“That’s a pretty tale you’ve spun,” said Margret, her knitting needles crossed, the yarn wrapped round, ready to be pulled through to start the next stitch. “It reminds me of another fairy tale that needs retelling.”

The needles returned to work. Pushing through one loop, in order to be wrapped again, then pulled through to form the next loop. One row interlocking with the next, the shape of what she was creating was still unclear.

“When I was small, my mother told me fairy tales. They were meant to entertain but also to teach. When she finished telling the story of Little Red Riding Hoid, she’d always add –and that’s why you should always listen to your mother.”

Margret chuckled as she turned her knitting around to start another row.

“When I was older and met wolves in men’s clothing, I thought the real lesson of Little Red Riding Hood was to be wary of strangers who posed as someone they weren’t. But then again,” her needles clicked, “how do you ever know who to trust? We assume so much based on how someone looks or pretends to act. Relationships are a labyrinth we wander into and there’s always the danger that somewhere in the dark recesses of that labyrinth, a monster dwells. Did you know—"

She paused to unwind more yarn from the ball.

“that the word clue comes from an old word for a ball of yarn. In the ancient myth of Theseus and the Minotaur, Ariadne gives Theseus a clew of threads so he can find his way out of the labyrinth.”

Margret bit the yarn and reached into her basket to retrieve a ball of a different colour. As she began the new row, needles clicking, she continued.

“A lot of fairy tales involve not only evil posing as good but good being concealed by rags, or monstrous looks. The trick in those tales was to see through the outer image to find the goodness within. The fairy godmother changes Cinderella’s rags for a ball gown, Bella’s love overcomes the curse to turn the beast into a handsome prince but the tale that I found most difficult to understand when I was young, was the princess and the pea.”

She turned the knitting around and began a new row.

“On the surface, it seems a silly tale of a girl so sensitive to comfort that she can feel the tiniest irritation, that of a pea under a pile of mattresses, but that is the test the Queen has devised to find the true princess. As I grew older, however, I began to understand what the Queen was looking for. Like the spinner in Beatrice’s tale, I think the Queen deserves to have a voice in the story.

The needles fell still. Margret set the knitting on her lap and began.

To Be A Queen

Not every woman is fit to be a queen. I should know. I come from a long line of monarchs and was taught how to act, how to think, how to rule. Of course, queens don’t rule. Not directly. There are some who think the role of a queen is to breed. Like a brood mare, she gestates the next heir and woe be the woman who fails to bear a son. Deportment can be taught. Finery can make the frump look flash but what woman can control the whimsy of her womb? The womb. Tucked away in the belly of a woman, It can create alliances, tame the beast on the throne and unleash wars and yet it too is under control of the king. It is his seed that determines X from y and yet failing to bring forth a son is indisputably the fault of the female. Every queen knows this just as she knows that once she has produced her progeny, she is no longer needed. She sits to the left of the throne, idle unless she learns to become her husband’s advisor or his advisors confidant. To be a queen means knowing how to rule without seeming to.

My mother was adept at this business of manipulation. She lived in a time when women were housed in the women’s quarters. She was presented to the court by her father. A peace offering to settle disputes over lands to the south. She was young, having only begun to bleed, so what did she know of royal intrigues? Taken to her chambers, she was confirmed a virgin and then presented to my father, the king. He was a widower, without offspring of noble blood, but still in his prime. My mother was taken before the wedding and certainly before she was ready. Within the year she was confirmed fecund and they were wed. Thank god they did not wait for the birth for it was I and not the son and heir, who was birthed. A great disappointment but my mother was young and there were more visits from my father to the queen’s chamber. Another girl. Whispers both of the compassionate and callous kind. Time was on my mother’s side more so than that of the king. He had bustard sons but required an heir. His clock was ticking louder than hers. The third child. How my mother prayed. The more she prayed, the weaker she became. I stood by her side as she grew gravely ill. Was it the child that killed her or the anxiety of its gender? Who knows but in the end she produced the desired heir even though it killed her.

A weakling at birth, both slight of build and slow of thought, he was nonetheless, heir. He survived to manhood and rules that kingdom still, although some say, it is his advisors who rule him. I, on the other hand, was sent away. Like my mother, I was bartered in return for an advantageous alliance. Unlike my mother, I was not some naive young thing.

In the women’s chambers at my father’s house, I was taught lady’s skills; embroidery to still my mind and keep my hands employed, dance to show that I knew how to carry myself in public and the lute to show that I had some learning. But my mother and the nurse she employed taught me the skills I would need to escape the confines of the women’s quarters. They taught me how to read books written by great thinkers. I was encouraged to use my mind as well as my fingers and my feet and those other parts of the body that men focus their sttention on. Most impirtantly, they taught me that which shapes the minds of men. My mother said that if I was to become more than an extension of a man’s reproductive system, I was going to have to stimulate my husband’s mind as much as his loins.

“Do not let them stick you in the chamber with your maids in waiting. Make yourself indispensable so that if you are put aside, you still retain power.”

I did not understand what it meant to be put aside until I had done my primary duty of producing an heir and my husband’s eye began to wander. My mother had never been central to the court and so she passed away, alone and all but forgotten, in her lonely tower.

My husband had many affairs. Some I instigated, pointing out the pretty ones that had no ambition other than a fleeting fancy from the king. They came and went, providing him with diversions to relieve the pressure of the crown. And while he was distracted, I courted his advisors. Not for physical gratification. That a queen must never do. But for power. Men like nothing more than to please a beautiful woman and even as I aged I retained my beauty. I listened intently to their advice, making the occasional comment. Flattering the pompous and engaging the wise. And so it was when my husband passed away and my son was too young to rule, I was made regent rather than dowager mother. While I might never be king, I had proved that I could rule.

Still the time comes when a young man must face all his responsibilities and produce an heir. My son was in his early twenties when we began a search for his queen. The word was spread far and wide and many a beautiful flower was brought to court and there were a number my son would have gladly wed. I, however, held the final word and was thus able to direct the course of events. If my husband had been in charge, he would have looked at the strategic value of each prospect in the same way my son weighed up their physical attributes. When it comes to choosing women, men think in two dimensions only, power and seduction. I wanted more for my son. I wanted a true queen who would stand side by side with him through the trials and tribulations of what I hoped would be a long reign.

And these were troubled times. Great powers were shifting as old kingdoms fell and young ones rose. The weather was unpredictable and one year’s feast barely fed the next year’s famine. New ideas. New religions. Unrest roamed the land and many a king, even the wise and just, were overthrown by thugs and henchmen. To be a queen in such times required more than breeding and the ability to produce offspring. A queen in times such as ours required the same leadership qualities as a king.

Alas, there were few princesses raised to be leaders. There were the educated ones but they lacked real world experience because, unlike their royal brothers, they were kept locked away and safe. Unlike males they were not tested to find and address their short comings. They were, in short, never allowed to fall off the horse and then commanded to get back on. While I didn’t want him to marry a woman who lacked her own identity, I also didn’t want him to marry a woman whose lust for power exceeded his own. She needed to be his confidant, his advisor and if necessary his replacement but I didn’t want her to be his rival.

So, one by one the applicants arrived, only to be turned away. My son despaired of my accepting anyone and accused me of refusing to give up my own position of power. Tensions within the castle matched that of those surrounding it. This was the climate into which the would be queen arrived. Matching the mood, the weather had taken a turn for the worse.

After a long, hot dry summer that burned spring’s seedlings, the summer skies split apart and torrential rains pummelled the parched, cracked earth. The roads in and out of the castle were quagmires, impossible to navigate. Streams overflowed their banks and whole villages were swept away. And in the midst of this mighty storm, came a banging at the door. Such a banging you would have expected a giant to be demanding entry, yet when the door was flung open, there stood a maid. Her long hair might have been any colour so caked in mud was it. And her clothes, drenched from the rain, clung to her body, revealing her slight build the way a drowned rats fur showed off its skeleton. Never in my life have I seen such a sorry excuse for a woman and yet when asked her business, she replied that she was a princess come to see the king.

If we had not reached such a desperate point in our search for my son’s Queen, I am sure we would have beat her and sent her away. She had none of the hallmarks we had been looking for. My son dismissed her for her lack of beauty and her common dress. The advisors said she was too scrawny to be decent for bearing children and even I wondered what to make of this creature. And yet, there was something in the way she announced her intentions that told me she was more than a scullery maid with visions of grandeur.

“We will put her to the test,” I said.

I had her taken to the baths and given a proper cleaning. Once bathed she was given a modest attire but when she emerged, freshly groomed, she could have been dressed in the finest silks, such was her grace and bearing. No jewels adorned her except the intelligence in her eyes. Relaxed and confident, she entered the room and presented herself, first to the king with a much practiced curtsey, then turning to me, she bowed in similar fashion. It was obvious she understood the ways of the court so I allowed her to join us for dinner. I did, however, seat her at one of the lower tables.

I observed her manners closely. Bread passed her way, she acknowledged and partook only her portion. She spoke to those around her, even thanking the serving girl which accounted for why the servants treated her with respect. I noted, then how the table she occupied began to follow her example. There was a jovial, yet respectful presence on that side of the room. Whatever else that girl had, she knew how to set an example that others wanted to follow.

After the meal was cleared, I asked for the musicians. As the dancers took their places on the floor, I kept a close eye on the so-called princess. She was watching each manoeuvre with the intensity of a cat studying a mouse hole. After the first few sets I told my son to ask her to dance.

“She’s not from here so without instruction, she’ll make a fool of herself.”

“And so we will see how she handles that.”

It was true that she struggled through the first two sets but with each fumble she corrected herself and improved with each iteration. Now dancing is not a necessity for a queen. On the other hand, learning on the job is. By the end of the night, I was impressed with her ability to adapt and I could see that my son was beginning to take an interest as well. I had originally told the maids to prepare a room in the servants quarters but instead I had her escorted to one of the guest suites.

The next morning, I called her to my chambers and asked how she’d slept.

“I can’t lie,” she said. “I’m afraid I spent the night tossing and turning.”

“Was the room not up to your standards,” I inquired.

“Quite the opposite, your majesty,” she replied quickly. “No the problem was in my head.”

This news shocked me and I began to worry that unfortunately, she was not suitable after all.

“Do you often suffer from headaches?”

“No, I misspoke. It was not a headache that plagued my sleep. It was something the maid told me.”

At this I felt the blood rush to my head.

“Was the maid insolent. If she was, I will—”

“No, your majesty, she was courteous and as kind as any lady in waiting.”

“Then what?” I demanded.

The young woman sighed.

“Your majesty, if you would indulge me a minute and join me at the window.”

I wasn’t sure what to make of such a request and so I sat speechless until she walked to the wondow and said, “Please.”

It was the look more than the word that bid me rise and join her. From my rooms, high above the plain, I could see the river, swollen, tearing at the landscape. Trees and debris rushing like unruly children amidst the swirling water.

“The maid told me her house and all her belongings had been washed away.”

“She wasn’t alone,” I said. “Several villages have been lost. It happens when the rains arrive on the mountains and the river swells. Don’t worry. They will rebuild when the water subsides.”

“But it is such a waste to constantly lose homes and fields when the river could be tamed.”

A terrible fear gripped me and my veins, only moments bfore raging with fire at the thought of some maid’s insolence, turned to ice. Had I invited a witch into my chambers?

“How can one tame a river?” I demanded to know.

She must have noted the change in my demeanour but nonplussed, she continued in a calm and clear voice.

“On my journey here, I passed through many lands. Some mountain places were so steep that the land would have slid away in the gentlest rains had they not sculpted flat areas with rock walks.”

She pointed to the gardens at the base of the castle.

“They built structures like your terrace below. These terraces captured and held the water, channeling the overflow into waterways that ran past great wheels that turned the miller’s stones to grind the wheat into flour. Perhaps your majesty could send builders to these lands so they too can learn to tame the waters.”

I called my ministers and asked her to explain to them what she had seen in her travels. They agreed to send envoys to the lands she told them about. Just as my mother encouraged me to leave the confines of my chamber, I realised the value in this girl’s advice to leave the confines of our kingdom. To seek advice and council from others.

That evening my son asked why the woman who called herself a princess looked so tired. I explained that in order to determine if she was a true royal, I had placed a small hard pea under her mattress.

“Is that how you test for a princess?” He exclaimed.

“We are chosing a queen, not a king,” I replied. “So the tests for a woman's suitability to rule is different than for that of a man.”

have ways different from men,” I explained. “We are choosing a queen, not a king.”

“But a single pea,” moaned my son. “That hardly seems adequate.”

“Not to worry,” I said. “Tonight I will have them pile on extra mattresses and we’ll see how she fares.”

At this moment, the confessed princess appeared. I’d sent her one of my silk gowns, laden with jewels and indeed, she looked every bit a royal but looks are not enough by which to judge a queen. If she’d been a man, a simple request to pull a sword from a stone or slay a dragon might have sufficed but I was chosing a wife for my son and that required more than what is required of a king. I required further proof.

The next morning I had the girl brought before me again.

“And how did you sleep, I asked, although the answer was already apparent.”

“Your majesty, I appreciate the extra mattresses but it’s not physical discomfort that keeps me awake at night.”

“But we’ve sent envoys to those other kingdoms and have planned works to begin once the river subsides. What worries you now? Is it my son? Is he not paying you the proper attention?”

“Within the castle, all is well,” she replied.

I could feel the tension practically bursting from inside her.

“What is it child?”

“After dinner I went to the kitchen to thank the cook and tell her how good the meal was.”

“You went to the kitchen?”

“I’m sorry your majesty if I overstepped. It’s just that I was so impressed with the meal—"

“We do not go to the kitchen.”

I admit may have over reacted.

“In future, that is if you have a future, ask that the cook come to you.”

“Again, I apologise your majesty. The rules here are new and strange to me.”

“I should hope so,” I snorted. The girl was about to go when curiosity overrode my displeasure.

“But why, pray tell, did going to the kitchen ruin your sleep?”

She was at the door, her hand resting on the knob. For a moment, I wasn’t sure if she would stay or go. Then with an audible sigh, she turned and faced me.

“If your majesty would indulge another of my thoughts.”

“Speak.”

“The cook told me that the potatoe harvest is small this year.”

“How can that be,” I said. “There were plenty served last night.”

“Plenty in the castle,” she said. “But scarce in the villages.”

“Well, perhaps they need to grow more.” My voice probably betrayed my lack of understanding.

“They planted plenty but that’s the problem.”

Once again I found myself asking for an explanation and once again I was surprised by her response.

“Every year, the peasants plant potatoes in the same fields. Some of the crop developed a blight last year which stayed in the soil and spoiled this year’s crop. Worse yet, it has now spread to more fields.”

“Blights are an act of God.” I waved my hand dismissively. “They come and go. The peasants know that.”

“Yes, your majesty, they certainly know when disaster strikes and like you, they ate more than willing to blame God.”

I crossed myself for what she was saying bordered on blasphemy.

“It may be God’s will that blights exist but it is the intelligence that that same God gave us, that can teach us how to prevent them.”

“And, I suppose in your journeys you learned how to farm?” My sarcasm was evident but her reply had none.

“It’s true I have acquired some knowledge in my travels. There is a kingdom on the other side of the mountains that had the same problem but they changed how they used their fields.”

I signalled for her to continue.

“The soil, like humans, grows weak unless it is properly fed.”

“But our peasants already feed the soil. They use the waste from the stockyards. Any simpleton knows that.”

“Yes, but the soil, like the peasants must vary its labours from time to time and like the peasants the soil also needs a rest in order for the food to take effect. This kingdom I visited, rotated crops from one field to the next and, on the seventh year of the field’s work, it was allowed to rest.”

“And this keeps crops from failing?”

“No remedy is 100%,” she said, “but this rotation reduces loss because the plants are healthier and more resistant to disease.”

It was an interesting concept but as Queen, I knew nothing of farming. I called the ministers. They confirmed that indeed the potatoe harvest was small. Then I had the girl explain this crop rotation and one of the ministers said he used a similar system in his own garden.

“Why have you not mentioned this before,” I asked.

“Well,” he mumbled. “I suppose because, you never asked me.”

I looked the man square in the eyes.

“How many times have you explained the simplest things to me when I did not ask for such explanations.” and cutting his babbling short, put him in charge of educating the peasants who could benefit from his advice.

That night I held a quiet dinner in my chambers. It was for my son, the girl and myself. I quizzed her over dinner, on her upbringing and where her kingdom lay and why she travelled alone.

Her answers were short and to the point. She heralded from a kingdom on the other side of the sea, she explained. Travelling by ship she had seen many lands which she said, explained why it took her so long to respond to our call for princesses.

“Why travel so far and risk so much?” I asked. “You might have been killed. You might have arrived too late. Don’t you think you were taking too many risks?”

“I had heard, your majesty, that this kingdom had a wise queen who would embrace a woman of intelligence and skill. I came here because no other kingdom offered me what this one does.”

“And what is that?”

“Opportunity to rule equally with the king.”

My son stopped, fork in mid air and looked in my direction.

“You would be my sons equal?”

“I would accept your son on no other terms.”

My son started to speak but I raised my hand.

“I think we’ve said enough for one night. This meal is over.”

The girl excused herself and when she was gone my son said, “She has a lot of nerve.”

“That, she does but if she can back it up with deeds, we might be wise to give her what she wants.’

“To rule equally along with me.”

“Isn’t that what we have done all these years since your father died. But before you explode, I have one more test to put her through.”

“I should hope it’s a difficult one for I’m not sure I’m ready to share any of my power with a wife. No king has ever done that and I’ll not be the first.”

“Your father in his own way did exactly tha,” I replied. “Many the night he left his mistress’s bed to seek my council. You didn’t know that did you? I suppose few knew.” Vexed at myself more than my son, I added, “Perhaps we are the ones that need to change. This girl, as you call her, can’t control the weather but she’s seen how other kingdoms control its vagaries. She can’t prevent famine but she’s brought new ideas about cultivation that may increase our harvests.”

“But she’s—”

“You could do worse my son,” I interjected. “She has much to offer. But tomorrow is another day and she must get through another night.”

“Your pea test,” he said.

I wasn’t sure whether he, like me, used sarcasm to cover his own lack of understanding but I replied, nonetheless.

“Yes, one last tiny pea under a stack of mattresses.”

Then I dismissed him and spent the night tossing and turning myself. She had all the hallmarks of a good ruler but would the kingdom accept a woman who openly commanded a position of authority? If my son was balking at the idea, how many others would resist. Change was never easy but the girl, no the woman, who’d applied to be queen seemed more than capable of selling change. It was a decision I nearly put off because of the news that arrived in the morning.

The plague! No other word struck fear into so many hearts. The throne room was in turmoil. The kingdom to the south had reported deaths and now everyone agreed that the court should retreat to the mountains in the north. In the midst of this turmoil, the princess appeared.

“I have no time for you today,” I said. “Besides, you look exhausted.”

“Last night I heard the rumours and I could not sleep for fear they were true.”

“True, they are and we must make ready to depart.”

“And leave your kingdom unprotected?”

“What do you mean?”

“You have enemies who will strike once they know you are weak. You must stay.”

“But the plague.”

“Can be contained.”

For once, her voice was commanding. In fact, she spoke so loudly that the room suddenly stilled.

“Listen,” she said. “The plague travels from person to person so first we must contain those who are infected. Send out heralds to say that at the first sign of the disease in any village, that the entire village is to be quarantined.”

“How,” asked my son, “can we stop everyone from leaving?”

“You will your majesty,” she replied. “On pain of death. If they do not quarantine themselves, tell them that all in the village will be put to death and the village raised to the ground.”

“But that’s insane,” he replied. “Why would that threat keep them in place when hunger, if not the plague, would drive them out.”

“Because you will give your solemn word as king to supply them with food and any necessary supplies. Tell them that food will be dropped at the perimeter but at the same time, proclaim that anyone trying to leave will be killed and their body burned with no thought of a Christian burial.”

I could see the confusion in my son’s eyes. The girl was right. To leave the castle unprotected was to expose the kingdom to invasion but to keep the villages quarantined relied on a level of trust between monarch and subject. Would they obey was the true test of him as a leader. The Queen in me wanted to step forward with my own counsel but the mother held firm. The decision was now his.

“And there’s another thing.”

The girl was now the centre if everyone’s attention.

“The plague is also carried by rats!”

“And I suppose you would have me command them as well.”

“No, my lord.” She stood tall and commanding. “I would have you send cats to those villages.”

“Cats!”

“Yes, get your hands on as many cats as possible. That’s how we contained the plague on the ships.”

The ministers looked at my son. My son looked at me and I looked at the woman who was now dressed in travelling clothes, a sword on her hip. I suddenly realised she might be planning to leave.

“Do as she says,” my son command and I sighed with relief. Then the action moved to another room and there was only the girl, my son and I left.

“Why are you dressed like that?” I asked. “Was it news of the plague?”

“No milady. I came to wait for your answer. For the last three nights I have provided you and your son with good counsel so by now you must realise that my wisdom and experience are worth more than a king’s ransom. I came here because I heard this kingdom understood the value of a person, regardless of gender, but if I’m not to rule equal to your son then I have other places to be.”

This girl who’d shown up penniless and bedraggled was now a woman issuing ultimatums.

I turned to my son to await his answer. After all, he was the one who would have to adapt and only he knew if he was ready for such a woman to be his queen.