Free The Princess Who Rode on a Mule by Sheela Word

The Princess Who Rode on a Mule
    Princess
Hadley and her mother and sisters were in the tower chamber, awaiting their
maidservant. ‘Twas mid-November, and Hadley stood beside the window, watching a
group of peasants toil in the kitchen garden far below. The men were clad in
sheepskins, and the women in woolen cloaks. They stooped to pull up parsnips
and toss them in a willow basket, pausing from time to time to exchange words.
    Rain
began to fall. Hadley watched it stream down the window pane, then leaned her
temple against the glass and closed her eyes. She seemed to feel cool drops
upon her face, smell the damp earth, and hear the wild geese calling.
    “Come
hither,” said Princess Joan, who sat by the hearth near Princess Ingrid and
Queen Maud.
    Hadley
smiled, but shook her head. “The women work alongside the men,” she said
slowly. “’Twould be pleasant so.”
    “Methinks
‘twould be foul and damp,” said the Queen, tucking her thin hands into the
folds of her cloak. The fire that burned in the hearth was a feeble thing.
    “In
Cockaigne,” said Ingrid, “The air is warm and balmy e’en at night.”
    “Aye,”
said her mother. “’Tis ever June.”
    “There
is a mountain of bread,” said Joan, who was well-nigh famished.
    “And
another of cheese,” said Ingrid, “With a river of mead between. And the capons
cook themselves. And the wine doth pour itself.”
    “There
is fruit aplenty,” sighed Joan.
    “Peaches,
plums, and cherries o’erflow the bowl,” said Ingrid. “All of rare quality, with
nary a blemish.”
    “Sumptuous
furnishings,” said Joan, looking about the chamber, which was bare and comfortless.
    “Tables
wrought of ebon wood, chairs of ivory,” said Ingrid. “Beds so vast that
multitudes may couch together.”
    “And
coverlets of down,” murmured the Queen. “Oh, to be in Cockaigne!”
    “Aye,”
said Ingrid, and Joan nodded.
    But as she stood
beside the casement, Hadley fixed in her mind’s eye a field of winter wheat,
green and gleaming in the sun.
    ~~~~
    King
Valentine of Glerny was oft called “mad,” for he was capricious and
improvident. He had succeeded his father to the throne some twelve years
earlier, against much opposition, and had begun his reign by taxing his
subjects so harshly that they nearly rebelled. As the years passed, he became
increasingly unfit to rule, and the nobles of Glerny gradually expanded their
holdings until they acquired dominion over much of the land.
    Within
the palace, however, his Majesty’s will prevailed. Queen Maud found her wishes
opposed even in the most trivial of domestic matters. If she bade the servant
bring a round of cheddar to table, his Majesty sent it back and vowed he must
have ruayn, and if ruayn was her choice, he declared it “vile” and called for
cheddar. Worse, when seized by a fit of choler, he would rail against her for
hours, even in company. He oft upbraided her for bearing him no sons.
    And yet
at times the King showed his wife and daughters much affection. His humors were
as variable as the weather, and none could guess what he might say or do. The
Queen, for her part, never spoke ill of her husband, but kept her own counsel.
Nor did the Princesses say ought against their father, although they lived in
daily dread of his whims, which oft caused them hardship.
    When
Ingrid was eighteen, King Valentine forced her to wed an elderly Duke. The Duke
was so much in his dotage that he scarcely could place his seal upon the
marriage contract. The Princess became a widow within six months, and the
King’s men quickly claimed her husband’s estate, dispossessing all rightful
heirs, and constraining her to return to Court. She was now twenty-one, but she
yet wore black and made a show of continued mourning, lest her father compel
her to wed again.
    Princess
Joan, who was twenty, had also suffered from his Majesty’s tyranny. A year
earlier, she had become betrothed to a young nobleman for whom she felt