Ardennia: The Unlikely Story of Cinderella's Prince

The Quest Begins

Henry and Guy rode their palfreys through the castle’s gatehouse with a pack mule in tow. They were provisioned for a two month-long circuit of Picardy and Comte where they hoped to find the owner of the slipper that Henry carried with him in his rucksack. He also carried with him a list of the fourteen ladies from Picardy and Comte who had attended the masquerade ball. His trip was stamped with the approval of the King and Queen. They had given him a solemn oath that if he found his enigmatic woman and she accepted his proposal of marriage they would give the union their blessing.

“Of course it would be best for us if your enigmatic woman is the daughter of the Marquis,” had said the King.

“Yes, but whoever your enigmatic woman is I am so happy you have found love; or at least someone you think you could love,” had said the Queen.

Henry had embraced them both for their support, asked Guy to accompany him and put the expedition together the same day. Now, the day after, he and Guy were on their way.

“This is a fanciful quest we have embarked upon,” said Guy as they descended the hill.

“And I thank you for joining me on it,” Henry said.

“No need, I was getting bored sitting around the castle with nothing to do but reminisce about the old days when the maids thought me attractive and I could get it up every night,” said Guy.

“Thank you anyhow. I can think of no better traveling companion.”

“And I can think of nothing sillier than riding all over tarnation searching for a lady whose left foot will fit into the slipper you have in your rucksack,” said Guy.

“Like I already told you, she was wearing a mask and never told me her name. Fitting her foot into the slipper is the surest way for me to identify her.”

“And if you do identify her, then what?” asked Guy.

“Then I get what my heart desires,” Henry answered.

“And she gets a prince.”

“She already has me; I just have to find her as she instructed me to do,” said Henry.

“Yes, that part of it has me stumped; why in blazes did she tell you to ‘find her’ and run off just when the two of you had started getting cozy?” asked Guy.

“That has me stumped too.”

“I guess it could be a test,” said Guy thoughtfully.

“A test?”

“A test, a hurdle, a task; whatever you want to call it,” answered Guy.

“To show I am worthy of her.”

“That’s the only thing that makes sense to me,” said Guy.

They reached the bottom of the hill, rode through the village and headed to the northwest on the road to Picardy. The land they passed through was fertile, and the peasants had finished harvesting wheat and were beginning to take in their barley. Guy pointed out that the barley crop was looking good and that meant there would be a plentiful supply of beer to get them through the next winter. As he was making this observation a small boy ran up to them and asked if they were knights.

“Yes,” said Henry.

“Have you slain any dragons lately?” the boy asked.

“Yes, two,” said Guy.

“What kind?” asked the boy, walking alongside of Guy.

“The fire breathing kind that can fly and can destroy a whole village with one blast of their breath,” answered Guy.

“How did you kill them?” the boy asked.

“The first one we killed by sneaking up on it while it was sleeping, binding its jaws with vines and giving it a kick in the behind. It was really mad when it woke up and when it spotted us it tried to roast us with a breath of fire. Instead it roasted itself.”

“Huzzah! How did you kill the second one?”

“By luring it into a trap,” said Guy.

“What kind of trap?” asked the boy.

“A mud pit; a deep and gooey mud pit.”

“What did you use for bait?”

“A fair and brave damsel from a village the dragon had incinerated. She wanted revenge and we helped her get it by throwing her into the pit with a rope tied around her. When the dragon flew over the pit, it saw her all helpless and thought it would just land next to her and swallow her. When it landed it got a big surprise and began to sink in the muck. Meanwhile –”

“You pulled out the damsel with the rope,” filled in the boy.

“Yes,” said Guy.

“That was smart. I hope to get that smart and become a knight one day,” said the boy.

“Keep hoping. Now get thee home and keep an eye out for dragons. I hear there is one about,” said Guy.

The boy stopped walking, looked up – and when he didn’t see anything – cast his eyes back at Henry and Guy and waved goodbye.

“Now he’s going to be afraid that a dragon will burn down his village,” said Henry.

“No, he’s going to spend the rest of the day hoping he sees a real live dragon flying overhead,” said Guy.

They rode until midday, stopped for their repast on a hilltop where they had a pleasant view of the countryside and continued on. Near the end of the day they rounded a corner in the road and came upon a man thrashing upon the ground next to his donkey. They stopped and tried to ascertain what was wrong.

“He’s frothing at the mouth,” said Henry.

“And he’s twitching like crazy,” said Guy.

“Do you think he’s been bewitched?” asked Henry.

“That or he’s been possessed by a demon,” Guy reasoned.

“What should we do?” asked Henry, crossing himself.

“It might be best if I put him out of his misery and just chopped his head off.”

“Or we could strap him to his donkey and take him to the nearest priest for an exorcism.”

“Who knows where the nearest priest is. No, I vote for a simple beheading,” said Guy.

“And I vote for taking him to a priest.”

“In his condition?”

“Let’s wait a few minutes and see if he settles down,” the Prince said.

So they stood there and watched in morbid fascination for a couple minutes until the seizure subsided. When it did the man slowly came to his senses.

“Where am I?” he asked with a confused look on his face.

“On a roadside in the kingdom of Ardennia,” said Henry.

“Oh. . .oh yes, I remember now,” said the man.

“What happened; did a witch cast a spell on you?” asked Henry.

“I get that a lot. No, it’s just some kind of malady that strikes me down every now and then. I’ve been afflicted with it since my boyhood, and my father had it too.”

“Well you’re lucky I didn’t cut your head off because I thought you were possessed,” said Guy.

“My name is Jules,” he said in response: “I am a bard and the son of a bard whose father was a bard and so on.”

“An honorable vocation; what tales do you tell?” asked Guy.

“The ‘Song of Roland’ and ‘The Discordia’,” answered Jules.

“I’ve heard the ‘Song of Roland’ told but have no familiarity with ‘The Discordia’,” said Henry.

“It’s a rare tale that no other bards in these parts has in their repertoire,” said Jules, standing up and shaking off the lingering effects of his epileptic fit.”

“Are you sure you’re alright?” asked Guy.

“I’m as good as rain.”

“Then ride with us for we are going the same way and I would like to hear your rare tale,” said Henry.

“And for a few deniers you shall, but not until the morrow for it will take the better part of a day for me to tell,” Jules said.

Jules mounted his donkey, and they soon passed a peasant’s abode where Guy bought a fat pullet for the main course of their supper. He wrung its neck with a deft twist of his wrist and they rode on for a few minutes until they came to a copse of aspen surrounded by a barley field and made their bivouac. As Henry and Jules gathered firewood Guy plucked the pullet and finally had the chance to chop the head off of something. They cooked and ate their meal as they conversed on a wide range of subjects as the Milky Way wheeled overhead. Then they set out their bedrolls and slept the sleep of the tired traveler breathing in the sweet night smells of a pastoral paradise.

The next morning they broke camp and Jules began his tale.

“Long had Lucifer pondered rebellion, weighing his grandiose ambition against the consequences of failure, before he called a select group of angels to secret council. He had calculated the odds of success as well, and had come to the conclusion that the undertaking was worth the risk. No other angel but Lucifer could have made such calculations. Only he, the most favored angel of the Lord God Almighty, had the audacity. Heaped with honors, praised for his shining beauty and profound wisdom, only he could have aspired to usurp the Omnipotent Father; only he could have felt himself worthy of Heaven’s triple throne. So he had called the council and with overweening pride he now sat atop a mountain – high and remote – and waited for the angels that he had summoned. The first to arrive at the conclave, ascending the heights of the mountain with the beating of his wings, was Beelzebub.”

Henry liked the beginning of this tale and became enraptured by it as they rode through the northwestern region of his realm. He wondered at how Jules could have memorized and strung together so many words, while at the same time he took in the sights of the rich fields and the pastures dotted with sheep and cattle. Lunch came and went and Jules kept up the tale, which had now gotten to the best part; the end of the epic three day battle between Lucifer’s rebels and the host led by the Archangel Michael.

“Michael, with all his might, swung the flat of his great sword against the side of Lucifer’s head a third time, knocking him senseless. The next thing Lucifer knew he was falling. He looked around and saw some of the angels he had seduced falling with him. But they were angels no longer. They were the creatures he had seen in his dream a few nights ago. Ashtoreth was a hideous hermaphrodite. Mammon was bat-eared. Mephistopheles was twisted so that his torso faced backwards. Others had goat heads or serpent tails. Beleth, falling to the right of him, looked like a giant insect with his bug eyes. Raum and Botis fell as one, a four-legged monstrosity with two heads. Kicking at the ether futilely with his equine hooves was Beelzebub.

“Further and further Lucifer fell, helpless, unable to halt his descent. He looked upon his own form. To his horror he saw that his feet were that of a beast’s – clawed and calloused, hinged to bulging ankles. His hands, as in his dream, were grotesque and all out of proportion. With those hands he felt the coarse skin of his face and the great horns that jutted out of his forehead. His heart despaired. Then he remembered what the Son of God had told him about the new sentient beings living in the Garden of Eden. As his sickening free fall continued he also remembered how he had vowed to ruin Adam and Eve. This he would do. Yes, he would foil the Son of God and make sure Adam and Eve and all of their progeny would never walk through the pearly gates of Heaven. Nor would he allow himself to be judged and confined to Hell for eternity. Verily, he would not dwell forever in the place he now saw looming below him; breathing ash and cinder, drinking liquid fire to try to quench an unquenchable thirst, enduring sulfurous whirlwinds. Instead he would, when the end of days came, bring about an apocalypse – and hardened by his vicissitudes emerge from that apocalypse triumphant.”

“Bravo! A fine if lengthy tale,” exclaimed Guy.

“Yes, worth a day’s listening and a few deniers,” said Henry.

“Thank you, good sirs, I never tire of telling it and plan to pass it down to my son,” said Jules.

“You have a son?” asked Henry.

“Yes, living with his mother in fair France. He’s a chip off the old block – already memorizing children’s fables and telling them to his sisters.”

“That must make you proud,” said Guy.

“Forsooth it does,” Jules said.

Not long after the rendition of ‘The Discordia’ the trio rode into a market town that was to hold a festival the next day.

Guy suggested they take accommodations at the town’s inn and attend the festival the next day. Jules, who saw an opportunity in the festival, liked the idea. Henry was not so keen on it, but agreed as long as he and Guy resumed their journey in the afternoon.

“Thank you, Sire, you won’t regret it,” said Guy.

But Henry did regret it. The inn was unkempt and smelled of rank body odor. The food that was served wasn’t up to snuff, either. The pullet roasted over a campfire had tasted much better. To make things worse some ruffians came in to wet their whistles and became boisterous.

“Settle down there,” said Guy, becoming annoyed.

“Leave off,” whispered Jules to Guy in an effort to avoid a confrontation.

“What did you say?” asked the biggest of the ruffians.

“I said ‘settle down’. Some of us want to drink our beer in peace and quiet.”

“Then go outside and drink your brew in the street, old man,” said the ruffian.

Sir Guy bristled and began to stand up. Henry put a hand on his shoulder, restraining him.

“This is not why we set off on our quest,” said Henry.

“But did you hear what he said to me?” Guy said.

“Yes, but it isn’t worth getting in a brawl over,” the Prince said.

“Old man; I’d just like to show him what an old man can do,” muttered Guy.

“Finish your beer and let’s go to bed. We have a big day ahead of us tomorrow and you don’t want to ruin your half day at the festival by getting bruised up in a scuffle,” said Henry.

“Very well,” said Guy, gulping down the rest of his beverage.

The next morning Henry woke up scratching himself. He had bed bugs. Another reason to regret staying at the inn, he thought as he shook Guy awake.

“Come on, Sir Guy, you’re wasting daylight,” said Henry.

Guy didn’t need to be awakened twice. He sprang out of bed, donned his clothes and set out for the festival grounds with Henry by his side. They came upon the festival on the outskirts of town, and it was a gay sight. Streamers with pennants attached ran from festival booth to festival booth, and the acrobats and minstrels who, were just beginning to ply their trades, were dressed in red and yellow costumes.

“Let’s go see the albino,” said Guy who had heard a hawker advertising his attraction.

“But I’m hungry,” Henry said.

“You can get some crepes in that booth over there after we check out the albino,” said Guy.

“Alright, let’s take a gander at the albino,” said the Prince, using one of the words Guy had taught him so he would fit in better.

For the exorbitant price of two deniers they got a ‘peek of the freak’ as the hawker put it. Henry thought the young albino man was quite sad looking and didn’t enjoy his ‘peek’. But he didn’t let the experience ruin his breakfast of crepes. They were delicious. After breakfast they went to see the dancing bear, watched some children playing blind man’s bluff – for which the winner would receive an apricot – and lost two deniers trying to figure out which walnut shell had the pea under it. Then they came to the archery contest where, low and behold, the ruffian from the inn was entering the lists.

“I’m going to show that ruffian up,” said Guy with glee.

“But you have no bow,” said Henry.

“I’ll borrow one,” he said.

Guy also had to borrow five deniers from Henry for his entry fee.

“Why is it so expensive?” asked Henry.

“Because the prize is that kid goat over there,” explained Guy.

“What are we going to do with a goat if you win?” asked Henry.

“Roast it over some hot coals eventually; and I will win.”

“Contestant one!” shouted the master of ceremonies.

Contestant one’s aim was off and he was eliminated in the first round, as were contestants five and eight. In the next round, where the archers were moved back twenty paces, everyone but contestant two, the ruffian and Guy were eliminated.

“Old man, you made a lucky shot in that last round,” said the ruffian to Guy.

“Just watch how lucky my next shot will be,” retorted Guy.

His next shot was a bull’s eye, and he and the ruffian advanced to the final round. A hush grew over the onlookers as the archers moved back another twenty paces and the ruffian drew back his bow string, took careful aim and let fly his arrow. He hit the bull’s eye, but not in its center.

“Do better than that and I’ll eat my hat,” said the ruffian.

Guy took his borrowed bow, strung his arrow, pulled back on his bow string, lined up his target and released his arrow. It hit the bull’s eye dead center.

“You might want to boil that hat. It will make it go down easier,” said Guy to the ruffian, who stalked off humiliated.

“Well done. Here’s your kid goat,” said the master of ceremonies, handing the rope that held the goat to Guy.

Guy nodded his head, gave back the borrowed bow to the owner and told Henry he was ready to resume the quest. They departed the market town minus one bard but plus one kid goat and an undetermined number of bed bugs.

“I haven’t had that much fun since we spent that evening with the free knights telling stories about nymphs and dwarves and getting soused on their wine,” said Guy.

“I’m glad you are finding our quest so entertaining,” returned Henry.

“Why are you so grumpy?”

“Because we lost half a day and in the process got infested with bed bugs,” answered Henry.

“Half a day is nothing on a journey like this. You will have to be more patient. And as for the bed bugs; tonight I will douse our clothes and our persons with chalk dust and we will be fine.”

“And where will you get chalk dust?” asked Henry.

“I brought some along with us,” said Guy.

“That showed some foresight,” said Henry.

“Yes, me and foresight are old friends,” said Guy.

Soon after they left the festival behind them they reached the north bank of the River Marne and followed its course. This would take them to the southeast corner of Picardy, where Henry would ask the daughter of the Viscount of Vermandois to try on the slipper. The Marne was a wide and stately tributary of the Seine and looked like a good place to swim to Guy, so after they set up their camp that evening they shed their clothes, dusted them with chalk and went for a swim. Guy’s naked old body was replete with scars and after the swim, while they were covering themselves with chalk dust, Henry asked him about them.

“This one on my side I got when the Anglos ambushed us in a ravine near what is now our border with Lorraine. Your grandfather beheaded the man who gave me the wound with one swing of the sword, and the wound always reminds me of him. This one here on my shoulder is from the bolt of a crossbow wielded by a man of arms who was defending the drawbridge of a small turret castle we were storming during one of your father’s forays into Saxony. This one on my leg is from a broadsword stroke that I suffered in a tournament in France. All good wounds; clean and doing little damage to my skeleton – otherwise I would be a cripple or a corpse.”

“So you feel fortunate to have so many good wounds,” said Henry.

“Yes, of course,” answered Guy.

“Maa, maa,” vocalized the kid goat that was tied to a sapling near the river so it could get a drink of water if it wanted.

“Are you hungry?” said Guy to the goat.

“Maa, maa, maa.”

“Do you hear that?” She is talking to me,” said Guy.

“She’s just bleating like any other goat,” said Henry.

“Are you hungry?” repeated Guy.

“Maa, maa, maa.”

“How about that, she is talking to me. That’s a clever goat,” said Guy.

Guy slipped on his clothes, untied the goat from the sapling and tied it to a shrub that the goat promptly began to devour. The palfreys and mule, loosely hobbled, grazed on grass nearby.

“We should eat too. Why don’t you gather some wood while I throw out a hook and line to catch us a roach or perch for supper,” said Guy.

“Alright,” said the Prince.

Guy, who seemed to be as good at fishing as he was at archery, quickly snagged two roach and the duo had a fine meal and picked their teeth with the spines of the roaches’ dorsal fins. Then they spread out their bedrolls to sleep, once again, under the wheeling Milky-Way.

When morning came there was dew on the grass and raspberries to be picked for breakfast. Guy shared some of his raspberries with the goat, patted it on the head and joined Henry for some rye bread and cheese.

“This is so much better than being cooped up in the castle. You did me a real favor asking me to join you on this quest,” said Guy.

“Wait until a rain sets in or we are beset by highwaymen,” said Henry.

“Oh, that comes with the territory and is but a trifle,” said Guy.

They finished their breakfast, packed up and continued following the river. By late afternoon they crossed into Picardy and by dusk they could see the Viscount of Vermandois’ manor house perched on a hill. They made their bivouac for the night and early the next morning called on the Viscount. He received Henry cordially in his sitting room.

“To what do I owe the honor of your visit?” asked the Viscount.

“I was hoping to have a tete-a-tete with your daughter,” said Henry.

“Ah. I wasn’t expecting this, but you are most welcome to have a tete-a-tete with Camille; and may I add that I would fully support a union between your house and ours.”

“Well, I can’t promise anything, but a meeting with your daughter would be much appreciated.”

“I shall see to it immediately. Please wait here for a moment,” said the Viscount, vacating his chair and exiting the room. A few moments later Camille entered seeming a little flustered and with her hair not quite right.

“Prince Henry,” she said, putting out her hand.

He rose from the sofa, kissed her hand and invited her to sit down. She sat down on the sofa and so did he – at a respectful distance.

“My father told me you requested a tete-a-tete,” she said.

“Yes,” he said, trying to discern if she was the same young woman who had captivated him at the masquerade ball.

“I’m so pleased to accommodate you, though I must say you have taken me off my guard. Please excuse my appearance.”

“There is nothing to excuse. You look radiant.”

“You are too gallant.”

Henry cocked his ear to see if her voice sounded familiar and gazed upon her searchingly.

“Is there anything wrong?” she said.

“No,” he said, coming to the conclusion that he couldn’t be certain if she was his enigmatic lady or not.

“Can I have something brought to you; a glass of berry juice perhaps?”

“No, but you could do me one favor. Could you try on this slipper,” he said, taking it out from the inside pocket of his waistcoat.

She blushed, and he immediately felt like he had committed a faux pas and put the shoe back in his pocket.

“No, it’s alright, I would love to try on that beautiful slipper,” said Camille.

“Are you sure?” he asked.

“I’m sure. If you have come all this way to ask me to try on a slipper the least I can do is oblige,” she said, putting out her hand.

He gave her the slipper. She tried it on. It didn’t fit. She gave it back to him. He asked for the berry juice she had offered him. It was brought and he drank it to some polite conversation and he left, never to return to the manor house of the Viscount of Vermandois.