Make My Own Tale

Make My Own Tale

Sitting up here, breeze through my now short hair is a good thing. Lightheaded sensations, if I shake my head no super-long tresses flop about, no weight making my neck sore. I sense again whisk of his sword pass my ear, rugged tugs and release of strands being severed from my head, each lock a leaden weigh falling away.

Who would regard a haircut as bliss? Short hair more like me, fits my stereotype. I should be glad, except so many negatives push in. Firstly, his saddle pommel pinches against my thigh. I’m sure there is going to be a huge bruise later. His face, unshaven, stubble prickles into my neck; maybe making a rash. His breath against my ear, last night’s wine, some kind of fermented cereals, not sure, mix of digestive reactions not familiar. Distasteful breath mingled with disgusting mannish sweat. Leather of his vest scratches my neck. An animal killed to construct this garment. What other creatures are tormented, sliced or beaten, of tortured by with his weapons. I can turn my head and see his face, strong jaw line, regal nose, concentrating on steering this horse. Entire focus on road ahead, unless he glances in my direction. Oh God, don’t let him see me looking! A smile spreads, as if he’s scored first prize in a competition of marksmanship. Coupled with slightly sinister elements, tones of lechery, maybe.

His arm reaches around, with white knuckle grip on reins. Untrimmed horse mane flicks on my elbow. Horse hair uncut, when he remarked my new look was, ‘wonderfully neat.’

I wonder why I sit here and not behind, gripping his waist, face to the back of his neck, legs comfortable across this beast’s flanks. My legs spread enjoying saddle sensations.

As we mounted this animal, his horse tried to bite me.

‘Only testing you,’ he said.

But I could see aggression flash, ears back, stained teeth ready to grab my arm. Easier to recognize in an animal. His mount, not only keen to lash out but also issuing a wet snort, toe breaking stomp as well as twisting its back walking in a circle making it difficult to climb into the saddle. Joggling on the spot, as if to say, you are not putting her up here.

He swore, don’t even want to repeat his crude words. And punched his horse’s nose. Always thought a nag’s, even a dog’s and pig’s muzzle as super sensitive. I must look concerned, because he said, ‘I expect obedience from a beast of burden.’

At the time, I thought why name a helpful animal with such a demeaning moniker. Couldn’t help feeling I just got labelled as such.

Now trees flick past, as we transition uncleared lands. Before long, I know we will reach treeless hills, dry stone fences; a place I like to call Bad Lands. Gone will be fresh air born of native forests. Where is he taking me?

‘Can we stop for a minute?’

He appears not to hear, except for a flicker of recognition as he grinds his teeth.

‘I’m not too comfortable, can we take a short break? What is the big hurry?’ I shout above clumping hooves, divots of road mud launched almost to our shoulders.

‘A gallop is a good thing for the steed.’

I’d believe if not for his spurs gouging, whipped reins and squeezing thighs pushing his mount faster. As if to hurry me to a place I cannot foresee.

‘Someone might be following.’ He says, without looking behind us.

‘But who?’

I am sure my older tower occupant, Lilly Crone would not be chasing us, doubt if she is even risen. No need, as I am responsible for early morning tasks, releasing sheep, goats, cows and chickens. Besides, her plodding mule would be no match for this prancing, racing equine monster. I begin to shake my head and tap on his hands, ‘at least slow down.’

Galloping away from my caring for an aged tower resident, makes me nauseous. Before this I didn’t live in a building festered with falling apart masonry, molded walls and tumble-down not cared-for fire sides, many spoke of Lilly’s tower in such words. As a young woman she fashioned bricks and built steep, straight walls herself. To the best of my ability I filled a role of looking after this still strong mentor; blessed, wrinkled old woman, Lilly Crone, who shared upkeep of our lofty tower deep in thick woodlands. A companionable role he ripped away as if I were an errant weed.

More curses.

Below us the steed, settles into a pained gait, at least not as fast as before. A rasping coughed breath now keeping tune with semi-stumbling.

‘Lazy piece of crow-bait, picked up a thorn or rock in his hoof, no doubt.’ He says.

I’d heard nearer to villages thorns took on more vengeance on mankind and under saddle transport. Regardless we do slow to a walk.

‘At least not lame.’ I try to accentuate positives and gaze around, noticing some familiar waterways. ‘How about a break at New Brook, down that gully, maybe a few mouthfuls of sweet grasses and draught of cool water might ease the beast’s pain?’

While he does not acknowledge my suggestion, the animal’s head is turned toward a gully sprinkled with crisp early morning mists, sunbeams breaking through in a way never possible where crowded village buildings pour forth daily cooking fumes. And chill winds blow loose soil across overused field.

On rare occasions Lilly and I needed to restock of some essential beyond the range of our self-sufficiency, (last time a broken plow blade) we visited his world. Along a lake side many buildings glinted. From afar seeming to rise out of tripping water edges, but get closer and you can see fortifications separating construction from waves. Wooden barriers blocked off views, scaffolding surrounded bare foundations and skeletons of what used to be storm proof houses. Heavily populated by fishing boats, merchants bringing crops and goods, even if meager, to markets, wandering minstrels and soldiers charged with protecting citizens, from what I’m not sure.

Strangely while many walked beside the lake, no one swam in jewel blue waters. I thought how nice to dip, climbing out with refreshed zinging skin. Parade around a little, check out other women. When I got close enough, I understood why. Possible to see an oily slick and smelt tones of rotting weed and burnt pine resin. The lake now converted into an evil monster by these people. Official signs said, No Swimming! By order of the Prince. Local storm water and grey, or brown wastes ran down low hills through blackened channels. Dish washing, toilet waste tumbling mixing with fish market run-off. Such a dreadful smell, my throat burnt, eyes watered.

This lake shone deep, blue, huge, no longer precious and entirely ignored health wise. As if rulers were blind to their own poison. Land slopped gradually into water, and boats bobbed on moorings, a water mark visible black-green at a point below bleached grey from wind and pushing beyond shelter making out to salty sea, searching further and further for fish killed by toxic lake water. Ocean; a vast expanse I am yet to contemplate. If as taken for granted as this lake, not sure I want to behold such a sight.

Surely if he was a benevolent prince he would try to fix problems affecting a lake such an important part of his world. As I look up at his chin, see his watery eyes, doubt seeps even stronger.

‘Well, Rapanui, I suppose we can spare a few minutes respite.’

‘That’s not my name, it’s Rapunzel.’

‘Too much of a mouthful for regal titles, I shall call you Rapanui, you will become Princess Rapanui, nice regal ring to it, don’t you think. Court talk will be of your native heritage rather than tresses of incredible length.’

‘You said my hair needed shortening, out of neatness. I cannot instantly re-grow tresses, but I’d rather keep my own name.’

Still possible to re-live his sharp sword slicing through my locks, close to pale neck flesh. At the time I didn’t get asked for an opinion, all too quick to react. Carried this crowning glory about so long, I’d admit a change felt like a good thing, even such a major amputation. For neatness, why then does his horse bear untrimmed mane and tail? I am smart enough to figure removal of my hair has more to do with limiting repetition of, let down your hair, Rapunzel. Escape methods. But I’ll insist he will not clip, if only by one letter, my name is, always will be Rapunzel. Lost trademark locks, but will not agree to a new name.

He does not take kindly to my assertions, but I am hot, sore, and have to admit slightly angry. Never spoken to a Prince like this before. Nor anyone for that matter.

‘I’d like to get down.’

‘Out of my arms?’

‘Yes. At least to take a few steps, loosen up a little. You mind?’

‘Actually, I do a little, but if you need.’

I am permitted to slide off the saddle, still unsure about why I sit sideways, instead of astride in the same manner as him.

Dewy grass dampens my shoes. Bottom of skirts drag slightly, but I enjoy earthly caresses. Much nicer than growing heat, horse sweat and saddle friction building up under my butt. This heaving discomfort leads me to say, ‘I am not sure being with you is a positive relationship.’

‘Why ever not?’

‘Well you have taken me away from caring for the aged. Stolen from a kind mentor. Given me a ceremonial haircut, thus removing my trade mark, mega-long tresses, plus I am beginning to feel uncomfortable about how you treat your steed.’

As if aware I have championed its cause his mount tosses untrimmed mane, clicks the bit in his teeth. My abductor, decides to dismount. Boots, dirty with trampled moss. Up close, his height intimidates. I detect again, fermented grain scents, this time mixed with horse sweat, abrasion of trousers on saddle leather. Noticing a gap, to one side of his teeth, as if two bottom teeth were knocked out in a fight.

He sucks air through this gap, ‘thought you were happy to run away. Released of responsibility, broken free of your entrapment.’

‘You are misrepresenting my situation. We were cohabiting.’

‘Two women, of dispirit ages, living together, a little weird? Rumor has it, you were imprisoned. Now you are free to be part of a royal court.’

 ‘Again, I think you paid too much attention to hearsay. I do not imagine trapped into royal court conventions as liberty. As an adult, I am able to decide for myself. Taking me amounts to abduction.’

He fishes into a small, fob type pocket, pulls out a thick gold chain, antique, Gothic almost. ‘This and riches beyond measure await you.’

Sparkling trinkets ring empty, if I have to face subtle or blatant cruelty, and live in a kingdom being poisoned. Evil waters, smoke filled air and land croaking with overuse. As well as be constrained by gender conventions. I begin to look around, figure out which way I’ll go. Catching eye contact with his steed evoking compassion. You go girl! I’d flee too, given an open paddock gate.

His face red in anger and embarrassment, with a ton of authoritative body language he says, ‘your knowledge of the wider world is limited. Do you even know which way to town?’

He doesn’t understand why I might not journey towards villages and fetid lake shores.

‘Your country is falling victim to greed, and not just in amassing wealth, do you even see how the earth hates your attempts at dominance? In your opulent castle fumes of dead water, scared lands tumbling in around silk stocking ankles. You misjudge alternatives, especially in lifestyles and the elderly, especially when it comes to advice about working with the land and nature, there is too much wrong. I prefer other pathways based on mutual respect and regard for natural cycles. There is no reason I cannot make a life among my own kind.’

‘Where will you go?’

My heart pounds, heat rises up my neck. ‘Really isn’t your concern.’

His lips part in a grin, reaches out for my shoulder, as if to chastise an errant puppy. ‘I’d worry about you finding your way back – untold dangers are out there.’ As if to further warn his sword totting hand is sweeping across familiar trees, harmless brooks and smooth rocks.

‘Not as many as going with you.’

‘What is back there for you?’

‘What did you do to Lilly Crone?’

‘Merely stole away her keeper, or should I call you captive. So what guarantee do you have she will take you back?’

Perhaps his truest words. Regardless I’d rather be stolen goods refusing to accompany this pushy thief?

‘If not, I shall stay nearby. Never know I might, quite by chance, be the one to wake Sleeping Beauty with a kiss. Not like Prince Charming taking advantage of a slumbering woman.

Trade hair stories with Goldilocks, join Snow White’s commune. Or find a community of like-minded women, strong, courageous sisters who offer homemade spells, soups, hugs and guidance. Or my future path may even intersect with woodsman and a now long-legged lovely Little Red Riding Hood. I am sure this family wouldn’t believe in clear felling old growth forests.’

‘You will live out your time alone. One day I will come back for you, before you are tormented by other wanderers in these woods.’

His licks lips, a predator salivating. I can no longer abide his closeness.

‘I will take that as a warning of possibility necessary to protect myself from.’

An expression, passes over his features, twisted as if he desires possession, unfamiliar with rejection, disobedience, or any other title my rebuttal takes.

‘You do not have any idea how I will protect myself, of what spells, charms, fortifications I might install. Try your best, but beware. About time you rid your mind of thinking women like me, need men like you. I will not enter into a relationship based on taking something by force, not respecting beasts or nature, and rife with potential cruelty.’

With those words, and whinnies echoing, I strode away and never looked back.