Four Kids, Three Cats, Two Cows, One Witch (Maybe)

by Siobhán Parkinson

  ‘On the contrary,’ said the woman. ‘I usually find that asking questions clarifies the issue. That is,’ she added slyly, ‘if I get helpful answers.’

  ‘Well, this is the sort of story you just have to listen to,’ said Beverley firmly, ‘and not ask questions about. Except,’ she relented, ‘at the end. Maybe.’

  ‘All right,’ the woman said agreeably, stirring a fifth spoon of sugar into her tea – Beverley didn’t mean to count, but she couldn’t help it. ‘Carry on so.’

  ‘Now the reason she lived so deep in this dense forest is that a fairy had predicted at her birth that her son would slay her father. Do you see what I mean?’ Beverley asked kindly, thinking she’d better make sure her audience was following her, as she’d forbidden questions.

  ‘Yes, yes,’ said the woman. ‘I’m not stupid. Someone told this lassie’s father that he’d better not let his daughter get married, or even within a sniff of a husband, just to be on the safe side, because if she did, and if she had a son, then the young fellow would one day kill his grandfather. So presumably Papa decides to hide the daughter away where she is in no danger of marrying anyone and having a son and that way he thinks he’s going to be safe. Is that right?’

  ‘Exactly,’ said Beverley.

  ‘Happens in all the best stories,’ said the woman. ‘But to be honest, I find it all a bit far-fetched.’

  ‘So,’ Beverley continued, ignoring the woman’s comment, ‘as well as hiding his daughter away in the depths of this forest, the father cast a spell, and the spell was that any young man who came to visit his daughter would have to undergo a test before being allowed even to see her, much less marry her. If he failed the test, the father would slice off his head, and the young man would turn into a pine tree. That’s where the forest had come from. Every tree in that forest represented a suitor that the girl had had. But even though the evidence of failure was plain to see in the shape of the dense, dark forest, young men continued to come and try for the hand of this beautiful young girl. One by one they failed the test the girl’s father put to them, and one by one they were beheaded and turned into trees.

  ‘The father’s plan was working out very satisfactorily, he decided. His daughter was safe from prying eyes in the middle of the forest, and any prospective husband who came even as far as the edge of the forest was soon turned into a pine tree, for none of them could ever pass the test.’

  ‘What was the test?’ asked Kevin.

  ‘Well, that was the clever thing, you see. It was unpassable. Each young man was asked to chop down a pine tree and to carve a golden goblet out of the wood. And of course nobody could carve wood into gold, so each young man, on hearing what the task was, sadly had to admit that he couldn’t perform it, and was immediately executed and turned into yet another pine tree, making it even more difficult for the next person who came along to penetrate the forest and see the beautiful girl hidden at its centre, like a jewel in a dark casket.’

  ‘But that’s not fair,’ said Kevin. ‘Sure it’s impossible to do that!’

  ‘Of course it’s not fair,’ said Beverley indignantly. ‘You don’t expect the man would have set a fair task, do you? That way somebody might have accomplished it.’

  ‘Hmm,’ said Kevin thoughtfully.

  ‘Well, then, one day, a tall dark prince came riding into the forest. He didn’t stop at the edge of the forest like all the others. He just rode boldly through the youngest pine trees on the outskirts of the forest and went riding on, more and more slowly, his progress impeded by the dense growth of green-dark trees.

  ‘When the father got to hear of this bold young man riding through his forest, he immediately sent one of his slaves to accost the prince and tell him that he must either turn back immediately or face the task.

  ‘Well, the young prince didn’t hesitate for a moment when he heard the story of the impossible task and the hidden princess and he immediately agreed to hear what the task was and to attempt it.

  ‘The slave warned him that once he had heard what the task was, the young man was obliged either to accomplish it or to submit to summary execution. Laughing at the absurdity of an impossible task, the prince instantly agreed to the challenge.

  ‘Sadly, the slave told him that he would have to cut down a pine tree and carve a golden goblet from its wood. Upon hearing this, the young man lashed out with his sword and felled the nearest tree with ease, without even dismounting from his horse.

  ‘Then, bending down lazily, he sliced the felled trunk into several large chunks, and then he picked up one of these and effortlessly started to whittle at it with his pocket knife, still seated in his saddle, and chattering pleasantly all the while to the wretched slave, who could see nothing but death and destruction in store for this young hero.

  ‘As he worked the wood, the sap flew out from under the prince’s knife in all directions, like a soft shower of piney-scented rain, and gradually the wood took on the shape of a most elegantly carved goblet. The young man worked on, shaping and whittling, until the goblet was finished, its surface gleaming and shining in the dense dark of the forest. Finally the prince put his pocket knife in his belt and took out a large handkerchief. This he used to polish and buff the pine goblet until its surface was perfectly smooth and silken to the fingertips. At last he was satisfied with his handiwork and he held the wooden goblet up in the air triumphantly and said: “There! A golden goblet, as requested.” And he bowed deeply from the waist and handed the carved vessel to the slave.

  ‘“But this is a wooden goblet,” said the slave.

  ‘“Indeed it is,” agreed the young man.

  ‘“The task was to carve a golden goblet,” the slave said, thinking that this was rather a stupid fellow, for all his good looks and his happy chatter and his skill with his knife.

  ‘“And what colour is this goblet?” asked the prince.

  ‘“Why, it’s golden,” said the slave, gasping at the cleverness of the young man.

  ‘“Precisely,” said the young man, “it’s golden. I think you asked me to fashion a golden goblet from the wood of this tree?”

  ‘“Yes, but …” spluttered the slave, certain he would be in deep trouble with his master over this, although he knew it wasn’t his fault. “But it’s not a goblet of gold,” the slave managed to argue at last.

  ‘“Well, of course it isn’t of gold. It’s of wood. Nevertheless, I contend that it is a golden goblet. Take it to your master and put this argument to him.”

  ‘The slave shook his head. He fingered the wonderful goblet, and he had to admit that it was undoubtedly of the richest gleaming golden colour he had ever seen, and it was warmer than gold to the touch, and sweeter than gold to the nose, and it received the light far more subtly than any gold. Still, he shook his head, but he agreed to approach his master with the goblet.

  ‘The young man sat quietly on his horse, waiting for the slave to return, certain that his goblet would be accepted in fulfilment of the task he had been set. And indeed it was. The father of the girl didn’t want to accept it of course, and he consulted long and hard with all his sorcerers and magicians, but they all advised him that the way he had cast the spell had left this loophole in the conditions, and there was no way that he could undo this now, and so he was forced by the terms of his own spell to accept the young man as a son-in-law.

  ‘The slave came trotting merrily back through the forest with the news, delighted that this young man wasn’t going to be beheaded and turned into a tree, for he had become rather fond of him, charmed by his gaiety, his confidence, his self-assurance and his certainty that he could outwit the father of the girl.

  ‘Now that the father’s first defence of his daughter – the forest – had been penetrated, by this impudent stranger, and his second defence – the spell – had been broken, the father was forced to try other means to preserve his daughter from the man who was determined to have her hand. So while the slave was returning to the prince, he set about hiding
his daughter more effectively. He used another spell to create a pit, deep in the heart of the forest, and into this pit he cast the princess, where nobody could reach her. He didn’t use locks to lock her in; nor did he set dragons or mastiffs at the doorway; nor yet did he fill the pit with snakes nor surround it with fire. He didn’t need any of these deterrents. He relied instead on the depth of the pit and its slimy, sheer walls which none could scale. Even if the young man could succeed in reaching the princess, it would be of no use to him, for there was certainly no way that the couple would ever be able to get out of the pit.

  ‘When he heard what the father had done, the young man simply shrugged his shoulders and rode on slowly through the branchy forest, until he reached its very centre.

  ‘He looked over the edge of the pit, but he could see nothing but pitch blackness. He shrugged again, clicked his teeth at his horse, and with that the horse rose up into the air, unfurling wings of gossamer as it leapt. When the wings were fully stretched, the horse and its rider hung for a moment in the air, and then they began to sink gently into the depths of the pit, the horse’s elegant wings filling slowly with air and billowing about them like a parachute.

  ‘At the bottom of the pit the golden-haired maiden sat shivering. Imagine her amazement when a magic horse landed beside her, with a tall and merry-looking fellow on its back.

  ‘The prince explained that he had come to rescue her, and the princess was glad to hear it, for she had been trying in vain to gain a foothold on the slithery walls of the pit, and was beginning to despair of ever getting free.

  ‘So the prince leant over and hauled the princess onto the horse’s back with him, and together they sailed up into the air and right over the edge of the pit. When they got to the top of the pit, the horse still flew up and up, till he was high above the pit and high above the pine tops and high above the forest. On and on they flew towards the horizon, the princess’s golden hair streaming out behind her, and her laughs of delight hanging in the air like frozen musical notes.

  ‘When they arrived in the prince’s country, the horse sank gracefully to earth and the prince and princess were able to dismount.

  ‘“Thank you,” said the young woman, sweeping her hair back over her shoulders and tying it up with a ribbon. “And now can you take me to a school for young ladies, or to a convent perhaps, or to a family where there is a mother who longs for a daughter as I have longed all my life for a mother?”

  ‘“I will take you to my mother, the queen, and you can live with her for the time being, and make your preparations for the wedding,” said the prince.

  ‘“Is somebody getting married?” asked the princess.

  ‘“Why, we are, of course,” said the prince. “I accomplished the task your father set, in return for which I am entitled to your hand in marriage, and furthermore I have rescued you from the black pit where you were imprisoned.”

  ‘“But I have no wish to marry you,” said the princess. “I am very grateful that you rescued me, but when you think about it, it was really your horse’s flying power that rescued me. I am grateful also to your horse – it is a fine beast – but that doesn’t mean I would want to marry it. And I would as soon marry you as marry your horse.”

  ‘“Marry my horse!” exclaimed the prince, outraged. “What sort of a princess would want to marry a horse?”

  ‘“No, no. You misunderstand me,” said the princess sweetly. “I mean that I do not want to marry either you or the horse, but that if I were obliged to marry my rescuer – which I am not – it is the horse who would have the first claim.”

  ‘“But what about the task?” argued the prince. “I fulfilled the task your father set, though no other man succeeded in it.” And he told the princess the full story of the golden goblet of wood.

  ‘The princess sat on a boulder to listen, and she twirled her hair around her finger as she listened. At last she spoke: “In the first place, though you did comply with the terms of the task as set, you know perfectly well that you only managed to achieve this by a trick of words. Secondly, and more important, in undertaking and fulfilling this task, you were entering into a contract not with me but with my father. I am sorry that my father should have promised my hand in marriage to whoever should accomplish this ridiculous task, but he never consulted me about it, and I contend that the agreement, though binding on him, is not binding on me, and since I am the one to be married, the agreement is thus annulled.”

  ‘When he heard this, the prince knew he had met his match for sure in this one. She was as clever as he, and as quick-witted, and more than ever he desired to marry her. But he saw that this princess was not to be won by trickery, nor by gallantry, nor through contractual arrangements made with her father.

  ‘“I accede,” he said graciously, mounting his horse. “If you do not wish to marry me, of course I will have to abide by your wishes. And now I will take you to my mother’s house, and there you may live as long as you wish, and I will not trouble you again.”

  And he held out his hand to help her to mount also.

  ‘“Thank you,” said the princess for the second time, and hopped up lightly on the horse again, and with that the horse rose up in the air again and flew off to the prince’s mother’s house.’

  Beverley stopped abruptly.

  ‘Is that it?’ asked Elizabeth, unconsciously twirling her hair about her fingers.

  ‘Yes,’ said Beverley.

  ‘But did she marry him or not?’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know,’ said Beverley airily. ‘Perhaps. Perhaps not. Anyway, she’s too young to be married. People in stories get married far too young. Maybe she will one day.’

  ‘Aww!’ said Elizabeth. ‘I wish you’d tell us how it ends, Beverley.’

  ‘Well, you didn’t like the way Gerard’s story ended, and you wanted to change it. And now I offer you a story to which you can tack on your own ending, and you’re not happy with that either. You are not very logical, Elizabeth.’

  Elizabeth knew she wasn’t being logical, but she didn’t think that logical was the thing to be in a case like this. She couldn’t think of a way to explain that to Beverley, though. Beverley approved of logic above all things. Maybe that was why Elizabeth got such a strange feeling from her story. It was so unlike Beverley to leave a loose end like that. What could have got into her?

  Chapter 16

  THE BOTTLE LABELLED LOTION

  ‘I’M DYMPHNA,’ SAID THE WOMAN SUDDENLY, offering a long brown hand to Gerard.

  Beverley felt a bit put out that the strange woman hadn’t mentioned how good her story was. Personally, she thought it was an amazing story, though to be honest, she had no idea where it came from. How on earth had she thought up that delightful play on the word ‘golden’? And what was she doing anyway telling stories at a time like this? Here they were, stranded on this wretched island with an invalid on their hands and nobody knew where they were. Really, it wasn’t like her to be so frivolous.

  Gerard responded to the woman’s introduction: ‘Gerard,’ he replied, grasping the woman’s cool hand in his own sticky fist.

  Not to be outdone, Beverley announced busily: ‘And I’m Beverley. Kevin you seem to know. And that’s Elizabeth with the foot.’ Good heavens, the foot! she thought. We forgot all about bathing Elizabeth’s foot.

  They felt a bit peculiar introducing themselves at this stage, having been sitting together for some time, but Dymphna shook hands gravely with each one in turn, except Elizabeth, who was too far away.

  ‘Has she got something wrong with her foot?’ she asked, turning to look at the patient.

  ‘Yes,’ replied Elizabeth. ‘I twisted my ankle.’

  ‘That explains why she’s lying down,’ said the woman, as if they needed telling.

  ‘That’s mainly why we’re here, actually,’ said Beverley, surprised to be having such a sane conversation with their strange hostess. ‘We wanted to bathe it, to reduce the swelling.’

  ‘Oh, bathing
it won’t do much good,’ said Dymphna airily. ‘That well has lost its powers.’

  The children looked mystified.

  ‘But I might have a lotion,’ she went on. ‘I’ll see after I have some more tea. Would you make a fresh pot, please, Gerard?’

  ‘Honey, anyone?’ she asked, waving the honey-pot around the tea-table, as Gerard scuttled about, making more tea.

  ‘Are you the lady?’ asked Gerard, when he’d made and poured more tea for everyone.

  ‘Of the house, you mean?’ asked Dymphna.

  ‘No, of the island,’ said Gerard.

  ‘Lady of the island? Sounds like a poem. As in landlady, do you mean? I’m not, more’s the pity. I’m here on sufferance, as you might say.’

  The children wouldn’t say any such thing. None of them knew what sufferance meant, but it sounded unpleasant.

  ‘No, I mean as in “Lady Island”,’ said Gerard. ‘That’s what it’s called, isn’t it? Are you that lady?’

  Dymphna fluffed her hair up with her rather elegant brown hands and laughed out loud.

  ‘Arrah, of course she isn’t,’ Kevin cut in. ‘This has been called Lady Island for centuries. She isn’t centuries old.’

  ‘How do you know how old I am?’ asked Dymphna curiously and with a bit of a crotchety edge to her voice.

  ‘Oh, excuse me,’ said Kevin. ‘I just mean, it’s obvious you’re not hundreds of years old.’

  ‘What makes you think that?’ Dymphna persisted, and with just a hint of hostility.

  Kevin considered for a moment. ‘History,’ he said at last.

  ‘Ah,’ replied Dymphna, apparently satisfied with this answer.

  Kevin gave a silent sigh of relief.

  ‘So who is this lady then?’ Gerard persisted.