Beauty and a Beast

Once upon a time there were two kingdoms – or rather, a kingdom and a queendom – separated by a long river, called the Ibailuzea. Collectively, they despised each other with a vengeance and had been at war for centuries.

For his part, King Zinikoa was quite happy that the war should continue indefinitely as it kept the peasant population down. There was nothing worse, in his mind, than to have to worry about the welfare of his subjects, so the fewer the better, as far as he was concerned … as long as enough remained to be called up to the army when needed – to fend off any incursions from his neighbour – and to tend the fields, which included vast vineyards that were the envy of the continent.

He was quite partial to a drop of plonk, was Zinikoa, but that’s not all. He was also a great fan of pheasant, boar, venison – all those medieval-type delicacies. A diet of meat and wine meant that he wasn’t the healthiest of kings, but as ‘wellness’ wasn’t yet a thing, he neither practised it nor worried too much about it, except when his gout played up. At those times, he’d have a few innocent peasants executed, which didn’t cure him of the ailment but did improve his mood.

On the other side of the Ibailuzea, the good Queen Erreginaona, who hated her neighbours like the plague, would have been happy for the war to continue too were it not for a worrying development: the plague. It had crept in from the east and was decimating her subjects in the outlying regions. Unlike Zinikoa, Erreginaona loved her people, and every one that fell to the pestilence was like an arrow to her heart.

Nowhere was safe … except to the west of the Ibailuzea, which provided a natural barrier against the spread of the disease. If the Queen could lead her people over the river to safety… but the centuries-long war of attrition showed no signs of being won by either side. How then to bring about this desired outcome?

As luck would have it, it was King Zinikoa himself who came up with the solution. In a moment of unusual clarity, he realised that he was getting on and that there was a risk he would leave this world and his country without an heir. Now, not only was Zinikoa a cruel boor, but he was also a snob. There were local noblewomen he could have teamed up with, but no – only royalty would do for him. And where was the nearest royalty to be had?

When he told his advisors of his plan, they advised him fervently against the move; the countries were at war, for Jainkoa’s sake! And they warned him of the potential treachery should he invite the Queen into his intimate orbit. It’s hard to fathom why the King kept advisors really, because he didn’t take a blind bit of notice and ordered them to arrange a visit from the Queen forthwith.

Apart from being a boor and a snob, though, Zinikoa was exceptionally fussy and wouldn’t wed and bed just any queen – she had to be ravishing. They’d never met, so the King ordered a poet to travel with the advisors and report back on Queen Erreginaona’s beauty … or lack of it.

A week or so later, they returned. The advisors confirmed the Queen’s provisional agreement to a meeting, while the poet produced a parchment on which he’d scribbled a few words.

“Is that all?” the King said, eyeing the scratchy letters.

“Pray listen, Your Highness,” the poet said, and proceeded to recite. (N.B. much of the beauty of the poem is sadly lost in the translation).

Her hair, a field of golden wheat in sunshine

Her eyes, the heavens’ brightest stars

Her mouth, the promise of such worldly delights

And her bosom … oh, her bosom.



For the King, the last line was the clincher as it was his favourite part of a woman’s body; as well as being a boor, a snob and fussy, Zinikoa was a crude, archetypal chauvinist. It would be his downfall.

On the day of the visit, the King had his personal guard put on full alert; the Queen would be travelling with her own guard, and they needed to be disarmed before they set foot in the court. On top of that, his advisors had convinced him to search the Queen herself, for who knew what deadly weapons she might carry? The King had an idea and couldn’t wait to see them, but in a rare show of decorum, tasked a couple of noblewomen to do the pat-down.

Finally, it was time, and amid a fulsome fanfare from the in-house buglers, the Queen entered the court. The King was taken aback by her beauty; he made a mental note to berate the poet for not doing her justice. There were a number of ceremonial protocols to go through – the advisors wanting to take centre stage for a while – but the King soon tired of it all and stood up from his throne.

“Leave us!” he bellowed.

The court emptied in a trice, leaving King and Queen alone.

“Well,” the King said. He was trying with all his might to keep eye contact with Queen Erreginaona, but his gaze kept slipping. She noticed.

“Good sir, is there something you find of interest in my person?”

In addition to being a boor, a snob, fussy, and a crude, archetypal chauvinist, the King was hopeless with women. Such forthrightness had him on the back foot straight away.

“I … you … they …” he said, trying out pronouns to see which might best fit what he wanted to say. In the end, he opted for ‘I’.

“I … was admiring your locket,” he lied, referring to the ruby-encrusted gold heart nestling in her ample cleavage.

“It was my grandmother’s,” the Queen said, lifting the pendant out of its soft bed and twiddling it seductively in her fingers. The King swallowed drily.

“How very interesting,” he said, pulling the collar away from his neck with a sweaty finger.

“I must say that I am rather surprised,” the Queen said through a gentle smile.

“How so?” the King rasped. His gaze had shifted to one of the loopholes in the wall, through which he espied the clouds scudding by.

“Your kingdom is renowned for its wine, yet here I am, a full quarter hour in your court, and not the faintest sign of an invitation to imbibe of that very nectar.”

“Of course!” the King exclaimed, relieved to be able to focus on something else. He gestured towards a table next to the wall, replete with pheasant, boar, venison, and a flagon of wine. He made to move there but the Queen stopped him.

“Please, sir. Allow me. In my country, it is the woman that does this kind of task.”

“Very well,” the King said, and sank back in his throne. Besides being a boor, a snob, fussy, a crude, archetypal chauvinist and hopeless with women, he was chronically lazy.

He watched the Queen glide to the table. What a magnificent woman she is, he thought to himself. And so acquiescent. How happy I will be!

Happy he would have been if he’d paid more attention to his advisors and had told the noblewomen to search the Queen more thoroughly. For in her grandmother’s locket, which she’d bought the week before from a shop near her castle, was enough dried hemlock to kill a herd of wild horses.

She brought two goblets from the table and handed one to the King, twiddling her locket all the while to divert the King from the danger.

“To our health and happiness!” the King said, raising his goblet and once again looking beyond the locket to take in what really interested him.

“Depends what you mean by ‘our’,” the Queen said, and knocked back her wine in one. Not to be outdone at drinking by a mere woman, the king followed suit, smacked his lips at the strange taste, and frowned.

“What do you mean by–?” he said and crumpled to the floor.

One might expect chaos to have reigned from that moment on, but outside the court, the Queen’s guard had disarmed the King’s (who hadn’t been paid for ages and were sorely de-motivated), arrested the advisors, and stood sentry over the main door.

The Queen – who was essentially a good queen, we must remember – was very lenient with the King’s faithful followers, of whom there were few, in fact; years of neglect and mistreatment had engendered widespread hatred of the man. She drew up an edict, proclaiming equal rights for the Kingdom’s citizens and her own subjects, who she promptly had brought over the River Ibailuzea to settle – after a suitable period of quarantine for the safety of all.

Without war, with a monarch who cared, hatred between the people of the two countries soon dissipated, and the Kingdom, now Queendom, flourished.

The Queen herself eventually met, fell in love with, and married a local nobleman who was interested in all of her and her mind, not just the top bit. They had five lovely children and lived – naturally – happily ever after.