grimus is the best,” it was often said in the Castle.

Not that Grimus was his real name, but it had stuck with him since childhood. His sunken cheeks, shifty eyes and especially his distorted mouth, which made his smile look more like a snarl, or grimace, had given him the name. With hard work, he’d risen up the ranks till he’d become, at a rather old age, a squire. But royal squires were teenage boys, not balding thirty-year-olds like him. So, after a few years he’d been let go; the castle didn’t need him anymore and he was forced home to a less glamorous life raising goats for his father. So, imagine his surprise when he got a message from the bishop asking him to return and serve Prince Eric, the heir to the throne. He almost fell into the goat pen when he heard the news!

“Prince Eric is young and prone to getting himself in trouble,” the bishop had said. “The queen needs someone trustworthy to watch and advise him: Most importantly, someone to report his every movement to me.”

“You mean a spy?” Grimus had asked.

“I mean someone to report everything to me,” the bishop said, nodding. “Can we trust you, Grimus?”

“Yes, your Excellency. Yes Sir! I will not let you down. I will not let Her Majesty down. You can count on me, Your Excellency.”

“Good!”

And that was it.

Although spying on the prince wasn’t as glamorous as being a squire, it rescued him from the dreary goat farm he’d begun to hate. He was determined to do his duty for the queen.

As for the prince? Grimus didn’t like him. The princeling was a spoiled, irresponsible brat who preferred frolicking and adventure more than the royal court – totally unfit to rule, Grimus thought. Perhaps he could teach the youngster a thing or two about being responsible. Hah! Perhaps he’d be so useful, when the prince became king; he’d be made prime minister! Grimus smiled at the thought of that. Minister Grimus! That would be an achievement! The people in his village would look up to him then, chant his name, name their children after him, perhaps even build a statue…

“Why are you smiling Grimus? Please stop! You’re scaring the horses.”

The soldiers burst out laughing. Grimus frowned.

“His Highness is coming out,” someone said and the laughter stopped. 

Just then, Prince Eric appeared. He was young, barely seventeen, with long golden hair, piercing eyes and a confident smile. Grimus knelt till the prince mounted the stallion.

“Let’s go!” the prince said.

Within moments the group of horsemen was out through the castle gates.