Demelza Carlton's Blog

Okay, it's actually Pea, Chestnut and Bacon soup, based on this recipe from Chestnuts Australia, but the first time I made it, it was such a vivid green, it looked like something that had come out of a swamp, or a witch's cauldron. It tasted so incredible, though, that I couldn't resist making it again. 

Ingredients:

400g cooked, peeled chestnuts

1L chicken or vegetable stock (I used chicken)

250g diced bacon

500g frozen baby peas

2 garlic cloves

Olive oil

Sour cream to serve (optional)

Method:

Cook the bacon in a frying pan over medium heat with a little olive oil. 

Place stock, crushed garlic cloves, cooked bacon and cooked chestnuts in a pot and bring to the boil. Allow to simmer for 10 minutes. 

Add frozen baby peas, bring to the boil again, then simmer for another 5 minutes. 

Remove from heat and puree with a blender until smooth. 

Return to the stove to bring to the boil again. 

Ladle into bowls, adding a spoon of sour cream to each bowl if desired. 

Enjoy!

Would you like something to read with your soup?
(Sara makes this soup in the first chapter!)

A sole survivor. A desperate mother. An impossible quest.

Once upon a time...

Zoticus the assassin has killed more people than he can count, but when he is the sole survivor in a town wiped out by plague, he vows to stop the scourge before more innocent lives are lost.

But what use is one man against a deadly disease?

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Would you like to read a FREE sneak peek of Call: Pied Piper Retold? Well, you can...with the exclusive excerpt chapter below:

"RUN, GIRL, RUN!"

Zoticus watched the girl's expression change from panic to determined clarity. Her arms flew out like wings, letting go of everything she possessed. Before her things thudded to the ground, Melisende took flight.

He'd seen the sequence a dozen times in his visions of this moment, but somehow the addition of sound made it more real.

The scrunch of sand beneath her boots as she broke into a run, audible even over the distant screams of battle on the other side of the field. Clad in only her tunic and hose, Melisende moved so swiftly the cloth was plastered against the curves of her blatantly female body.

Eager shouts and the thunder of hooves heralded her pursuit, invisible in the crowd of panicked crusaders.

Zoticus unslung his bow and reached for his first arrow. He sighted along it, then waited.

Four riders emerged from the melee, whipping their horses hard in their frenzy for the hunt. The hunters did not know they would be the prey today.

Sir Enguerrand led the charge, a black raven atop a stolen white horse. Sir Guiscard followed some distance behind, his horse unable to keep up with the fleet-footed mare. Sir Onfroi was hot on his heels, with Sir Roland bringing up the rear on a horse that could scarcely bear his weight.

Zoticus could not abide a man who abused his mount. He lined up his shot, and Roland fell first, rolling on the ground while his relieved horse rode on without him.

Onfroi had chosen to wear armour today, so Zoticus had to choose his target. Ah, there it was – when Onfroi leaned forward over his horse's neck, his breastplate rode up, exposing far more of his side than was safe with archers about. A kidney shot, followed by a second arrow that lodged firmly in the man's left buttock. He, too, went tumbling from the saddle, but unlike Roland, Onfroi's foot caught in the stirrup, and his horse dragged him along the ground, likely doing even more damage.

Guiscard had not bothered to don his armour, so the owl on his tunic was clear to see. Zoticus aimed for above the owl, though, and his aim was true – the first arrow caught him in the back of the neck, sinking in deep.

Enguerrand rode alone, heedless of the loss of his companions, intent only on catching the girl.

A girl whose head whipped back for scarcely a moment. Had she seen the glint of the knight's teeth, bared in a triumphant grin? Or was it her brother's horse that had made her smile before a puff of magic surrounded her, and she vanished.

Magic spirited her across the field and into the trees, faster than any horse could gallop, but Enguerrand could not see it. Instead, he reined in his horse, casting about for the treasure he'd lost.

Only then did he realise he was alone, his men having fallen along the way.

In the space of a moment, Enguerrand seemed to regain his senses, and he fixed his sights on Zoticus. With the girl gone, he set his horse against a different target.

Zoticus stood his ground. He'd seen this in his vision, too, and he knew how it would end. He waited until he could see the horse's eyes, mad at this mistreatment from a man who was not her master.

Now.

"Halt, Pegasus!" Zoticus called, and the obedient mare skidded to a stop.

But Enguerrand did not, flying over the horse's head and over Zoticus, to land awkwardly on the stony ground.

The knight struggled to draw his sword, but he'd broken both arms in his fall. "Help me, and my father will richly reward you!" the man begged.

Zoticus leaned down and pulled Enguerrand's sword from its scabbard. It was a fine weapon – far finer than the man it had been made for. The knight would need neither sword nor scabbard now, so Zoticus unfastened the man's baldrick. More broken bones moved beneath his hand – Enguerrand had shattered several ribs, too, and at least one had punctured his lungs. 

"Mercy!" cried the knight. He tried to lift his arm to shield himself, but his strength had already started to fade.

Zoticus considered the shattered man at his feet. Mercy came in many forms. A magical healer might make the knight whole again, but without swift aid he would certainly die, and die in agony.

"Did you offer Babette mercy? Or any of the other girls you hunted and killed like animals?" Zoticus asked, sliding the sword back into its scabbard before tucking both into his bag.

"Who?" the knight asked.

"Did you know any of the girls' names? No? How about Sir Josse, who you cut down with this very blade, so that you might force yourself upon his sister?" Zoticus persisted. He'd heard of men who repented their crimes when faced with death, but he had yet to meet one. Most of the men Zoticus had killed preferred to spit curses with their final breath.

It seemed Enguerrand would not be such a man, either.

"Help!" the knight moaned, trying to crawl away.

Zoticus decided to leave Enguerrand until last, and check on the others.

Guiscard stared sightlessly up at the sky, a broken arrow protruding from his throat. It had gone all the way through, as if shot from a crossbow and not a longbow. A formidable weapon indeed – no wonder the Seljuk archers were so fearsome, armed with these. Zoticus would keep his Seljuk longbow, lest it be useful later.

Onfroi's corpse was not so serene. His horse had grown weary of dragging it, and crushed the offending weight beneath his hooves. The result was that where the knight's head had once been was now a piece of pulped meat.

Roland had not been as lucky. Thrown free from his horse, his roll along the ground had torn the arrows out of his flesh, leaving gaping wounds through which his organs spilled. Much like Enguerrand, Roland's injuries were definitely mortal.

Four men dead, or they would be, by the end of the day. And every man who'd marched with them, thanks to the Seljuk army and the ambush no one but Zoticus had suspected. He could head home and collect payment for a job well done.

Ah, but he owed it to Josse to bring proof to the man's grave that his sister's violators were no more. So Zoticus collected three more swords and three signet rings, before heading back to the moaning, groaning worm that was Enguerrand.

He found Pegasus prancing around the man, shaking her head at him. It wasn't until Zoticus got closer that he realised the wretch had managed to wrap his hand around a rope trailing from the mare's bridle, and she was attempting to break free.

"Easy, Pegasus," he said, holding up his hands. He'd seen Godfrey manage this horse all the way to Byzas, and she'd seemed a biddable enough beast then. Now…

"If you'll just let me get close enough, I'll free you, and we can be on our way. I'll take you home to Godfrey and all your other stable mates," Zoticus continued.

This was apparently not to Pegasus's taste, for she reared up onto her hind legs, then brought her front hooves down hard.

Enguerrand's brains splattered on Zoticus's boots.

Pegasus tossed her head, pulling the reins from Enguerrand's slackened grasp as she stepped back from the corpse she'd created.

Zoticus pulled the ornate raven ring from Enguerrand's hand and stuffed that into his sack with everything else.

"Now, would you like me to take you home, or are you planning on joining the Seljuk army?" he asked the horse.

It was a good thing horses were not susceptible to the plague, or she never would have made it home, Zoticus thought. Nor had she liked the ship, but…

He blinked. A low wooden ceiling floated above, while straw rustled beneath him when he moved. Everything ached like Pegasus had stomped on his whole body. But he'd returned Pegasus to Godfrey long ago, before placing his sword and signet ring collection on Josse's grave.

In fact, the last time he'd felt so weak, he'd been aboard that rat-infested ship, fighting off that benighted plague that had killed off more crusaders than the Seljuks had.

Zoticus groaned. Not again. A pestilence on all plagues, for he was heartily sick of them.

Would you like to read more?

A sole survivor. A desperate mother. An impossible quest.

Once upon a time...

Zoticus the assassin has killed more people than he can count, but when he is the sole survivor in a town wiped out by plague, he vows to stop the scourge before more innocent lives are lost.

But what use is one man against a deadly disease?

Start reading it now from:

AMAZON




APPLE




NOOK




KOBO




GOOGLE


Watch the video trailer here:

Would you like to read a FREE sneak peek of Steal: Forty Thieves Retold? Well, you can...with the exclusive excerpt chapter below:

He was dressed like one of the thieves, which is why she'd taken him for one of them at first, but the barrow he'd been pushing looked like something the farmers back home used to take their cabbages to market.

And just like the peasants back home, he didn't carry any weapons.

His eyes darted back to the clearing when he heard the two thieves approach, and he became as still as the tree they had chosen for their hiding place.

"What's the password again?" one man asked.

"Open…simsi!" he said, or at least that's what Melisende thought she heard.

The man beside her stiffened as he saw the boulder move. He did not relax until they uttered the evidently magical password again and the boulder closed the entrance to their cave.

"Did you see that?" he breathed.

She gave a sharp nod. "That's the second time I've seen it. The first time was earlier today, when the rest of their band of thieves arrived and went in. I think their chief said there were forty of them, though I didn't think to count them. Then one of the knights who'd fled into the woods when the battle started happened upon them, and they killed him. Those two took his body back to the others. If they found you, they would have killed you just as easily, I am certain."

The man stepped back and bowed. "Then I owe you my life, though I don't even know your name."

She hesitated. Godfrey was gone and so was Zoticus. Did she need to invent a false name, or was she far enough from home that her own would sound false?

Finally, she said, "I am Lady Melisende of Mareschal. I rode with the Crusaders until someone killed them."

A faint blush coloured his cheeks. "So I must offer you my condolences for Lord Mareschal…?"

She laughed. "There is no such lord. My father is Baron of Mareschal. Of all the men who died here yesterday, I only knew one of them well, and I'm not certain even an army could kill him. If he did survive, I'm sure he's far from here already."

The man nodded. "I am Mithra of Dorylaeum, son of Ali Baba from the same city. I am delighted to meet you, Lady Melisende. Did you know you share your name with the Crusader queen, who lives and rules in what you call the Holy City?"

Queen Melisende. No, she had not. "I'm not her," Melisende said.

"No, you are younger and more beautiful," Mithra said.

Now it was her turn to blush. Then a thought struck her. "Do you know her? Perhaps if I could see her, speak to her, she might help me find a way home."

Mithra hung his head. "I fear I have never met a queen, nor been allowed to speak to one. Even if I did know her, I could not take you to her, for there is an army between here and my home. If any soldier saw you…"

"He'd throw me over his shoulder and dump me in the place they're keeping their other prisoners. Their whores," Melisende spat.

"Their slaves," Mithra corrected. "They take the women and children they capture to sell as slaves."

Somehow, Melisende wasn't sure whether that was better or worse.

A rumble shook the ground beneath them. The boulder was moving again.

"Quick, they're coming out. Hide," she said, climbing the nearest tree.

Mithra sprang up beside her, climbing like he was half monkey. Maybe he was.

"I had no idea Crusader ladies could climb trees as well as a woodcutter," Mithra whispered.

"I grew up with a bunch of older brothers, whose every game was to see who could be the fastest, the strongest, the best." She shrugged. "I was the smallest, and the only girl. While never the strongest, I could always climb the highest. It helped no end when I began to learn how to heal, and prepare medicines. Sometimes the best leaves were only to be found at the top of a tree, and there are certain parasitic herbs that twine up a tree so that the only place to collect them is high above the ground. What my brothers didn't realise is that every hour spent in the stillroom or the sickroom is only after many hours spent in the forests and fields – "

She fell silent as the thieves began to emerge.

When they headed for the horses, she searched for the one with her striped sack, but every man was empty handed. Which meant her things were still inside the cave.

Once again, the leader was last, muttering his magic words to close the cave behind him.

"Where to next, Captain?" one thief asked.

The leader thought for a moment, then said, "With armies marching along the trade routes, no merchant will venture out, so all our usual haunts will have slim pickings until the war is done. So, we follow the remnants of the Crusader army. Some of them were surely wounded, and they'll fall behind. We can pick them off as they do. When they next go into battle, we'll be there to take first pick of both what's on the bodies and in the baggage train."

Disgusting scavengers. Preying upon wounded men and fallen soldiers. If bandits like these ever entered her father's lands, her brothers would scour them from the earth. She wished she could do the same here.

If only she were a powerful enchantress, capable of casting spells that incapacitated dozens of men at a time. Or that could turn the tide of battle, transforming defeat into victory.

Instead, even when she did use her magic, she'd managed to lose her last loaf of bread to a common thief.

The thieves mounted up and rode out, walking their horses in single file along a game trail until Melisende could no longer hear the unhurried hoofbeats.

"I counted forty of them. Did you?" Mithra asked.

She'd been so busy raging against them, she'd forgotten to count the thieves. Put to shame by a common woodcutter.

Melisende confessed that she'd been too distracted to do so.

Mithra gave her a sympathetic nod, his eyes dark with concern. "You've been through quite an ordeal. When I think of the other women…why, you are quite remarkable."

Other women now in the hands of the enemy. Women the Crusader knights should have protected, instead of running away like the honourless cowards they were. This crusade was doomed to fail from the beginning. She should not have come.

"Don't cry," Mithra said. "Here, don't you want to see what those thieves keep in their secret cave?"

Actually, she did not much care. Except that her own things were there…

Melisende wiped her eyes. Crying was for children. "We should wait to make sure they don't return. It would not do to be found inside, for surely that boulder is the only way in or out."

Mithra's eyes grew wide. "I had not thought of that. Best we wait, then, as you say, wise Lady Melisende."

That made her laugh. She definitely wasn't wise. Then again, the man might be teasing her. He looked to be about the same age as her brothers, and they liked to tease her all the time.

"If I was so wise, I would have stayed home, instead of coming here on this foolish crusade," she said.

Mithra looked thoughtful. "My master used to say wisdom comes from experience, making mistakes that you must learn from. The wisest men have made many mistakes."

"Master? Are you a slave?"

Mithra stared at her for a long moment, before he said, "Things must be very different in the north, if you cannot tell the difference between a slave and a free man. Though I suppose being an apprentice is a little like being a slave, for my father paid my master to teach me his trade, which meant working very hard without being paid."

"But…you are a man now, too old to be an apprentice, surely. Most of the boys back home became journeymen younger than my brother was when he was made a squire."

Mithra nodded. "In some trades, it is so. The trade guilds say who is good enough to become a master, but not all trades have a guild in Dorylaeum. Without a guild, we are all either apprentices or merchants. Perhaps if my master had lived a little longer, he would have helped me to become a merchant. Or his son, who would happily have partnered with me in a trade venture."

"How did they die?" Melisende asked.

Mithra's expression darkened. "It is a dark tale, one not fit for a woman's ears, but when the woman has been in battle and survived to tell the tale…perhaps you are made of sterner stuff than the norm."

Melisende didn't think he'd be as impressed if he knew she'd run, climbed a tree and slept through most of the battle, so she merely said, "Tell me."

By the time Mithra told her about his master's death, she wished she could hide her face and weep for these men she had not known. But there was worse to come.

The Seljuks sounded no better than the men she'd marched with.

"Peter counted on the Crusaders to come and save him. Perhaps it is for the best that he did not live to see their defeat," Mithra said sadly.

"I'm not sure any more that a crusade can save anyone. Saving a city by sacking it and killing the inhabitants…I fear they are all mad!"

"So you have no desire to rejoin the crusade, if you could?" Mithra asked.

Melisende shook her head. "The only thing I want now is to go home."

* * *

The silence stretched between them, but Mithra did not know how to break it. If he was trapped in a foreign land, far from home, hiding from an army that wanted to torture and enslave him, he didn't think he would have her calm composure. He'd be anxious to take action, leaving caution behind in the dust, and probably get himself killed.

Yet Melisende had kept them both alive.

"It's been some time. When they left, they talked of catching up to the rest of the Crusader army. They would have had to hurry. It should be safe to see what they keep in their cave now," Melisende said, descending.

He'd been so busy talking to her, he'd completely forgotten about his own curiosity. He mumbled his agreement and climbed down after her.

Lady Melisende moved to stand in the same spot where the thief captain had, took a deep breath, and said, "Open simsi."

Nothing happened.

Melisende cleared her throat with some annoyance. Louder this time, she repeated, "Open simsi."

The boulder did not move.

Most girls he knew would have given way to anger by now, or at least stamped their feet, but Lady Melisende merely took another breath and asked, "Is there something else the man did to make it open?"

Mithra shrugged. "I think he only said something." She'd been here longer, and heard the incantation more times than he had, so surely she knew it better.

"Perhaps…perhaps it's blood magic, which requires a blood price to work," she said. She took her dagger, pressed the point to her finger and waited until a drop of blood welled up. Then she wiped it on the rock. "Open simsi."

Still nothing.

Finally, Mithra said, "I thought he said sesame. You know, like the seed."

She looked puzzled. "What sort of seed?"

"Sesame seed. You know, it's small and straw-coloured. You can press them to make oil that's good to cook with, or you can use the seeds in cooking. Mixed with honey and spices, some of the bakers in town make the most delicious cakes…" He opened his eyes to find her staring at her. "You don't know sesame?"

Melisende shook her head. "We don't have that sort of seed at home. Besides, why would he talk about seeds when he wants a massive rock to move? Simsi is the old word for mountain where I come from. So when he said, 'Open simsi,' he's telling the mountain to open. Isn't there some sort of proverb about mountains moving for a particular prophet? It makes much more sense."

Mithra had to admit what she said was true, but the unmoving stone seemed to say otherwise. "I still think I heard sesame," he said.

"Then you try to command the boulder," Melisende said, folding her arms across her breast.

Mithra did not want to look like a fool, but he wasn't sure he had a choice. The rock hadn't moved for her, so the worst that could happen would be that he might fail, too.

What did it matter? She probably didn't think much of him, anyway. He was nothing but a lowly woodcutter, while she was a lady who lived in some Crusader castle, far to the north, protected by her knightly brothers.

Who would likely run him through with their swords if they saw him speaking to their sister.

Mithra sighed. "Open sesame," he said.

The rock gave an ominous rumble, then rolled aside.

Mithra looked around, worried that someone might have heard it, and know that intruders were about to enter their cave. But no one came.

"I'll go first, shall I? After all, that's best, just in case they've left a guard inside," Mithra said, brandishing his axe as if he was eager to meet his foe, when that was definitely not the case.

But no matter what fear he felt, he could not allow her to come to more danger because of him. He'd opened the cave, after all.

 Not waiting for Melisende's assent, he descended into the dark.
Wo​uld you like to read more?

A shrewd servant. A penniless young woodcutter. A priceless stolen treasure.

Once upon a time...

Melisende joins a crusade, her head full of glory and victory, only to flee from her first battle. Forced to hide as a housemaid while the enemy army occupies the city she'd hoped to save, she despairs of ever finding her way home.

Mithra plans to settle down with the girl of his dreams, but when the war spills into his city, all dreams of the future are shattered. When he finds a Crusader maiden in the woods and they stumble across a priceless treasure, he thinks his luck might have turned…until he discovers the penalty of stealing from the Forty Thieves.

Can Melisende and Mithra save his family from the Forty Thieves?

Grab your copy now from:

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KOBO




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Watch the video trailer here:

Would you like to read a FREE sneak peek of Float: Enchanted Horse Retold? Well, you can...with the exclusive excerpt chapter below:

"Don't mess this up," Godfrey muttered, as if being stern with himself could stop the inevitable. Easier to stop the waves carrying his boat to Lord Sebastiano's door, or to command the gondolier to plant his pole so as to resist the tide. A stealthy glance at the gondolier confirmed Godfrey's fears – the man thought him mad, talking to himself.

The boat turned into one of Rialto's numerous identical canals, weaving through the maze as if by magic, until they stopped at a dock that looked no different to the others they'd passed.

"Palazzo Ziano," the gondolier said, offering his hand to Godfrey like his passenger was some fine lady.

Godfrey choked out a laugh and stepped from the boat to the dock without the boatman's assistance. A few coins changed hands and the gondolier poled away, disappearing around a corner before Godfrey could reconsider and call him back.

Godfrey eyed the double doors before him. Paint peeled at the bottom, where the wood had swelled in response to the endless stroking of the waves that even now threatened to lick tantalisingly at his feet. He rapped on the timber with more confidence than he felt, fuelled by desperation to keep his feet dry until he'd at least met with Lord Sebastiano.

The door opened inward, and a servant bowed him inside the cavernous space that evidently served as a warehouse for whatever Sebastiano traded in, when he wasn't transporting things for people.

"I think I've come to the wrong place," Godfrey said. "You see, I'm in Rialto to see Lord Sebastiano about a cargo his ships were to carry here from the Holy Land. He invited me to visit him at home, but…" This evidently wasn't it. Perhaps the boatman had decided a mere baron's youngest son was not worthy to enter the home of one of the city's patricians.

"Up the stairs. What name shall I tell the master?" the servant asked.

Godfrey's eyes adjusted to the gloom. The wide staircase before him led to a more lordly entrance on the level above. Perhaps he was in the right place after all.

"Godfrey. My father, the Baron of Maraschal, sent me."

"If you will follow me, Master Godfrey?"

Up the stairs and into the house proper, Godfrey's fears fluttered about inside his chest. He didn't want to open his mouth for fear they'd fly out.

"Master Godfrey, the Baron of Maraschal's son," the servant boomed, then stood aside to let Godfrey pass into the room.

Lord Sebastiano rose and moved around his desk to clasp Godfrey's hands in his. "Master Godfrey, it is a pleasure to meet you. Your uncle, Eustace, speaks well of you. He says you work magic with horses."

Godfrey hadn't seen Uncle Eustace in more than ten years, so how he could know such a thing…perhaps his father had sent him a letter. Yes, of course. A letter saying Godfrey would be collecting this shipment of horses.

"A pity you do not have the same power over ships. The convoy you are here for is a week overdue. It is likely nothing, but many cities along the coast have fallen to the Seljuks in the last few years. It would be ill luck indeed if they have attacked my ships…" Sebastiano patted Godfrey's hand before releasing him. "But it is a fool indeed who would attack such a well-armed convoy. Your horses will arrive safely, you'll see, and you'll have them home in time for Easter. Which reminds me…it is Carnevale this week, the final week of feasting before we fast. You must dine with us tonight."

Godfrey looked up to meet Sebastiano's expectant eyes. The invitation was no mere courtesy – the patrician wanted an answer. "I'd be honoured, and delighted," he managed to say.

Sebastiano smiled. "Good. You have caught me at a good time. I'd planned on visiting the harbour this afternoon. Will you accompany me?"

Godfrey could hardly refuse, and soon found himself back in a boat, moving with surprising swiftness across the lagoon.

Upon hearing that this was Godfrey's first visit to Rialto, Sebastiano maintained a running commentary about everything he saw, from the islands on either side of them to the people in the boats they passed to the fish in the lagoon waters below.

When Sebastiano paused for breath, Godfrey asked, "How long have your family ruled Rialto?"

Sebastiano laughed. "Ah, you must come from the barbarian kingdoms to the north. No one family rules Rialto. We are a republic, and our rulers are elected from among the noblest families in the city, her patricians. But it is no secret that my family can be traced back to Ziano, one of the first twelve tribunes who ruled when our Most Serene Republic was formed, more than four hundred years ago. We have given the city three Dukes to date, and no doubt more will be elected in the future."

A republic? Like the ancient cities, burned and conquered by the Northmen who Sebastiano called barbarians. Yet this city still stood. A city without walls, as it spread across the islands of the lagoon, from the mainland to the harbour. A city so open should surely be an easy target.

"How does this city defend itself, without walls?"

Sebastiano reached over the side of the boat and cupped seawater in his hands. "The sea protects us, for she is as much a part of our city as the people in it. And there is no fiercer protector than a wife and mother defending her own family." He let the water cascade down his hands, trickling back into the lagoon. "And just like a man knows the body of his wife, the men of the lagoon know every channel and shoal, navigating skilfully across all the curves of the seabed. He knows her moods, her passions, and how to skim smoothly through her waves to the deep channels she opens only to him."

Godfrey felt his face grow hot. Likening the cold water to a lover…he'd sooner love a corpse. Maybe madness was part of being a man of Rialto. And yet, he could almost hear a woman's whisper in the waves, inviting him into her depths.

Godfrey shook his head. A foolish notion.

"If you have need of female company while you are in Rialto, I'm sure my sons can help you find a suitable courtesan," Sebastiano said.

Oh, by all that was holy…

Sebastiano laughed. "When I was your age, my father had already found me a bride. Are you betrothed yet, Master Godfrey?"

Wordlessly, Godfrey shook his head. He managed to find his voice. "My older brothers are already married, with babes on the way, so there is no need for me to marry, or produce more heirs. My father has had me managing the horse stud, so when Uncle Eustace was due to send some new breeding stock, he sent me to fetch them."

"Then after dinner tonight, my sons will find you a courtesan," Sebastiano said. When Godfrey opened his mouth to protest, Sebastiano held up his hand to silence him. "You are in Rialto, a city famed for the beauty of its women. I cannot in conscience allow you to leave this jewel of a city without tasting its delights."

Not wanting to anger his host – that would certainly mess things up – Godfrey decided to ask about the numerous posts and flags sticking out of the water. He opened his mouth.

"I think you are in luck, Master Godfrey. My ships have come to greet you." Sebastiano pointed.

A forest of masts grew on the horizon, separating out into more than a dozen ships. Godfrey wouldn't know one vessel from another, but Sebastiano nodded with satisfaction as he surveyed the convoy coming into the harbour.

By the time Godfrey and Sebastiano reached the ship they wanted, the docks were swarming with men, unloading the ships and taking cargo to smaller boats which then set off for the city. Where it would be stored in the warehouses beneath the merchants' homes, Godfrey realised, for there were no storehouses here in the harbour.

"And here are your horses!" Sebastiano said proudly, as he led the way across the gangplank to the deck which had been turned into a makeshift stable.

Six horses occupied the deck, each as magnificent as any other animal in his father's stable. Mounts befitting a king or an emperor, who would breed countless more when they reached home.

"My men will take them ashore to stretch their legs, then they shall board a barge to take them to the mainland. They will be waiting for you at the Sailor's Rest, the inn nearest the docks. The innkeeper there will take good care of them while you enjoy the legendary hospitality of Rialto," Sebastiano said.

And no doubt charge him a hefty sum for every day, Godfrey thought but did not say. In the merchant city of Rialto, everything cost more. His father had given him plenty of coin for the journey, but Godfrey was sure his purse did not run to weeks of revelry. Or the company of one of the city's courtesans.

A roar came from the stable, followed by an explosion of straw. "What do you think you're doing with my horses, boy?" An old man, clad in stained rags, emerged from the stable. "Watch her footing on the gangplank! She's worth more than your life, and if the mare should be injured…" For an old beggar, he had the commanding voice of a much younger man.

The unfortunate sailor leading the priceless mare ducked his head, as though avoiding a blow from the man.

"Tielo?"

Godfrey started at the sound of his father's nickname – something he'd only heard his mother use – and found the old man staring at him. "No, I'm Godfrey," he said.

The old man straightened, then grimaced. "Tielo's youngest boy?" He hobbled across the deck and down the gangplank until he stood before Godfrey, then peered up at him.

This man looked old enough to be his grandfather, instead of his father's younger brother, but Godfrey asked anyway: "Uncle Eustace? What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be in the Holy City?"

"The city has fallen to the Seljuks. I was returning from the harbour, where I'd just seen the horses loaded aboard, and they had the city surrounded. Besieged. They'd demolished one wall and you could hear the screams from a mile away. When I saw there was no hope, I turned around and headed back to the harbour, as fast as my horse would carry me. I had to get word out. The Pope must hear of this, and call for a new crusade to free the Holy City from the infidels!" He thrust his fist up into the air to emphasise his point, but this seemed to be more than his body could bear. Eustace fell to his knees and toppled over, out cold.

Sebastiano helped Godfrey haul the unconscious man into a boat, suggesting he take his uncle to his lodgings and summon a healer to see to him. "He is also welcome to join us for dinner, if he recovers," Sebastiano said.

Godfrey mumbled something he hoped sounded obliging as he directed the boatman to the inn where he was staying. The breeze had picked up, whipping the lagoon into small, savage waves that soon woke Eustace. Godfrey could get no sense out of him, aside from a lengthy account of the state of the Holy City.

Men, women and children, chained up and sold into slavery, or slaughtered if they put up the slightest resistance. Oh, but not the women. Any woman who resisted was taken to entertain the soldiers, until they tired of her and left her lying in a pool of her own blood on the ground.

"Is this true?" the gondolier demanded.

Godfrey shook his head, but Eustace reared up. "Of course it's true! I saw it with my own eyes. Raping virgins in the Holy City. Savages, the lot of them. The Pope must hear of it, and call for all good men to put a stop to it! For the Holy Land to be so befouled…"

The gondolier's eyes widened, and he poled faster.

The sun was sinking by the time the healer left Godfrey's lodgings, having dressed the wounds hidden beneath Eustace's rags. He'd given Eustace a draught to make him sleep before extracting an arrowhead from one of the wounds and binding that, too.

"Will he be all right?" Godfrey asked.

The healer shrugged. "If I have stopped the infection in time, then yes. If one of the wounds festers…I shall return on the morrow."

Godfrey paid the man, then turned to watch his uncle snoring. Amid Eustace's babblings, he'd also told the tale of his escape from the city amid a storm of arrows, some of which had found their mark in his flesh. No wonder he looked twenty years older than Father, instead of ten years younger.

Sebastiano would understand if Godfrey did not turn up for dinner, he was sure. The patrician would accept his apologies. But that meant staying here, watching his uncle sleep, and worrying that he might not wake. Better that Godfrey go out for a while, and return when his uncle woke.

Godfrey dressed in clean garb, then summoned a boatman to take him to Palazzo Ziano for the second time that day.

He barely noticed the journey this time. He could not have answered whether the sun still shone or whether the waves wet him on the way, for all too soon he found himself at Sebastiano's doors. This time, he didn't hesitate to knock.

Sebastiano's dining chamber could have been the twin of the office he'd visited earlier in the day, with the low ceiling and cosy fire making it look like a private room in an inn instead of a nobleman's dining hall. Even the table where Sebastiano sat had benches on both sides, despite sitting on a dais.

"Please, sit," Sebastiano said, rising. He gestured toward the seat across from him. Only then did Godfrey realise what was wrong with the room – Sebastiano sat at what would be the place of honour on his father's table, but with benches on each side of the table, he was offering a seat of equal honour to his guest, and leaving the seat at the head of the table vacant. "How is your uncle?"

Godfrey blinked, bringing his thoughts back to his host and not the man's furniture. "He is resting. He was wounded. It looked like some of the enemy archers used him for target practice. The healer did what he could for him, but…" Godfrey didn't dare finish, for what could he say? That his uncle might die? Sebastiano was Eustace's friend. He would not like to hear such things any more than Godfrey wanted to say them.

Sebastiano nodded gravely. "Sometimes rest and time are better healers than all the potions in the world. Followed closely by the company of one's family, for which I must apologise. I know I promised you would meet my sons, but they – "

Sons. Courtesans. Godfrey had completely forgotten, yet it seemed Sebastiano had not. Did Sebastiano seriously think Godfrey would want to take some painted whore to the bed where his uncle lay dying?

Copper caught the candlelight, dazzling Godfrey into blindness. When he managed to blink away the lights in his eyes, what he saw stole his breath instead.

 Soft copper waves floated above a sea the same shade of aqua blue as the lagoon outside, when the sun caressed the water. Her silk gown shimmered in the candlelight, cut as modestly as that belonging to some highborn matron, but the wicked fire in her eyes would have tempted the devil himself – she was no man's faithful wife.

If this woman was the courtesan Sebastiano's sons had chosen, they had plucked an angel from heaven, and he would fall to his knees and beg for a smile from such a paragon. Nay, he'd offer her every coin he possessed and pledge his life in servitude…

Her lips quirked, parting just the slightest bit, and Godfrey was consumed with the desire to kiss her. Kiss her until he ran out of breath, and then he might die happily.

He would sell his father's horses, and the clothes on his back, and then maybe, just maybe…

"May I present my daughter, Lady Penelope?" Sebastiano said.

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A brave knight. A lady beset by suitors. An enchanted horse that topples cities.
Once upon a time...
Disgraced knight Sir Godfrey would do anything to regain his honour. So when the famed Trojan Horse appears at court, Sir Godfrey volunteers to lead a crusade on the magical beast.
Lady Penelope is sick of life at a convent, waiting for her father to decide who she shall marry. So when a knight appears in the convent garden with a magic horse, she jumps at the chance to escape.
The enchanted horse may have ended one war, but with Penelope missing, it may be about to start another.
Can a knight and his lady stop history repeating?

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This pair, Alba vowed, would be perfect. She used a cloth to wet the leather, just a little, not too much. Then she pressed the stamp against the smooth hide. A few gentle taps with her hammer and it was done. Now all she needed to do was paint the embossed flower so that the jewel-like colours would catch the eye of some passing lady, and yet another one of her creations would grace the King's court. They were no match for the christening shoes she'd made for the Crown Princess, but she'd sent them up to the palace. Once the King saw them, surely he'd declare her the Royal Shoemaker, as her father had been.

Alba sat back and sighed. If only her father could have seen them. He would be proud. But he'd passed the previous winter, leaving her in her brothers' care. As though they cared.

Speak of the devil, and he shall appear.

Her brothers' laughing voices sounded from the street.

Alba hurried to hide her embossing tools, and the half-made shoe. If her brothers found the cunningly crafted flowers and other shapes, they would sell them for sure and drink the proceeds. Never mind that she needed them to make a living. She could not be the Royal Shoemaker if she could no longer make shoes.

The bag tucked neatly into its rafter hiding spot, and the thatch smoothed into place as if it had never been disturbed. A good thing, too, for her brothers' good humour died the moment they entered the house.

"We need to go," Gad said, grabbing her arm.

"Where are we going? Should I pack?" Alba asked.

"No time," Onni said, peering through the window. "Jordanes has summoned the guards to evict us and they are already on their way."

Alba tore out of her brother's grasp. "Why would our landlord evict us? The shoes I make earn more than enough to pay the rent. Only last week he stopped by to commission a pair as a gift to his wife for Christmas. He never mentioned you'd forgotten to pay the rent. Father left us plenty of money…"

"Father's money is gone. We haven't paid rent since he died. And we need to go now or we'll be taken to the cells beneath the castle where we'll die as debtors." Gad seized her arm again and dragged her from her seat. "Now, Alba. We promised Father we would take care of you. Do you know what happens to women in the castle dungeons?"

Alba had heard all sorts of horrible stories about the dungeons, but she'd never imagined she might feature in one. "No," she began.

"Then you don't want to find out. Come, or all is lost!"

"But my things…" she faltered.

Onni took her other arm and between them, her brothers dragged her to the back door. "No time," Onni said. "We can buy more when we are free of Jordanes and his guards. Do you want to live free or die in prison?"

"I want to live," Alba said, risking a glance back over her shoulder at the cottage where she had spent all of her life. Without her tools, would she ever make shoes again?

"Then you must run!"

Bracketed by her brothers, Alba took to her heels, leaving behind everything else she had ever known or loved.

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Three siblings. Two shoemakers. One curse that could change everything.
Once upon a time...

All Alba ever wanted was to be the royal shoemaker, like her father. But her despicable brothers have a very different future planned for her.

When a good deed backfires, leaving her cursed for her brothers' crimes while the real culprits walk free, Alba will be forced to fight for her freedom, or face losing her dream forever.

Can Alba and her new allies bring the true villains to justice?

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Xylander headed back to the inn, thinking to collect his things and ride away. Now Guinevere was safe, he could be on his way. Find his own destiny, so to speak, as far from his father as possible.

"Is she fair, the princess?"

"The fairest lady I have ever seen. Skin white as fresh-fallen snow, lips as red as blood…"

Xylander grinned. Guinevere didn't think she had any beauty to speak of, but she'd turned every head in court today, male and female alike. She'd been wasted, shut up in Father's castle. Here, she would be allowed to bloom.

Or at least he hoped so. Perhaps he should stay for a little while, just to see how her marriage suited her. He owed her that.

"…and hair as black as ebony. The prettiest princess you ever saw, with a heart so soft, she covers her face and weeps at the sight of blood."

They weren't talking about Guinevere. Xylander had seen his sister hawking with their mother, and when her falcon had brought her a duck or a fat pigeon, she'd snapped their necks like any born hunter. Quick, decisive, yet without cruelty or enjoyment, heedless of the blood on her hands from the wounds the falcon's talons had gouged in her prey.

Even on the day Mother's gyrfalcon, Circe, had sliced through Mother's glove and drawn blood, Guinevere had held her head high, taking the bird from Mother before cleaning and bandaging Mother's arm. He'd wished for Guinevere, the first – and last – time he'd come to Castrum.

A time best forgotten.

"When she takes her place as queen, then we will truly know peace."

Xylander choked back a laugh. A leader who could not stand the sight of blood would not be strong enough to maintain any kind of peace.

"You dare laugh at our future queen?" a cool voice demanded.

Xylander blinked, realising the merchant was addressing him. Evidently he hadn't choked back his laughter soon enough. "It takes a strong leader to ensure peace. One like King Artorius. He's taking a new wife soon, who may yet give him a son. If she does, the princess will never be queen."

The merchant shook his head pityingly. "You know little of our king, sir. He has not taken another wife because he means to see Princess Zurine inherit his throne. The only son he wants is a son in law, a fitting consort for the princess, but no man is good enough."

Xylander opened his mouth to say that Artorius had thought he was good enough, then snapped it shut again. He was pretending to be a knight, not a prince. And he did not want their ebon-haired  princess, who would never want to come hunting with him. He imagined her as a dark raincloud, raining tears too often.

Instead, he said, "The new queen is fair. Fair of eye and hair and skin…why, it might be said she is fairer than Princess Zurine. With a wife so fair, surely the King will not be able to resist begetting a son. Several, maybe."

One man slammed his empty cup down on the table. "Princess Zurine is the fairest maiden in the land, and I will fight any man who says otherwise!"

Xylander reached for his sword. "Princess Guinevere is fairer, and I will answer such an insult with my blade!"

He had barely a moment to think that perhaps Castrum was worth staying in, after all, if it was to be this much fun, before the brawl began in earnest and he found himself in the middle of the best fight he'd had in years.

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A princess in danger. A heroic huntsman. A reflection revealing too much truth.
Once upon a time...
Princess Guinevere and her brother, Prince Xylander, flee the mad king's court in search of a marriage alliance with another kingdom.
But when Guinevere's new husband falls ill and his only heir goes missing, Guinevere and Xylander must save the suddenly hostile kingdom or face exile...and their father's wrath.
Mirror, mirror on the wall...whose will be the worst fate of all?

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Today's classic tale is from the Green Fairy Book, a collection of tales assembled and translated by Andrew Lang, published in 1892.

There was once upon a time a shepherd who had two children, a son and a daughter. When he was on his death-bed he turned to them and said, ���I have nothing to leave you but three sheep and a small house; divide them between you, as you like, but don���t quarrel over them whatever you do.���

When the shepherd was dead, the brother asked his sister which she would like best, the sheep or the little house; and when she had chosen the house he said, ���Then I���ll take the sheep and go out to seek my fortune in the wide world. I don���t see why I shouldn���t be as lucky as many another who has set out on the same search, and it wasn���t for nothing that I was born on a Sunday.���

And so he started on his travels, driving his three sheep in front of him, and for a long time it seemed as if fortune didn���t mean to favour him at all. One day he was sitting disconsolately at a cross road, when a man suddenly appeared before him with three black dogs, each one bigger than the other.

���Hullo, my fine fellow,��� said the man, ���I see you have three fat sheep. I���ll tell you what; if you���ll give them to me, I���ll give you my three dogs.���

In spite of his sadness, the youth smiled and replied, ���What would I do with your dogs? My sheep at least feed themselves, but I should have to find food for the dogs.���

���My dogs are not like other dogs,��� said the stranger; ���they will feed you instead of you them, and will make your fortune. The smallest one is called ���Salt,��� and will bring you food whenever you wish; the second is called ���Pepper,��� and will tear anyone to pieces who offers to hurt you; and the great big strong one is called ���Mustard,��� and is so powerful that it will break iron or steel with its teeth.���

The shepherd at last let himself be persuaded, and gave the stranger his sheep. In order to test the truth of his statement about the dogs, he said at once, ���Salt, I am hungry,��� and before the words were out of his mouth the dog had disappeared, and returned in a few minutes with a large basket full of the most delicious food. Then the youth congratulated himself on the bargain he had made, and continued his journey in the best of spirits.

One day he met a carriage and pair, all draped in black; even the horses were covered with black trappings, and the coachman was clothed in crape from top to toe. Inside the carriage sat a beautiful girl in a black dress crying bitterly. The horses advanced slowly and mournfully, with their heads bent on the ground.

���Coachman, what���s the meaning of all this grief?��� asked the shepherd.

At first the coachman wouldn���t say anything, but when the youth pressed him he told him that a huge dragon dwelt in the neighbourhood, and required yearly the sacrifice of a beautiful maiden. This year the lot had fallen on the King���s daughter, and the whole country was filled with woe and lamentation in consequence.

The shepherd felt very sorry for the lovely maiden, and determined to follow the carriage. In a little it halted at the foot of a high mountain. The girl got out, and walked slowly and sadly to meet her terrible fate. The coachman perceived that the shepherd wished to follow her, and warned him not to do so if he valued his life; but the shepherd wouldn���t listen to his advice. When they had climbed about half-way up the hill they saw a terrible-looking monster with the body of a snake, and with huge wings and claws, coming towards them, breathing forth flames of fire, and preparing to seize its victim. Then the shepherd called, ���Pepper, come to the rescue,��� and the second dog set upon the dragon, and after a fierce struggle bit it so sharply in the neck that the monster rolled over, and in a few moments breathed its last. Then the dog ate up the body, all except its two front teeth, which the shepherd picked up and put in his pocket.

The Princess was quite overcome with terror and joy, and fell fainting at the feet of her deliverer. When she recovered her consciousness she begged the shepherd to return with her to her father, who would reward him richly. But the youth answered that he wanted to see something of the world, and that he would return again in three years, and nothing would make him change this resolve. The Princess seated herself once more in her carriage, and, bidding each other farewell, she and the shepherd separated, she to return home, and he to see the world.

But while the Princess was driving over a bridge the carriage suddenly stood still, and the coachman turned round to her and said, ���Your deliverer has gone, and doesn���t thank you for your gratitude. It would be nice of you to make a poor fellow happy; therefore you may tell your father that it was I who slew the dragon, and if you refuse to, I will throw you into the river, and no one will be any the wiser, for they will think the dragon has devoured you.���

The maiden was in a dreadful state when she heard these words; but there was nothing for her to do but to swear that she would give out the coachman as her deliverer, and not to divulge the secret to anyone. So they returned to the capital, and everyone was delighted when they saw the Princess had returned unharmed; the black flags were taken down from all the palace towers, and gay-coloured ones put up in their place, and the King embraced his daughter and her supposed rescuer with tears of joy, and, turning to the coachman, he said, ���You have not only saved the life of my child, but you have also freed the country from a terrible scourge; therefore, it is only fitting that you should be richly rewarded. Take, therefore, my daughter for your wife; but as she is still so young, do not let the marriage be celebrated for another year.���

The coachman thanked the King for his graciousness, and was then led away to be richly dressed and instructed in all the arts and graces that befitted his new position. But the poor Princess wept bitterly, though she did not dare to confide her grief to anyone. When the year was over, she begged so hard for another year���s respite that it was granted to her. But this year passed also, and she threw herself at her father���s feet, and begged so piteously for one more year that the King���s heart was melted, and he yielded to her request, much to the Princess���s joy, for she knew that her real deliverer would appear at the end of the third year. And so the year passed away like the other two, and the wedding-day was fixed, and all the people were prepared to feast and make merry.

But on the wedding-day it happened that a stranger came to the town with three black dogs. He asked what the meaning of all the feasting and fuss was, and they told him that the King���s daughter was just going to be married to the man who had slain the terrible dragon. The stranger at once denounced the coachman as a liar; but no one would listen to him, and he was seized and thrown into a cell with iron doors.

While he was lying on his straw pallet, pondering mournfully on his fate, he thought he heard the low whining of his dogs outside; then an idea dawned on him, and he called out as loudly as he could, ���Mustard, come to my help,��� and in a second he saw the paws of his biggest dog at the window of his cell, and before he could count two the creature had bitten through the iron bars and stood beside him. Then they both let themselves out of the prison by the window, and the poor youth was free once more, though he felt very sad when he thought that another was to enjoy the reward that rightfully belonged to him. He felt hungry too, so he called his dog ���Salt,��� and asked him to bring home some food. The faithful creature trotted off, and soon returned with a table-napkin full of the most delicious food, and the napkin itself was embroidered with a kingly crown.

The King had just seated himself at the wedding-feast with all his Court, when the dog appeared and licked the Princess���s hand in an appealing manner. With a joyful start she recognised the beast, and bound her own table-napkin round his neck. Then she plucked up her courage and told her father the whole story. The King at once sent a servant to follow the dog, and in a short time the stranger was led into the Kings presence. The former coachman grew as white as a sheet when he saw the shepherd, and, falling on his knees, begged for mercy and pardon. The Princess recognized her deliverer at once, and did not need the proof of the two dragon���s teeth which he drew from his pocket. The coachman was thrown into a dark dungeon, and the shepherd took his place at the Princess���s side, and this time, you may be sure, she did not beg for the wedding to be put off.

The young couple lived for some time in great peace and happiness, when suddenly one day the former shepherd bethought himself of his poor sister and expressed a wish to see her again, and to let her share in his good fortune. So they sent a carriage to fetch her, and soon she arrived at the court, and found herself once more in her brother���s arms. Then one of the dogs spoke and said, ���Our task is done; you have no more need of us. We only waited to see that you did not forget your sister in your prosperity.��� And with these words the three dogs became three birds and flew away into the heavens.

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Today's classic tale is from the Green Fairy Book, a collection of tales assembled and translated by Andrew Lang, published in 1892.

Once upon a time three musicians left their home and set out on their travels. They had all learnt music from the same master, and they determined to stick together and to seek their fortune in foreign lands. They wandered merrily from place to place and made quite a good living, and were much appreciated by everyone who heard them play. One evening they came to a village where they delighted all the company with their beautiful music. At last they ceased playing, and began to eat and drink and listen to the talk that was going on around them. They heard all the gossip of the place, and many wonderful things were related and discussed. At last the conversation fell on a castle in the neighbourhood, about which many strange and marvellous things were told. One person said that hidden treasure was to be found there; another that the richest food was always to be had there, although the castle was uninhabited; and a third, that an evil spirit dwelt within the walls, so terrible, that anyone who forced his way into the castle came out of it more dead than alive.

As soon as the three musicians were alone in their bedroom they agreed to go and examine the mysterious castle, and, if possible, to find and carry away the hidden treasure. They determined, too, to make the attempt separately, one after the other, according to age, and they settled that a whole day was to be given to each adventurer in which to try his luck.

The fiddler was the first to set out on his adventures, and did so in the best of spirits and full of courage. When he reached the castle he found the outer gate open, quite as if he were an expected guest, but no sooner had he stepped across the entry than the heavy door closed behind him with a bang, and was bolted with a huge iron bar, exactly as if a sentinel were doing his office and keeping watch, but no human being was to be seen anywhere. An awful terror overcame the fiddler; but it was hopeless to think of turning back or of standing still, and the hopes of finding gold and other treasures gave him strength and courage to force his way further into the castle. Upstairs and downstairs he wandered, through lofty halls, splendid rooms, and lovely little boudoirs, everything beautifully arranged, and all kept in the most perfect order. But the silence of death reigned everywhere, and no living thing, not even a fly, was to be seen. Notwithstanding, the youth felt his spirits return to him when he entered the lower regions of the castle, for in the kitchen the most tempting and delicious food was spread out, the cellars were full of the most costly wine, and the store-room crammed with pots of every sort of jam you can imagine. A cheerful fire was burning in the kitchen, before which a roast was being basted by unseen hands, and all kinds of vegetables and other dainty dishes were being prepared in like manner. Before the fiddler had time to think, he was ushered into a little room by invisible hands, and there a table was spread for him with all the delicious food he had seen cooking in the kitchen.

The youth first seized his fiddle and played a beautiful air on it which echoed through the silent halls, and then he fell to and began to eat a hearty meal. Before long, however, the door opened and a tiny man stepped into the room, not more than three feet high, clothed in a dressing-gown, and with a small wrinkled face, and a grey beard which reached down to the silver buckles of his shoes. And the little man sat down beside the fiddler and shared his meal. When they got to the game course the fiddler handed the dwarf a knife and fork, and begged him to help himself first, and then to pass the dish on. The little creature nodded, but helped himself so clumsily that he dropped the piece of meat he had carved on to the floor.

The good-natured fiddler bent down to pick it up, but in the twinkling of an eye the little man had jumped on to his back, and beat him till he was black and blue all over his head and body. At last, when the fiddler was nearly dead, the little wretch left off, and shoved the poor fellow out of the iron gate which he had entered in such good spirits a few hours before. The fresh air revived him a little, and in a short time he was able to stagger with aching limbs back to the inn where his companions were staying. It was night when he reached the place, and the other two musicians were fast asleep. The next morning they were much astonished at finding the fiddler in bed beside them, and overwhelmed him with questions; but their friend hid his back and face, and answered them very shortly, saying, ‘Go there yourselves, and see what’s to be seen! It is a ticklish matter, that I can assure you.’

The second musician, who was a trumpeter, now made his way to the castle, and everything happened to him exactly as it had to the fiddler. He was just as hospitably entertained at first, and then just as cruelly beaten and belaboured, so that next morning he too lay in his bed like a wounded hare, assuring his friends that the task of getting into the haunted castle was no enviable one. Notwithstanding the warning of his companions, the third musician, who played the flute, was still determined to try his luck, and, full of courage and daring, he set out, resolved, if possible, to find and secure the hidden treasure.

Fearlessly he wandered the whole castle, and as he roamed through the splendid empty apartments he thought to himself how nice it would be to live there always, especially with a full larder and cellar at his disposal. A table was spread for him too, and when he had wandered about for some time, singing and playing the flute, he sat down as his companions had done, prepared to enjoy the delicious food that was spread out in front of him. Then the little man with the beard entered as before and seated himself beside the flute-player, who wasn’t the least startled at his appearance, but chatted away to him as if he had known him all his life. But he didn’t find his companion very communicative. At last they came to the game, and, as usual, the little man let his piece fall on the ground. The flute-player was good-naturedly just going to pick it up, when he perceived that the little dwarf was in the act of springing on his back. Then he turned round sharply, and, seizing the little creature by his beard, he gave him such a shaking that he tore his beard out, and the dwarf sank groaning to the ground.

But as soon as the youth had the beard in his hands he felt so strong that he was fit for anything, and he perceived all sorts of things in the castle that he had not noticed before, but, on the other hand, all strength seemed to have gone from the little man. He whined and sobbed out: ‘Give, oh give me my beard again, and I will instruct you in all the magic art that surrounds this castle, and will help you to carry off the hidden treasure, which will make you rich and happy for ever.’

But the cunning flute-player replied: ‘I will give you back your beard, but you must first help me as you have promised to do. Till you have done so, I don’t let your beard out of my hands.’

Then the old man found himself obliged to fulfil his promise, though he had had no intention of doing so, and had only desired to get his beard back. He made the youth follow him through dark secret passages, underground vaults, and grey rocks till at last they came to an open field, which looked as if it belonged to a more beautiful world than ours. Then they came to a stream of rushing water; but the little man drew out a wand and touched the waves, whereupon the waters parted and stood still, and the two crossed the river with dry feet. And how beautiful everything on the other side was! lovely green paths leading through woods and fields covered with flowers, birds with gold and silver feathers singing on the trees, lovely butterflies and glittering beetles fluttered and crawled about, and dear little beasts hid in the bushes and hedges. The sky above them was not blue, but like rays of pure gold, and the stars looked twice their usual size, and far more brilliant than on our earth.

The youth grew more and more astonished when the little grey man led him into a castle far bigger and more splendid than the one they had left. Here, too, the deepest silence reigned. They wandered all through the castle, and came at last to a room in the middle of which stood a bed hung all round with heavy curtains. Over the bed hung a bird’s cage, and the bird inside it was singing beautiful songs into the silent space. The little grey man lifted the curtains from the bed and beckoned the youth to approach. On the rich silk cushions embroidered with gold a lovely maiden lay sleeping. She was as beautiful as an angel, with golden hair which fell in curls over her marble shoulders, and a diamond crown sparkled on her forehead. But a sleep as of death held her in its spell, and no noise seemed able to waken the sleeper.

Then the little man turned to the wondering youth and said: ‘See, here is the sleeping child! She is a mighty Princess. This splendid castle and this enchanted land are hers, but for hundreds of years she has slept this magic sleep, and during all that time no human being has been able to find their way here. I alone have kept guard over her, and have gone daily to my own castle to get food and to beat the greedy gold-seekers who forced their way into my dwelling. I have watched over the Princess carefully all these years and saw that no stranger came near her, but all my magic power lay in my beard, and now that you have taken it away I am helpless, and can no longer hold the beautiful Princess in her enchanted sleep, but am forced to reveal my treasured secret to you. So set to work and do as I tell you. Take the bird which hangs over the Princess’s head, and which by its song sang her into this enchanted sleep—a song which it has had to continue ever since; take it and kill it, and cut its little heart out and burn it to a powder, and then put it into the Princess’s mouth; then she will instantly awaken, and will bestow on you her heart and hand, her kingdom and castle, and all her treasures.

The little dwarf paused, quite worn out, and the youth did not wait long to do his bidding. He did all he was told carefully and promptly, and having cut the little bird’s heart out he proceeded to make it into a powder. No sooner had he placed it in the Princess’s mouth than she opened her lovely eyes, and, looking up into the happy youth’s face, she kissed him tenderly, thanked him for freeing her from her magic sleep, and promised to be his wife. At the same moment a sound as of thunder was heard all over the castle, and on all the staircases and in every room sounds were to be heard. Then a troop of servants, male and female, flocked into the apartment where the happy couple sat, and after wishing the Princess and her bridegroom joy, they dispersed all over the castle to their different occupations.

But the little grey dwarf began now to demand his beard again from the youth, for in his wicked heart he was determined to make an end of all their happiness; he knew that if only his beard were once more on his chin, he would be able to do what he liked with them all. But the clever flute-player was quite a match for the little man in cunning, and said: ‘All right, you needn’t be afraid, you shall get your beard back before we part; but you must allow my bride and me to accompany you a bit on your homeward way.’

The dwarf could not refuse this request, and so they all went together through the beautiful green paths and flowery meadows, and came at last to the river which flowed for miles round the Princess’s land and formed the boundary of her kingdom. There was no bridge or ferryboat to be seen anywhere, and it was impossible to get over to the other side, for the boldest swimmer would not have dared to brave the fierce current and roaring waters. Then the youth said to the dwarf: ‘Give me your wand in order that I may part the waves.’

And the dwarf was forced to do as he was told because the youth still kept his beard from him; but the wicked little creature chuckled with joy and thought to himself: ‘The foolish youth will hand me my beard as soon as we have crossed the river, and then my power will return, and I will seize my wand and prevent them both ever returning to their beautiful country.’

But the dwarf’s wicked intentions were doomed to disappointment. The happy youth struck the water with his wand, and the waves at once parted and stood still, and the dwarf went on in front and crossed the stream. No sooner had he done so than the waters closed behind him, and the youth and his lovely bride stood safe on the other side. Then they threw his beard to the old man across the river, but they kept his wand, so that the wicked dwarf could never again enter their kingdom. So the happy couple returned to their castle, and lived there in peace and plenty for ever after. But the other two musicians waited in vain for the return of their companion; and when he never came they said: ‘Ah, he’s gone to play the flute,’ till the saying passed into a proverb, and was always said of anyone who set out to perform a task from which he never returned.

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Today's classic tale is from the Green Fairy Book, a collection of tales assembled and translated by Andrew Lang, published in 1892.

There was once a fisherman and his wife who lived together in a little hut close to the sea, and the fisherman used to go down every day to fish; and he would fish and fish. So he used to sit with his rod and gaze into the shining water; and he would gaze and gaze.

Now, once the line was pulled deep under the water, and when he hauled it up he hauled a large flounder with it. The flounder said to him, ���Listen, fisherman. I pray you to let me go; I am not a real flounder, I am an enchanted Prince. What good will it do you if you kill me���I shall not taste nice? Put me back into the water and let me swim away.���

���Well,��� said the man, ���you need not make so much noise about it; I am sure I had much better let a flounder that can talk swim away.��� With these words he put him back again into the shining water, and the flounder sank to the bottom, leaving a long streak of blood behind. Then the fisherman got up, and went home to his wife in the hut.

���Husband,��� said his wife, ���have you caught nothing to-day?���

���No,��� said the man. ���I caught a flounder who said he was an enchanted prince, so I let him swim away again.���

���Did you wish nothing from him?��� said his wife.

���No,��� said the man; ���what should I have wished from him?���

���Ah!��� said the woman, ���it���s dreadful to have to live all one���s life in this hut that is so small and dirty; you ought to have wished for a cottage. Go now and call him; say to him that we choose to have a cottage, and he will certainly give it you.���

���Alas!��� said the man, ���why should I go down there again?���

���Why,��� said his wife, ���you caught him, and then let him go again, so he is sure to give you what you ask. Go down quickly.���

The man did not like going at all, but as his wife was not to be persuaded, he went down to the sea.

When he came there the sea was quite green and yellow, and was no longer shining. So he stood on the shore and said:

���Once a prince, but changed you be Into a flounder in the sea. Come! for my wife, Ilsebel, Wishes what I dare not tell.���

Then the flounder came swimming up and said, ���Well, what does she want?���

���Alas!��� said the man, ���my wife says I ought to have kept you and wished something from you. She does not want to live any longer in the hut; she would like a cottage.���

���Go home, then,��� said the flounder; ���she has it.���

So the man went home, and there was his wife no longer in the hut, but in its place was a beautiful cottage, and his wife was sitting in front of the door on a bench. She took him by the hand and said to him, ���Come inside, and see if this is not much better.��� They went in, and inside the cottage was a tiny hall, and a beautiful sitting-room, and a bedroom in which stood a bed, a kitchen and a dining-room all furnished with the best of everything, and fitted up with every kind of tin and copper utensil. And outside was a little yard in which were chickens and ducks, and also a little garden with vegetables and fruit trees.

���See,��� said the wife, ���isn���t this nice?���

���Yes,��� answered her husband; ���here we shall remain and live very happily.���

���We will think about that,��� said his wife.

With these words they had their supper and went to bed. All went well for a week or a fortnight, then the wife said:

���Listen, husband; the cottage is much too small, and so is the yard and the garden; the flounder might just as well have sent us a larger house. I should like to live in a great stone castle. Go down to the flounder, and tell him to send us a castle.���

���Ah, wife!��� said the fisherman, ���the cottage is quite good enough; why do we choose to live in a castle?���

���Why?��� said the wife. ���You go down; the flounder can quite well do that.���

���No, wife,��� said the man; ���the flounder gave us the cottage. I do not like to go to him again; he might take it amiss.���

���Go,��� said his wife. ���He can certainly give it us, and ought to do so willingly. Go at once.���

The fisherman���s heart was very heavy, and he did not like going. He said to himself, ���It is not right.��� Still, he went down.

When he came to the sea, the water was all violet and dark-blue, and dull and thick, and no longer green and yellow, but it was still smooth.

So he stood there and said:

���Once a prince, but changed you be Into a flounder in the sea. Come! for my wife, Ilsebel, Wishes what I dare not tell.���

���What does she want now?��� said the flounder.

���Ah!��� said the fisherman, half-ashamed, ���she wants to live in a great stone castle.���

���Go home; she is standing before the door,��� said the flounder.

The fisherman went home and thought he would find no house. When he came near, there stood a great stone palace, and his wife was standing on the steps, about to enter. She took him by the hand and said, ���Come inside.���

Then he went with her, and inside the castle was a large hall with a marble floor, and there were heaps of servants who threw open the great doors, and the walls were covered with beautiful tapestry, and in the apartments were gilded chairs and tables, and crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling, and all the rooms were beautifully carpeted. The best of food and drink also was set before them when they wished to dine. And outside the house was a large courtyard with horse and cow stables and a coach-house���all fine buildings; and a splendid garden with most beautiful flowers and fruit, and in a park quite a league long were deer and roe and hares, and everything one could wish for.

���Now,��� said the wife, ���isn���t this beautiful?���

���Yes, indeed,��� said the fisherman. ���Now we will stay here and live in this beautiful castle, and be very happy.���

���We will consider the matter,��� said his wife, and they went to bed.

The next morning the wife woke up first at daybreak, and looked out of the bed at the beautiful country stretched before her. Her husband was still sleeping, so she dug her elbows into his side and said:

���Husband, get up and look out of the window. Could we not become the king of all this land? Go down to the flounder and tell him we choose to be king.���

���Ah, wife!��� replied her husband, ���why should we be king? I don���t want to be king.���

���Well,��� said his wife, ���if you don���t want to be king, I will be king. Go down to the flounder; I will be king.���

���Alas! wife,��� said the fisherman, ���why do you want to be king? I can���t ask him that.���

���And why not?��� said his wife. ���Go down at once. I must be king.���

So the fisherman went, though much vexed that his wife wanted to be king. ���It is not right! It is not right,��� he thought. He did not wish to go, yet he went.

When he came to the sea, the water was a dark-grey colour, and it was heaving against the shore. So he stood and said:

���Once a prince, but changed you be Into a flounder in the sea. Come! for my wife, Ilsebel, Wishes what I dare not tell.���

���What does she want now?��� asked the flounder.

���Alas!��� said the fisherman, ���she wants to be king.���

���Go home; she is that already,��� said the flounder.

The fisherman went home, and when he came near the palace he saw that it had become much larger, and that it had great towers and splendid ornamental carving on it. A sentinel was standing before the gate, and there were numbers of soldiers with kettledrums and trumpets. And when he went into the palace, he found everything was of pure marble and gold, and the curtains of damask with tassels of gold. Then the doors of the hall flew open, and there stood the whole Court round his wife, who was sitting on a high throne of gold and diamonds; she wore a great golden crown, and had a sceptre of gold and precious stones in her hand, and by her on either side stood six pages in a row, each one a head taller than the other. Then he went before her and said:

���Ah, wife! are you king now?���

���Yes,��� said his wife; ���now I am king.���

He stood looking at her, and when he had looked for some time, he said:

���Let that be enough, wife, now that you are king! Now we have nothing more to wish for.���

���Nay, husband,��� said his wife restlessly, ���my wishing powers are boundless; I cannot restrain them any longer. Go down to the flounder; king I am, now I must be emperor.���

���Alas! wife,��� said the fisherman, ���why do you want to be emperor?���

���Husband,��� said she, ���go to the flounder; I will be emperor.���

���Ah, wife,��� he said, ���he cannot make you emperor; I don���t like to ask him that. There is only one emperor in the kingdom. Indeed and indeed he cannot make you emperor.���

���What!��� said his wife. ���I am king, and you are my husband. Will you go at once? Go! If he can make king he can make emperor, and emperor I must and will be. Go!���

So he had to go. But as he went, he felt quite frightened, and he thought to himself, ���This can���t be right; to be emperor is too ambitious; the flounder will be tired out at last.���

Thinking this he came to the shore. The sea was quite black and thick, and it was breaking high on the beach; the foam was flying about, and the wind was blowing; everything looked bleak. The fisherman was chilled with fear. He stood and said:

���Once a prince, but changed you be Into a flounder in the sea. Come! for my wife, Ilsebel, Wishes what I dare not tell.���

���What does she want now?��� asked flounder.

���Alas! flounder,��� he said, ���my wife wants to be emperor.���

���Go home,��� said the flounder; ���she is that already.���

So the fisherman went home, and when he came there he saw the whole castle was made of polished marble, ornamented with alabaster statues and gold. Before the gate soldiers were marching, blowing trumpets and beating drums. Inside the palace were walking barons, counts, and dukes, acting as servants; they opened the door, which was of beaten gold. And when he entered, he saw his wife upon a throne which was made out of a single block of gold, and which was quite six cubits high. She had on a great golden crown which was three yards high and set with brilliants and sparkling gems. In one hand she held a sceptre, and in the other the imperial globe, and on either side of her stood two rows of halberdiers, each smaller than the other, from a seven-foot giant to the tiniest little dwarf no higher than my little finger. Many princes and dukes were standing before her. The fisherman went up to her quietly and said:

���Wife, are you emperor now?���

���Yes,��� she said, ���I am emperor.���

He stood looking at her magnificence, and when he had watched her for some time, said:

���Ah, wife, let that be enough, now that you are emperor.���

���Husband,��� said she, ���why are you standing there? I am emperor now, and I want to be pope too; go down to the flounder.���

���Alas! wife,��� said the fisherman, ���what more do you want? You cannot be pope; there is only one pope in Christendom, and he cannot make you that.���

���Husband,��� she said, ���I will be pope. Go down quickly; I must be pope to-day.���

���No, wife,��� said the fisherman; ���I can���t ask him that. It is not right; it is too much. The flounder cannot make you pope.���

���Husband, what nonsense!��� said his wife. ���If he can make emperor, he can make, pope too. Go down this instant; I am emperor and you are my husband. Will you be off at once?���

So he was frightened and went out; but he felt quite faint, and trembled and shook, and his knees and legs began to give way under him. The wind was blowing fiercely across the land, and the clouds flying across the sky looked as gloomy as if it were night; the leaves were being blown from the trees; the water was foaming and seething and dashing upon the shore, and in the distance he saw the ships in great distress, dancing and tossing on the waves. Still the sky was very blue in the middle, although at the sides it was an angry red as in a great storm. So he stood shuddering in anxiety, and said:

���Once a prince, but changed you be Into a flounder in the sea. Come! for my wife, Ilsebel, Wishes what I dare not tell.���

���Well, what does she want now?��� asked the flounder.

���Alas!��� said the fisherman, ���she wants to be pope.���

���Go home, then; she is that already,��� said the flounder.

Then he went home, and when he came there he saw, as it were, a large church surrounded by palaces. He pushed his way through the people. The interior was lit up with thousands and thousands of candles, and his wife was dressed in cloth of gold and was sitting on a much higher throne, and she wore three great golden crowns. Round her were numbers of Church dignitaries, and on either side were standing two rows of tapers, the largest of them as tall as a steeple, and the smallest as tiny as a Christmas-tree candle. All the emperors and kings were on their knees before her, and were kissing her foot.

���Wife,��� said the fisherman looking at her, ���are you pope now?���

���Yes,��� said she; ���I am pope.���

So he stood staring at her, and it was as if he were looking at the bright sun. When he had watched her for some time he said:

���Ah, wife, let it be enough now that you are pope.���

But she sat as straight as a tree, and did not move or bend the least bit. He said again:

���Wife, be content now that you are pope. You cannot become anything more.���

���We will think about that,��� said his wife.

With these words they went to bed. But the woman was not content; her greed would not allow her to sleep, and she kept on thinking and thinking what she could still become. The fisherman slept well and soundly, for he had done a great deal that day, but his wife could not sleep at all, and turned from one side to another the whole night long, and thought, till she could think no longer, what more she could become. Then the sun began to rise, and when she saw the red dawn she went to the end of the bed and looked at it, and as she was watching the sun rise, out of the window, she thought, ���Ha! could I not make the sun and man rise?���

���Husband,��� said she, poking him in the ribs with her elbows, ���wake up. Go down to the flounder; I will be a god.���

The fisherman was still half asleep, yet he was so frightened that he fell out of bed. He thought he had not heard aright, and opened his eyes wide and said:

���What did you say, wife?���

���Husband,��� she said, ���if I cannot make the sun and man rise when I appear I cannot rest. I shall never have a quiet moment till I can make the sun and man rise.���

He looked at her in horror, and a shudder ran over him.

���Go down at once; I will be a god.���

���Alas! wife,��� said the fisherman, falling on his knees before her, ���the flounder cannot do that. Emperor and pope he can make you. I implore you, be content and remain pope.���

Then she flew into a passion, her hair hung wildly about her face, she pushed him with her foot and screamed:

���I am not contented, and I shall not be contented! Will you go?���

So he hurried on his clothes as fast as possible, and ran away as if he were mad.

But the storm was raging so fiercely that he could scarcely stand. Houses and trees were being blown down, the mountains were being shaken, and pieces of rock were rolling in the sea. The sky was as black as ink, it was thundering and lightening, and the sea was tossing in great waves as high as church towers and mountains, and each had a white crest of foam.

So he shouted, not able to hear his own voice:

���Once a prince, but changed you be Into a flounder in the sea. Come! for my wife, Ilsebel, Wishes what I dare not tell.���

���Well, what does she want now?��� asked the flounder.

���Alas!��� said he, ���she wants to be a god.���

���Go home, then; she is sitting again in the hut.���

And there they are sitting to this day.

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