*
Naturally, the shepherd’s heart leapt at the princess’s kind words.
He even dared to let that heart fill with hope as her own heartfelt praise continued.
‘I commend you most fully,’ she declared with her most warming of smiles, ‘for the way you present yourself to the world as a man most thoroughly committed to the importance of honesty and modesty. And so I have decided that the royal marriage shall be yours.’
Once again, the good shepherd’s heart leapt at this truly remarkable turnaround in his fortune.
‘Few men, it seems,’ she continued with her explanation of her decision, ‘seem to appreciate that a woman quite often realises that what she requires most is care, consideration, compassion, and companionship – all of which you quite obviously have in abundance to offer.’
She spoke to him from behind a whispering veil, her brightness too much for him to view safely while so close.
‘Some women may scorn this as being nothing but a crude generalisation, yet even those of my own illustrious family adhere to this universal truth. Naturally, in these circumstances we find ourselves in, I beg you to recognise that my own brightness, were it not veiled, would blind you, would burn you out just as surely as too bright a flame rapidly devours a small candle.
The shepherd had briefly hoped that his betrothed might reveal herself fully to him on their marriage, shedding her bridal veils as any newlywed might. Now it dawned on him that this might not be possible after all.
‘Fortunately for you, good shepherd, as man has observed though the millennia, this brightness naturally wanes as it draws towards the end. Now I recognise that something else troubles you: for it stands to reason, I hope, that when you marry into the most ancient of royal bloodlines, you must be capable of keeping your bride in the manner to which she has become accustomed. Fortunately for you, good shepherd, this will be in no way as difficult as you might have imagined. You will find your royal bride surprisingly far more docile and undemanding than feared, for of course she sleeps throughout the better part of the day.’
As she came to the end of her declaration, the princess drew her many flowing veils completely about her.
‘Yes, yes,’ the Royal Daughter asserted confidently, ‘unlike either me or even her daughter, my most gracious grandmother is a good match for you.’
*
Unlike the others, the good shepherd accepted the decision of the Royal Daughter with good grace, despite his belief that he deserved better than this revoltingly ugly old woman.
How, after all, could he refuse? He wouldn’t want the Moon looking down on him unfavourably, would he?
On the day of the wedding, his bride appeared before him in an array of dark, drab, drooping veils more suited to a funeral than a marriage: yet the poor shepherd was grateful for this small mercy, for of course the effect of each one was to more effectively shroud the withered form beneath, helping him curb his revulsion.
As the betrothed couple stood before the altar, however, his bride leant towards him as if to kiss him tenderly, yet instead spoke to him from behind a whispering veil.
‘You have acted far more wisely than you might at first think, good shepherd…’
*
On their wedding night, the handsome shepherd prepared to spurn any advances the darkly veiled old crone might make towards him.
Rather than directly approaching the marriage bed, however, the old woman spoke honestly to the quite obviously distraught young man.
‘I cannot lie to you, good shepherd,’ she began earnestly, ‘for I hope it is obvious to you that I have in fact been cursed: I can only appear to the world as a beautiful maiden for only half of my life – and as for the rest, it must necessarily be as an old and withered crone.’
The shepherd’s heart leapt as he listened to this disclosure with growing interest.
He had heard many tales of magic like this: where a hideous crone admits to a husband fooled into marriage that he has in fact taken a cursed fay as wife, a nymph who would otherwise be of the most surpassing beauty.
‘Fortunately for you, good shepherd,’ the crone continued, ‘I am allowed to choose exactly when I am beautiful and when it is charged that I must be hideous. And so now, as my husband, I make that choice yours; would you prefer me beautiful throughout the day, or throughout your nights?’
Now the shepherd’s heart truly leapt: what a remarkable reversal in his fortunes!
It was a dilemma, most assuredly.
Of course, if she were hideous on a night, he would recoil from her as they lay abed. Throughout the day, however, he would ironically be the most envied man on Earth, with a wife seen to be beyond all norms of beauty.
If she were hideous throughout the day, he would be mocked for his foolishness and ineptness at taking such an old witch as his wife: yet on a night, heaven would be his!
Thankfully, the good shepherd didn’t really require any time to think this quandary through: for hadn’t Sir Gawain, presented with the very same problem, assuredly declared that he would graciously allow the maiden to retain her gift of choice – for it would be unfair on him to turn it all purely to his own advantage.
‘You have chosen far more wisely than you might at first think, good shepherd,’ the old crone would declare, as she had indeed, in almost similar words, within the tale of Sir Gawain and his hideous bride!
‘For what does a woman desire more than sovereignty over her own affairs? And so you have broken the cursed spell, my choice being that I will remain as the fairest maiden on Earth for all time!’
‘The choice shall remain yours, my love,’ the good shepherd declared most assuredly to the old crone.
Beneath her dark veil, he was sure he caught the old crone gratefully smiling.
‘You have chosen far more wisely than you might at first think, good shepherd…’
*
The miserable shepherd would watch on a night as his angelically beautiful wife soared into the heavens, where for all on Earth to see she would shamelessly dally with the gods.
Thankfully, he would only be able to watch for so long before sleep took him, the inescapable result of the day’s hard toils, sparing him the ignominy of being a witness to his own wife’s affairs with her many lovers.
He slept, fortunately, despite the tide of anger and betrayal that endlessly surged and blazed within him, blinding him to all normal cares.
Throughout the day, when he remained incapable of sleep, the agonies of his enflaming resentment and indignation tore at him, such that his flock was dispersed, eaten by wolves, or caught up in the most fearful storms they were unable to seek shelter from.
Throughout the day, too, he had to put aside time to take care of his hideous wife.
She might be old, might be drawing ever closer to the time when she would (finally!) die, yet there was still enough of that royal blood flowing through her to cause him trouble if he foolishly allowed her to wither away all the more rapidly.
This had been her choice, of course.
No ‘cursed spell’ had been shattered!
She had declared most assuredly that she would remain as an old crone throughout the day, when he of course would always be on hand to take care of her needs.
On a night, she would regain her beauty however: regain too, her rightful place in the heavens, the playground of the gods!
Here her thoroughly brazen behaviour scandalised anyone who saw her, anyone who heard of her exploits.
Shame and envy remorselessly slashed relentlessly at his inner self, shredding – it seemed – his very soul.
How could she treat him so basely?
Did he really deserve to have been made such a fool of in this way?
He who, throughout his life, had always been so caring of others, so compassionate, so righteous in his behaviour and attitude to all others!
And he had virtually thrown away all that lifetime of blameless conduct when he had been foolish enoug
h to accept an old tale as irrefutable wisdom!
So although some people would mistakenly claim that a darkness had obviously descended upon him, deep within his heart he recognised that his own foolishness had brought him to this level.
How much longer, he reassured himself, would he have to take care of the old crone anyway, when she was obviously so close to dying?
*
Although she always seemed ever so close to dying, such that the good shepherd was even given to frequently hoping she might pass on that very day, the old crone never actually seemed to age.
She never, indeed, seemed to change in the slightest.
She was just always…old.
Naturally, the young shepherd wasn’t blessed (or should that be cursed?) in this way.
Like any man, he aged naturally.
When he glanced in a pool, he saw that his own looks were fading.
When he ran to save a sheep from falling, it was made plain to him that his own vigour was waning.
When he had facts and figures to determine, the struggling it entailed reliably informed him that his own sharpness of mind had become dulled.
Rather than seeking out adventure, he now sought out and appreciated only the calmer moments in life.
Rather than mulling relentlessly over past insults, he controlled his once burning, blinding rage, it dawning on him at last that this caused him far deeper harm than the original slight ever could.
Rather than blaming others for his problems, he saw that he was at least master over his own attitude to them, and thereby he could transform them in an instant into difficulties he could either attempt to deal with or could forget and ignore.
In this way, he began to appreciate the calmness and steadfastness the Old Queen had brought to his life.
The way she hushed him, brought ease to him when he was troubled, made him sit back and rest and relax as opposed to trying to do far too much all at once.
On an evening now, they would sit and watch the play of the planets together.
Laughing at the supposed antics of warring Mars, the overly flirtatious Evening Star, the taciturn, leaden Saturn.
‘Remember,’ the Queen said one evening with a knowing chuckle, ‘when you were always so enraged, failing to realise you were only at war with yourself?’
And at moments like this, he would catch the bright and vivacious young girl that still lay beneath the husks, the veils: there was the warm smile, there the joyful sparkle in the eyes.
She was beautiful, after all.
She was the most serene woman he had ever known.
How could he ever have failed to notice this?
And one evening, as they sat watching the stars, the old shepherd reached for her hand and declared most assuredly;
‘I love you.’
*
‘How did you know I chose wisely?’ the old shepherd tenderly asked his wife, this unusually dark Queen of Heaven.
‘The choice was always yours to make; and so you would choose what was right for you. The misery you suffered was, in the end, something you could always walk away from – as soon as you recognised it was of your own making. ’
She had brought to him recognition that the darkness hadn’t descended upon him, as he had supposed, but had lain hidden deep within him, clouding his judgement, his observation of everything he saw, heard, touched, smelled or tasted.
With a knowing chuckle, the wise shepherd glanced up at the glorious brightness of the new moon.
‘Whereas she would have left me burnt out to a husk, more peeved and vexed than I could ever hope to handle.’
He felt the grip of his wife tighten tenderly about his hand: and when he looked towards her once more, he wondered just how wise he really was.
Freed at last of the blinding burn of self-righteous anger, looking at her anew, he saw that within her darkness, the darkness he’d finally recognised as been his, there was, after all, the faintest sliver of light.
A thin crescent, a sickle moon.
And looking at it this way, it wasn’t the last, final glow of a waning moon.
For although he wasn’t aware of when it had happened, it had been turned around.
It was a new glow, a shard of youth, a bright and glorious light.
And the Royal Daughter kissed him lovingly as he slipped into an ageless slumber.
And, of course, the princess lived happily ever after.
End
If you enjoyed reading this book, you might also enjoy (or you may know someone else who might enjoy) these other books by Jon Jacks.
The Caught – The Rules – Chapter One – The Changes – Sleeping Ugly
The Barking Detective Agency – The Healing – The Lost Fairy Tale
A Horse for a Kingdom – Charity – The Most Beautiful Things (Now includes The Last Train)
The Dream Swallowers – Nyx; Granddaughter of the Night – Jonah and the Alligator
Glastonbury Sirens – Dr Jekyll’s Maid – The 500-Year Circus – The Desire: Class of 666
P – The Endless Game – DoriaN A – Wyrd Girl – The Wicker Slippers
Heartache High (Vol I) – Heartache High: The Primer (Vol II) – Heartache High: The Wakening (Vol III)
Miss Terry Charm, Merry Kris Mouse & The Silver Egg – The Last Angel – Eve of the Serpent
Seecrets – The Cull – Dragonsapien – The Boy in White Linen – Porcelain Princess – Freaking Freak
Died Blondes – Queen of all the Knowing World – The Truth About Fairies – Lowlife
Elm of False Dreams – God of the 4th Sun – A Guide for Young Wytches
The Wendygo House – Americarnie Trash
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