“Ay, children, your father’s home,” Angelina called cheerily. “Get
yourselves clean; supper's almost ready.” She knew they didn’t hear anything
but “Fathers home."
Braderick Shakespeare
entered, as always, draped with kids, the seven of his own and those from the
local shire, who knew of his tales. They came to be transported on a journey
and then brought home again.
There were the
Montague twins, with their perpetual rivals the Capulets, and little Maggie
Thatcher, who was more like a boy than any of the others. Brad was sure she
would be a blacksmith’s apprentice, before too many years. There was that
McCartney kid, with his lute, and ever-needing a haircut, and the boy with the
funny scar, and the owl. There were the moppets and rug-rats and urchins and
that one lad who always asked for "more, please?". Never far behind,
‘special’ little Mowgli, acting like a bear. "His parents must be
related," Brad thought with amusement. But he had his own favorite, his
youngest, Vivienne. She could not be enthralled as easily as the others. In
fact she usually spent the boys story-time, playing with her imaginary friend,
Rose.
Vivienne insisted
that poor Rose had an unusual odor.
He regaled them all
at dinner with the story of "Caliburn", the druid sword. How it was
taken from Elton John, their high priest, for the rituals of the ever-present
horsemen. He told them of how the Captain of the Guard, had secretly charged
his mentor, the renowned smith, Yorick, to embed this famous sword upright in a
stone. He described the sacred rites necessary to pass to man-hood, and the subsequent
battles that man-hood required.
These were not
stories of fiction that enraptured his charges and even interested his wife.
These were true accounts of recent events, told with flair, and panache, but
true nonetheless. His work as a blacksmith's apprentice allowed much contact
with the heavy cavalry of Aurelius Ambrosius. These mounted armies of the Roman
occupation remained after the Roman withdrawal almost twenty years earlier.
Now, Ambrosius is the military leader of these scattered Celtic tribes, and not
well liked.
But the telling of
that story is for a different audience. It is Brad’s own secret aptitude to
deliver the children to another world.
He looked forward to
his most difficult task.
As the sun sank
beneath the horizon, the lads, spent from a day's rambunctiousness, drifted
euphorically to dream of knights and swords and cavalry and rituals. Boys were
easy.
He entered the lass's
room, she was having tea with Rose. Brad smiled, remembering how Angelina had
introduced Vivienne to Rose in order to cover her own lapse of wind.
If only we had given
her any other name. Brad thought.
“Ah, my beautiful little Vivienne, what tale
of love and chivalry shall I tell you tonight?” Brad had resolved to out-do
himself.
But Vivienne asked instead,
“Where did the moon come from?”
He was taken a little
off guard; it was far from the usual "princess theme" she requested
regularly. But Brad was a trooper.
“Well,...” He
started. “Long ago, the sun was a friendly giant. He gazed benevolently down
upon the fields, to help the farmers grow their crops and upon the homes to
warm the people of the Earth. Every day from sun-up to sun-set, he happily went
about his work.
“Then on a day that would change everything,
the sun saw a girl. She was just doing an ordinary task, fetching water from
the local well. But the sun was mesmerized. It was her walk, as if there were a
dance of joy, trying to escape. Or maybe, it was the lilting song she sang to
herself, calling to the heavens with a chorus of angels and falling back to
land gracefully as if perfection were drawing water from a well.
“She was the most
beautiful girl that had ever lived and the sun fell in love with her
immediately.” Brad was rolling.
But Vivienne
interrupted him. “Father, what does that have to do with the moon?” she asked.
‘Oh, yeah,’ he thought, irritated by the intrusion. It was hard to keep a
spontaneous flow.
“Well, darling, when
the sun sent his envoy, Cyranno, to win the favor of the girl's parents, and
ask her hand in marriage, the father refused."
“Yet, the sun was not
going to give up,” Brad continued
“He sent gifts, of
bounty, by the cart-load, and the poetry of a tree by the forest. He sent
flowers, growing at the girls every step, and their fragrances wafting upon all
the winds of the world.”
“Why, then, did the
father refuse?” she asked. Brad knew she was hooked.
“He feared that the
girl would be burned up.” An audible gasp escaped little Vivienne’s lips as she
realized the girl's peril.
“So he had no choice,
but to refuse his daughter to the sun. Still, the sun had to have her. And he
was getting angry.
“Approaching their
home menacingly, he burnt their roof and their fields. The father still
refused. He evaporated their stream, and their cattle died. The father still
refused. It was not until the sun stopped the rain, that the father made a
plan.
"He forged a
great weapon, the sword Excalibur. The steel, a shining monolith, sang to the
eyes of its own violence. A brilliant brace of ‘Chimera’ seemed to breathe the
blade into existence, each time it was unsheathed."
“With it, the
desperate father hoped to kill the sun and save his daughter.”
“Did the father have
a name?” she asked, entranced by his bravery.
“Yes, dear, his name
was Benny Hill." The deepest somber tone reverberated through these words.
“The day of battle
arose, and the two faced each other on the fields of Vortigern,” Vie's eyes lit
at the name. It was a local knoll, familiar to every child, where the winter
festival was held every year, celebrating the solstice with presents and
decorated trees.
“That’s in the next county, Father.”
"Yes, dear, it
was very close to here," he resumed. “The sun heated the field and
scorched this valiant father, wounding him deeply. But the sword repelled the
worst of it. The father swung mightily in return, and struck the sun. This made
the giant retreat, feigning a mortality that was just not true. But the father,
sensing victory, hurled the sword at the sun with all his power.” Brad paused for
the effect… It came quickly.
“What happened?” her
voice was almost frantic.
He smiled at her.
“Aren’t you sleepy, child? We can finish
this tomorrow.”
She could barely
contain her excitement. “What about the sun?” her little feet braced subconsciously
for a leap.
“First the sword,
Vie. Where was I? Ahh yes, flying through the air.
“This courageous
father hurled ’Excalibur’ at the fleeing giant, piercing his heart and plunging
through to the other side. It landed business end down, stuck tight, a third of
the way to its hilt. Forever, this skein would be known as ‘The Sword in the
Stone’.”
“What happened? Did
the sun die?”
“No, my dear.” He
settled in again.
“The sun gazed down
for a moment knowing the effect it would have, as this wounded father realized
slowly, that his sword could not hurt the sun.
"The father
died.
“The girl ran, and
the sun reached out to grab her, but missed. She ran across all the land, until
she found a hiding place.
“The sun began to
search. But, he could not find her. He searched every inch of the Earth, and
every inch of the seas. He searched the hills and valleys. He searched into the
future, and into the past. But still he could not find her.
“She was hiding in
the nighttime.
“Did the girl have a
name?” An effect of Brad's vibrant style was to enlist the empathy of his
listeners. Apparently, girls were easy too.
“Of course, my dear,
her name was Juliette. Each morning, the birds would warn her. “Hark, what
light upon yon horizon breaks, it is the East, Juliette, and here comes the
sun.” She would make her escape deeper into the night.
"But, the sun
had a friend in the night sky. A friend, who had told him of the most beautiful
girl in the world, told the sun about her smile that lit the darkness. And her
hair that sat perfectly around a countenance of inspired divinity." The
talented storyteller was beginning to formulate the crescendo of this libretto.
“Please Father, …?” she stopped at his glare.
“ Methinks thou doth
protest too much,” Brad felt a little pity for the boy that would eventually
end up with her.
“The sun, Vie,...
still wanted the girl. So he devised a way to search for her in the night. He
divided his own light. He sent part of his own brilliance into the night sky to
look for her.”
“You mean the moon is
a lesser sun?” A fair question.
“Yes, but not to feed
the field. Not to warm the habits of men. But to find the most beautiful girl
in the world. “ …and to prove his story.
“You can see the moon
turn its gaze from the left to the right and back again, searching, always
searching. It takes a month to cover the whole Earth."
“What happened to the
girl? Did the moon get her? Did the…”
Brad lifted a hand to
quiet the questions.
“Juliette was
despairing.” He was sure a sadness would accentuate this tale.
“Where could she hide
that neither the sun, nor moon could find her?” he intoned, a morbid sense of
foreboding in his voice.
"It was a time,
before the wizard, Merlin, whispered on the winds, that she could hide in the
lake.”
“You mean Merlin from
London-town beyond the Sherwood forests, Father?” Another familiar name, Merlin
and his life-partner were famous for their trained white tigers.
“Yes, dear,"
Brad was coming to his ending.
“The girl departed to
the lake immediately, but was met by Merlin, at the stone that held her
father's sword." Brad knew any other man would represent danger to a young
woman alone. But it was common knowledge that with Merlin, this was not the
case.
“He touched her as a
spirit and bid her, “Fret not."
“This sword shall
call a hero to win the land under one rule,” he prophesied, “and when he is
done with the conquering of this world, he shall return the sword to you, that
you may have peace.”
“…and he vanished
into mist. Juliette blessed her father, and thanked the gods for her eventual
peace and entered the lake, not to return until her champion comes.”
“Okay, then. There is
a lady in the lake,” The precocious girl that she was, Brad’s daughter was a
little confused. “Where is this sword?”
“That is something
you’ll have to wait for.” He knew that the sword, Caliburn, would be complete
in a fortnight. Vivienne's first sight of it would inspire tonight's magic to
greater heights.
“But now,” he
continued, “the sun cannot scorch the Earth. He can only 'pinken' the unwary.
His strength is forever divided, searching for the girl that cannot be found.
We celebrate his weakness in December.” She smiled at the thought of the
presents and treats and the festival to come.
Brad kissed his girl
and stood.
Turning toward the
door, he saw all of the kids, sitting and lying in various states of alertness,
strewn across the entrance way and the hall beyond.
He was already
crafting another story.
Perhaps
a piper.
