Once upon a time....
There was a Queen who had a golden-haired son, Prince Orestes. Everyone spoiled and doted on Orestes while he was a charming boy, but as he grew to manhood they clucked their tongues in dismay. He was more beautiful than words can tell, but at the same time so proud and haughty that no woman that the Queen's advisors brought before him for marriage was good enough for him. He turned away one after another and even mocked them.
Furthermore, the Prince cared for nothing but his own pleasures; drinking and carousing with those of ill-repute until all hours of the day and night. His manner towards the faithful old servants of the castle became insensitive and rude. He neglected his princely duties and refused to take on the responsibility of learning to govern the Kingdom.
"My son," lamented the Queen Mother, "I long to see thee wed and a grandchild upon my knee."
Orestes chuckled as he gathered up his spotless golden arrows for yet another so-called hunting expedition (that invariably ended up as a drunken romp at some nobleman's hunting lodge).
"Plenty of time for the old ball and chain later, Mother! I need to have fun. And besides, all the women that have been paraded before me as potential brides weren't fit to shine my second-best armor!" He shuddered dramaticallly, thinking himself witty. "What barrel bottom are your Advisors scraping them from?" And with a quick kiss on upon her aged cheek, Orestes gracefully ran from the room to join his friends. "Don't wait up for me!"
"That boy!" sighed the Queen wearily. "What am I going to do with him?" Her advisors, ever alert to an opportunity to put in their two dinars, rushed to her side.
"First of all your Royal Highness, he's no longer a boy!" proclaimed Advisor No. #1, tugging grimly on his long white beard. "Orestes is over 30!"
"Point well-made," applauded Advisor No. #2, his large ears wriggling in approval. "Heirs! We must have heirs to continue the royal line. But first a marriage! The child must be born on the right side of the blanket!"
"Naturally, naturally," ahemed the other Advisors, rather shocked at Advisor No. #2's indelicacy at mentioning this in front of the Queen Mother.
"But Orestes refuses to marry!" cried the Queen in great frustration. "He won't even look at the ladies we have brought to Court. All he can think of is his sport -- drinking and gambling, carousing with those of low moral character, sleeping until noon the next day. What will become of our kingdom when I am gone?"
Tears came to her eyes. She blamed herself. She had long known about the wild "borrowed" chariot sprees, the way dinars seemed to burn a hole through his pockets, the week-long beer blasts at the local taverns. But she had thought it would be just a passing phase.
"Madam you MUST put your foot down!" insisted Advisor No. #3, running his hands distractedly over his bald pate. 'No more mollycoddling!"
"Hear, hear!" cheered all the Advisors.
"I know it may seem harsh, but drastic measures are called for. Will you be guided by us? Will you listen to our plan? Or will you let both Orestes and the Kingdom be destroyed?" demanded Advisor No. #4.
The Queen's heart was heavy as she nodded her assent to her counselors' plan.
"But mother!" protested Orestes vehemently as he waved a gold-edged announcement at her, three days later. "You can't be serious!"
The Queen looked at him severely. "No, it seems YOU can't be serious, Orestes. I need you to start taking responsibility -- ."
"Responsibility," groaned Orestes, sinking down onto a velvet-padded bench by an open casement and banging his head gently against the stone wall. "What a bore!" From his vantage point Orestes could see the long line of damsels that were threading the road to the castle.
"So you've asked EVERY eligible woman from five Kingdoms to apply for my hand in marriage, whether noble or common-born. I'm SO flattered," he sneered.
"Orestes!" gasped the Queen, "how dare you take that tone with me!"
Orestes hesitated, wanting to apologize, but so many years of self-indulgence had made its mark. Instead, he wallowed in feeling trapped and unjustly coerced. He bit back his apology and shouted, "I wish I'd never been born a Prince. Fine then! Bring them on! I'll bow and play my part. But don't expect anything beyond that, mother!" And he stormed out of the room.
That night at the banquet, the Queen was taken ill and retired to her room. Prince Orestes, gorgeously decked out in purple silk and white satin (and imbibing generously), was thus left alone with the Queen's advisors, the nobles of the court and the 150 potential lovely brides whose pulses were pounding at the sight of such a handsome, lithe Prince.
"Line 'em up!" ordered Orestes, leaning back in his golden chair with a rather cruel look in his eyes.
"Line them up?" gulped Advisor No. #1. Surely he had misunderstood.
"You heard me! Line them up!" roared Orestes, slamming down his wine cup for emphasis. "From highest rank to lowest. Empresses, Queens, Princesses, Duchesses and so forth."
"Surely this is undignified," tsked Advisor No. #2, even as he hurried to obey. "And without precedent," mourned Advisor No. #3.
"Fortunately, the prospective brides don't seem to mind this unorthodox arrangement," murmured Advisor No. #4, as he led each lady to her place.
Orestes lurched over to the first beautiful woman in line and looked her up and down, squintingly.
"The Empress Mizabe of Sahron," announced Advisor No. #1. He whispered to Orestes, "A lovely exotic widow with an immense fortune!"
"No, no, no!" Orestes waved his hand in abrupt dismissal. "Too tall! For Zeus' sake, man! Do you think I aspire to be married to a Tree? Take her away!" His courtiers giggled behind painted fans.
Young Empress Mizabe's eyes filled with tears of humiliation and she gave a stifled sob as she tried to walk regally from the room. Like many of the ladies present, she had fallen half in-love with the Prince and now her heart felt like it was breaking.
Orestes paid her no attention for he had already fastened his glance on the next prospect.
"Too thin," he sniffed at Empress Wisp. "A regular toothpick. Why my people would accuse me of starving her!"
"Too well-upholstered," he critized Empress Voluptua. "I'd always have to keep an eye on my dinner plate!"
And so it went, through the Empresses and then onto the Queens, Orestes always finding some personal flaw, defect, or attribute not to his liking.
He stopped in front of the last of the Queens who had heard each of his nasty comments to her predecessors. She met his gaze squarely and proudly, as though daring him to speak rudely to her.
Orestes paused, swaying, well-filled with the excellent red wine that graced his mother's table. Even in his drunken state, he could see the woman was lovely. An hour-glass figure, creamy skin, about his height, facial features that spoke both of vunerability and strength, a real aristocrat. Well, perhaps the mouth was a little common, the lips seemed they had a tendency to quirk into merry smiles, but the wench was not smiling now. Beautiful intelligent eyes, Orestes thought to himself, and she smells -- wonderful. Mentally, he shook himself. What was he doing! Falling into his mother's trap? Oh no, not him.
"Your Highness," said Advisor No. #4, "may I present -- mrrphh."
Orestes clamped a hand over the advisor's mouth. "No, don't tell me - let me guess." He walked around her in a circle, surveying her as though she were a horse he was considering buying. His courtiers snickered in anticipation.
"By Zeus, our scullery maids have better-looking hair. HER hair looks like the nest of a thrush!" Orestes declared. "I know -- her name must be Queen Thrush-Hair! Sorry m'dear, but you won't do!" The court burst into uncontained laughter. He dismissed her and turned next to the black-haired eldest daughter of Duke Folie.
The sweet Queen quivered. It HAD been one of those bad hair days. Her maid had talked her into trying a new hairstyle, and as the banquet progressed she could feel tendrils falling untidily from her hairdo into her face. Now she glared at Orestes. How could anyone so handsome, so appealing, be such a stinker?!
And after this she was always called Queen Thrush-Hair (though she had a perfectly nice real name!).
Orestes continued on down the line without a twinge of guilt, finding fresh insults for each, until he had ridiculed and dismissed the last prospective wife for him. "Party time, everyone!" he shouted as the door closed behind the last good lady. "Send in the dancing girls!" And he and his cronies made merry all night.
The next day when the Queen Mother heard that her son had made fun of them and that Orestes depised all the women who had been assembled, she was very angry. She swore that the first beggar who came to the door should be Orestes' wife. When Orestes had this rumor brought to him, he only laughed. "Not a chance, my good man," was all he said, as he rolled over and went back to sleep.
A few days afterwards, one early morning, a wandering musician began to sing at the window, hoping to receive charity.
When the Queen Mother heard her sweet low voice, she said, "Let the singer be brought in."
The female minstrel came in, dressed in dirty rags, and sang to the Queen Mother and her court, and when she had finished, she begged alms of them.
The Queen Mother said, "Your song has pleased me so much that I will give you my son for husband."
Orestes arose from his seat, shouting and horror-stricken, but the Queen said, "I have sworn an oath to give you to the first beggar who came and I will keep my word. You said you did not wish to be a Prince. Well, I release you from the heavy burden. From now on, you are no longer my son - only my subject. Let it be proclaimed throughout the land!" The nobles turned their eyes from Orestes as though they could not bear the sight of him anymore.
No entreaties were of any avail. Orestes tried to flee the room, but guards took hold of him. A parson was brought and he had to marry the beggarly singer there and then.
"Marry, or your life is forfeit,"said the Queen to Orestes, her eyes like cold lightning. "I was just asking for food," whined the ragged singer, "I didn't mean any harm." "Don't be afraid," soothed the Queen, "just marry this man. You will receive more than you asked for." The poor woman looked at the Queen suspiciously. In her world that promise usually bode no good.
Orestes looked at the grime-caked face next to him and shuddered. Yet, his life was still sweet enough to him that he did not wish it ended.
"What's the likes of me to do with a Prince?" protested the beggarwoman. The Queen's patience was at an end. "He is Prince no longer. If you don't marry, it's the chopping block for both your addled heads!" The minstrel whimpered in submission. "Shall we proceed?" asked Orestes icily, thinking that surely his mother must have gone mad.
When the ceremony was completed, the Queen said, "Now that you are a beggar's husband, Orestes, you can't stay in my castle any longer. You must go away with your wife." The wandering minstrel took her new husband by the hand and tried to lead Orestes away, nervous of all this talk of chopping blocks and such.
"Get your hands off me," Orestes panted disdainfullly and flung the beggar woman from him. Instantly twenty spears of steel were at his throat.
"Let me make this perfectly clear," warned the Queen menacingly. "It is my order that you WILL live with this woman as your wife. If I hear you have separated from her or repudiated her in any way, your days on earth will be ended. I will no longer endure you to flout my authority. Now leave us."
The stunned Orestes and the frightened beggarwoman were shoved outside the castle gates. Just then, one of his old drinking buddies rode by. Orestes hailed him thankfully. "My friend! Am I glad to see YOU!" Orestes didn't note the disdainful look that crossed his friend's face.
"Look, I need a loan and place to hide out for a while until the Queen Mother cools off!" explained Orestes. "You wouldn't BELIEVE the preposterous situation I'm in!" He laughed uneasily. The former Prince put one hand on his friend's saddle. "Hey, maybe we can get an all-night card game going!"
The horseman slashed at Orestes' hand with his whip. Orestes grabbed his injured hand and looked at his friend in disbelief. "Are you mad?!" hissed the man. "Don't you know that anyone helping you run from your marriage is guilty of treason?"
Orestes shook his head silently, as he slowly began to grasp the true nature of his predictament.
"Besides, you're a commoner now," sniffed the man as he wheeled his horse around to ride off. "And I don't associate with the local peasantry."
"But you were my friend!" called Orestes, desparately.
"Correction," sneered the horseman. "I was Prince Orestes' friend. And even HE wasn't a very good prince. I have a feeling you'll make a much better commoner. Shiftless, lazy, stupid. You had the pick of any woman you wanted - and all you wanted was to continue to play with your toys like a little child. Now you've thrown it all away. If one good thing has come from all this it's a relief for us not to have to pretend to respect you anymore!" The faithless courtier raised a perfumed lace handkerchief to his nostril. "You're already beginning to smell like a peasant, too." He put spurs to his mount and rode away, spraying Orestes with mud.
"Yes, well the little missus here isn't exactly a spring breeze," muttered Orestes pugnaciously, although inside he was reeling from his friend's rejection.
A group of nobles approached from another direction, garbed in fine clothes and jewels. Orestes grabbed his wife's hand and tried to melt into the forest before they could see him. But he was too late. They caught sight of him and staring, they tittered and pointed, making coarse jests at Orestes' expense.
"Let's get out of here," implored Orestes, shamed and abandoned. "Don't you have a home somewhere, beggar wench?"
The dirty-faced woman glanced at him through matted hair and nodding, she took his hand again and led him away. Prince Orestes' former kingdom had been prosperous but small, so within a vigorous day's walk they had left the borders of his kingdom and were in a strange new place. It was nearing nightfall when they came to some majestic woods thick with towering trees. Orestes wearily asked:
"Ah who is the owner of this forest so fine?"
"It belongs to Queen Thrush-Hair. It might have been thine, If her King you had been," replied the beggarmaid.
"Ah, if my Fate I only had seen! I would have accepted the love of the Queen."sighed Orestes.
Exhausted, they fell down asleep in the woods as soon as the beggarmaid had gathered moss and leaves to warm their beds. Fortunately no wild animals worried their sleep and when they arose, they continued their journey. Orestes' stomach was knotted with hunger and the beggar woman shared her store of food with him. He could not bear to look her full in the face or thank her, so bitter was his heart. They trudged onwards, he - having no other place to go and his mind in a whirl.
They reached a great meadow in the early afternoon and Orestes asked again:
"Who is the owner of this meadow so fine?"
"It belongs to Queen Thrush-Hair. It might have been thine, If her King you had been," replied the beggarmaid.
"Ah, if my Fate I only had seen! I would have accepted the love of the Queen."
"It doesn't please me at all," said the singing beggar maid, "that you are always wishing for another wife. Am I not good enough for you?" Orestes clamped his lips shut for fear of what rude reply might escape him.
At last they came to a miserable hovel and Orestes said:
"By the gods, what's this house so mean and small? This wretched little hut's no house at all!"
His wife answered, "This is my house and yours, where we are to live together." The door was so low they had to stoop to get inside.
"Where are the servants?" asked Prince Orestes, looking about.
"Servants indeed!" answered the beggar maid. "Whatever you want done, you must do for yourself. Light the fire and put the kettle on to make our supper. I am very tired and it's time you started pulling your own weight. I've fed you thus far and led you through the forest. Now it's your turn to be useful!"
But the former Prince knew nothing about lighting fires or cooking and to get it done at all the beggar had to do it herself.
When they had finished their humble fare, Prince Orestes' ragged spouse turned to him and yawned. "Hey ho! Time for bed, my lad!"
Orestes nearly jumped out of his skin. "Oh no!" said he, looking at the filthy decrepit woman. "They can force me to marry on pain of death, but I'd rather die than --."
"Relax, loverboy," cackled the beggar maid. "I'm not after your fine golden body, though it seems I've gotten a bad bargain in every other way. In MY army of love, there are only volunteers." She winked at him obscenely. "You can sleep outside, if you don't like my close company." For indeed there was only one narrow little bed in the tiny hovel, hardly big enough for one, let alone two.
"I'll take my chances with the wild animals," grumbled Orestes. "As you like," shrugged his wife, turning her back at him and snuffing their sole candle. "At least they'll smell better," whispered Orestes under his breath, as he crawled out the door to bed among the leaves and grass.
In the morning, the beggarmaid made them breakfast. "Well, that's the last of it!" she announced. "The last of what?" asked Orestes. "The last of our food, of course," replied his wife. "It's time you went to work." Orestes looked at her open-mouthed. "Even if you could manage to shoot some game," mused the woman, "you'd be poaching on the royal preserves and lose your head if caught. No, you'll definitely have to earn some money. How about begging?"
Orestes drew himself up proudly, "Begging is beneath a prince of the realm, you slovenly wretch!"
"Watch who you're calling slovenly," sniffed the beggar maid, deliberately eyeing his soiled and torn garments. Orestes, who had never been less than fastidiously dressed in his entire life, looked down at himself and blushed from shame.
"Sooo. Begging is beneath a disinherited prince. But not sloth, drunkeness, leching, disrespect to one's guests and parents, abandoning one's responsibilities. Interesting," pondered his wife saracastically as she began to probe one blackened tooth with her forefinger.
Orestes' shoulders slumped as he remembered his follies. "I won't - I mean, I can't - beg for my food. Please. Can't we find some other way of keeping body and soul together?"
A glimmer of pity lit her eyes. "Alright, there's an old axe in the back. Go and chop some firewood and we'll take it to town to sell."
Orestes nodded and rushed off to chop wood. Alas, his soft pampered hands were so unused to manual labor that soon his fingers and palms began to blister and bleed, and he had to give it up.
The beggar woman had to bandage his hands. He bore her polluted touch without comment. "You ARE useless," she wailed gratingly. "Wait, I have an idea! You know how to read and write don't you?"
Orestes nodded regally, "Of course, I am...."
"A prince of the realm. Riiiight. In any case, one of the local noblemen, Duke Folie is looking for a scribe to tutor his daughters. Perhaps if you cleaned up a bit, they might consider hiring you! What do you think?" She looked at him hopefully.
"MUCH better than chopping wood," agreed Orestes, secretly hoping to reinstate himself into society and ditch the old horror that was his legal mate. He'd work hard for the Duke. He'd make his way back up in the world. "Can you show me some nearby stream or pond so that I may make myself presentable?"
His clothes were as dirty as his skin. Orestes washed them and himself in the cold meadow stream, not caring if his so-called wife might be watching him. Let her look, the old she-demon, he thought to himself. Who cares! I'll never see the witch again after today.
If he had gazed at her at that moment, he might have noticed that she WAS staring at him as if against her will. He might have further noted the soft, wistful, yearning expression that played across her dirt-covered features was akin to pain. However, he was oblivious to anything but his own thoughts.
Soon Orestes arrived before Duke Folie. Admittedly his fine clothes were patched, but they were immaculately clean. His golden hair shone like the sun. His fine blue eyes were unclouded by drink or stupor. He held himself straight and proud, like a prince.
"So you think you'd do a good job tutoring my daughters, do you?" asked the hawk-nosed Duke unsmilingly. "You consider yourself a suitable person to be in charge of my treasures?"
"Yes sir," said Orestes firmly. "I do. I'll work hard. You won't be disappointed, I promise you!"
"Ah, here's my eldest daughter now. Come here m'dear," said the Duke, beckoning to a black-haired lass that stood in the doorway.
"Oh father! That's him!" gasped the girl. Orestes stared at her uncomprehendingly. That's him? What was she talking about?
"That's Prince Orestes, the one that insulted him in front of all the nobles of his court. He said I had lips like -- like a toad!" She burst into tears and fled from the room.
The Duke smiled grimly at Orestes. "I THOUGHT it was you that made a laughing stock of my little girl," he murmured to himself, as he beckoned to his burly manservants.
"-and so, he had me beaten from his presence," gasped Orestes to the beggar maid. Unable to walk, he had crawled home after regaining consciousness, collapsing in front of their hovel.
"There now," soothed his unlovely wife, as she made a splint for his arm, "you'll be good as new in no time. But I guess we can forget about a career as a scribe for you. There's probably not a good family in five kingdoms that you haven't insulted one way or another."
Orestes bitterly recriminated with himself. "I don't deserve to clean their boots. And everything you've said about me is true. I was a selfish spoiled idiot that threw away my inheritance. I've brought my fate on myself. And I shouldn't hate you because it's not your fault. You've tried to be kind to me in your own way, I suppose." He looked up at her through pain-filled eyes. "But I do hate you."
"I know," said the beggar maid coolly. "Very well then. Since your life depends on us staying married, perhaps we should live apart for a while since you can't bear the sight of me. An old friend of mine has connections at the palace. I can get you a job in the kitchens. Unless you would rather die of hunger?"
"I've been everything else," sighed Orestes. "But I've never been a coward and I won't take the coward's way out by dying. I'll work in the kitchens, I'll do whatever I have to do - whatever I can - to survive honorably."
"You'll get fed at any rate. Just stay out of the sight of nobles and especially Queen Thrush-Hair," she warned. "Make sure you come home to me on weekends so we satisfy your mother's conditions about living together as man and wife. Plus, I want some of those kitchen scraps you'll be scoring. Queen Thrush-Hair has an excellent cook!"
Orestes shuddered. "Is that - is that what everyone calls her now?" he whispered, hoping against hope to hear it wasn't so. He still remembered the quiet loveliness of the Queen that night when he had insulted all his prospective brides. She didn't deserve the indignity of having to bear his rude words.
His wife giggled in a vulgar fashion. "It sure is! When you hand out a nickname it seems to stick." It remained unspoken between them that Orestes had never even asked his wife's name. He did not ask now.
And so it was that Orestes became a lowly scullery lad at Queen Thrush-hair's palace and had to wait upon the cook and do all the dirty work. He was given a spot of straw in the royal stables for a bed. His fellows taught him how to tie a pot into each of his pockets to get his share of the scraps and leavings and it was that upon which he lived.
He was pleasant to his co-workers and worked hard, but kept to himself. He had much to think about. In the darkness of the late summer evenings just before he went to sleep, Orestes would walk unobserved in the Queen's gardens. In his time at the palace Orestes never had encountered Queen Thrush-Hair face to face, but sometime he would see her silhouetted against her window, singing in a low sweet voice.
Then, tears seemed to rise from his heart to his eyes, and he could not say why. He didn't like to think about it. Perhaps, he rationalized lightly to himself, he cried because her songs were sad. Lonely songs. Songs that tore at the heart. It was as though the Queen were singing to a lover that she despaired of ever seeing again. Despite his weariness, sleep did not come easily to Orestes on those nights.
It so happened that the marriage of Queen Thrush-hair's young brother was about to take place. The palace was in a uproar with the preparations. Servants were running to and fro like chickens with their heads cut off.
"Kitchen boy!" bellowed one of the footman, beckoning to Orestes as he he was clearing one of the banquet tables. "Who - me?" asked Orestes, looking around him.
"Yes you, you fool," snarled the footman. "The Queen needs more hot water for her bath immediately. I don't know WHERE the underservants have gotten to, but we can't keep her waiting! Here, pick up this bucket and follow me." And without waiting for a reply, he scurried up the staircase with Orestes in his wake.
As they approached the royal suite, the footman flung the door open and pushed Orestes forward. "No gawking, scullery boy," he hissed between his teeth, "Just pour the water and get out. And DON'T splash!" He shut the door leaving Orestes alone in the Queen Thrush-Hair's bathchamber with the beautiful woman he had scorned less than a month before.
"More water, please," called out the Queen, who had her back to him. The soft melodious voice made his heart race. Had he dreamed about her so often? He approached her, looking at the white slender shoulders that rose above the water, the lovely line of her neck, the lusturous hair piled high on her head. As he poured the water, his hands began to shake as he stood in proximity to her.
If he looked (and how could he not?), Orestes could see the lush curves of her breasts. The pure thoughtful profile of the Queen's face. Her lashes fluttered shut against her cheek as she leaned back and sighed in sensuous contentment.
He almost spoke, then. But what could he say? "Hello, remember me? I'm the Prince that mocked you and scorned you in front of my entire court. By the way I'm married to a filthy beggar maid now, disinherited by my mother and I work as a scullery lad in your kitchens. Yes, I know I'm covered with grease and don't have a dinar to my name, but how about getting together sometime?"
He dropped the bucket and ran from the chamber in torment.
As it was the weekend, Orestes returned that night to the miserable hovel where his wife waited. She exclaimed in joy at the various tasty morsels he had saved from the kitchen. He sat quietly as she smacked her lips and shoved the food into her mouth like she hadn't eaten for weeks. When she was done eating, Orestes cleared his throat. "Wife. There's something I'd like to say."
She peered at him through a clump of stringy dirty hair. "Well, say it then!" she advised impatiently.
"I - well, I suppose it won't matter to you - but I don't hate you anymore and I'm sorry I ever said that."
"Eh?" the beggar woman shot him a look of amazement.
Orestes gently took her filthy paw without flinching. "It was myself I hated, not you. It was wrong of me to turn my anger against you. None of this was your fault. And I want you to know since it IS my lot in life to be your husband, I'm going to make sure we have a better life than this." And he waved a hand towards their horrible surroundings. "I'll work hard. I'm sure to be advanced. You won't have to live in poverty and misery all your life, I swear it."
"Are you saying you - love me?" croaked the old horror, unbelievingly.
"Not as a woman," admitted Orestes. "It's too much to ask that of us--that you love me or I love you. But as a fellow human being I feel a kinship with you and a responsibility. I hope that you can come to look on me as a brother or a son." His expressive blue eyes looked fully into hers for the first time. He felt a certain peace come into his heart.
"Oh nay lad, nay!" refused the singing beggar maid crossly. "It's husband you are to me and husband you'll stay! In fact, I rather fancy having a couple of children by you." She felt his arm muscles, grinningly. "You're a fine man, and can give me strong bonny babes."
Orestes was speechless. What was he to do? Every other courtesy he could give her, but bed-courtesy he could not. Then he noticed something odd about her face. Until today, he had always avoided looking her full in the face for she was so hideous. He looked closer. She drew back. A strange smile start to play about his lips.
"You're absolutely right," Orestes murmured. "I have neglected my husbandly duties."
"Now wait a minute," stammered the beggar maid. He rose to his feet and pulled her outside the hovel. "Where are we going?" demanded his wife. "I know you peasants have a custom," explained Orestes pleasantly. "You only bathe three times in your lives. Once when born, once when dead, and once....when married. I wish to honor local custom."
She struggled in his arms. "I don't follow that custom," she screeched as he finally slung her over his shoulder and hot-footed it for the stream. "I'm a - I'm not from around here!"
Her screams and thrashing about were to no avail. Orestes plunged into the water, along with her and began scrubbing her face. Soon the wig and the false dirt (the disguise of Queen Thrush-Hair ) floated away and he beheld the face of his beloved without artifice. She was torn between laughter and tears.
"My dearest," said Orestes, overcome with emotion. "Was it you all along?"
She nodded, acutely conscious of his strong arm tightly about her and the thinness of their wet rags. "I and the beggar woman are one and the same. For love of you I disguised myself, ate scraps with you, begged, and lived in this miserable hovel," she whispered. "My servants brought reports of how your mother had promised to wed you to the next beggar. Even though you had cruelly mocked me, I loved you from the first time I saw you. All that I did was in order to dispel your haughtiness and soften your hard heart. I knew there was much good in you, my lord."
Orestes wept openly, clinging to her, and said, "I was very wicked and I am not worthy to be your husband."
But she took his face in both her hands and smoothed his tears away, "Be happy my beloved! Those evil days are over. Now we will celebrate our true wedding and you will be my king."
And then they kissed as though their souls had flown to their lips. "My wife," Orestes breathed. As their kisses grew more fierce and earth-shattering, Orestes heard the distinct clearing of a dozen throats. He whirled around to see several of her court standing by with fine horses.
"Your highnesses," bowed one lord. "May we escort you back to court?" Waiting-women came and put rich clothing upon them both. Orestes was paid every type of courtesy and attention as befitted his high station. Orestes and his Queen longed to gallop ahead of everyone and begin their married life in earnest, but they rode sedately, often clasping hands, and exchanging joyful smiles and deep looks.
And in the days ahead, the Queen Mother heard of her son's change of heart and was reconciled with him. So that the two kingdoms were joined as one, and indeed she did get a grandchild to bounce on her knee!
The End
Some images, characters and other things used in these works are the property of others, including but not limited to Renaissance Pictures and Universal Studios. Everything else remains the property of the artist or author. No money will be made on anything appearing on this webpage and no copyright infringement is intended. This site was created by fans for the enjoyment of other fans.
For information on reprinting text and/or artwork (including privately owned photos, photo manipulations, and other images) from this website, please contact IolausianLibrarians , who will assist you in contacting the original creator of the piece. Do NOT reprint, republish, or in any way link to items on these pages without obtaining permission from either the original creator of the piece or the webpage owner. A written one-time use statement may be issued to you at the discretion of the artist or the author. Please respect the legal and artistic rights of our contributors.