Part 2

However, she continued to be silent, and the King ordered her to be put into prison until she should speak out and tell them the truth; and the guards came and led her away to prison, and locked her into a dark cell. It was dreary and cold, and the walls were so thick that she could not hear any of the noises from without, and there was only one little window, which was too high up for her to see through. Here she lay and lamented, and almost wished she could die at once, for she believed that they would burn her, or drown her, and bitterly did she grieve that she had left her home and her children.

Every day the King sent down to ask if she had changed her mind, but every day she answered that she had nothing to say. One evening she sat in her dark cell alone, grieving as usual, when the prison door opened, and there entered a woman wrapped in a cloak and with her face hidden by a mask. When she took off the mask Lucilla saw it was the Queen, and she sprang up hoping that she had come to tell her that she was to be released, but the Queen said, “Now I have come to you alone that you may tell me the truth. Who taught you to dance, and where can I learn to do what you do? If you will tell me I will ask the King to forgive you, and you shall have your bag of gold, and go when you like.”

Then poor Lucilla began to cry afresh, and said, “My gracious lady, I can tell you one thing that I have not yet told to any one, that is, that I did learn my dancing, but who told me, or how it was, is a secret that I swore I would never tell to any one. And now I implore your Royal Highness to let me go back to my fisherman husband, and my babies. Alack! alack! it was an evil hour for me when I left my home.”

Upon this the Queen became furious, but she hid her anger, and first she tried to coax Lucilla to confess all, then she threatened her with the King’s wrath, and then, as Lucilla still wept and said that she could not break her promise, she started up in a rage, and said, “Indeed, it is of little use, however much you love your husband and your children, for you will never see them again. The King has settled that you shall be killed this very week, so now you know what you have gained by your wicked obstinacy.”

So the Queen returned to the King, and told him that the dancer had confessed that she had learned her dancing, but she would not say from whom, therefore it must be from the Evil One, and therefore there was nothing for it but that she should be killed. So they settled that first they would try to drown Lucilla, and if she were a witch she would not sink, and the King gave orders that she should be taken out to sea next day and thrown overboard, and also that she should have heavy weights tied to her feet, and her arms should be bound to her sides.

Next morning the guards fetched her, and they bound her arms to her sides, and tied heavy weights to her feet, and they took her down and placed her in a boat on the sea-shore, and they rowed her out to sea, and all along the beach stood crowds of people, shouting and jeering, and calling out, “She is a witch! she is a witch! the King has done well to have her killed.”

“Alas! alas!” cried Lucilla, “what have I done to deserve this? surely I have done no wrong to be so cruelly treated. Dear windfairies, come to my help, for in truth now is the time of my direst need, and if you desert me I am lost; but I pray you keep faith with me, as I have kept faith with you.” Then, when they had rowed the boat out a little way, the guards seized her, and threw her into the water, and the salt waves splashed over her face and through her hair; but in spite of the heavy weights on her feet she never sank, but felt as light as when she danced with the waves on the sea-shore by her home, and she knew that the windfairies held her up; and the waves rocked her gently, and drew her in towards the land, and laid her on the sand, and all the crowd yelled with rage.

When they found that Lucilla could not be drowned both the King and Queen were very angry, and said that now it was quite clear that she was a witch, and that she must be burnt, so they must take her back to prison, and arrange for her to be burnt in the market-place. So Lucilla was again taken back to her little dark cell, and she kneeled on the ground and looked up to the window, and murmured, “Thank you, dear windfairies, you have kept faith with me, as I have kept faith with you.”

Then again the guards came, and took her by the arms and led her to the market-place, and here she saw a great pile of wood made, whereon she was to be laid, and already men were busy setting fire to it. But as Lucilla and the guards came to the spot, there arose a little breeze, and it blew on to the faces of the crowd who went to see her burnt. The men who were trying to light the pile of wood, said they could not make it catch for the wind; when at last it did catch fire, the flames would not rise in the air, but were blown along the ground. Still they brought Lucilla up to the pile, and placed her upon it, and then the flames divided on each side, and were blown away from her all round, so she sat in the midst quite unhurt.

At this the people all cried out, “Now we know that she really is a witch, since she will not drown and the fire will not burn her,” and they ran to tell the King and the Queen that the dancing woman did not mind the fire, but sat in the midst of it unhurt. On hearing this the King and Queen came down to the market-place together, and saw Lucilla sitting on the pile of wood, and the flames blown away from her on all sides, and causing a great hubbub; so they told the guards to take her back to prison and keep her there, till they could arrange for her to be beheaded. And again Lucilla bent her head, and said, “Now I know, dear windfairies, that you will never desert me, and I have nothing to fear, for while I keep faith with you, you will keep faith with me.”

By now it was getting late in the day, and the King commanded that Lucilla should not be executed till next day, and that the scaffold should be erected in the market-place, on which the block should be put, so that all the crowd might see, and both he and the Queen would be there. But in order to give her one last chance that every one might see how fair they were, the King offered that if she would confess, even when she was upon the scaffold, who had taught her to dance, she should be allowed to return whence she came, and take her bag of gold with her, and therefore the bag of gold was placed on the scaffold so that all the people might see, and the bag was so large that Lucilla could scarcely lift it.

That evening Lucilla felt no fear, and she would have slept calmly in her cell, but the wind was beginning to blow in all directions, and all round she heard it roaring, and the trees were bending and breaking in the gale. When the morning came, the King and Queen said to each other, “This is the morning when they should execute the dancer, but it will be hard to get her on to the scaffold with a gale like this blowing.” However, the guards came to Lucilla’s cell, and took her out as before, and led her towards the market-place, though they had much ado to get along, for the wind blew so hard that they could scarce keep upright in it. All along the coast the little boats were being blown in to shore, and there were big ships, which had been driven in, to take refuge from the storm. But Lucilla felt no fear, only she looked up to the wind, and in her heart she said, “Now, dear windfairies, help me for the last time, and keep faith with me, as I have kept faith with you.”

Near the shore came a big ship with shining white sails, riding over the crested waves, and although all the other boats seemed troubled by the wind, and some were dismasted and others were wrecked, this boat seemed no way hurt by it, and the people who saw it called out, “What a gallant ship it was, and how brave the captain must be, who knew so well how to manage wind and water.” But when they knew that the time had come for Lucilla to be beheaded, the people did not trouble further about the boats, and in spite of the gale they flocked to the market-place, and crowded round the scaffold on which was the block.

Then the guards and Lucilla mounted the scaffold, and Lucilla began to fear that at last the windfairies had forsaken her, and she wept and held out her arms, and cried out, “Oh, dear windfairies, indeed I have kept my faith with you, surely, surely you will keep yours with me.” In spite of the terrible gale, the King and the Queen came down to the market-place, though they could scarce see or hear for the wind, though all the time the sun was shining and the sky was blue. Then the guards bid Lucilla kneel down and place her head upon the block, and the bag of gold was beside her, and they said, “This is your last chance, speak now and confess the truth to the King, and here is your gold, and you shall go.” And Lucilla answered as before, “I have spoken the truth, and there is no more that I can tell, since I have sworn never to say from whom I learnt my dancing.”

Then the executioner lifted the axe in the air, but before it fell, there came a sudden roar of wind, and the axe was swept from his hand, and the houses in the market-place tottered and fell, and high up on the hill the palace was a mass of ruins. Only Lucilla knelt upon the scaffold unhurt, for the King and the Queen and all the people were blown right and left, amidst the ruins of the houses, and no one thought of anything save how they could save themselves.

Then Lucilla lifted her head and looked out to sea, and saw the big ship coming in, and she heard the sailors cry, “Heyday, these poor folk are in a sad plight, we had better go and help them,” and they all trooped up into the market-place, and the wind troubled them no more than it had troubled their ship. But when Lucilla looked at them, the first whom she saw was her husband, and she gave a great cry, and held out her arms, and called out, “Now, dear windfairies, do I indeed know that you have kept faith with me, and saved me in my direst hour of need.”

Then she told her husband all that had happened, and showed him the bag of gold, and prayed him take her back to her little cottage and her babies by the sea; and she knew that it was the windfairies that had brought her husband to her, for he told her that whatever way they steered the ship it would only take one course, and the wind had blown it without their guidance straight to the town where she was to be killed.

So Lucilla and her husband took the bag of gold, and went back to the little cottage by the sea-shore, and her father and her babies, and the King and the Queen and all the rest of the people were left to build up their town as best they could, and Lucilla never saw nor heard of them any more, but lived happily with her husband for the rest of her life.

ONCE upon a time there lived a young girl called Kesta who was the dairy-maid at a large farm. She milked the cows and made the cheese and butter, and sometimes took them into the town to sell for her master.

On the farm worked a man named Adam. He drove in the cows for Kesta to milk and watched her milking them. As she was a comely-looking girl and did her work well, he thought she would make him a good wife; so one day he said, “Kesta, how would you like to marry me? and then we can save our money and some day buy a farm for ourselves, and I should be a farmer and you should be the farmer’s wife, and have servants to wait on you.”

“That I should like very much,” said Kesta, “but I can’t say yes, at once. To-morrow I am going to town with my cheeses, when I come back I will give you an answer.”

At night Kesta looked into her glass and said, “I wonder why Adam wishes to marry me? but as he does, most likely some better man would like to do so; it would be folly to marry him till I see if I can’t do better. I must look about me when I go to town to-morrow, and see who I can meet.”

In the morning she dressed herself with great care in her best clothes, and set out for the town with the cheeses in a basket under her arm. When she had got a little way she passed a mill, and the miller all white with flour stood in the yard directing his men. He was an oldish man, and his wife was recently dead, and Kesta thought as she drew near, it would be a better thing to marry him than to marry poor Adam, so she said, “Good-day, would you kindly let me rest a little?”

“Certainly, my girl,” said the miller, “you seem to be out of breath?”

“And well I may be,” said Kesta, “such a run as I have had. I’ve come from the farm yonder, and it was as much as I could do to get away, for the farmer’s man was very angry because I would not marry him, and of course I am too good for him, a pretty girl like me.”

“Are you really a pretty girl?” said the miller; “let me see, perhaps you are. Well, if you are too good for the farmer’s man perhaps you would suit me. How would you like to marry me, and live in the mill-house yonder?”

“I think I should like it well,” said Kesta, “but I have some business in the town, and must go there first, so I’ll stop here and tell you as I come back.” So she said good-bye, and went on her way feeling very merry.

“It would be much better to marry the miller than to marry Adam, but who knows if I may not do better than either, so I must not be in any hurry.” So she walked on, and near to the town she met a man on a white horse, and saw it was the bailiff of the great Duke at the Palace. “Who knows but that he may want a wife?” she said to herself, “I can but try.” So she sat down by the road-side and called out, “Ah me, what a thing it is to be a poor girl who has to run away from all the men she meets!”

“Why,” cried the bailiff, stopping his horse. “Why have you to run? who tries to hurt you?”

“No one tries to hurt me,” said Kesta, “but I have to run from men who want to marry me, because I am so pretty. At first it was a man at our farm, and now it is the miller, who would not let me pass his door unless I promised to come back and marry him, but I am far too good for such as he.”

“Is this really so?” cried the bailiff, who hated the miller; “did the miller really want to marry you? If you’re too good to marry him, it may be you would suit me.”

“Indeed,” said Kesta, “I think that might do well, for I should live in a nice house and have plenty of servants. But I have to go into the town on business, and you’re sure to be somewhere about here, and when I come back we will arrange it.” So she set off, leaving the bailiff chuckling at the thought of how angry the miller would be if he married Kesta.

On went Kesta in high good-humour. “Now am I indeed doing well,” said she; “how clever I was not to marry Adam before I came to town.” Presently she reached the town, and in the high street she passed the bank, and the banker himself stood in the doorway. He was fat and ugly and old, but his hands were covered with rings, and Kesta knew his pockets were full of gold. Kesta said, “It would be a fine thing to marry him, and I could hold up my head with any one. I think I’ll speak to him, as it would be folly to pass him without trying.” So she gave a loud sigh and said, “Alack a day, how hard is my lot!”

“Why, what is wrong, my pretty lass?” said the banker.

“Pretty you may well say,” answered Kesta. “Would I were not so, for thence come all my troubles.”

“And what are they?” asked the banker.

“Only wherever I go, I have no peace, for all the men want to marry me. First it is the farmer, then the miller, and lastly the duke’s bailiff, who would scarcely let me pass on the road till I had promised him; and of course it is impossible, and I am much too pretty for any of them.”

“Is this really true?” cried the banker; “if so, there must be something very superior about you. Perhaps you would be good enough for me. How would you like to be my wife, and ride in a fine carriage, and wear silk gowns all day?”

“Nay, that would be much more fitting,” cried Kesta, “and from the first I thought you would be much more suitable to be my husband than any of the others I have met; but I must go down the town first, so I will come in here on my way back.” So she went on till she came to a great square in front of the barracks where the soldiers were drilling, with their helmets and swords glittering in the sun, and at their head rode the General of the army. His voice was hoarse with shouting at his men, and he swore dreadfully, but he was covered with gold, and looked very grand. “Now supposing he has no wife,” thought Kesta, “it would be a really fine thing to marry him: I can but try.” So she waited till the soldiers were marching into the barracks, and then, when he was riding away, she went so close under the horse’s feet that he shouted to her in case she should be run over. “Alas! what a life is mine,” she cried very loud that he might hear, “hunted here and there till I don’t know where I go!”

“Why, who hunts you?” cried the General angrily; “what nonsense you talk, my good girl.”

“How dare you say I talk nonsense,” cried Kesta, “when it is as much as I can do to get through your town for the men who want me to stop and marry them!”

“And why do they want you to marry them?” asked the General.

“Because I’m so pretty, of course,” said Kesta promptly, and she took off her hat and looked up at the General.

“I don’t think you are so pretty,” he said.

“But I am,” cried Kesta angrily, “and it’s only stupid people who don’t see it. Go and ask the men in the town. First it was a man at the farm, then the miller, then the duke’s bailiff, then the banker—they all wanted to marry me, and I am much too good for any of them!”

“If this is all true,” said the General, “of course you must be exceedingly pretty, and as you say you are much too good for them, perhaps you might suit me. How would you like that?”

“That might be better,” said Kesta, “and as you wish it very much I will agree, and I hope you will try to make me a good husband; but I am obliged to go a little further on important business, and I will meet you here on my way back,” and on she went laughing to herself. “Indeed I am fortunate,” thought she; “and as they all seem willing to marry me why should I not try higher, and see what the Duke himself would say? There is nothing like being practical, and it would be downright silly not to speak to the Duke now I am here.” By this time she had come to the Duke’s palace, so she stopped a servant who was coming out and asked if he were at home, for she said, “I have special business with him.” “He is sitting by the stream in the garden, where he sits fishing all day, and you can go and speak to him if you choose,” said the servant. So Kesta went through the courtyard into the garden, and straight on to where the Duke sat beside the stream with a long rod in his hand fishing. He was dressed all in green, and seemed to be half asleep, and Kesta came quite near him before he saw her. Then she said, “Ah, pity me, your Grace, and listen to my sad story.”

“Good gracious! who are you?—don’t you know I am the Duke?” said he.

“And that is why I have come to you to ask you to protect me from all the men who pursue me,” said Kesta.

“Why do they pursue you?” asked the Duke.

“Because I am so pretty,” replied Kesta. “They all want to marry me: first the man at the farm, then the miller I met on the road, then your bailiff, then the banker, then the General of your army, and he would only let me go when I promised to go back to him.”

“The General!” said the Duke. “Is this true? does he really want to marry you?”

“Of course he does,” said Kesta; “if you doubt what I say you had better send to the town and ask.”

“Indeed,” said the Duke, “I should not have thought you so very pretty, but if what you say is true you must be. I’m not sure if it would not suit me to marry you myself; but mind, I shall be exceedingly angry if I find you have not told me the truth, and they did not want to marry you. Of course you would be delighted to marry me and be the Duchess?”

“Aye, that I should,” cried Kesta, and she grinned with delight.

Then the Duke took from his side a horn and blew it loudly. There came from the palace four pages, dressed in blue and gold, who stood in a row to receive his orders. “See,” cried the Duke, “I am going to marry this lady, who everybody thinks is very beautiful, so see that you treat her with respect; and go to the palace and bid them to prepare a feast and fitting clothes for the bride, and tell the chaplain to be ready, for I mean to marry her at once.”

“And now,” he said to Kesta, when all his pages had returned to the palace, “come and sit by me and watch me fish till all is ready.”

So Kesta sat by his side and watched him fishing with his long rod, but after a time she grew tired of being silent, and said, “What have you caught?”

“Nothing yet,” said the Duke.

“Then why do you go on?” asked she.

“Because I’m sure to catch something soon, and it’s amusing. Wouldn’t you like to hold the rod a little?”

“Yes, very much,” answered Kesta, who was afraid of offending him. So she put out her hand to take the rod, and as she did so the basket fell from her arm and the cheeses rolled out.

“What are those round balls?” asked the Duke, “and what an odd smell they have.”

“They are my cheeses,” cried Kesta; “I made them yesterday, and was taking them to sell, when——”

“Good gracious, you made them!” cried the Duke with a scream. “Then you must be a common dairy-maid, and your hands are quite rough. How terrible! And I was just going to marry you. How dare you think yourself good enough to marry me!” and he sprang to his feet in a towering passion, and seizing his horn blew it so loudly that the four pages ran up in great alarm. “Hunt her away,” cried the Duke, “she is an impostor—a common farm wench and makes cheeses. She thought herself good enough to be the Duchess!”

Away flew Kesta, with the pages after her hooting and shouting, “Down with the impertinent hussy who wanted to marry the Duke, a common dairy-maid who makes cheeses.”

On rushed Kesta till she came to the General’s house, and at his window he sat in his fine uniform. He sat waiting for her, but when he saw the pages behind her he called, “Hey-dey, what is all this fuss about?”

“It is nothing,” said Kesta. “See, I have come back to marry you as I promised.”

But here the pages shouted, “Away with the impertinent dairy-maid, who thought herself good enough to marry the Duke.”

“And wouldn’t the Duke marry her?” asked the General.

“Of course not; she is nothing but a farm wench,” cried the pages, “and she is to be chased from the town for her impertinence.”

“And so she shall,” cried the General; “she thought she was fit for me too—it is disgraceful!” and he cried to some soldiers who stood by his door, “Here, my men, help to chase this good-for-nothing hussy out of the town.”

But before he had finished Kesta was running down the street with all her might to the banker’s. At last she came to the banker’s big square house standing beside the bank, and on the steps was the banker himself in his shiny black clothes with gold rings on his hands.

“Here I am,” cried Kesta; “and let me in quickly, for I am out of breath with running.”

“Why have you hurried so?” cried the banker, and as he spoke the pages and the soldiers came round the corner, “and what is all this shouting for?”

“Nay, how should I know?” cried Kesta, running into the house.

But up came her pursuers, crying, “Away with her! down with her!”

“Who is it you are calling after?” asked the banker.

“That wench in the yellow dress who has gone into your house.”

“Why, what has she done?” he asked.