Chronicle of the Golden Orb: Chapter 6
Chapter 6
There once was a kingdom with a Prince named Shewan who would not marry any of the princesses or noble ladies that came before him, for none could meet his standard of excellence. Namely, that she be possessed of a constitution so delicate that she be unable to sleep on a mattress of finest down feathers if there was so much as a pea beneath the mattress. In his youth a Gypsy woman had read his palm and prophesied that any woman who claimed to be of noble blood and yet could sleep on any but the softest of beds was a woman of corruptible virtue and ill fit to be the wife of a king. At first he had not believed the woman’s oracle, but she also prophesied correctly the date of his father’s death and told him where he could find the lost family jewel.
Any likely woman of proper age and marital status who traveled through the kingdom was invited to the prince’s palace for a scrumptious feast laced with light sleeping potions. If she fell asleep at the table she was deemed unfit as a wife and led to a guest chamber. If she remained upright, unable to sleep except in repose, she would be led to a specially prepared chamber to lie upon a deliciously comfortable mattress of the softest down with a single hardened pea placed between the layer of the mattress and the bed frame. If she slept the night through she was sent on her way the next day well rested but confused at the suddenness of her departure. The prince became well known for two things: being an excellent host who catered to his guests’ every whim and remaining strangely unmarried despite the parade of eligible noble women flocking to his door.
One day as Prince Shewan rode through the preserve surrounding his estate, he chanced upon a young maiden with bright red hair lying unconscious beside the road. Blowing his horn to call his huntsmen, he dismounted, keeping an eye on the surrounding foliage lest this be a bandit’s ruse to catch him in an ambush. Quickly scanning the undergrowth, he did not see signs of any other people. Surprisingly, neither did he see any telltale broken twigs or foot prints marking how the girl came to be in her present state; it was almost as if she had been dropped there by some huge bird. Reassured by the crashing of his huntsmen hurrying to his side, he drew closer to the maiden. Immediately he was struck at the sight of her beauty and innocence. She appeared pure as the driven snow. Yet how had she come to be here, lying senseless in the forest’s muck?
Lifting her gently, careful lest he worsen her injuries through carelessness, Prince Shewan placed her across the front of his saddle and swung up behind the reins. Being careful not to jostle her as they rode, Prince Shewan found himself staring awkwardly at the beauty of the young lady, to such an extent that one of his huntsmen had to take the bridle of the horse and lead it to prevent its master from colliding with low hanging branches. The most singular quality of the young lady was that no matter how many precautions the prince made to keep her comfortable and balanced against jarring, her unconscious body remained quite agitated and her facial expression twisted in discomfort. It was as if she was feeling each step that was taken, reacting as if it were a knife twisting in her back.
When the hunting party entered the courtyard of the prince’s castle he ordered several lady’s maids to watch over the young mystery guest. With the help of two able-bodied guardsmen she was carried to the nicest guest room and placed upon the bed with the pea beneath the mattress. The moment her back touched the mattress she sat bolt upright.
“Where am I?” She looked bewilderedly about her. “And why am I being placed on such an uncomfortable bed?”
The maids were shocked for they themselves had never slept on such a comfortable bed as that offered this strange forest girl. One ran straight away to tell the prince that his guest was awake and the others helped the young lady out of her soiled clothes and into a warm bath while suitable garments were found for her. The maids asked many questions while they washed the mysterious young lady’s rust-colored hair and perfumed her with rare oils, but the girl would answer only in non-committal monosyllables for affirmative or negative. Never more than that. It was as if she didn’t trust the lady’s maids. Afterwards the maids conferred and decided that it was this distrust that marked her as a true noble.
The prince started with surprise when he heard the news that the girl was awake. In concern for her safety he had ordered her taken to the most comfortable bedroom, forgetting for a moment that the servants would assume he meant the chamber of the pea. The fact that she was awake cast his finding of her in an entirely new light. Was it fate, or something darker that had brought him to her?
“Set the banquet table,” the prince ordered. “Tonight, we shall celebrate the safe delivery of our guest from harm.”
A set of the prince’s finest clothes was laid out in his chamber. The great hall was cleared and two chairs set at each end of the long stone table. The cooks and scullery maids ran about sending pages to pluck chickens and milk the cows. The lamp lighter went quickly through the halls leading from the chamber of the prince to the banquet hall, fastidiously lighting each lamp along the way.
In the bedroom chamber the young maiden had been taken to, the maids were a flurry of activity, choosing the best dress from the castle’s store and fretting over whether the girl’s red hair should be up or down, braided or loose. Among those people red hair was a rarity and it seemed a strange omen that a girl with such a color had appeared. When the girl with the make-up came the young maid drew back, refusing to allow the slightest powder or rouge to touch her face.
“I shall go as I am, or not at all,” she said. “I do not desire to paint my face like some road-woman.”
The maids smiled at this for they had all heard the tale of how she had been found senseless in the dirt. However, the head maid stopped their whispering when she drew closer, looking earnestly at the girl’s features and coloring.
“More light,” she commanded as she searched the girl’s face. “She is perfect as she is. Nothing of our art will improve her. And yes… I think the green dress will suit her best for she came to us from the trees.”
Soon arrayed in a delicate green dress the pretty maiden was led to the banquet hall of prince Shewan. The table was heaped with pheasant and grouse, roast suckling pig, swan paté, and fried eel. A cornucopia of fruits and a selection of fine wines marked the landscape of the banquet table, a still unexplored country of gourmand pleasure. The strange girl seated herself quietly at her chair but rose immediately when the prince entered from the opposite portal.
“No, no, dear lady. Do not rise on my account. Please be seated and partake of whatever excites your fancy. You must be hungry following your ordeal,” he gestured as he strode to his seat.
“Please, my lord. How did I come to this place? When last I knew I was with my father’s people and a sudden darkness obscured the sun. I must have fainted or been knocked out for when I was aware again I found myself in your castle, my clothing covered in dirt and smelling of unfamiliar plants.”
“I was hoping you might be able to answer that question for me,” the prince sighed. “Yet it seems all I shall gain are new questions. Who, pray tell, is your father?”
“Neither that nor my name may I speak until I am among my own people again, your grace,” she replied. “These are strange times and I do not half believe my senses when they tell me that I am in such a place. Perhaps you are all people of the air, the fair folk that deceive the eye and make things that are not as though they were. To tell you my true name or eat any of your food would bind me to your will. No, in all respect your honor I shall not do such a thing. If I never returned home it would bring great sorrow to my father.”
“Truly you are a wise maiden. If you will not tell me your true name, would you tell me what I may call you?”
“In my girlhood I was likened to a summer rose.” Her eyes met his face searchingly. “If I must have a name in this place, call me Summer or Rose or that which pleases you best.”
“Then I shall call you Rose, for your hair is the fairest red I have ever seen.” The prince raised a goblet in her honor and drained it. The prince looked at the banquet prepared before them and thought of the slight quantities of sleeping potion found in the soup and meats. “But truly will you not eat? The food is good and you must regain your strength.”
“I will only eat fruits or vegetables that have been washed in an iron basin and that have been prepared and sliced with iron implements. Bring me such fare and I will feast with you.”
The prince ordered it done. Rose desired to see the knives and basin and to watch the fruits prepared. This too the prince allowed, calling the head cook to bring in a large basin and present the knives to Rose before the cutting began. Satisfied, she ate her fill and surveyed her surroundings with a bit less distrust. For she knew that the fair folk hate iron with a great passion and would not touch it even under duress. The only way the people here could be fairies was if the cook and all the servers who had touched the iron were changelings, human children stolen at birth and raised in the Seelie court. Still, even if that were so, the food was safe, purified by contact with iron.
“Is there anything else I can do for you, fair Rose, before I retire for the night?”
“Yes, kind prince,” Rose replied. “The bed they first set before me is maddeningly uncomfortable; might another mattress be placed upon it so that I might sleep this night?”
“Gladly.” The prince ordered it done.
So Rose returned to her chamber and changed into the fine sleeping gown that had been left for her. She laid her head upon the soft pillows and tried to find comfort on the doubly soft mattress. But comfort and sleep were denied her. All night long she tossed and turned, seeking release from the small point of pain digging first in her back and then her side as she sought to find a position conducive to sleep. When the sun rose the next day she had yet to get more than ten winks worth of sleep, and the evidence of her sleeplessness ringed her eyes.
That day the prince walked with Rose through his vast gardens and showed her many flowers. He took her to his menagerie and showed her many animals and strange creatures brought to him by traveling tradesmen. He walked with her along his halls and pointed out the portraits of his forefathers. And while Rose tried to remain cheerful and smile for the prince, she stumbled with weariness at times and could not stifle all her telling yawns. And the prince smiled.
That night following dinner the prince ordered four mattresses be placed upon the bed. He was certain that this time the strange Rose would sleep. Yet it was the same torturous night once more. Rose tossed and turned but could not find the release of sleep and the succor of dreams. Her eyes grew even darker with the lack of sleep.
The next day Prince Shewan rode out with Rose into the village that was established just beyond his estate and showed her all the people who were his responsibility to care for as prince, children and ancient fifty-year-olds, men and women. The common people all bowed as Prince Shewan and the Lady Rose passed. He rode with her along the river where the fish jumped and to the foot of the mountain where the falcons and hawks flew high above, soaring free.
When they returned to the keep, Rose nearly collapsed from her saddle. She was only too glad to return to her room and to the eight mattresses placed upon the bed for her. She had to use a stepping ladder to reach the top and was assisted by two of the serving women. Again she could not find rest. Not only was the pain in her back worse, but it seemed as if there was an element of heat added as well. Rose thought she would soon die if she could not get a decent night’s rest.
Finally, the day came when Rose went out to meet Prince Shewan and her eyes were ringed like those of the ring -tailed creature in the prince’s menagerie. Her hair was lank and drooping, despite the best efforts of the serving maids to style it. Prince Shewan felt a tearing on his inside, but he knew he had to be sure. Again today he would weary her with showing her the wonders of his land and possessions and that night he would place one hundred mattresses one on top of the other and a canopy above to protect Rose from the elements for there was no room in the palace able to contain the height of that many mattresses. She would have to sleep under the stars. If she could still not sleep, then he would know that she was the one and he would help her find her family so that he could gain their blessing in marrying her.
The prince walked with Rose up and down the stairs of all the towers in the keep to show her the view from the North, South, East and West. He drew her on down dimly lit passages deep into the bowels of the castle to the store room where he showed her the great treasure heaped there, for it was a prosperous land. Prince Shewan’s ancestors had spawned a line of kings that had been able to bless their subjects with low taxes because of the incredible wealth brought in by farming the land and mining diamonds and gold from the nearby mountain.
That night she was more tired than she had ever thought possible, more tired than perhaps anyone had ever been in that entire country. She hardly questioned the fact that she would be sleeping in the center of the courtyard. Her brain was so fatigued it seemed like a natural progression of events. She climbed the tall ladder and reached the top of the mattress mound. Idly she wondered how many flocks of geese and other birds had given feathers to this great stack. Blearily she tried to find a spot that was comfortable, but despite the number of mattresses it felt as if a rock the size of a man were jutting directly into her spine.
The entire castle was asleep, yet one wonders what they would have thought if they had looked out and seen the steady, rhythmic, pulsing, golden glow coming from the bottom mattress in the stack.
Prince Shewan rejoiced to find that she was still awake and ordered that a single mattress be placed in the guest room. He then inspected it himself and made sure that their were no hidden peas or anything else that might cause discomfort. The moment Lady Rose laid upon the bed her eyes snapped shut and she fell into a deep dreamless sleep.
When she awoke two days later the prince asked her to be his wife and she agreed if he would take her to find her family to receive their blessing first.
One wonders if anyone noticed, during the festivities that greeted the prince’s announcement that he would marry the mysterious Rose, a small Gypsy woman bringing water to the men laboring to un-stack the pile. Or was there any who saw her reach beneath the last mattress after the others were carted away and draw out a shining Golden Orb and replace it with a small, hard pea?
The gods of old withdrew before the face of the new God of the wooden cross. The dual prong of pleasure and pain, heaven and hell, stole the followers away from the ancient temples. There were gods of love before, but this was a God that loved humanity in return, merciful while the others were vengeful and forgiving while the others were cruel. Where did the obsolete gods go? Did they simply fade away or move into another plane of existence? Or did they still seek to meddle at times in trivial ways for their own petty amusement? Did they sometimes bring together individuals who might have never met and kindle love within their hearts? It is interesting to speculate how a god might age. As dubious as it seems, after a few millennia might not Venus herself look as old and bent as a Gypsy woman? Of if not, is it inconceivable to think she might change her form to work her will in the world once more?
Power does not disappear, it only changes forms. If the gods were gone, then the power must dwell in mortal hands. Or in the hands of the more than mortal residents of the world, the people of the stone, of the air, of the fire, and of the sea. What does it all mean? The answer is found when one determines who it is who benefits. If the end result is a good story, the one who benefits is the audience sitting enthralled at the fireside or the scholar turning the pages with trembling fingers. How strange it is to think that all the turmoil of the world, all the heartache and pain is just for the amusement of some superior force. But if it is true, are not joy and love part of the same entertainment? It is a wise man who accepts the good with the bad and sees the humor inherent in all things.