Penelope Delta: A Tale Without a Name

“Cunningson, come here!”

The High Chancellor straightened his back, and advanced towards the King.

“My liege…” he said, bowing once more.

“What would you advise?” the King asked curtly.

The High Chancellor fixed his eyes silently upon his royal master’s crown, which glittered with a goodish few precious and sizeable stones encrusted in the golden frame.

The King understood the meaning of the gaze, and aghast seized his crown with his two hands, holding it secure upon his head.

“Oh, no! Never that!” he shouted nervously. “Advise again.”

“Well, then, and since the equerries whom I sent to the neighbouring kingdoms some ten days ago have not returned, may His Royal Highness the Prince go once more to the King your Royal Cousin…”

“No,” said the Prince firmly, coming out of the corner where he and Little Irene had withdrawn. “I took an oath never to beg again.”

The King sprang to his feet and stood straight and erect before his son, menacing him with his fist.

“And who are you, you little imp, to have taken oaths, and to have opinions?” he said crossly.

“I am the future king,” replied his son quietly, “and I wish to preserve my dignity.”

Witless rubbed his forehead with furious rage. He could find no answer to give to his boy, and yet the problem remained unresolved: where were they to find food?

“Cunningson!” he finally shouted frantically. “Either you find me a solution, or I shall have your head cut off!”

The miserable Cunningson was most profoundly distressed. He began to tremble and to shake in earnest, and he kept glancing at the door, gauging with his eye how many steps he would have to take in order to reach it.

“Well, then, out with it! A solution!” yelled the King.

The High Chancellor was quivering all over.

“I… I ought to go myself, then…” he suggested, his voice a mere whisper.

“Well then, go, and see that you run!” replied the King. “I want food and wine, at once. If you do not leave and come back as quick as lightning, I shall have your head cut off!”

Before he had even finished his phrase, the High Chancellor was already far away.

Cunningson bolted out of the palace as fast as he could. Yet once outside in the darkness and the cold, he stopped still.

“Where am I going?” he muttered. “And how? It would take me two days to reach the realm of the King the Royal Cousin, and till then…”

For two long minutes he stood there, considering the situation. Then he made up his mind.

“Today, tomorrow, what difference does it make!” he mumbled. “I am going away in any case! I just need to wrap up some unfinished business first, with my friend Faintheart…”

He began to scramble down the mountain.

As he was hurrying down, he heard footsteps nearby. A cold shiver ran through him.

“Who’s that?” he asked, petrified.

“No one, Your Excellency, it is only I!” answered a voice, even more petrified than his own.

The High Chancellor found his lost courage once more. “And who might you be?” he asked.

“It… It is I… Miserlix the blacksmith,” answered the quivering voice.

“Show yourself here before me at once!” commanded the High Chancellor.

And a human shadow, with a heavy bulge over its shoulder, appeared in front of him.

The High Chancellor seized the bulge.

“You thieving rogue! What have you got in your haversack?” he demanded savagely.

“Your Excellency… I am no rogue and no thief… These are my chickens, and my wine, which I have bought and paid for—”

“You lie!” barked the High Chancellor more brutally still. “Ragged beggars such as yourself eat no chickens and drink no wine! You have stolen these goods! Tell me now where from!”

“I have not stolen them, master, peace be with you, I paid for these!” answered Miserlix, his voice breaking into sobs. “I paid for these, master, I did, with the money I got selling my daughter’s needlework, a commission from the King the Royal Uncle, the sovereign of the kingdom across the border. Ask Him, Your Excellency, if I paid or not! He even gave me a gift, a shepherd’s pie…”

He was given, however, no chance to finish what he was saying. Cunningson was not likely to miss out on such an incredible stroke of good luck.

He snatched the haversack from Miserlix, who stood frozen, transfixed with terror, and with a sharp kick sent him rolling down the slope so viciously and violently that the poor man did not regain his foothold until he had reached the foot of the high mountain.

CUNNINGSON SCURRIED in all haste back to the palace and entered the room where the King, the Queen, the princesses and the maids-in-waiting all sat in a circle, watching amidst great fits of laughter the buffooneries of a podgy, hunchbacked and knock-kneed fool.

By the window stood the Prince, who was talking to Little Irene, describing to her the beauties of the woods where he had been that afternoon.

Their talk was disrupted by the screams with which everyone else in the room greeted Cunningson’s entrance; the two siblings turned around, bewildered.

The High Chancellor opened his haversack with great pomp and circumstance, and presented its contents — two roast chickens, three bottles of wine, a shepherd’s pie and a basket filled with ripe-red strawberries.

“I bring them, my lord, from the King your Royal Cousin,” he answered to the King’s questions.

“Well done, indeed, my good Cunningson,” said Witless. “Do remind me tomorrow to bestow upon you the Great Diamond-studded Cross of Unbridled Loyalty to the Crown, for you do deserve it.”

“There are no more honours or decorations left in the coffers,” said the High Chancellor uncertainly.

“No?… Ah, hmm… Well then, not to worry, I shall give you its title instead.”

Cunningson stared once more at the precious stones of the crown, pursed his lips, and was about to reply.

The Prince, however, spoke first, and said to his father:

“My king and father, this man is lying. He most certainly did not go to the King our Royal Cousin. For when did he have the time to do so? It takes two days to go and as many to come back. Ask him where he did find all this food, and, until you know, may no one eat a single morsel!” he added, catching hold of Jealousia’s hand just as she was about to dig her finger in the pie.

The King stood hesitant.

“Really? Does it really take two days to go to the realm of the King my Royal Cousin?” he asked of Cunningson.

He in turn became muddled and confused, started to blurt out some sort of explanation, froze with embarrassment and stopped.

“Father,” said the Prince, “this food has been stolen. And I ask you as a favour that you oblige this man to return every item to the rightful owner.”

The King pushed his crown nervously all the way to the back of his head, and rubbed his forehead with the heel of his hand. The very notion of losing his food did not appeal to him in the least.

“And how do you know, if I may ask, how long it takes for someone to go to the realm of the King our Royal Cousin?” he enquired sullenly.

“You sent me there once yourself, to ask for golden florins. Have you forgotten it, father? For I remember it well!” answered the Prince. “It took me two days to go, and two more to return. And four whole days did I have to wait there, till I could see the lord and master of the land. For the King our Royal Cousin does not grant audiences to beggars, except when the fancy takes him.”