The Last Ogress of Cheshire

The mood of the kingdom was merry. From the lowly knave down below to the noble knight standing guard at the front of the castle. This merriment carried itself all the way up to the chambers of Duke Warwick Wintone lounging peacefully in bed.

But peace, as is the case, must always find cessation. Warwick's peace, on this day, would be shattered by a knock on the door.

“What is it!” barked the Duke to the wooden obstruction.

The Duke’s page squeezed his tiny little head through the door and answered, “There is a stranger here to see you, my lord.”

“Tell this stranger he can see me at the next festival, from atop the balcony.”

“But this stranger is an ogre, my lord.” 

Warwick’s back straightened in bed. An ogre had not been seen in his kingdom for four hundred years! 

Still, it was but an ogre. A lowly creature with no title to gaining an audience with a Duke.

Warwick fixed his chin as if shunning the very thought of it, “Send him away.”

“But it is not a he, sire. It is a she.”

“Whatever it wishes to be. She, it, him. Send it away.”

His young page dutifully bowed his head and disappeared behind the door to go do his master’s bidding. Warwick fell into a deep and peaceful slumber only to be awakened moments later by another knocking.

“What is it!”

The page peeped his head from behind the door again, “Sorry, sire. The ogre says she wants to tell you she knows the truth.” 

“The truth about what?”

The words struck right at the Duke’s heart.

“The Truth about Cheshire.”

Trying to hide his vexation, he said, “Let her in.”

The tiny page disappeared again only to be replaced by a massive green entity. Warwick could tell she carried the musculature of a strong human male, but it was strangely cloaked in an elegant light pink gown with billowing sleeves.

Warwick laughed to himself at this creature playing dress up, but he was also amazed at how elegantly she glided into the room, eyes lowered before ending in a perfectly executed curtsey.

“My name is Persephone, my Lord.”

“An odd name for an Ogre… A pretty name. But business have you with me? Speak,” he said the last word as one would to a dog.

There was terror in her eyes as she progressed. It was not a terror for herself, but she moved on gingerly betraying her mammoth dimensions.

“Yes, my Lord, I know the truth of the Plague of Cheshire. The story goes that many years ago, that after decades of war, your great great grandfather entered into a benevolent truce with the Ogres. That despite his best efforts, the Ogres, because of their sinful ways, were cursed by a plague that killed them all.”

“Yes, I know the tale.”

“The only problem, sire, is that it was not a plague that killed them,,my Lord.”

She lowered her head, though she towered over him, and whispered her truth, “It was a slaughter.”

Warwick challenged her, “Why would we slaughter the ogres once we made peace with them?”

“Because there was no peace. The ogres conquered you father, and they, in their mercy, made peace with him. A deal was struck, but the king thought himself too proud to make deals with ogres. So they poisoned the water in the ogre village and slaughtered the men in the night.”

“That is a marvelous story. How could you possibly know of an event that happened four hundred years ago.”

“We ogres and ogresses can live up to 500 years. I will be four hundred and thirteen within a fortnight.”

“Well, what proof have you of this fantastic tale.” 

“You have the proof, my lord. Your book of generations. It is an heirloom handed down from King to King, which no commoner or servant can dare touch. But you are no commoner.”

Warwick turned away from Persephone, only showing his back. She could see the rising and lowering of his shoulders as he breathed in and out like a ferocious beast. She felt sympathy for this creature having to come to the realization that his world was a lie.

She reached out a hand as she could touch him through the air.

“I do not blame you, my Lord,” she said gently.

The gesture was met with reproach as he turned with fire in his eyes and eyebrows raised to the sky.

“Why would you! I was not alive when this … this …” he paced around the room, trying to find the words, “tragedy took place.”

“No, sire, but I was and I watched it… But I hold no ill will to the seed of my enemy.”

“You speak very well for an ogre.”

“Ogress -- and I mean not to vex thee, my Lord, but when one writes the books and slaughters the witnesses, only one side can be told. And within that side, many lies will be hatched. About cleanliness. About language. About smell.”

Warwick looked upon this impressive creature. No, a woman. Marching into these chambers and demanding an audience with a Duke and telling his whole world was a sham. A fire born of admiration burned within him and he was ready to hear her out.

“What is it that you want?” he asked.

“Gold,” she simply responded.

This made Wintone raise a suspicious eyebrow. 

“How much?”

She showed no humility in her answer, no hesitation, “One thousand pounds.”

This caused Lord Wintone to laugh thunderously. He could hardly remember ever laughing so hard. The laugh could nearly be heard throughout the whole castle.

“Humility and grace are becoming virtues, my dear," he said, walking toward the doorway, "Outright madness is not. Away with you.”

He started to lead her out.

Persephone's voice became desperate, it quivered with sorrow, but still maintained respect, “But Lord, your ancestors slaughtered thousands!”

“And I am deeply sorry for that -- I am -- but the people who did the crime are dead and they cannot pay you. You can earn your gold like every other woman and man. By taking a place in the fields and working for it.”

“I am not doing this because I have need of gold, sire. I am doing this for you.”

“Ha! For me?”

“Yes, for you to restore the name of your family. You say you are sorry. But what nobleman promises to wed without first giving a dowry? Apologies are fine. Words are fine. But they are empty without actions.”

His hand on the door handle, he was ready to banish her from the room for good. But he needed one last question answered before he made his decision. He looked in her eyes expecting a demon but instead saw an innocent spirit. Her innocence was so salient, he wished to look away but he did end up looking deeply into her bold, green vessels to ask a final question.

“Tell me,” he said, “were you the only survivor?”

For the first time, he wounded her deeply, by forcing her to relive the acts.

“I was playing a game of Hide and Find with my mother. I hid where she would never find me. There was a cave and I hid way in the back behind a strange arrangement of rocks. I hid there for hours, but my mother never came. 

“When I arose from the cave I saw the carnage. Dead ogre bodies, swords cast through their hearts, their skulls. Blood soaking the streets of Cheshire. My tiny feet waded through that blood to find my mother. I only saw her last breaths before she told me who did it to her. 

“After that, I searched everywhere. The taverns, the caves, the houses, streets and alleyways. But once all the bodies were counted, I found myself the last Ogress of Cheshire.”

Lord Wintone was visibly moved. He put his hand on Persephone’s back to lead her out. 

“Very well, you’ll get your gold.”

He opened the door and a throng of guards were waiting, swords drawn. Warwick raised a hand. 

“Away with those things,” he said. “It seems miss Persephone says we owe her people a great debt. Please take care of her.”

Persephone felt such jubilation as she was led away. What she did not see was the signal he gave to the head watchman.

***

They took care of Persephone by ushering her to the dungeon. Even as she realized she had been betrayed, they were amazed by how little of a fight she put up as they brought her down there. Her eyes were lowered in sadness as the prison door slammed behind her. She thought to plead with them, but the deed had been done.

She would die to the guillotine in two fortnights.

****

Wintone decided to skip the public execution. As much as he hated to admit it, he did not want to look that ogress in the eye. Instead he spent the night in his quarters. Him, candle, and the book of generations. The book burned with him as it withered down to ashes. A horrible sin to his forefathers, but no one could ever know.

Mourning the death of an ancient heirloom, his heart did find room for Persephone. His head rose as there was a knock upon the door. Vexed, he called to the hallway, “Come.”

In walked the youthful page with a worried expression on his face.

“Sire -- sire -- it’s -- I -- you must -- you must at once --”

“Blasted! What is going on with you, man. Aren’t you supposed to be attending the execution?”

“But that is just it, your highness. We had to lock down the castle. We are under attack.”

“By who?”

“Not who, sire. What?”

Warwick eyes widened upon the realization. He pushed his page out the way almost causing injury. He scurried out the door, across the castle floor, and down to the dungeon below. 

Amidst the impending chaos, there sat Persephone in serene peace and with a superior smile on her face.

“You lied to me!" Warwick screamed as the Ogres had overtaken the castle. "You said you were the last one!”

“I said when all the dead bodies were counted, I was the last Ogress -- not the last Ogre. Because I also found one ogre boy who grew up to be strong and handsome.”

At this part, she leaned in.

“And over these four hundred years we had many children, sire.”

Warwick began to lose balance as the entire castle began to rumble with the sound of stomping ogres accompanied by the bloodsoaked cries of dying humans. 

The dungeon’s lone lantern fell, shattering and shrouding half of Persephone's face in darkness as she repeated her words like a devilish taunt.

“We had many, many, many children.”