The sultan gnashed his teeth and shook his head but could prove nothing. So once again he asked his old mother’s advice.
His old mother smiled. “Ask me a harder question, my son. This one is too easy. Spread peas on the floor of the great hall, and bring the knights in. Women walk lightly and will scatter the peas. Men trod firmly and will crush them.”
So, the sultan did as she advised, and peas were spread on the polished floor. But when the knights were called in, Mizilca once more saw what the sultan was up to and she trod firmly on the peas, making sure to crush them beneath her boots.
The sultan was enraged and banished his old mother to her rooms for a month, but he also gave up trying to discover Mizilca’s secret. And so the year of service sped by.
AT LAST THE TIME CAME for Mizilca to go home. She said farewell to the men with whom she had served, and had just mounted her old swaybacked horse when the sultan himself came out to say good-bye.
He stood by the horse’s side and looked at Mizilca for a long moment without a word. Then at last he said, “You have served me well, Mizilca. Your father’s debt is paid. All honor flows to him from this time forth. But tell me this one thing, are you a man or a maid?”
Mizilca smiled and did not answer, just turned the horse’s head to the gate and rode away. But once she was through the gate, she turned around and opened her shirt, so that there was left no doubt in the Sultan’s mind that she was indeed a young woman . . . and beautiful.
“A maid has served thee one full year and yet ye did not know her,” she called back.
Then, spurring her horse, Mizilca rode home to a great feast and much laughter. Her father and all his company revered and respected Mizilca from that day forth.
POLAND/JEWISH
The Pirate Princess
Sometimes a young woman has to make her own fate
ONCE, LONG AGO, in two faraway kingdoms, there were two kings who were both childless.
They each so needed an heir that they set out on long journeys seeking remedies. The one went east, the other west, but as God willed it, they met at the same place, on the same day, at the same time.
The place was a sorcerer’s cave, and since neither king would let the other go first, they entered together.
“What is it you will?” asked the sorcerer.
“A child!” they said together.
The sorcerer, a hawk-faced man in a dirty turban, put his finger to the side of his nose. “Ah,” he said. “I have read of these children in the stars. One a boy, one a girl. As such they are destined to marry, even as you were destined to come to my cave on the same day and at the same time. If you permit them to marry, you and your descendants will share a great blessing.”
“Ah,” the two kings said together.
“But if for any reason you keep them apart,” the sorcerer warned, “many will suffer the consequences.”
“I give my hand on it,” said the one king.
“And I,” said the other. They clasped hands like old friends.
The sorcerer put his own hands on theirs. “The betrothal is complete.”
NOW, IT HAPPENED THAT before a year was out, both kings had become fathers, one to a handsome boy and the other to a lovely girl. Such was their joy that in each kingdom a year of feasting and rejoicing was proclaimed.
But one kingdom was far to the east and one far to the west. There are many years between a birth and a wedding, and many decisions and rulings and pacts and battles during that time. The two kings were so distracted by the day-to-day problems of running a kingdom that neither of them remembered the vow made in the sorcerer’s cave. Or if they did, they remembered it as if it had been a dream.
When the young prince and the young princess came of age, their fathers sent them off to study in a foreign land known for the wisdom of its scholars. And the same fate that had guided their fathers to the cave brought them to the same town and to the same school and to the same teacher. And it will not come as a surprise that their teacher was none other than the sorcerer from the cave.
Over the course of their years of study, the prince and princess fell in love and vowed to wed. But they told no one of their vows, not even their teacher. If he guessed, he did not say.
At last the years of study were over and the prince and princess had to be parted—the one to go home to the east, the other to go home to the west.
APART FROM HIS BELOVED, the prince had fallen to sighing. He stopped eating. He stayed day and night in an unlit room.
Worried that his son was dying of some unnamed illness, the prince’s father went to see him, accompanied by physicians. “What is wrong?” asked the king.
“I am in love,” said the prince.
Fearing his son had taken up with some unsuitable girl, the king sent away the physicians and sat on his son’s bed. “Tell me who she is.”
But when he heard the girl’s name, the king broke into a great smile. He recognized that she was the daughter of the king whose hand he had taken so many years ago. Quickly he retold the story of that meeting to the prince. “Do not fear. Rise up and eat, my son. I shall write to your princess’s father, reminding him of the vow we made; you shall hand it to him yourself, and all will be well.”
NOW, THE PRINCESS, too, had been failing since the two had parted. But she had not told her father what was wrong. When the young prince arrived with the letter from his father, the king grew afraid.
He had, in fact, forgotten entirely about the vow made in the cave. While his daughter had been away studying in a foreign land, he had—all unbeknownst to her—given pledge of her marriage to the son of the rich and powerful king whose lands bordered his own.
What could he do? If he broke that marriage pledge, his lands would be forfeit to his neighbor. But if he broke the sorcerer’s vow, many would suffer the consequences.
So, not knowing what to do, he dithered and dallied and delayed as long as possible, neither letting the young prince see the princess nor telling her that her true love was at court.
So, there they were—apart and yet close together for many days.
NOW, ONE DAY the princess overheard two servants whispering about the prince, and she heard in which room her father had put him. She managed to stroll by the room until he caught sight of her in the mirror. After that they managed to meet secretly in the garden, where the princess told him that her father had betrothed her to another.
“Then we must run away,” the prince said to her, pulling an apple from the tree. He took a knife and sliced the apple in two. Then, giving her one half, he himself took the other. They ate the two halves and kissed, their breaths sweetened with the apple. Then the princess pledged that what was once whole would be whole again.
That very night they climbed out of their chamber windows and met again under the apple tree in the garden. From there they fled over the wall and through the town and down to the shore, where a small ship bobbed in the harbor.
The prince pulled up the anchor, and off they went, out of the harbor and onto the great wide sea.
By the time it had been discovered that they were gone, they were already far away. And though the king wept and wailed and tore at his beard, what could he do?
THE PRINCE AND PRINCESS sailed on and on until they were in need of provisions, for the ship had but a small larder. So when the prince spied an island, they put in to shore, where they saw all manner of fruit growing, but high up in the smallest branches of the trees.
It was too dangerous for the prince, who was the heavier, to climb those trees. So the princess tucked her skirts into her waistband and climbed instead, high up to the small branches of a date palm, where she tossed down fruit after fruit to the prince, who waited below with a sack.
And all would have been well, but destiny was not done with them yet.
A merchant ship was passing by, and the merchant’s son, standing on the deck with a spyglass, saw the princess in the palm tree, her long slim legs wrapp
ed around the trunk, her dark hair falling loose around her face. It was as if his heart had been pierced with an arrow, so swiftly did he fall in love.
“Row me to shore,” he instructed his men. And they climbed into the rowboat and headed toward the island.
Now, from her vantage in the tree, the princess saw the boat with the merchant’s son and seven armed men coming ashore. So, she called down to the prince, “Hide, my love. Do not reveal yourself, whatever happens. These men will not hurt me, but they might very well kill you. And if you die, I shall die, too.”
Then she tossed down her ring to him, saying, “This is my pledge to you forever.”
The prince hid himself in the dense wood, for though he was brave, he was not foolhardy, and one unarmed against so many would have had no chance at all. Still, the princess would not climb down from the tree.
The boat came to the shore, and the merchant’s son led his men to the tree, and they encircled it.
“Come down, sweet maid,” the merchant’s son said, “for I have fallen in love with you and would have you be mine.”
The princess did not move.
The merchant’s son talked sweetly, then he talked quickly, then he talked angrily, and then—without any more talking—he had his men cut down the tree, and the princess was forced to go with him to his ship.
“Tell me your name, fair one,” he said.
“I will not tell you that, or the country I come from, unless you vow not to touch me until we are married. And once that is done, I will tell you all,” the princess said.
So smitten was the merchant’s son that he agreed.
THE MERCHANT’S BOAT sailed away, leaving the hidden prince behind. And while the princess sang to the merchant’s son and entertained him on a lyre that he had in his cabin, she would not let him touch even her hand.
“For you must be mindful of your vow,” she said.
If she thought that by denying him he would become bored with her, she was wrong. He fell still more deeply in love.
THE DAY CAME AT LAST when the merchant’s boat sailed into its home port. The holds of the ship were stuffed with valuable cargo.
“You go ashore, my husband-to-be,” the princess said. “Tell your family what it is you bring them. For it would not be polite or wise to simply show up at the door with me on your arm.”
The merchant’s son saw the wisdom in what she said.
“And let the sailors drink a glass of wine in my honor as well,” said the princess.
To this, too, he agreed.
But no sooner had the merchant’s son left the ship than the princess made certain that the sailors had more than one glass of wine. In fact, she opened an entire barrel for them. And soon the sailors were all drunk and wanting to go into town for pleasure.
The princess gladly gave them leave, and off they went.
No sooner had they all left the ship than the princess hauled up the anchor, unfurled the sails, and sailed out of the harbor on a steady breeze.
WHEN THE MERCHANT’S SON returned with his family to greet his prospective bride, the ship was gone, and onshore the drunken sailors stumbled around, unsteady and uncertain.
The merchant was furious, for they had not only lost the bride-to-be but the ship and all it carried. Taking his cane, the merchant hit his son on the head and the shoulders, shouting, “Better in the hand than in the heart! Stupid boy, go from my sight.”
So the merchant’s son was driven from his home to become a lonely wanderer. The princess had set sail in a great ship by herself. The prince was abandoned on an island. And the two kings did not know where their children were.
NOW, AS THE PRINCESS sailed by one kingdom, the ruler of that country was in his palace on the shore and, as usual, was looking out with a telescope at the passing boats. When he saw the princess’s ship, it seemed to have no sailors on board, and so he sent his fleet to capture it.
When the ship was brought into the harbor and the princess escorted down the plank, the king was so struck by her beauty and her bearing that he knew her for royalty.
“Will you be my bride?” he asked, without more preamble than that.
The princess looked at him and nodded once. “On three conditions, Your Majesty,” she said.
“And what, fair maid, are they?” he answered.
“You will not touch me until after the wedding.”
“Agreed,” said the king.
“You will not allow my ship to be unloaded until that time, for I would not want you or your advisors to see what prizes I have brought as my dowry.”
“Agreed,” said the king.
“And I would have eleven maidens as my ladies-in-waiting.”
Since none of this seemed more than he could give, the king nodded. “Agreed again.”
The wedding plans were made, and a lavish wedding it was to be, indeed. Eleven daughters of the highest lords of the land were chosen as the bride-to-be’s ladies. There was great joy in the kingdom.
But at dusk, the day before the marriage vows were to be spoken, the princess turned to her eleven ladies.
“Come and see my ship, which no one else has seen,” she said.
As not a one of them had ever set foot on a ship before, they all went eagerly down to the harbor, which was lovely against the darkening sky. Eagerly they looked at the cabins and the hammocks and the clever little cupboards in the ship. And eagerly they drank the wine the princess served them.
“To the king’s health!” she called gaily, and they toasted him again.
And again.
And again.
Then one by one, made dozy by the drinking, the maidens all fell to sleep. All—except for the princess.
When all were fast asleep, the princess untied the moorings, hoisted the sails, and off went the ship down the swift sea-lanes.
Now, someone reported to the king that the princess’s ship was gone, and, worried that she would fret over the loss of her dowry, the king went to tell her.
She was not in her chamber.
She was not in her hall.
And she was not with her ladies-in-waiting. In fact, he could not find the ladies-in-waiting, either.
It finally dawned on him—though it was not before dawn itself—that the princess and her eleven ladies were gone with the ship.
When the news got out, the eleven great lords of the land were so enraged at the loss of their daughters that the king was forced to give up his throne and become a wanderer in the land.
IT WAS MIDMORNING when the eleven ladies awoke and found themselves far out at sea, with no land in sight. What a weeping and a wailing there was then. All of them crying and carrying on. All, that is, but the princess.
“Well, we are here, and we will make the best of it,” she said, and she taught them to sew up their dresses into trousers and take off their heavy corsets and wear their bodices like shirts.
So they continued on the ship, riding the currents of wind and wave, getting better at sailing each day, until they were sailors as good as the men who had brought the ship to shore. And they kept the ship tidy, besides.
At last, with the stores running low, they came to an island—not the island on which the prince had been left but another island.
“Here we will find fresh fruit and water,” said the princess.
So they trimmed their sails and in they went, into a sweet little harbor that nestled on the east side of the island.
Though the prince was not there, a pirate crew was, having landed on the west side of the island. They saw the ladies, and at first thinking them king’s sailors, advanced with drawn weapons. But soon they realized their mistake.
“Come with us!” they said. And around the island to the other side went the princess and her eleven ladies-in-waiting, forced at sword’s point to do what the captors proposed.
When they arrived at the pirates’ camp, the princess stepped up boldly to the chief. “We, too, are pirates,” she said. “And while
you use force—we use our wits.”
The pirates began to growl and make noises that were both rude and frightening. But the princess refused to be frightened. And her very refusal to show fear put heart in her ladies.
The pirate captain looked at her with growing interest. “Speak on,” he said.
“There are twelve of us and twelve of you. And if you were wise, you would take us each to wife and make use of our wisdom. For our part, we will each contribute a twelfth part of our wealth as our dowries.”
Now, the captain—who was captain because he, above all others, did have some wit—had already fallen in love with the princess. He was delighted to hear her proposal. And so he instructed his men to go on board the princess’s ship with the ladies-in-waiting.
There they admired the wealth and the tidy ship and drank toasts in wine—to the captain, to the princess, to the ladies one at a time. And at last, exhausted by their merrymaking, they fell asleep, slobbering and snoring.
As soon as she was certain the pirates were well and truly out cold, the princess called her ladies to her. “Now we must each of us kill her man. I shall do the pirate chief, and you must do the rest.”
They slaughtered the drunken louts with their own swords and tossed them overboard, then went back to see what riches the pirates had in store.
It was the greatest treasure any of them had ever seen—bejeweled cups and great strings of pearls, gold by the bowlful, and precious gems as big as hens’ eggs. There was scarce room for it all on the ship, and much they had to leave behind.
SO, ONCE AGAIN they went off to sea, but this time they came at last to a great harbor. With their roughened hands and reddened faces, and in their tattered makeshift trousers, they were taken for men.
Delighted to be onshore, they went into the center of the city, and it was the largest city any of them had ever seen. But there was a great hubbub and a hullabaloo in the city, and they saw thousands of people running to and fro, seemingly without reason.