When the sunset appeared, he disappeared a little earlier that night, pretending to feel a little unwell he took refuge in his turret. Then he had all the time to think about where to go the following day. His illness was worse the next day and he told the knight how much he needed to go to town, for there were medicines that could cure him. The cynical knight agreed without any hesitation, for there was a sort of tension between them ; they didn’t share the same views about women roles. Dumiel left the castle again, the next plan already shining in his mind. He had had studied beforehand how far one could see into the little town, from the ramparts of the castle, and which houses and streets were in sight.
Once he arrived in the village he asked those villagers if they knew where the coach went. He hardly found somebody who knew, for it had occurred early in the morning, at last the master of the refuge that had welcomed him long ago provided him with an answer. It was sent to a little farm set in the middle of the woods a few kilometres away from the village. This farm was said to be found by no man who didn’t know the territory and even for those who knew it, they ought to have great relationships to find it. The minstrel asked for advice to find it, saying that he needed to divert the lady and that the Wolf had sent him.
With all the information given he hid behind the house, taking care to be out of the castle’s sight, and tore his clothes into pieces. He wanted to look like a beggar, and therefore he already was on the right way : he hadn’t been fed at his ease in the castle since the Wolf had taken over control. When he left the village in the directed way he wondered whether his lady would still recognise him. Well, he didn’t really worry about it, could be it was a sign of his former knight’s honour, he always kept pride and faith in himself-developed, strategic plans. And those always made him succeed… At the castle, there was no worry about the minstrel’s absence, for the Wolf held power.
As opposed to the minstrel, the ladies who lodged at the castle felt very close to him, and they might also had had some feelings for him only one lady in the castle had tasted, they worried about his absence. But the Wolf had a different philosophy about women, these had no rights and had to bend to the knight’s orders : obey, that’s all. He certainly felt happy to feel like a sovereign, and even the remaining farmers – those too old to fight - experienced his “ joy of governing “ : taxes were raised, controls were more frequent, but Dumiel knew how to avoid each of them.
The joy that had been so present in the minstrel-beggar’s heart when he left the village quickly turned into contempt. He felt angry against the master of the refuge : “ a few kilometres “ he had told him, but what he had forgotten to say was that there was a mountain in between, so that it would take much more efforts. Unfortunately Dumiel only realised it when he saw that the road grew more and more steep, already far away from the village. He had taken nothing but his torn clothes, no food at all. “ If it goes on mounting like that and that far, I’ll end up a real beggar and that would be no lie “ thought the poor Dumiel, while climbing towards the woods. Quite glad that it was end of September, still it was pretty warm and he would perhaps not have to face the rain, not the snow for sure. After a while the way disappeared, he had to walk straight ahead through the forest and take care not to circle.
When the night moved on, he lay down under a tree. Even if the night grew colder and colder he had so sweet and warm memories to remind him of the night he had spent with the countess, that he could sleep without trouble. As the morning drew on his stomach let him know how long it had been since he last ate a meal, and his skin showed him that even if he was good in the heart his body had frozen up during the night. He only had strength enough to get a handful of hazelnuts laying next to him. Like an animal he went on climbing, tucked, not having enough strength to walk afoot like a human. That was the first change, he would sure look like a beggar when he’d arrive at the farm !
The farm. Will there also be some guards, it would be hard to enter it, but were there only farmers, then he could manage to make them feel pity for him. His ambition was to cross the forest, or at least reach the farm during the day.
In the afternoon he arrived at the top of the mountain which separated the valley where the castle was from another valley, made only of woods but for that little farm. The landscape was beautiful, the leaves started getting coloured, it was the beginning of autumn. It looked merely beautiful, but the farm, the farm was drowned in beauty ! For the colours hid the colour of the roof. Finally he climbed up a tree and saw, on the other side of the valley, a free parcel, and, three houses built close one to another in the corner. “ That it must be ! But… that far ! “ Discouraged the beggar-like Dumiel went on walking. This side of the mountain seemed faster but not necessarily easier : he felt his toes aching whereas at climbing the knees were aching. He had a few geographical landmarks : “ get down the mountain and reach the river, follow the river until I get to the farm “.
Once he had passed the mountain and came on flat ground again it was already past three o’clock, he kept walking but already searched for other food but acorns and a better place for refuge. Unfortunately he could find nothing better than acorns, had he brought a weapon along he could have tried to kill some little animal but he had no and needed to eat something. At six, already, he lay asleep. He was determined to reach the farm the following day. His hunger awoke him, very early, and he managed to capture a little bird, only with hands ! That was great pleasure for him, it had been so long since he had last eaten meat. After his improvised breakfast he went back on his way, there he saw the wildlife in action and regretted again not to possess a weapon, had he a knife could he kill one of these. Instead of killing them, he had to hide and observe.
At last, he came up on the river and first dipped his head in the cold water and drank at his ease. Following his self-made plan he followed the river in the right direction. In the late afternoon he saw the farm, far behind the field which bordered the river. Crossing was easy then because there was high grass at the border of the river, and the latter wasn’t deep. He crossed it in big steps, then he crept along the field, but inside the forest, until he reached the set of three houses. One of them was a cottage, and the two others were connected by a sort of aisle. The buildings rather gave him the impression they were wealthy farmers, still, appearances can betray. As he ran from tree to tree, he saw a woman who was going to the river, a basket in her arms, on the other side of the field ( he was on the left ). He believed her a servant. On the riverside was a little shelter and a boat was attached to one of its pillars.
Slowly, he approached the house and, walking with a limp, knocked at the door. No sooner had he knocked than an old farmer appeared – “ Don’t want nothin’, givin’ nothin’ “ the latter told him when he realised it was a beggar he was talking with. He was just about to close the door again when the beggar fell on his knees and announced “ Dear friend, I asking for pardon, I had a hard time. I’ve been walking and walking, aching not eating, gimme refuge and God’ll treat you right “. Quite amazed at hearing such a plead, the farmer pushed open the wooden door and replied : “ Well, you ain’t lost your tongue, come in I said ! “
Glad inside himself, the beggar entered and stood there, mouth open and staring eyes, amazed at the shape the farm had inside. The inside wasn’t at all like a farm, there were jewels… it looked as though it was a castle. The man led him to the principal room where a fire was lit. “ Sit here and tell us your story “ ordered the farmer, who looked much more like a sovereign. Dumiel wasn’t prepared for talking therefore he had to improvise : he went on lying and lying all the more. He knew he didn’t have to tell anybody the truth, especially not to someone who appeared so strange to him and whom he didn’t know. He somehow managed to turn around the situation and started requiring about them, he wanted to know more about the “ farm “, its inhabitants, the surroundings.
The man told him he had once been a farmer, until he discovered the “ commercial thing “, as he called it. It helped him to sell his land for a lot of precious things, mainly material things, but also money. He had only kept one field and that was enough for his wife and himself, and, “ our daughter “ he added after a laps of time. The way Challant told him these facts appeared quite strange to Dumiel but, he thought that it might be the kind of French farmers and didn’t worry, even if this pause before talking about his daughter seemed really strange. Is a child not the most pretty jewel parents could achieve ?
After a little while his wife came in. Just like him, she did not really look like a poor farmer, and as they started talking he also realised that her taste and thoughts were much more those of a duchess. The beggar told them a tale about a wonderful, righteous and truthful knight who had been humiliated by royal service. The knight had then decided to fight for himself, serve his own justice but somehow failed, not was it the lack of strength that brought about the failure – no, never indeed – but robbers stole his horse and armour while he was at the river. “ And then I became a beggar against my own will, you see “ . Challant, husband and wife, lay entwined and totally involved by the tale, the lie ! True, Dumiel had used his great teller talent to seduce them and took care not to use too supernatural factors. Anyway, Dumiel’s lie had a great impact : they believed in what he had told them and considered him their momentary guest. Challant’s wife led him to his room and provided him with new clothes, once again not the least resembling to those of a farmer.
When Andree had left the room, Dumiel remained a few more minutes in his room, he looked very anxious. He couldn’t help wondering about what they had told him, he couldn’t accept the truth as it was. At last, he started wondering about himself – was his plan totally fake ? - ; about the people of the Village – was the master of the refuge a betrayer ? Did he recognise him and therefore tell him the wrong way ? – why should he ?
When they joined again, for supper, they were only three. “ Is your daughter not hungry ? “ asked Dumiel – “ Our ?… oh, she’s terribly ill ! “ – answered Challant’s wife, hesitating a bit at first, then she told her husband to look after their “ daughter “. Dumiel asked whether he could see her but both agreed it was too early, her illness was still too severe. This event mattered much to Dumiel. The whole night he thought about it, analysed each word, every intonation, but finally couldn’t get to another conclusion but uncertainty.
The next morning, he could see a young lady sitting at the kitchen table, it was their daughter. She looked as though she had almost the age of her mother, perhaps it wasn’t their daughter. Dumiel entered and then heard her sobbing. He came to her, put his hand on her shoulder, and only then his much too present doubt reached the truth : the countess was standing in front of him and all the rest were lies. No sooner had they found each other than her tears of pain became tears of joy. Anyway, they could no longer stay together, she gave him a short kiss and told him to join her later on for they would soon see each other again, and then left him on his own. For they could see each other, but where, that she did not say. The answer seemed simple enough : they would see each other in the house, for she was not allowed to leave it.
That’s where they eventually met, but they didn’t really find an occasion where they could openly speak together, because of the somehow small living space, where everyone could hear another. Anyway, they played the game of lying with the “ farmers “ and those kept considering Dumiel’s explanations as true. How else could he do ? He intended to stay as long as possible with his lady in the little farm where they were well-fed, and whose owners ignored his identity.
That was great, if only there hadn’t been gossip in town which even reached the castle, in the other valley. Dumiel had absolutely forgotten what he had told the owner of the refuge when he had left the castle. And, unfortunately, he who’s concerned is the last to be informed. The ladies in the castle did care so much about the minstrel’s absence, they spoiled their whole days not knowing what to do. The upshot was that they bothered the Wolf continuously requiring about the minstrel’s health and when the latter would return to the castle. The knight wouldn’t have done anything for the minstrel, but he remembered, though, that the count had told him to satisfy his dear ladies… One of his men was sent to town in order to get some information. He soon came back, riding up the hill, and announced the Wolf what people said in the village : “ He had been sent to the lady to divert her… those people said that you ordered him to do so “. Amazed at hearing this lie, the momentary leader of the castle commanded one of his knights to leave the castle, along with other guards, and to bring the blackguard back to the castle. “ Alive or dead ! I want him alive or dead ! “ he yelled in his fury. Those left on the dot, their horses ran the night through in order to arrive at the farm the next morning.
At the farm, usual life went on. The Challants had realised that both their guest and the countess enjoyed to spend some time together and, absorbed in their own ignorance, they let them be together. This way Dumiel could tell the countess that this situation wasn’t the best they could wish, but as a momentary break it would do. Of course he did not know about the danger that was approaching. Anyway, he already had an idea in mind – “ Do you see that little boat on the river, at the far end of the field ? This would be our next escape. I don’t know exactly where the river goes, but I know it’s strong enough to lead us far enough from the farm, should any danger occur. “
© 2017 Matt Oehler
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