by Roald Dahl
But poaching was a hazardous occupation in the Kingdom. All the land, all the forests and the streams, were owned either by the King himself or by one of the great Dukes, and although the footpaths on their estates were open to the public for strolling quietly, poaching on these lands was strictly forbidden. Anyone who strayed off the designated footpaths did so at his peril. The undergrowth was strewn with cunningly concealed man-traps whose iron jaws could bite a man’s leg to the bone if he stepped on the plate that released the spring. And there the poor captive would remain, pinned to the ground, until a patrolling keeper found him the next day.
In the eyes of the King and the Dukes, poaching was a greater crime than murder. The sentence for murder was simply death by hanging, but the sentence for poaching was far more unpleasant. A convicted poacher would first be weighed on a special balance. Then two leaden anklets would be constructed whose weight had been most carefully calculated by the Royal Mathematician. These anklets would be fastened around the victim’s ankles and his hands tied behind his back before he was lowered into the great Drowning Tub that was built of stone and stood permanently in the Market Square of the capital. The man’s height had also been measured beforehand by the Mathematician, and a quantity of water had either been added to or taken out of the Tub so that when the man stood on tiptoe on the bottom, the top of his head was just below the surface of the water. The result of all this was that the victim spent many hours, sometimes days, being pulled down by the weight of the anklets, then jumping up again for a quick breath of air when his feet touched the bottom. Finally he sank altogether from exhaustion. The uncomfortable nature of this punishment did much to discourage the population from breaking the law of the land. The hunting of game was the prerogative only of the Royal Family and the Dukes.
But Hengist was not to be intimidated. He had such faith in his powers of stealth that he harboured no fears of the dreaded Drowning Tub. His parents were, of course, frightened out of their skins. Every evening when he went out, and every dawn when he returned with a juicy partridge or a leveret under his coat, they trembled for their son, and indeed for themselves. But hunger is a powerful persuader and the spoils were always accepted and roasted and devoured with relish.
‘You are being careful, son, are you not?’ the mother would say, as she munched upon the tender breast of a woodcock.
‘I is always careful, ma,’ Hengist would answer. ‘That little ole King and them fancy Dooks they ain’t never goin’ to lay a finger on me.’
Hengist soon became so confident in his powers of poaching that he scorned the cover of darkness and took to going out in full daylight, which was something that only the bravest or the most foolhardy would do. And then one day, on a fine morning in springtime, he decided to have a go at the most protected area in the entire Kingdom, that part of the Royal Forest which lies immediately beneath the walls of the Castle itself, where the King lived. Here the game was more plentiful than anywhere else, but the dangers were tremendous. Hengist, as he crept soft and silent into the Royal Forest, was relishing this danger.
And now he was standing immobile in the shadow of a mighty beech, watching a young roebuck grazing not five paces away and waiting for the moment to pounce. Out of the edge of one eye he could see the south wall of the Royal Castle itself and somewhere in the distance he could hear bugles blowing. They were probably changing the guard at the gates, he told himself. Then suddenly, out of that same eye, he caught sight of a figure among the trees, not forty paces distant. Slowly, he turned his head to examine this person more carefully and, lo and behold, he saw immediately that it was none other than the young Princess, the only child of the King and the jewel in his crown. She was a young damsel of breathtaking beauty, with skin as pure and smooth as a silken glove, and she was but seventeen years old. Here she was then, apparently idling away the morning picking bluebells in the wood. Hengist’s heart gave a jump when he saw her and all the old passions came flooding back once again. For a mad moment or two, he considered surprising the damsel by kneeling before her with whispered words of love and adoration, but he knew only too well what would happen then. She would take one look at his terrible ugliness and run away screaming, and he would be caught and put to death. It also occurred to him that he might creep upon her stealthily, coming up behind her unseen then clapping a hand over her mouth and having his way with her by force. But he quickly pushed this foul notion out of his mind, for he abhorred violence of any kind.
What happened next came very suddenly. There was a fanfare of hunting horns nearby and Hengist turned and saw a massive wild boar, the largest he had ever seen, come charging through the trees, and behind it, some fifty paces back, was riding the King himself and a group of noblemen, all galloping full-tilt after the boar with lances drawn. The Princess was right in the path of the running boar and the boar was in no mood to swerve around her. Just the opposite. An angry hunted boar will attack any human who stands in its line of flight. Worse still, it will often swing aside and attack an innocent bystander who might happen to be near. And now the boar had spotted the Princess, and it was making straight for her. Hengist saw the maiden drop her bunch of bluebells and run. Then she seemed to realize the futility of this, and she stopped and pressed herself against the trunk of a giant oak, and there she stood, helpless, with arms outspread as though for crucifixion, waiting for the madly rushing beast to reach her. Hengist saw the boar, the size of a small bull, charging forwards with head down, the two sharp, glistening tusks pointing straight at the victim.
He took off like an arrow. He flew over the ground with his feet hardly touching the earth, and when he realized that the boar was going to reach the Princess before him, he made a last, despairing dive through the air and reached far out with his hands and just managed to grab hold of the boar’s tusks when they were within a fraction of the maiden’s midriff. Both Hengist and the boar went tumbling over in a heap, but the youth held on to the tusks, and when he leaped to his feet again, the boar came with him, lifted on high by the strongest pair of arms in the Kingdom. Hengist gave a sudden twist with his hands and even the King, some thirty paces distant, heard the boar’s cervical spine snap in two. Hengist then swung the massive beast back and forth a couple of times before sending it sailing over his head as easily as if it had been a stick of firewood.
The King reached them first, galloping like mad and reining in his frothing horse right beside his daughter. He was followed by half a dozen noblemen, who all pulled up behind the King. The King leaped from his charger crying out, ‘My darling! My little child! Are you all right?’ He had witnessed the whole of the four-second drama, and in truth, when he had seen the boar charging straight for his daughter, he thought she was finished. And then he had seen this extraordinary human arrow leaping and flying between the trees and flinging himself upon the terrible boar just in the nick of time. The King was white in the face as he took the sobbing Princess in his arms to console her. Hengist stood awkwardly by, not quite knowing what to do with his hands or his feet or anything else.
At last the King turned to look at Hengist. For a moment or two, the shock of seeing such a spectacularly ugly youth rendered him speechless. But he kept on looking, and as he looked, he found himself liking more and more what he saw. A man is seldom repelled by the malformed features of another man. Quite the reverse. Men, as a whole, take less kindly to other men who are exceptionally good-looking. Women are often the same with other women. Yet, as we all know, good looks do have a profound influence upon the opposite sex. This is a fact of life, but as the wise King knew, it caused much disillusionment later on. Yes, the King was telling himself, as he continued to stare at this curious fellow who stood before him, how different he is from the sloppy, effeminate, lecherous young courtiers who surround me at the Castle! This is a real man! He is brave and swift and fearless, and to hell with his looks! It was at this point that a sly plot began to hatch in the King’s devious mind.
In his rich royal v
oice, charged with emotion, he said, ‘Young man, today you have done me the greatest service any citizen could perform for his King! You have saved the treasure of my life, the pearl of my Kingdom, my only child, indeed the only child I shall ever have because the poor Queen is dead! I intend to see that you are rewarded in a munificent manner! Pray accompany me to the Castle at once!’
Then the King lifted the Princess up on to his charger and himself got into the saddle behind her. The entourage rode off at a trot, with a rather bemused Hengist running alongside.
As soon as he arrived at the Castle, the King summoned a meeting of the Elders. Ostensibly, these old men were the parliament that ruled the Kingdom, but in reality it was the King himself who decided everything. No man dared gainsay the monarch.
In the Council Chamber the Elders, twenty in all, were assembled in their pews.
Above, on a dais, sat the King upon his throne, and beside him stood Hengist. The latter was not very suitably attired for the occasion. He wore a shirt made from some kind of sacking, his breeches were filthy, and on his stockingless feet was a pair of home-made sandals. The Elders stared at this ugly, ill-dressed creature with distaste. The King smiled. He was a curious man, the King, much given to eccentricities and japes and ingenious practical jokes. For example, at his dining-table, which seated twelve guests, he had twelve little taps concealed under the edge of the table, and if any of his guests, male or female, annoyed him or said something foolish, the King would reach under the table and open the appropriate tap. This would send a powerful jet of water from a tiny hole in the centre of the chair right up the backside of the offending guest.
It had not taken the King long to realize that Hengist, with those terribly ugly features, must be the most sexually disappointed man in the Kingdom. He had actually observed several ladies of the court recoiling and covering their faces as the youth passed by. All this suited his subtle plan very well.
‘Learned Elders,’ he said, addressing the Council, ‘this gallant youth, Hengist by name, has by an act of unbelievable bravery saved the life of the Princess, your future Queen. No reward is too great for him. He shall therefore be granted a stipend of one thousand gold crowns a year and shall be accommodated in a grace-and-favour mansion on the Royal Estate. He shall be provided with servants and a lavish wardrobe and whatever else he desires for his comfort.’
‘Hear hear,’ the Elders murmured. ‘He well deserves it.’
‘But that is a mere nothing compared to what other favours I am now about to grant him,’ the King went on. ‘I have decided that the greatest reward I can bestow upon this valiant and gallant youth is as follows. By Royal Decree, he shall also be granted …’ Here the King paused dramatically. The Elders waited. ‘He shall be granted the absolute right to ravish any maiden, wench, lady, dame, countess, duchess or other female in the Kingdom whenever he so desires.’
There was uproar among the Elders. ‘You can’t do that!’ they cried. ‘What about our wives? What about our daughters?’
‘What about them?’ the King asked. ‘You will notice that I have not even excluded the Princess, so why should I exclude your wretched wives or daughters?’
‘You mustn’t do this, Your Majesty!’ the Elders cried out. ‘There will be chaos at court! There will be rape in the corridors! The whole place will be bedlam! Our poor innocent daughters! Our dear wives!’
‘I doubt your daughters or wives will qualify,’ the King remarked drily. ‘Only great beauties will stand a chance of being noticed. When a man has his pick, he chooses carefully.’
‘We beg you, Majesty!’ the Elders cried. ‘Do not force us to pass such a law!’
‘Nothing you say will deter me,’ said the King. ‘And, furthermore, I decree that any lady who refuses to submit to the blandishments of Count Hengist – I have just made him a count, by the way – will be put to death in the Drowning Tub.’
The Elders were all on their feet waving their order papers and shouting against the King. ‘You’ve gone too far!’ they cried. ‘There will be sexual anarchy in the land!’
‘Don’t be so sure,’ said the clever King.
‘Sexual anarchy!’ the Elders chanted. ‘Rape on the ramparts! It’s not good enough!’
‘Listen,’ said the King, beginning to lose patience. ‘I’ll have the whole lot of you put in the Drowning Tub if you give me any more trouble!’
That shut them up.
‘Lastly,’ the King continued, ‘and you’d better note this carefully, any man, any father or husband or brother, who attempts to interfere with the noble Count in the pursuance of his desires shall also be put in the Drowning Tub. Do I make myself clear?’ There was a steely edge to the King’s voice, and the Elders sat down and remained silent and sulked. They knew that their ruler, who had the entire army behind him to a man, was all-powerful. He always got his way.
‘Draw up the Proclamation immediately,’ the King said. ‘Have it posted in towns and villages all over the Kingdom. Have the town-criers call out the news in every hamlet! Tell the population that Count Hengist enjoys the freedom of all the women in the realm. And be sure to stress the penalties for disobedience. See also that Count Hengist himself be given a Card of Authority that he can wave in the face of any maiden or wench he may desire.’
Thus, this extraordinary Decree was made law, and Hengist, under the full protection of the King, moved into a mansion near the Castle where servants bathed him and groomed him and taught him how to dress in the style of the court.
At first, the poor fellow was totally bewildered. He wandered awkwardly about the Court, shunned by everybody. The Dukes snubbed him or ignored him. The ladies ran for their lives whenever he hove in sight. And who could blame them? Not even the most lascivious courtesans wanted to go near the poor fellow. He was treated by one and all as though he had leprosy.
But a strange thing had happened to Hengist. His desires seemed suddenly to have evaporated. He knew all about the immense powers he possessed. He was aware that he had the full backing of the King. He could seek out and ravish any maiden he desired, not only at court, but in the towns and villages all over the country. The trouble was, he did not desire them. He felt no urge at all. It was the old story of the forbidden fruit. Make it easy to get and the appetite goes away.
The King, who had been watching all this for several weeks with wry amusement, was strolling one morning on the ramparts with the Princess when suddenly Hengist happened by. ‘How goes it, my lad?’ said the King, slapping the youth on the back.
‘Your Majesty,’ Hengist said, ‘to tell the truth, I doesn’t much care for this thing you ’as done to me.’
‘My dear chap,’ said the King, ‘what on earth is the trouble?’
‘Nobody likes me around ’ere,’ Hengist said. ‘They is all treatin’ me like dirt.’
‘I like you,’ said the Princess suddenly.
Hengist stared at her. ‘You does?’ he said.
‘You are the only man in the Castle who does not chase me along the corridors,’ the Princess said. ‘You are the only decent person in the whole place.’
‘Now I come to think of it, my darling,’ said the King, smiling a little, ‘I suppose you’re right.’
‘I know I’m right, Daddy,’ the young beauty said. ‘All the other men around here are totally disgusting. I hate them.’
‘Some of them are very handsome, my dear,’ the King said.
‘That’s got nothing to do with it!’ cried the Princess. ‘I don’t give a fig about looks!’
‘You mean you likes me a little bit?’ Hengist inquired nervously.
‘Like you?’ cried the Princess, flinging herself into his arms. ‘I love you!’
The King slipped away, leaving them alone. He was well pleased with the way things had worked out.
Genesis and Catastrophe
A True Story
First published as ‘A Fine Son’ in Playboy (December 1959)
‘Everything is normal,’ th
e doctor was saying. ‘Just lie back and relax.’ His voice was miles away in the distance and he seemed to be shouting at her.
‘You have a son.’
‘What?’
‘You have a fine son. You understand that, don’t you? A fine son. Did you hear him crying?’
‘Is he all right, Doctor?’
‘Of course he is all right.’
‘Please let me see him.’
‘You’ll see him in a moment.’
‘You are certain he is all right?’
‘I am quite certain.’
‘Is he still crying?’
‘Try to rest. There is nothing to worry about.’
‘Why has he stopped crying, Doctor? What happened?’
‘Don’t excite yourself, please. Everything is normal.’
‘I want to see him. Please let me see him.’
‘Dear lady,’ the doctor said, patting her hand. ‘You have a fine strong healthy child. Don’t you believe me when I tell you that?’
‘What is the woman over there doing to him?’
‘Your baby is being made to look pretty for you,’ the doctor said. ‘We are giving him a little wash, that is all. You must spare us a moment or two for that.’
‘You swear he is all right?’
‘I swear it. Now lie back and relax. Close your eyes. Go on, close your eyes. That’s right. That’s better. Good girl …’
‘I have prayed and prayed that he will live, Doctor.’
‘Of course he will live. What are you talking about?’
‘The others didn’t.’
‘What?’
‘None of my other ones lived, Doctor.’
The doctor stood beside the bed looking down at the pale exhausted face of the young woman. He had never seen her before today. She and her husband were new people in the town. The innkeeper’s wife, who had come up to assist in the delivery, had told him that the husband worked at the local customs-house on the border and that the two of them had arrived quite suddenly at the inn with one trunk and one suitcase about three months ago. The husband was a drunkard, the innkeeper’s wife had said, an arrogant, overbearing, bullying little drunkard, but the young woman was gentle and religious. And she was very sad. She never smiled. In the few weeks that she had been here, the innkeeper’s wife had never once seen her smile. Also there was a rumour that this was the husband’s third marriage, that one wife had died and that the other had divorced him for unsavoury reasons. But that was only a rumour.