A Tale Without a Name (5 page)

“Let us go to bed, my child,” the King said to him. “It is late, and my head aches…”

“You go to bed, father, for I cannot,” replied the Prince breathlessly. “Only give me your two equerries. Cunningson fell over the precipice, and I must go to Faintheart’s house at once, on the off-chance that I might find the golden chain still there. It was very foolish of me not to take it then and there, when I was at his house, and had a hold on him! We now have great need of florins, many florins, and we have none.”

“What do you need florins for, my son?” said the King indifferently. “Can’t you see how tired we all are?…”

“Do not forget the gift of the King our Royal Uncle, father,” said the Prince gravely.

At that, the King lowered his head, and raised no more objections.

The Prince took the two equerries and hurried to Master Faintheart’s house in the capital.

None of the windows had any light.

They knocked at the door, yet no one answered from inside. They knocked a second time, and still there was no answer.

“Break down the door,” ordered the Prince.

At that, the three men put all their strength together, and succeeded, after great effort, in breaking down the door.

The house was pitch dark. Only in the back kitchen was there a feeble glimmer of light, where some logs were burning away in a brazier, and a few mackerels were turning into charcoal amongst the cinders.

The Prince lit a torch and with his companions searched throughout the house. But he found no one.

On the table, next to a bottle of sweet mastic wine, he saw a folded sheet of paper. He unfolded it, yet he did not know how to read it; so he folded it back again and put it in his pocket.

He searched everywhere, yet all the drawers were empty; he found nothing. He then went out with the two equerries, and returned to the palace.

Everyone was asleep. Only Little Irene was still up, waiting for him.

“Why aren’t you in bed, too?” her brother asked fondly.

Little Irene smiled.

“I have been waiting for you, my brother, and guess what I have been doing? I have mended father’s mantle, and
his tattered robes, patched up the torn skirt of Spitefulnia and the ripped scarf of Jealousia, which gave rise to today’s quarrel.”

The Prince kissed her.

“I see you have begun to put into good practice the advice of Knowledge,” he said. “But tell me, have you had anything to eat?”

Little Irene took a chunk of bread out of her pocket and gave it to him bleakly.

“I could find nothing more! My dinner too was a piece like this one. I saved half for you.”

“And the eggs—those famous, celebrated eggs—of the King our Royal Cousin? Did they not give you any?”

Little Irene shook her head.

“There were only a few eggs,” she replied, “and our sisters have a fine appetite… And then father too was hungry…”

“I see,” said the Prince. “Everyone ate, except for you.”

The siblings embraced one another, and went to their respective rooms. They fell asleep instantly, and in the sweetness of their slumber forgot for a few hours life’s adversities and its bitter twists and turns.

A
T DAYBREAK
the Prince woke up Little Irene.

“Come with me,” he said. “I shall go and fetch the day’s food before the others wake up.”

“Where are we going?” asked his sister.

“To the woods. Take a small basket with you; we shall gather anything that we find along the way.”

With a light step, the siblings descended the mountain; all of a sudden, a strange noise drew their attention.

Brother and sister paused to listen. “What is that sound?” asked Little Irene.

“It appears to be the clinking of a small goat bell,” replied the Prince.

“A goat bell in these parts? How could that be so? There are no goats anywhere nearby!”

They advanced a little farther; and yet again they heard the jingle of a small bell.

Little Irene looked about her—she could see nothing, however, so she approached the ridge of the precipice.
Yet when she leant forward to see, she let out a scream and pulled herself back.

“What is the matter?” asked the Prince, peering out beside her.

Down below, at the foot of the mountain, lay the corpse of the High Chancellor, just as it had fallen in the chasm; and, in a circle around it, there pranced about like a monkey a little man, half-black, half-yellow, now pulling himself straight, then again squatting low beside the body.

His every movement was accompanied by the tinkling of jingle bells.

“It is a dead man!” whispered Little Irene fearfully.

“It is Cunningson,” replied the Prince, “and that’s the court jester. What is he doing there, though, I wonder? It is as though he were trying to lift him up and carry him away all by himself…”

All of a sudden, the dwarf crouched over the dead man, ripped his shirt open, thrust his hand inside, and with a squeal and a giggle he rose up again, and ran to the vale, and from thence to the capital, as fast as his crooked little bowed legs would take him.

“What did he do?” asked Little Irene, shaking all over. “What did he do to Cunningson?”

“I could not make out,” replied the Prince, “but then again the jester has always been a little unhinged… Come, Little Irene, do not be so frightened!”

They picked up their trail once again, towards the vale, which they descended heading towards the woods.

It was heavenly at that time of the day. The small birds were singing their morning song, which rose up like a prayer to the gentle sky above. The flowers spread their sweet fragrance all around them, and a thousand translucent droplets had caught themselves on every leaf, every blade of grass, like diamonds of incalculable worth.

Nature was waking up everywhere to the first rays of the sun. A chaffinch flew low, seeking a blade of hay, or a downy feather, with which to build its nest. The bees fluttered about, humming lovingly around the dewy wild flowers, and the bramble bush was spreading forth its twigs and branches, heavy with fruit, as though offering them up to the famished siblings.

“Oh, what lovely blackberries!” exclaimed Little Irene. “Come, let us gather them all.”

The Prince, however, remained crouched close to the ground, observing the comings and goings of the ants, which followed always the same path, whether they were coming or going, stopping here and there as though to chat to one another, then departing again in haste, without ever stepping out of their file. A few were laden with some grain or insect, and the Prince remarked that these ones were all travelling to the same place, whereas the ones returning from it never carried anything at all.

“Come here, Little Irene,” he called, “come! Let us find out where the ants are taking their load!”

And stooping low, close upon the ground, brother and sister followed the living line, which terminated at a little
hole, where all the ants of burden would make their way in, and would come out again afterwards without their load, going away once more to find some other thing to carry.

“How strange, indeed,” said Little Irene. “Look, they do not eat their food; instead they hide it inside the hole.”

“The hole is their nest,” replied the Prince—and he went on, deeply absorbed in thought. “Do you recall the words of Knowledge, that by living close to nature one may learn many things? Here then is the first lesson that the ant teaches us. It will not simply collect its daily meal; instead, it makes a deposit of food in its nest, perhaps for the more difficult times ahead…”

“Yes, indeed,” said Little Irene with admiration. “It would be a good thing if we did the same ourselves. Yet what may we gather? The blackberries will rot, they will not keep!”

“We must do things altogether differently,” replied the Prince, “if we wish to be ready to face the storms and tempests, be prepared when evil times might fall upon us.”

Brother and sister continued on their way, talking and gathering whatever fruit they found on the trees and low shrubs.

Before long, they came to a lake, half-concealed under the trees and beneath the thickets of reeds. A flock of frightened wild ducks flew up and left with a tremendous flapping of wings.

“Ducks!” cried out the Prince joyfully. “Since this is where they nest, we should find lots of eggs!”

Indeed, it did not take them long to find the nests, and to collect so many eggs that, once the basket was full, they had to tie their neckerchiefs into makeshift pouches and fill these too.

“What a shame that you do not have a bow!” said Little Irene. “You might have killed a wild duck or two. Look, not all of them are gone, there are still some over there amongst the reeds.”

“I may not have a bow, but I have a sling,” came the cheerful reply of the Prince.

And with one shot he killed a duck that was nervously poking its head out from among the reeds to take a look at the two siblings.

The hunt exhilarated him. He took off his sandals and leapt into the water to retrieve the dead bird. Then he took aim and killed more wild waterfowl.

When he had gathered a good few, he trussed them up together by threading a long bulrush through their beaks, and, slinging them over his shoulder, he headed full of good merriment towards the palace with his sister.

In the valley they also picked a bunch of wild greens.

“Now I have all I need for my stew,” said Little Irene. “Today we shall have a royal feast!”

“At least our meal will have been honourably earned,” came her brother’s reply.

When they reached the palace, everyone was still asleep.

They went into the scullery to set down their load, and there they found the equerry Polycarpus, lying asleep before the hearth.

The scullery was filthy and cluttered. The pots had been left unwashed; some chipped plates were strewn haphazardly here and there, together with dirty glasses.

Little Irene rolled up her sleeves, and began to put things in order.

“What are you going to do?” asked the Prince.

“What Knowledge herself would have done in my position,” replied Little Irene. “I shall first clean up all this mess, and then I will cook the birds, just as I saw Mistress Wise do with the meat.”

The Prince gave her a hearty embrace.

“Here’s to you, little sister,” he said. “With you by my side, I feel I shall fulfil my purpose.”

“What purpose is that?”

“To send that donkey’s head back to its donor.”

Their talk had awakened Polycarpus. He saw the siblings, and at that he got up hastily, bowed deeply, and was about to leave the room. But seeing Little Irene picking up the glasses, he stopped in his tracks, and his surprise turned into bewilderment when he then saw her wash them and dry them.

He flushed red and ran to take them away from her hands.

“This will not do, my young royal mistress! This is no work fit for your little hands!” he said, his voice cracking.

Little Irene laughed.

“And why ever not?” she asked.

“Because this is the work of the undercook!”

“And where might the undercook be?”

“He is asleep, or out revelling somewhere,” he replied.

“You see, then? It is I who must do this, since there is no one else to do the task. The scullery has to be scrubbed clean, and the meal has to be cooked. Since the head cook and the undercook are absent, I shall take their place.”

The equerry had now turned bright scarlet.

“Well… Well…” he began, and stopped.

“Well, what?” asked Little Irene.

“Well then, let me help you, my young royal mistress! If you yourself will stoop to such a task, then so shall I.”

He seized a pail and broom, and with great zeal began to scrub the floor of the scullery, while Little Irene plucked the birds.

The Prince, however, hearing voices from the royal chambers, went to deliver to his father the letter that he had found on Faintheart’s table.

The family were all gathered in the dining hall, and when the Prince entered they greeted him with one voice:

“Come closer, and hear about the miracle.”

The King strolled once, then twice before him, and then, proudly displaying his mantle, asked:

“Can you see anything new?”

“No,” answered the Prince.

“How so, no?” exclaimed Jealousia. “Can’t you see that some mighty monarch has sent us new clothes? He sent a skirt to Spitefulnia, new robes and a mantle to the King, and a beautiful scarf to me, just like the one that that harridan sister of mine tore yesterday.”

Thankfully, Spitefulnia was busy admiring her skirt, so that she did not hear Jealousia’s words.

The Prince laughed.

“Truly, there has been a miracle,” he said, “but you should seek its agent not outside, but inside this palace. Your clothes are the same, only a little fairy has darned them for you.”

“A fairy!” said the Queen ecstatically, clasping her fine, beautiful hands together. “Oh, did you see her? And did she not bring me some emerald bracelet, such as that of the Queen my Royal Aunt?”

“That would have been a hard task to perform,” replied the Prince. “Little Irene has nimble fingers, but no florins!”

Explanations were called for. And so the Prince told them the story of how Little Irene had waited up for him during the night, while everyone else was asleep, and how she had sat down and darned everyone else’s clothes.

The Queen was outraged.

“My daughter, a seamstress!” she cried out. “But this is unheard of! Is this how low my daughter, the royal Princess, has fallen?”

With that, she suffered one of her attacks of nerves, and had to leave the room.

“How perfectly vulgar!” said the fair-haired maid-in-waiting, disgusted. “I can’t
possibly
have anything to do with her any longer, after such conduct!”

And most majestically, she sprawled herself on the sofa.

“
Why
must you be so daft?” whispered the other to her. “On the contrary, cajole her and pet her, so she will sew you new dresses. I for one shall tell her all the sweet nothings I know, on the off-chance that she might sew me a dress as beautiful as Jealousia’s was, before it became all covered with stains.”

Jealousia, seeing that her scarf was once again as good as new, knew not whether she ought to treat her sister with contempt or not. Spitefulnia, however, felt a most vital urge to pronounce a few of her usual statements.

“One cannot, of course, blame the poor girl,” she said with stinging envy. “Some people are by nature born base and vulgar.”

“Indeed; like you, for instance,” Jealousia said maliciously.

Spitefulnia pounced at her and seized her by the hair bun.

Jealousia turned around, and gave her a smack that resonated all the way to the scullery, where Little Irene was cooking the birds in red sauce, and Polycarpus was rinsing the wild greens.

Immediately there followed an outburst of screaming.

“The same as always!” muttered Little Irene.

And abandoning her stewpot to Polycarpus’s care, she ran to the dining room, entering just as the Prince was holding back Jealousia firmly in one corner, while the
King, collapsed on the sofa, was restraining an enraged Spitefulnia by the skirt.

“Oh, shame, my sisters, shame!” said Little Irene ruefully. “Do not scream like this! You will wake up the entire land!”

As soon as her sisters caught sight of her, they suddenly abandoned all fighting, to ask if it had really been she who had darned their clothes—how
had
she done it?

So Little Irene took out her needles and thread, and sat on the window ledge to show them how to use them.

“Father,” the Prince then said, “last night I found a letter at Faintheart’s house, only I do not know how to read it, so I have brought it to you.”

The King took it, put on his spectacles, and read out:

The King raised his eyes, and looked at his son from above his reading spectacles.