The Creeping Wood
Short Story
by Stephen Collicoat
Wretched glass! King Clovis thought. He snapped the telescope shut,
thrusting the instrument into his Chamberlain's hands.
'No details, My Liege?' the man inquired politely.
Clovis shook his head in frustration. It was the finest glass in the
kingdom and had cost a small fortune. In happier times, it afforded the
King immense yet simple pleasure. He would stand for hours on the castle
ramparts, observing his unsuspecting subjects. No detail was so fine
that it escaped his rapt attention: the sheen of perspiration on a
knight's brow, the gleam of a costly brooch pinned to a ladies' cloak, a
peasant's dirt-rimmed, broken fingernails. But now when Clovis most needed
clear sight - when he would have gladly given a heavy sack of gold or
the choicest mounts from his stable, the glass was useless. All it
revealed beyond the sharp details of trees on the perimeter was a shifting
haze at its center as though the distant wood was eternally wreathed in
mist or smoke. He could vaguely make out what seemed to be a shadowed
hump like a small hill between the trees. That was all. Except it
wasn't, because Clovis knew that a secret lay in the midst of the wood: the
identity of a mysterious and implacable foe.
Each night for the past six months, he had stood alone in this place,
watching the wood through his telescope, wondering what caused the large
fire that glowed between the trees: a fire that would occasionally
erupt into a sheet of flame soaring far above the tree canopy, only to
abruptly fall back.
Sometimes the wood would be distant. Other times, it would draw close
to the castle walls and Clovis could make out the confused and harried
shadows of naked men and women in the fire's shifting light. It was then
that the cries for mercy could be heard: cries so harrowing that the
fearful inhabitants of the castle would tightly shut the casement windows
and the knights would bid the minstrels to play loudly to drown out the
infernal wails.
During the day, the wood was stationary, but each morning found it in a
new position.
'Well?' Clovis demanded of the third man on the ramparts - a tall, thin
individual who was checking numbers in a large, leather-covered book.
'It's three miles to the east, Your Majesty,' the surveyor reported.
'Good,' Clovis muttered. 'It's moving away toward the frontier. Perhaps
it will finally cross the border and we'll be rid of it.'
The surveyor opened his mouth to speak, but fell silent as the
Chamberlain, standing behind the King, caught his eye and gave a warning shake
of his head. Clovis knew as well as the others that such talk was
foolish, but wouldn't appreciate being reminded of the fact. During the last
six months, there had been many times the Creeping Wood as it became
known appeared to withdraw, only to gradually circle back toward the
castle. It was as though whatever elfish devilry was causing the wood to
move was taunting Clovis with its slow, but confident progress. Worse was
there seemed nothing Clovis could do to engage his enemy.
Little was known about this threat, having manifest itself without
warning. Clovis recalled the conversation when the Chamberlain first
mentioned the wood. The King had wondered if his normally severely correct
servant was joking or had gone mad.
'A wood that grows overnight? Trees that are not rooted in soil?'
Clovis spluttered with merriment. 'And what's this drivel about villages
being surrounded by trees at night and in the morning, every creature
people or animals disappear while their houses and churches are ground to
fine dust? This is a finer tale than any I've heard from our jester.'
The Chamberlain winced but continued. 'If it was simply peasant's
talk,' he persisted. 'I wouldn't have wasted your esteemed time, but many
whose word one trusts - elders, respected priests, worthy merchants swear
to me they have witnessed this thing - many only narrowly escaping the
terror.
'And the fact we cannot dispute,' he added, 'is that farms, houses,
even entire villages have disappeared beneath this curse.'
'Has it entered from another land?' Clovis pondered aloud.
'I wondered that, Your Majesty,' the Chamberlain said,' So I sent spies
into each of the five lands that border us. There was no rumor of such
a wood, but it seems even the tosspots in the taverns have heard of our
troubles.
'Doubtless with many rejoicing at our troubles, hoping we'll be brought
low,' Clovis commented acidly.
As rumors spread, trade died. No merchant wished to linger in a country
from which he may never return. Royal visits were also canceled and the
kingdom, once so proud and prosperous, began to languish. When one of
the oldest and largest towns, noted for its irreplaceable collection of
tapestries, paintings and icons, disappeared overnight, the King
realised he must act. He called a meeting of his bravest and most loyal
knights, instructing them to enter the Creeping Wood and destroy whatever
demon lurked within.
The raiding party was led by Lord Hackforth, the most courageous
fighter in the kingdom. On reaching the wood, this worthy saw a wide path
leading invitingly into the trees. Being in advance of the party, he
impetuously spurred his horse into the wood, shouting for his men to follow.
It took less than three minutes for the rest of the knights to reach
the tree line, but already they found the way barred by a wall of trunks.
Axes were brought out, but their blades shattered against the iron-hard
wood. The men called repeatedly for their leader, but there was no
reply.
As it was growing dark, the party decided to camp for the night before
returning to the castle with news of their failure. Sentries were
posted with strict instructions to wake the camp if it seemed the wood was
beginning to move.
Scarcely had the men finished their dinner, than they were seized with
a great weariness. Scarcely had they sank down to rest than each fell
into a deep and dreamless sleep. The sentries struggled valiantly for
several minutes with the compelling urge to close their eyes until they
too succumbed. No one witnessed the swift encirclement of the camp by the
wood or the sudden, virulent growth of trees in the midst of the
clearing where the soldiers slept from tiny shoots to vigorous saplings and
thus to massive trees.
'But what did you see?' the journeyman's wife demanded.
'Hideous,' her husband whispered, shaking with terror. ''Men impaled by
trees. Branches spearing through their chests, their flesh peeled open
like ripe fruit. Leaves poking from eyesockets. Mouths crammed with
green shoots. Men dangling in the canopy of the trees, some weakly begging
for release. I was passing when I saw a wood had grown where the fields
were bare. I rode over to investigate. I wish I hadn't.'
'And you went to get help.'
'Yes, and by the time I returned the wood had gone.'
What should I do? Clovis asked himself for the ten thousandth time as
he stood on the castle ramparts with his Chamberlain and the surveyor.
Swallowing more towns, the wood had grown. One day, he feared it would
be large enough to encircle the castle. Then doubtless, the entire
court would vanish within the cursed circle.
'Is there no way to rid the kingdom of this horror?' Clovis asked
despairingly.
'I have a suggestion, Your Majesty,' the Chamberlain ventured.
'Speak out,' Clovis responded, though without hope of what he would
hear.
'We need a hero. A young man brave and capable. Someone who is so
tempted by the prize that he will chance his arm where Lord Hackforth
failed.'
'If there were such a man, I'd willingly give him a quarter of the
kingdom's wealth. Not only that but I would make him my most trusted
knight.'
'Those are great rewards,' the chamberlain answered carefully.'but I
think Your Highness should also offer the greatest gift of all. A prize
so tempting no spirited young man could resist.'
'Money, power: what else would you have me...' Clovis paused and
frowned as realization dawned, 'Oh no, what you suggest is too much!'
'Sire, forgive me but unless we offer this prize, I fear the whole
kingdom will soon be laid bare by this evil.'
'The hand of my only child - the Princess Elvira - in marriage?' Clovis
asked, his heart sinking as the Chamberlain nodded.
How should I, a humble spinner of words, describe the lovely Princess
Elvira? Imagine if you will a young woman whose skin glows with golden
bronze of ripening wheat, hair as black as a raven's wing, eyes as blue
or as green as a summer's sea. Chaste, intelligent, steadfast and
comely: the most bewitching creature who ever daintily stepped from the
pages of a fairy tale and there you have Elvira.
Scarcely was it announced that the Princess was chief among the
inducements offered to any conqueror of the Creeping Wood, than a stream of
eager young and indeed older men enrolled in the quest None however
succeeded. Either the braves were unable to hack their way into the wood or
they disappeared down a closing path, never to be seen again. While
Clovis raged at their failure, Elvira wept bitterly as she reflected at
how many had lost their lives to win her hand.
Each morning, the King appeared with his daughter on a balcony above
the castle courtyard and loudly implored any man, worthy of that title to
step forward. If Princess Elvira resented being offered in this way to
a loveless marriage, she was noble enough not to display her feelings
of shame and rage.
Among the crowd that gathered each day in the courtyard was a young man
by the name of Josip Gemmel. Though not handsome, he was agreeable
enough and if he had not been dressed as a peasant, might have attracted
far greater interest than he generally did among the fairer sex. Gold and
a title were of no interest to him, but from the moment he saw Princess
Elvira obediently standing beside her father, he burned with the desire
to one day claim this prize.
As time passed, Elvira noticed the young man who stood a little aside
from the crowd, and stared at her. She asked the Chamberlain who he was.
'Josip Gemmel,' the Chamberlain replied dismissively. 'A poor man, your
Highness. He's the son of a blacksmith and lives close by on a small
farm he inherited from his parents. A person of no importance.'
Elvira would have thought no more of the young man, but who can explain
the mysteries of attraction? Something about this quiet, ever watchful
young man piqued her attention and she found herself seeking his face
among the sea of people who gathered beneath the courtyard balcony each
day. To her surprise, she even caught herself thinking of the young man
and sometimes imagining him in ways that made her blush.
Now the Chamberlain though a shrewd and well-informed official, was
mistaken in thinking Josip Gemmel was poor. True, weeks before Josip was
as poor as the Chamberlain assumed, but then one evening something
remarkable occurred.
One evening, Josip was returning home carrying food he had bought in
the village. There was little food in his sack and the young man knew
he'd still be hungry after finishing his meal. Ah me, he thought
despondently, such is the fate of a poor man! No matter how hard I work, it's
never enough. How splendid to have gold in your pocket and the promise of
food in one's belly.
As he turned the corner into his street, these miserable thoughts were
driven away by angry shouts.
'The old fool is penniless,' someone spat in disgust.
'Then let's teach him a lesson for wasting our time! There's my fist in
exchange and here's my boot as a gift.'
Three youths whom Josip didn't recognize had punched an old man to the
ground and were now taking turns kicking him as he lay curled up in the
dust. With a cry of rage, Josip fell on the villains. Before they
recovered their surprise, he cracked two heads together and spun the third
around, giving him such a swift and savage kick in the seat of his
trousers that the lout flew across the road before crashing heavily into a
pile of rocks. Cursing, blood streaming from their heads the three
miscreants fled the scene.
Josip helped the man to his feet. 'My house is close by,' he offered.
'I'll clean you up and feed you.'
The man nodded absently and leant all his weight on Josip. At first, he
felt as light as a pillow of goose feathers, but by the time the two
had reached Josip's gate, the young man was panting with exertion.
Struggling into his cottage, he dropped his food sack onto the table and
eased the man into a chair. Then, catching his breath, Josip turned way to
find two plates and a knife to cut the coarse bread he carried in the
sack. When he turned back, he saw to his astonished dismay that the old
man had already opened the sack and extracted the bread. Even as he
watched, the last crumbs were being wolfed down by the stranger. Far from
showing remorse for his greed, the man demanded querulously,' Is that
all you have? I'm starving. Look in your cupboard and bring out whatever
you have.'
'That's all I have,' Josip replied, glumly accepting he would go hungry
that night.
'It's not enough,' the old man whined,' Hardly enough to feed a
sparrow, much less a man. Look again in the cupboard. Perhaps you missed
something.'
Shrugging, Josip opened the cupboard, expecting bare shelves and gaped
with surprise at what he saw, for there stood a large cake,
high-crowned, golden colored and buttery warm.
'The chicken is ready,' the stranger called from across the room.
'What chicken?' Josip gulped, wondering if he had gone mad.
'Why the one sizzling in its fat in your oven. Can't you hear it
calling you?'
Josip opened the oven door and, sure enough, there in a baking dish
rested a large, plump, roast chicken steaming with the scent of stuffing
and surrounded by carrots, pumpkin and potatoes. As Josip carried the
heavy dish to the table for carving, the old man asked,'Can't you hear
them?'
'What?'
'The voices of all the food. There's such a chorus from all your
cupboards, demanding to be taken out to join the feast. To think you claimed
your cupboards were bare! Is that a kind way to treat a guest in your
home? Why, even now I hear the gurgling voices of two bottles of wine
suggesting we drink them without delay.'
So Josip went from cupboard to cupboard, bringing out each rich hoard,
but soon had to stop for there was no further room on the table. The
two men fell to eating - or rather Josip did, gorging himself on food,
pausing only to pinch himself to make sure he wasn't dreaming. Gradually,
Josip became aware that the old man was picking at, rather than eating
his food. 'I have no appetite,' he smiled, seeing Josip's inquiring
look.
'But you ate all the food before,' Josip pointed out.
'That was to test you. To see if you would object if a stranger ate the
last of your food. I wanted to see if you were as generous as I heard.'
Josip was puzzled, but continued eating until he felt any more and he'd
burst.
'Today,' the guest continued, wiping his mouth carefully and pushing
the half-finished plate of food aside, 'you showed you're brave and kind.
Now I'll reward you.'
'Reward me?' Josip asked in amazement. 'There's no need for reward. Who
wouldn't help an old man in need? Anyway, you've given me a wonderful
gift. With all this food, I shan't starve for weeks.'
'After which, you'll be hungry again and the pangs will be sharper,
knowing what you once had.'
'Yes,' Josip agreed slowly.
'Come then, if you have a wish, ask it. You'll never have this chance
again.'
'If I was wealthy, I'd never be hungry.'
'Oh money!' the old man laughed. 'I feared you might ask something
beyond my powers. Such a banal request! Very well, it's yours.'
With this, he stood up and removed his shabby coat. Underneath was a
cloak as dark as the winter's sky, studded with small round discs of
glittering color.
'Put your hand on one of the circles,' Josip was told.
As he did so, the color seemed to slide into his hand and Josip was
surprised to feel a heavy weight in his hand. 'It's a gold coin,' he said
in wonderment. Instantly, another disc grew where the first had been
plucked from the old man's cloak. So the two began plucking coins from
the cloak. Soon they moved to the barn where Josip kept heaps of empty
sacks. One by one, the sacks were filled. They hid the bulging sacks
behind bales of hay and filled more and more until not even a dormouse
could have squeezed into the large building. It was then that Josip dazedly
realised it would take at least 13 lifetimes for him to spend all the
money he had acquired. The two returned to the kitchen where the old man
replaced his shabby cloak and prepared to leave.
'You can't go now!' Josip protested. 'It's growing dark. Stay here
tonight. I'll put another log on the fire and we'll finish our second
bottle of wine.'
'No, that mustn't be,' the strange old man shook his head decisively.
'Though I appreciate your hospitality.'
'I fear the moon will shortly hide its face,' Josip persisted. 'Please
stay as long as you wish.' He felt increasingly concerned that the
feeble old man would wander off in the night, perhaps falling into a ditch
or be attacked by wolves. The stranger opened the front door.
'I read your thoughts. They do you credit.'
'Wait! At least, take a light.'
'I have no need of light. Besides, I've a trusted companion who'll
guide my way.' Saying this, he clapped his hands together loudly and
called, 'Staff!'
There was movement in the dark garden and a minute later Josip was
astonished to see a rough-hewn walking stick marching up the path. Well, it
was trying to march, but it was clearly excited for it twisted and
bounded around, until drawing close to the old man whereupon it suddenly
leapt into his arms.
'What a remarkable stick!' Josip laughed.
'Oh, this is Staff. It thinks it's a dog. Well, I must be off. I doubt
we'll meet again. Enjoy your gold. I wish you a long life, health and
much happiness.'
'And you,' Josip responded warmly. 'Why, I don't even know your name!'
'Snarewhistle Watson,' the man said, 'Farewell Josip. Use your money
wisely.'
And grasping Staff, which looked to all the world like an impatient dog
straining at the leash, Watson hurried into the dark.
A week later, Josip reflected that wealth made little difference to his
life. I don't need or want a mansion, he thought. My cottage is simple
but it's also clean, dry and comfortable. Fine clothes would make me
look and feel foolish. Rich food makes me ill. My small needs don't
require servants and I'd much prefer to stride around on two sturdy legs
than travel squatting in a carriage. And so Josip began to give away his
gold, begging each person not to mention who had given them their gift
for he feared, as every rich man must, both beggars and thieves. Yet for
all the large sums he gave way, it was nothing compared to the gold
that remained and Josip wondered if his hoard was quietly replenishing
itself when he was asleep. At least I'm no longer hungry, he consoled
himself. The only trouble was that his mind no longer focused on food - or
the lack of it - turned to other things, leaving him feeling curiously
unsettled. It was only when he saw Princess Elvira that he realised what
his heart had been yearning for. He longed to destroy the demon of the
Creeping Wood and seek his beloved's hand, but what hope had he where
renowned warriors failed?
The problem seemed insoluble, but late one evening, the answer sought
him out. Josip was staring at the glowing embers of his fire, thinking
that he should soon rouse himself from his rocking chair and go to bed.
He would often sit by his hearth and night and fancy he saw Elvira
seated opposite, smiling as she peacefully knitted or darned. Could a
princess ever be happy to share a simple life, he wondered. Shall I ever be
given the chance to ask her? Suddenly, he was startled out of his
reverie by a loud knocking on the door. Whoever can be calling so late and
with such urgency, Josip wondered as he stood up and unlocked the front
door. There on the step was Staff.
'Where is your Master?' Josip asked, feeling foolish at addressing a
stick. Staff bent over as though in sorrow. How strange that a piece of
wood can vividly express emotion, Josip reflected. Without eyes, mouth
or hands it says so much. Even now it's clear Staff wants me to follow
it as it's begun to hop around impatiently and seems to be beckoning.
Confirming Josip's thoughts, the stick flexed, wrapping around the young
man's wrist like a vine, tugging him forward.
'Alright, I'll come,' Josip agreed to which the stick responded by
unwrapping itself and began strutting along his side. So the two left the
garden and set out upon the road. It's as well there's a full moon,
Josip thought, as I left without a lamp. Nor had he armed himself against
whatever danger awaited. After some miles of fast walking, Josip,
panting from the brisk exertion, called on Shaft to slow down, and the two
proceeded at a more reasonable pace.
'Oh no!' Josip groaned when he realised that Snarewhistle's stick had
brought him. For there, straddling both sides of the moonlit road in a
place Josip knew normally was only open fields stood the sinister
forest. He shrank back in dread. Much as he wanted to help the old man and
greatly though he wished to claim the princess as his own, the thought of
entering the terrible place, froze his blood.
Staff however had no qualms. He had been striding along under Josip's
hand (the stick loved to be patted on the head) but now seeing the wood,
it squirmed free and bounded to the front rank of trees that were so
tightly grouped together that scarcely a leaf slide between one trunk and
the next. The stick appeared to be conversing with the trees that bent
their trunks and branches over courteously as though listening or in a
soft conversation, their leaves whispering quietly although there was
no breeze. After some time, they turned to each other as if in
consultation, before finally shrugging acceptance. Then the trees across the
road parted, revealing a wide, bare path. Without a moment's hesitation,
Staff entered the wood. Sensing Josip wasn't following; it turned and
beckoned impatiently. Crossing himself, the young man followed with
faltering steps.
As they moved deeper into the wood, trees began to form across the path
behind. Sensing this, Staff turned and shook itself crossly. The trees
immediately retreated and the escape path remained clear, which
emboldened Josip as he followed the stick deeper into danger.
Within minutes, they reached a clearing in the heart of the wood. On
one side, across an expanse of fire-blackened grass, stood what appeared
to be several hills. The hills stirred in the dim light and Josip was
about to investigate when he was distracted by a hubbub of human voices.
Some were male, others female: some adults, others children or babies.
Josip could now distinguish prayers or curses, wails and groans. The
noise came from behind a tall, matted hedge of thorns, in the middle of
which was a door secured by a bolt and heavy padlock.
As Josip stood in front of the door, a young man arose from the shadows
close by. He was dirty, his hair was long and his clothes hung in rags
off his thin frame. Most striking of all however was the look of frozen
horror on his face and his eyes that burned as though in fever.
'You won't need a key,' he croaked and as though in response, Staff
strutted importantly over to the locked gate and gave it a sharp rap. The
gate collapsed from its hinges, the soft grass muffling the sound of
its fall, followed by the thorn bush hedge that fell down flat as though
prostrating itself before Staff.
'That stick is cut from a bough of Royal Oak,' the young man explained.
'It still retains some of the magic powers granted by the Old Ones of
the Forest.'
'Who are you?' Josip asked quietly.
'I was christened Fearflinch, but these people,' he gestured, 'call me
Shamelock.'
Josip followed the gesture and started as he made out the shapes of
scores of naked men, women and children in the area once bounded by the
thorn fence. They were shrinking into the shadows as though afraid, but
gradually a few bolder and more curious souls crept forward.
Josip taking a closer look, exclaimed, 'Why they're starving!'
Shamelock nodded. 'Yes, but that's the least of their troubles if they
stay here.' He turned to several of the gaunt men and pointed down the
path to freedom. 'Go quickly,' he ordered. 'But leave quietly. If
there's any noise, the dragon will wake.'
'Dragon?' Josip whispered fearfully.
'Of course. Didn't you see it across the clearing?'
'Only some oddly shaped hills. Oh no, that was the...'
Shamelock nodded grimly, 'Sleeping at the moment, having gorged on many
of his captives.'
The young man explained that when the dragon, who always hid in the
Creeping Wood, seized his captors, he would make them strip then held them
in the thorn hedge enclosure until he was ready to roast them with his
fiery breath before devouring them.
'He let me keep my clothes while I acted as gaoler. It's a horrible
job. Can you imagine selecting each night who will live or die? I tried to
be kind, but was it better to send a whole family together or leave a
child live a little longer? Was it more charitable to send someone to
death rather than keep putting them through the terrible fear of death?'
He wept with remorse. 'I hated every second of the nightmare. I knew it
was only be a matter of time until I was meat as well. The old man and
I talked for hours about ways to break the monster's power.'
'The old man! How forgetful I am. That's why I'm here. Where's
Snarewhistle?'
'Dead. Yesterday, he took the place of a young man, knowing that the
dragon had poor eyesight. I begged him not to do so, but he said his work
was over. His last act was to send his stick to bring you here to
rescue us.'
The dragon, Shamelock explained, had stolen part of the enchantment
owned by the Old Ones of the Forest. This included bending trees to one's
will, whilst hiding in their midst. The Ones sent Snarewhistle, a minor
wizard, together with Staff to find a human brave enough to encounter
the dragon. They realised that left unchecked, the monster would finally
destroy every creature in the kingdom and move on to ravage the world
beyond the Five Lands. Snarewhistle was told to find a man - young,
brave, humble and generous. He was to be tested for each quality before
being sent into battle.
'So, now you're here, what's your plan?' Shamelock inquired eagerly.
Josip was appalled. Snarewhistle had made a terrible error, expecting
him to fight a dragon. He had neither the heart nor the weapons of a
warrior.
What Josip might have said to the young man looking at him eagerly
isn't known, for at that moment the dragon awoke. Far beyond the wood, one
of the former captives gave a loud whoop of joy and it was this noise
that shook the monster from its slumber. The grey eyelids flicked open
and the malevolent golden eyes stared with unconcealed fury at its puny
adversary. Shamelock shrieked with fear and sheltered behind Josip who
stood his ground, though whether from courage or an inability to stir
his legs to action, who could say? If I am to die, as I surely will,
standing unarmed before a dragon, Josip prayed, let me die as a man. The
first thing I'll do when I meet Snarewhistle's scepter in the next 30
seconds is to inquire why he thought I could kill a dragon.
The dragon took in with a shrewd glance, not only the two men but the
deserted prison yard and open path to freedom. It let out a deafening
roar of frustrated rage that nearly burst the eardrums and opened its
great snout to reveal the black cave of its mouth. There far beyond the
rows of sharp, gleaming teeth at the back of its throat could be seen a
fire as though a furnace door had been thrust open. From the glow rushed
flames - a blowtorch of green, scarlet and blue flames. In a moment,
Josip knew a great sheet of flames would engulf Shamelock and himself,
instantly incinerating them. He prepared himself to die.
Which was when Staff threw itself to the rescue. The stick had been
quietly resting against the broad trunk of a tree, much as a calf will lay
its muzzle trustingly against the warm comfort of its mother's flank.
Now it sprang forward into the fray. Hurling itself high into the air,
it hung for a moment before the dragon's open mouth. The stick twisted
itself around as though appealing for support then arrowed into the
dragon's mouth.
Josip was violently knocked to the ground from behind. As he struggled
to rise, Shamelock, who was lying beside him, placed a warning hand on
his shoulders. 'Stay down,' the young man hissed. 'The trees are
joining Staff.'
Twisting his head, Josip saw an astonishing sight. Above his head,
swirled trees: trunks, roots, branches hurtling around as though in a
demented witches' dance. Then, the trees followed Staff flying into the
dragon's mouth. There was a sound of crackling and smell of woodsmoke and
Josip knew that the brave stick was no more. But now so many trees were
flying into the dragon's mouth that his fire was starved of air and the
beast began to choke, its scaly body threshing in agony, the tail with
its barbed sting, swinging and crashing over the ground, missing
Josip's skull by inches.
King Clovis was standing on the ramparts of his castle, telescope
trained on the Creeping Wood, when he noticed approaching movement.
Refocusing his glass, he swore in surprise at the sight of a company of naked
men, women and children. Though hideously undernourished, they were
clearly overjoyed, laughing, clapping each other on the shoulders or
offering up tearful prayers of thanks. Clovis hurried downstairs and minutes
later, the drawbridge was laid across the moat, the great doors swung
back and carts filled with clothes rumbled out to bring the people back
to the castle where food and drink was hastily prepared. As the people
dressed and began to mount the carts, Clovis returned to the ramparts,
afraid the avenging wood would pursue the group to the castle.
As he swung the telescope into position, Clovis saw on the moonlit
plain the wood had vanished and in its place was the unmistakable shape of
a dragon, threshing about in an agony of death. After several minutes
of violent pain, the beast's struggles became weaker and finally it sank
down into an inert heap.
As Clovis puzzled over this, the glorious realization came that the
danger of the Creeping Wood had passed. Now from the direction of the
dragon could be seen the figures of two men slowly approaching. Clovis
hurried downstairs again and another cart was dispatched, this time to
bring Josip and Shamelock to the castle.
The King decided to leave his questions had washed, fed and slept so it
was not until next morning that Josip who appeared to be the leader was
summoned to a private audience with his monarch. As Josip followed the
Chamberlain up the winding stairs to the royal apartments, he looked up
and saw Elvira. All night, the Princess had lain awake her heart
brimming with joy, having learnt from a maid that the dragon slayer was the
young man who had first attracted her in the courtyard. As their eyes
met, there was no mistaking their mutual love and the Chamberlain, a wise
servant, smiled gently without comment as he knocked on the King's
door.
'You can stay,' Clovis told his Chamberlain. The King then turned his
full attention to the young man standing before him. Josip puzzled the
King. Had this rural clod really slain a dragon? Only a man blessed by
the gods could do such a thing. While Josip didn't look the part of a
young hero, it was interesting that he appeared unmoved by the fact he
was speaking with his king. Clovis expected Josip to boast of his
exploits, but the young man was so disinterested in the subject that the
monarch decided instead to later question Shamelock and the men and women
Josip had freed.
It was time to talk business. 'I suppose you now seek your reward,'
Clovis began, vainly searching the young man's face for signs of greed.
'You'll find me a generous monarch as well as a man of his word. Instead
of simply knighting you, I have decided you shall become one of my
Barons. Chamberlain, make the announcement without delay.'
To the King's astonishment, far from looking pleased, Josip appeared
discomforted. 'Thank you, Your Highness for the honor, but I'd rather
not.'
Both King and Chamberlain goggled at Josip. 'Not become a Baron?'
Clovis repeated slowly, wondering if Josip was insane. 'Why ever not?'
Josip shrugged. 'I'm a simple man, Your Majesty. Let me remain plain
Josip Gemmel to the end of my days.'
'But you won't refuse gold,' Clovis recovered. 'I vowed I'd give the
man who saved our land from the Creeping Wood, the wealth of a quarter of
my kingdom. It's yours to take.'
Again, Josip appeared unmoved. 'Please keep this wealth or better
still, give it to the poor. I have as much, indeed more, than I need.'
Again, the King and his official stared speechlessly at the odd,
quietly confident young man.
'You won't accept any reward for slaying the dragon?' the Chamberlain
asked heavily.
Josip smiled for the first time. 'One prize I'll gladly take. If the
Princess Elvira is willing to take my hand, I'd be honored to give her my
heart. However,' he warned, 'I'll ask her to live in my cottage. It's a
modest place, but simple and clean. She'll be far happier living
without luxury.'
Clovis felt torn. Should he feel relieved or insulted that this peasant
thought little of what his ruler could grant?'
'Very well,' he pronounced gloomily.'If you want nothing, that's what
you'll take. Providing Elvira agrees, she's free to marry you and live
in your hovel. No doubt, I'll be castigated as a miserly and ungrateful
ruler to let you go unrewarded.'
'There is a favor you may grant, Your Majesty,' Josip added
uncertainly.
'You're joking!' Clovis exclaimed when he heard what Josip sought but
granted the request.
So Elvira and Josip married quietly and went to live in the little
cottage where every day was filled with simple joy, their joy only
increasing when the Princess gave birth to a son, then two years later, a
daughter. And many was the evening when Clovis, wearied by affairs of
state, would slip out of the castle and
ride to the cottage where he could enjoy loving and honest company and
play with his grandchildren who grew up as merry, natural and wise as
anyone might wish.
And the favor Josip sought? Why, it was that Shamelock be granted a
better name. And strange to relate, scarcely had the young man been
knighted Sir Dreadnought but he became the boldest warrior in the kingdom,
and was crowned king when Clovis, rich in years, finally died.
So if there's a simple moral to this tale, it's we should be wary of
what we call others, for too often it's what they become!
The Creeping Wood© COPYRIGHT 2005 Stephen Collicoat.
Reproduction prohibited without permission from the author.
09/16/05
