Peasantry and Pleasantry: A Fractured Fairy Tale

The following is a short story I wrote for my English 287 (Creative Writing) class at NC State University in the spring of 2010.

Rupert Windelbaum was a fine young man, poor but proud. Not that he was proud of being poor, but he was determined to provide for himself. He wasn't going to be one of those beggars on the side of the road. Rupert was what they call a subsistence farmer – that is, he grew enough food to feed himself. He lived on a small plot of land on the western edge of Hackenshire, in a small thatched-roof cottage he had built himself nearly three years earlier. He would have liked to have a family, but that would mean he'd have to make more money to take care of them. The only money he made was from scrounging together some leftover crops and taking them to market in Hackenshire every Saturday, and most of that money went to paying homeowner's taxes and market booth rent.

It was a simple life, but Rupert didn't mind. He had his panflute to keep him occupied. This instrument was carved from wood he had found in the forest. It was his most prized possession. He liked to play it to relax after a hard day working the farm. He could pick out melodies he heard from the street performers in Hackenshire; sometimes he would make up his own tunes. Occasionally Rupert would come up with poems to fit the music. He couldn't read or write; he would just remember them. Someday he was going to use them to court a woman... once he made enough money to support a family.

Saturday came and there stood Rupert at his modest booth in the Hackenshire market. Every week it was the same, a few coins for a few vegetables while the sun beat down. But this week the village was abuzz about something, but he couldn't tell what because everyone was whispering. It seemed as if they were trying to repress laughter, like that time Lord Chadwick obliviously walked around town with his trousers unbuttoned. Being that Rupert lived on the outskirts of the village, he never could keep up with current events or local politics. Eventually the day drew to a close, and three sharply dressed men came up to Rupert's booth. The man on the left was tall and had a crooked nose. The man on the right was a short, stocky man who wore thick glasses. The man in the center had a dark, neatly trimmed beard and exuded an aura of confidence.

“Can I help you, gentlemen? I was just about to leave, but I do have a few tomatoes left.”

“We are not here about food, Rupert,” responded the man in the center. “We have come with a proposal.”

“A proposal?” Rupert marveled at the man's knowledge of his name. No one ever bothered with knowing anything about a poor farmer until tax season.

“Yes. I am Lord Galvin.” He gestured to the men on the left and right. “These men are my lawyer and my accountant.” The men nodded. “I am in need of another farmer on my land.”

Rupert's pride kicked in. “I am quite satisfied working for myself, thanks.”

“My offer is very generous. You would live in one of my cottages, so you would no longer have to pay homeowner's taxes. I would even pay you a small salary. Think about it, Rupert. You could be a buyer at the market instead of a seller.” He glanced at his companions.

The accountant scribbled some numbers on his notepad. “It's a very good deal.”

The lawyer pulled a contract and a quill from his bag. “It's all very legal.”

Of course, Rupert could not read any of the letters or numbers, but he liked the sound of more money. When would such an offer ever come again? He took the quill from the lawyer's hand and signed an X on the dotted line.

“Wonderful,” said Lord Galvin. He turned to leave, then turned back. “Oh, one more thing, Rupert. King Leonard would like to make use of the fealty clause at once.”

“Excuse me?”

The lawyer interjected. “In exchange for a job and a cottage from one of the king's lords, you have sworn fealty to the Crown. He can call upon you for military service at will, and it is his will that you report for such duty.”

Rupert was indignant. “I didn't know that was in the contract!”

Lord Galvin offered no apology. “I will give you tonight to pack and get some rest. You will report to the king's castle tomorrow morning.”

Rupert did as he was told, but he did so with hesitation, confusion, trepidation, and anger. Where was he going? What was he going to do? Why would they trick him like that?

Rupert spent the night tossing and turning in anticipation. He rose at dawn, packed up his few belongings, including a pocketknife and his trusty panflute, and set off for the king's castle.

The castle was a few miles northeast of Hackenshire, but Rupert managed to arrive before noon. The drawbridge descended and the portcullis rose, a fairly humbling sight considering he had never been to a castle before. He entered the vestibule and looked around. It was your typical extravagant, majestic castle entrance, complete with stone walls, golden chandeliers, suits of armor, and wall tapestries. “Wait here.” Rupert turned to face the voice that appeared behind him. A butler motioned for him to sit down, and he obliged.

Rupert sat on the bench in the entryway and waited for what seemed like forever. He hoped there would be a quiz on the king's coat of arms on the opposite wall, because he'd been there long enough to memorize it. Lions rampant guardant Or, against a per saltire banner of Gules and Purpure. Well, Rupert didn't know it by these terms, nor did he understand the symbolism. What he saw was two dancing golden lions against a red and purple diagonally divided banner.

He heard footsteps and rose, thinking the butler had returned, but it was not so. A maid had come to dust the suits of armor. Rupert made polite conversation. “Is it nice, living in the king's castle?” The maid looked around, then whispered, “it's been a lot more pleasant the past couple days.” She quickly departed.

After a few more minutes the butler returned and said, “The king will see you now.” The butler opened a large ornate door, and Rupert followed him into the throne room. King Leonard was seated in a lavish throne on the far end of the hall. As Rupert crossed the room, he passed several animal statues, each representing one of the king's lords. Rupert couldn't read the names, but if he could he would have recognized Lord Chadwick's hare and Lord Galvin's stag.

“Mr. Windelbaum, how good of you to come. Let me explain my predicament.” The king had a worried look on his grizzled face. “Princess Angeline has been kidnapped for ransom by my rival King Winslow of Fordhampton. I need you to go and fetch her back.”

Rupert inquired, “But sire, why me? Why can't you send one of your knights?”

“Dear boy, I have conferred with my lords, and as luck would have it, all of my knights are... indisposed. You are my only hope. But look at you, you're such a strong, resourceful young man.”

Rupert was flattered at this high praise from the king. “But sire, I will need supplies for my journey.”

“You will be provided with a sword, a horse, and food.”

“Is there any sort of reward for completing this task?”

“I will double the salary in your contract, you will be knighted, and you will be first in line to ask for my daughter's hand in marriage.”

Rupert nodded. Suddenly this wasn't sounding so bad. 'Sir Rupert' had a nice ring to it.

“Good luck to you. You may go out the way you came. The butler is putting together the supplies for your quest.” Rupert exited the throne room and found the butler in the vestibule.

“Your sword, sir,” said the butler as he handed Rupert a hilted blade and other provisions. “Your map, sir. Food for you and the horse, sir. Your horse is waiting outside.”

Rupert exited the castle and found the horse tied to a tree. He put the sword belt around his waist and tied the food bags to the horse's saddle. “Don't worry,” he reassured the horse. “These bags will get lighter the farther we go.”

The map indicated that Fordhampton was to the southeast, so he set out in that direction. The first major landmark was the river Murkintosh, which divided King Leonard's realm from King Winslow's domain. Rupert didn't want to have to ford the stream with his horse, so he followed the water's path downstream until he found a bridge. No sooner had he gotten one foot on the bridge when a creature popped up from under it. “Of course this would be a troll bridge,” he muttered to himself. “I suppose you have a riddle for me? Or do I have to guess your name?”

“No, no. Just give the password.”

“Or I could just slice you in half with this sword.”

The troll laughed nervously. “That won't be necessary, sir. I was just thinking about taking a nap anyway, sir. Have a nice day, sir.”

Rupert felt a sudden burst of confidence. If the rest of Fordhampton was anything like this troll, this quest would be a piece of cake.

He rode until the sun set, at which point he set up camp outside a village, which according to the map was called Timbledon. And it wasn't so much a camp as tying his horse to a tree in the forest and making a bed out of leaves.

He awoke in the wee hours of the morning to the sound of rustling near his makeshift resting place. A band of thieves jumped out from the shadows and attacked Rupert. He grabbed for his belongings. He managed to shove the panflute under his clothes before the thieves grabbed the bags and ran. Somewhere amidst the commotion the horse got spooked, broke free from its tether, and fled.

Rupert followed the horses' tracks to a clearing. There, caressing the horse's head in an effort to calm it, stood a fair-haired maiden, her green eyes glinting in the light of the rising sun. “Hello. Is this your horse?”

“Yes. It got spooked back there and ran. We were attacked by thieves.”

“Oh my! Are you all right?”

“Yes, but they took all our food.”

“Well, come on back to my house. We'll get you cleaned up and fed.”

“Much obliged, Miss....”

“Hazel.”

“Rupert. Pleased to meet you.”

Hazel led Rupert and his horse down a path through the forest back to her cottage. She cooked him up an omelet and filled him a new food sack with fresh bread and vegetables. “I'm sorry, this is all I have. We're a simple farm family.”

“Don't apologize; I'm a farmer myself. Plus it's better than the croutons and honey I had in my bag before.” He silently fumed. Surely King Leonard could have spared something more.

“Oh, you're a farmer? My father could use another man to help around the farm. And I wouldn't mind having a man around, too.” She winked.

Rupert paused for a moment. He knew what he wanted to say, but he couldn't break his promise. “I'm sorry. I'm on a quest.”

Hazel looked crestfallen. “Oh. All right, then. Good luck to you. If you should change your mind, you're always welcome here.”

Rupert felt pity for her, but he remembered why he had come this far. He was determined to rescue Princess Angeline. He set off again, waving goodbye to Hazel and thanking her for her hospitality.

After a while, he could make out the image of a castle on the horizon. As he got closer, he started to make out another image. What was it? It reared up, spread its wings, gave a great roar, and a plume of fire shot into the air. Well that's just great, Rupert thought. There's always a dragon, isn't there?

He kept walking and eventually stopped to rest in a stand of trees as the sun was setting. From there he could see the dragon, but the dragon couldn't see him. Without warning, he heard a shriek from somewhere above. The dragon roared in response. Rupert could see that the dragon was chained to a giant post. He looked up and saw a light at the top of the castle's highest tower. That must be the princess! As the night became completely dark, the light went out. The dragon gave a whimper and laid down.

A few minutes later, Rupert could see small flames signaling that the great beast was snoring. It was time to make his move.

He crept up to the castle and used his pocketknife to pick the lock on the front door. Once inside, he searched for the nearest staircase and climbed its spiral all the way to the top, where he found a locked wooden door. Once again his pocketknife came in handy. He opened the door and whispered, “Princess Angeline?”

He heard a gasp from the dark room. “Who's there? Hello? Help! Help me!”

“Hush! You'll wake the dragon!”

“Hello? Show yourself! Help! Help me!”

“Shut up!”

The princess quieted down except for an occasional whimper. Rupert closed the window and turned on the light. He turned to face the damsel in distress. “Whoa.” There in front of him was the largest person he had ever seen in his life. The bed was ample, but she barely fit on it. How anyone could have managed to get her to the top of this tower, he had no idea.

Princess Angeline stopped whimpering long enough to speak. “Well? Didn't you bring me any food?”

“Excuse me?”

“I would like some cake.”

“How can you think about food at a time like this? I've got to get you out of here!”

“I want cake!”

“I don't have any cake.”

“Cake! Now!”

Rupert was quickly understanding why King Leonard couldn't get any knights to take on this quest. “This is ridiculous. Now come on, let's go before the dragon wakes up.” But it was too late. The dragon was roaring. But strangely, it didn't sound angry. It sounded tired and annoyed. Rupert didn't speak a word of the dragon's language, but he would've sworn it was yelling “Shut up!”

In that moment Rupert realized this wasn't where he wanted to be. He didn't want to marry Princess Angeline. He didn't want to be Sir Rupert. He didn't want to work for Lord Galvin. He didn't want to serve King Leonard. Forget the contract. It was all based on lies. Rupert wanted the simple life again. He turned toward the door and started to leave. Princess Angeline cried out. “Wait! What about the rescue?”

Rupert's face grew cold. “Oh, there will be a rescue today.” He descended the tall staircase and exited the castle. He marched defiantly up to the dragon and followed its chain in the moonlight. He took out his sword and began hacking away at the shackles that held the creature captive. It was about to attack him with its fire, but then it realized what he was doing. After several minutes of chopping, his sword broke through the metal.

The dragon stared at Rupert, then responded. It leaned forward, stretched out its front legs, and bowed its head in appreciation. Rupert smiled and bowed back. The mighty reptile flapped its wings and took off to enjoy its newfound freedom.

Rupert mounted his horse once again, pulled out his panflute, and played a few notes. “Come, my noble steed, back to Timbledon. I've got a song to play for Hazel.”