‘Have you seen a girl pass here?’ the troll-hag asked. ‘She’s stolen my wealth and foiled me at every turn.’
‘One ran by here a while ago,’ said the apple tree, ‘but she’s long gone now.’
So the hag gave up and turned to go home.
The girl crawled out and hurried on, but when she reached the ram she felt the road begin to shake all over again – and then to roar and rumble – and she could guess it was the troll who’d changed her mind and was on her trail again.
‘Come here, and I’ll help you,’ said the ram. ‘Hide yourself amongst my wool, or she’ll take the casket from you and tear you apart.’
No sooner said, no sooner done – and the troll-hag came thundering.
‘Have you seen a girl pass here?’ she said to the ram.
‘I saw one a while ago,’ said the ram. ‘But she ran so fast, you’ll not see her again!’
Once more the troll-hag lost heart and turned back.
When Pa’s girl had gone as far as the cow, the road started rumbling again.
‘Come here to me,’ said the cow, ‘and I’ll help you. Hide yourself under my udders, or you’ll be torn to pieces, quick as a wink.’
Pa’s girl crept under the udders and didn’t have long to wait before the troll came.
‘Have you seen a girl pass by here?’ said the hag to the cow.
‘I saw one a while ago,’ said the cow, ‘but she’s long gone and far away by now.’
For a third time, the troll turned back. Pa’s girl crawled out from under the cow and went on her way – but she wasn’t far from the brush fence when it happened all over again.
‘Come here to me and I’ll help you,’ said the brush fence. ‘Creep under my twigs, or she’ll tear you limb from limb.’
In she went, Pa’s girl, in among the stalks and twigs, until she was hidden away.
‘No,’ said the brush fence when the troll-hag asked. ‘I’ve seen neither hide nor hair of a girl.’ And it bristled and swelled so tall that there was no getting over or under or through it – and there was nothing else for the troll to do but take herself off and go home.
Then Pa’s girl was out of the fence, across the meadow and up the well – safe and sound.
Now, far from being pleased, Ma’s girl and her ma were more sick to the stomach than ever to see Pa’s girl home again. Not only was Pa’s girl cheerful and lively, but she’d become downright pretty to go with it.
If they hadn’t been so sour, they would have found her a joy to behold. As it was, Ma’s girl couldn’t even bear to have Pa’s girl in the house – so she and her ma shooed Pa’s girl out to the pigsty to make a home with the animals as best she could.
Pa’s girl mucked it out and washed it clean, then opened her blue casket. Out poured silver, gold and finery of every kind. She hung the rafters with tassels, the walls with brocade and herself with silk and jewels – then lived in the pigsty, grand as any queen.
When Ma’s girl saw this, she nearly split with envy. It wasn’t long before she wanted to be off down the well herself, so she arranged another contest and the girls sat themselves down with their spindles again. As before, it was agreed that she whose thread broke first was to be pushed into the well, but this time it was Ma’s girl who spun bristles and Pa’s girl who got the flax.
Rest assured, Ma’s girl made sure her thread snapped, quick smart, so anxious was she to be on her way. She was so keen, in fact, that she threw herself down the well without any help at all.
Well, it went for Ma’s girl just as it had for Pa’s. She fell down through the dark and the slime until, instead of splashing and drowning as she should have, she landed with a bump on the grass of a sunny afternoon. Then up she got and walked until she reached the brush fence.
‘Tread easy on me, will you,’ said the fence, ‘and I’ll help you in your need, one day.’
But Ma’s girl was not Pa’s girl, no matter which way you looked at it.
‘What do I care about a pile of twigs?’ she said, and trod so heavy that the brush fence cracked and splintered under her feet.
A bit further on she came to the cow, all swollen and sore with milk.
‘Be so good as to milk me, will you,’ said the cow, ‘and I’ll help you in your own need, one day. Drink what you want, but be sure to sling the leftovers across my hooves.’
Well, Ma’s girl milked the cow, and then she drank and drank as much as she could – and still some more – until there was nothing left. Then she flung the bucket into a ditch and went on her way.
When she had gone a bit further, she met the ram, dragging his wool behind him as he went.
‘Be so good as to shear me, will you,’ said the ram. ‘Take as much wool as you like, but wind the rest around my neck and I’ll serve you in your own need, one day.’
Ma’s girl took the shears from where they hung on its horns, but she slammed the ram down so hard on its side, then chopped so roughly at its fleece, that it was soon bruised and bleeding. And when she considered herself done, she took the wool with her, every last bit.
After a while, Ma’s girl came to the apple tree, all bent and crooked with its load.
‘Pluck my apples from me, will you,’ said the tree, ‘so my branches can right themselves. Eat what you like, but lay the rest against my roots and I’ll help you in your own need, one day.’
Ma’s girl plucked those apples she could reach, then took a stick and whacked at some of those she couldn’t, ripping down branches as she went. Then she ate herself sick and left the rest of the apples to rot in the sun.
At last she came to the troll-hag’s farm.
‘I want work,’ Ma’s girl said.
The troll-hag told her there wasn’t any, but Ma’s girl insisted and in the end the troll-hag sent her off with the sieve to fetch water.
Ma’s girl – who had never heard of anything so stupid – went to the well and poured the water in. But no sooner did she pour, than back it ran straight out again, no trouble at all. The birds came shrilling and flocking and flapping, but Ma’s girl took no notice except to throw mud till they flew away. Then, with many a rude word, she took the empty sieve back to the troll-hag.
Next she was sent to muck out and milk. The shovel was just as heavy for her as it had been for Pa’s girl, and the birds came wheeling and shrieked just as loud. But instead of hearing what they said, Ma’s girl threw lime at them till the air was thick with dust.
The same happened when she tried milking. The cows tossed their horns and kicked and stamped, and wouldn’t let her near them. The birds screeched for all they were worth, but Ma’s girl was too busy flogging the beasts; and when the birds shrieked louder still, she threw what little milk she had at them and went to face the troll-hag with an empty bucket.
Last of all, she was sent to wash the black wool white – but it went no better with this chore than it had with the others. No matter how the birds flapped and jostled, and no matter how they clamoured, Ma’s girl wouldn’t hear them, couldn’t hear them, and took no notice at all. So the black wool stayed black, and that was that.
By this time the hag had had enough.
She set out the caskets – one bright red, one rich green and one deep blue. ‘Choose one as your wages,’ she said, ‘and get going. There’s no place for the likes of you around here.’
Again the birds clamoured, ‘Take not the green, take not the red; but take the blue which we have marked with three crosses for you,’ but if Ma’s girl was listening, then she wasn’t taking note because, without a second thought, she grabbed the red casket, tucked it under her arm and ran off home.
Well, Ma’s girl was allowed to go in peace. The troll-hag wasn’t about to set the road to rumbling for the likes of her – which was just as well, because there wasn’t anyone along the road willing to help her either!
So Ma’s girl ran and ran – across the meadow and under the tree and by the ram and past the cow and over the brush fence and up the well – home to her ma, w
ho was there open-armed and happy to see her.
Straight away, in they went to the house with the casket, expecting to deck themselves with treasures and gilt. But when they opened the red box, out swarmed snakes and toads – and when Ma’s girl gasped in horror, the same thing happened to her. Snakes and toads and snails and slugs came heaping from her mouth – then and for ever after, whenever she so much as parted her lips – until it made people sick just to be near her.
As for Pa’s girl in the pig-shed, she lived happier and comfier, and richer and rounder, than a sultana in a cupcake!
Splintersmock
Once upon a time, when times were tough, there was a king whose queen had died. He soon got himself a new queen and – as often happened – they each had a daughter of their own. The king’s daughter, however, was by far the more lovely of the two.
The new queen couldn’t help but notice. Each time the king’s girl was charming, amiable or brave, it showed the queen how coarse her own child was, and as day followed day, she grew greener and meaner with envy.
When the king went away to war, the queen decided she could do as she pleased, at last. First she gave the king’s girl a sound beating. Then she beat her again, and before long the queen was hounding the girl from cellar to ceiling.
Nothing was too good for the queen’s child, but soon enough even a beating became too good for the other. The queen banished the king’s daughter from the house, sent her out to the barns and made a cowherd of her.
So off she went – the king’s lovely child – herding cows into the woods and up to the high meadow each day, barefoot and plain as a milkmaid. Of food there was next to nothing and, as one week dragged into the next, she grew thin as twigs and paler than mushrooms.
But one day, when the girl was near to splitting with hunger, a sleek blue bull from the herd came by.
‘What is the matter?’ asked the bull.
‘The queen intends to starve me,’ said the girl, ‘and if the king isn’t back soon, I think she’ll succeed.’
The bull invited her to look inside his left ear. There she found a cloth, and when she spread it out, it served her up with the finest food: wine, mead and sweetcakes; fruit, fish and cheese. Not just once, but whenever she wanted.
It wasn’t many weeks before she was round and rosy again. In fact, she looked so plump and pleasing that the queen was more resentful than ever. Wondering how the girl could look so sturdy on her diet of crusts and bones, the queen sent her own child to find out what was going on. The queen was soon told how the king’s daughter took a cloth from the blue bull’s ear, spread it out and ate to her heart’s content while the bull stood by.
When the king came home again, no one was more relieved than his daughter. But the queen, far from being pleased, pretended she was ill: so ill, in fact, that unless she had flesh from the blue bull to eat, she would never be well again.
The king’s daughter begged her father to seek another cure, or find another bull to slaughter – but no, there was no other way: the blue one was the one, it had to be butchered, and butchered it would be.
The girl ran down to the byre.
‘What?’ said the bull. Are you weeping?’
Yes, she was, and when she was done she described the queen’s cure.
‘Once they’ve taken my life,’ said the bull, ‘they’ll be after yours, too, soon enough.’
The girl supposed he was right, and when the bull suggested they run off, she said she would. So up she climbed, astride his sleek, blue back, and off they went as far and as fast as they could.
The bull galloped through forest and dale, over mountain and around lake, from one domain to the next, with the king’s daughter clinging to his back. At long last, after days and nights, they came to a gleaming wood. Here everything was of copper – the trees and the branches, the leaves and fruit – all of it burnished and red.
‘When we enter this wood,’ the bull said, ‘try to disturb nothing. The troll who guards it has three heads and is malicious to boot.’
‘I won’t touch a thing,’ said the girl.
But the forest was so lushly wooded, so dense and thick, that it was impossible for the girl not to touch something. And though she bent and twisted this way and that, no matter what she did, she couldn’t help but tangle with the twigs, and ended up with a leaf caught between her fingers.
‘Now there’ll be trouble,’ said the bull. ‘But hide the leaf well, all the same.’
Soon after, the troll came roaring.
‘Who’s been ripping at my wood?’ it yelled, all three heads at once.
‘As much ours as yours,’ replied the bull.
‘Not without a battle, it’s not!’ shrieked the troll.
And so they battled, the bull goring and ramming and the troll thumping and pounding, until the day was well over. By the end of it the troll was dead, but the bull was so weak and wounded he could barely walk.
The girl took the greasehorn from the troll’s belt and salved the bull’s wounds from it, but even so they had to rest for a day before resuming their journey.
The next forest was just like the first, except it was of silver. Again the bull warned the king’s daughter not to disturb it, but the silver wood was even more crowded than the copper. She rode as carefully as she knew how, but branches lashed and twigs whipped, and before she knew it there was a rip and a rend and a silver leaf was caught between her fingers.
‘Now there’ll be trouble,’ said the bull. ‘The troll of this forest has six heads, and that’s more than I can hope to deal with. All the same, mind the leaf and hide it well.’
Then the troll came thundering.
‘Who’s been tearing at my wood?’ it roared.
‘As much ours as yours,’ replied the bull.
‘Not without a battle, it’s not!’ shrieked the troll.
‘As you wish,’ said the bull, and charged with such force that its horns drove clean through the troll and out the other side. The troll’s innards fell out and its eyes popped – all twelve of them – but it took three full days for the bull to beat it, and by then the bull was so mauled he could hardly move. The girl salved his wounds from the greasehorn that hung from the troll’s belt, but it was a week before they could press on.
In time, they came to yet another forest. This one was gold, and once again the girl was warned. But though she tried, this wood was the thickest yet. The deeper they went, the denser it got – and no matter how the girl ducked and twisted, there was a creaking and a catching, a plucking and a snapping, and she ended up with a golden apple caught in the palm of her hand.
The bull doubted things would go well this time, and when the troll with its nine heads came shrieking, the girl doubted it too. But she hid the golden apple along with the leaves. There followed such a tussle that it was a full week before the troll was dead and another three before the bull was better, trollsalve or no trollsalve.
Then they forged ahead again, and at last arrived at a mountain.
‘What do you see?’ asked the bull.
‘Mountains and sky,’ said the girl.
‘What now?’ asked the bull, climbing some more.
‘I see a castle in the dell,’ said the girl.
‘And now?’ said the bull, going further still.
‘The castle hard by,’ said the girl ‘with a pigsty below.’
‘The pigsty is where you’ll live,’ said the bull, ‘and inside that pigsty is a wooden smock, which is what you’ll wear. Go to the castle, say your name is Splintersmock, and ask for work. But first,’ the bull continued, ‘you must thank me.’
The king’s daughter thanked him and added, ‘If there’s anything I can do for you …’
‘I was coming to that,’ said the bull. ‘First, cut off my head with your sharp little knife. Then hide the copper leaf, the silver leaf and the golden apple inside it. Next, use your knife to flay me, bundle my head in my skin and hide the entire swag beneath this rocky crag.’
And she wouldn’t do it.
But the bull insisted.
‘I’ll take no other thanks,’ he said. ‘But if ever you’re needy, you can take this staff and bang on the rock-face with it and you’ll be taken care of.’
Then the king’s daughter had no choice but to do as the blue bull asked. Hacking with her little knife, she cut off his head, flayed him of his sleek blue hide, put the copper and the silver and the gold inside, rolled it all up and hid it. Then down she went to the castle and the pigsty below.
There it was, the wooden dress, just as the bull had said. She put it on, went up to the castle and, saying her name was Splintersmock, begged for work in the kitchen. The cook gave her the blacking-brush and Splintersmock spent the following week up to her armpits in soot and grease.
But, as she worked, she watched and waited.
On Sunday, when the prince called for his weekly wash, Splintersmock begged to be the one who carried up the water.
The other servants laughed.
‘What do you want with upstairs and the prince?’ they asked. ‘Are you hoping he’ll take a fancy to you, so fine as you are?’
Splintersmock asked again – not just once, but many times – and in the end they let her go.
Bucket in hand, she climbed the stairs to the prince’s rooms, and as she went she rumbled and clattered so loud in her wooden smock that the prince came running.
‘What on earth are you?’ he asked.
‘I’m the water-carrier,’ said Splintersmock.
‘Do you suppose,’ asked the prince, ‘that I would wash myself in water that you have carried?’ And grabbing the bucket, he dashed the contents in her face.
Splintersmock had no choice but to climb back down the stairs – but she wasn’t done with pleading yet and begged, instead to go to church. The cook felt so sorry for her that she let her go.
First, Splintersmock went to the mountain. She took the staff, banged on the cliff and waited till a man came out.
Tatterhood Page 3
