Ardennia: The Unlikely Story of Cinderella's Prince

The Buffoon’s Gambit

Ethan sat on the bed with Lenore in her room in the east tower and played with her un-shampooed hair as she embroidered a doily with her family’s crest.

“So have you given any more thought to running off with me?” he asked.

“I have; especially while playing chess and being lectured to by the Queen.”

“And?”

“And the Queen is quite overbearing and conceited. I think I will be at odds with her until she makes an exit from this world, which can’t come soon enough for me.”

“But if you elope with me you won’t have to put up with her.”

“True enough; but as I told you already, I’ve become accustomed to a certain standard of living.”

“And to me,” he said.

“Yes, I cannot imagine my world without you.”

“Do you mean that or are you just toying with me.”

Lenore put down her needle and doily, took Ethan’s face in her hands and kissed him.

“What do you think?” she asked, releasing him and returning to her doily.

“I think I am jealous of the doily.”

She laughed and threaded another stitch of the crest.

“And jealous of Prince Henry too.”

“You’ve no reason. He is as repugnant to me as his mother. I shall keep a separate bedroom and have nothing to do with him except a tryst now and again so when our children are born he will think they are his.”

“At the rate we are going we will never have children,” Ethan said.

“Patience, once the Prince has penetrated me we will be free to frolic all we want.”

“I should have that pleasure.”

“In a perfect world, yes; just as in a perfect world my Castor would be here,” said Lenore.

“That’s something else I’m jealous of. At times I think you love that cat more than me.”

“At times I do,” she said.

“Oh how you abuse this heart of mine which you hold captive.”

“Hearts are made to be abused. . . Do you like it?” she asked, showing him the doily with the crest.

“I hate it.”

“Why?”

“Because it represents everything that stands between you and me.”

“That’s absurd,” she said.

“No, it isn’t, not in the sense I mean.”

“Stop being obtuse, take off my stocking and give me a massage,” she said.

Ethan slipped off her stockings, revealing odiferous feet that could be most charitably described as sturdy; they were flat, wide and studded with thick and stubby toes. He rubbed his hands together, gave her a thorough massage and afterwards was allowed to clean the dirt out from underneath her toenails with the pointy tip of his dagger. As he put his dagger in his sheath he said he had something to show her, and emptied out a bag of jewelry on the bed.

“Where did you get those?” asked Lenore.

“From the royal bedroom; I filched them after having a conversation with Friar Bede,” he answered.

“You really are determined to be drawn and quartered. Put them back immediately before anyone notices.”

“But they are worth a fortune.”

“What good is a fortune if you are hanged up to be emasculated, disemboweled, beheaded and chopped into four quarters?”

“That won’t happen; in a few hours I’ll be long gone from here.”

“What!”

“I’m leaving my turtle dove, not of my own volition, but leaving nonetheless.”

“I. . . I don’t understand,” she said, her face puffing up with emotion.

“The Queen wants me gone. In fact she insists on it and has depleted her treasury by the sum of one hundred gold crowns to grease my departure.”

“Why would she want you gone?”

“I don’t know, but I suspect she thinks I am a bad influence on you.”

“That bitch!” Lenore exclaimed.

“Now it doesn’t do any good to curse. Let’s face it; our love was star-crossed from the beginning.”

“No, I won’t accept that. I will go to the Queen and have it out with her.”

“I don’t think that will help. If you do that I will just have an ‘accident’ that will take me out the picture. No my love, this is goodbye.”

“It can’t be,” she protested.

“It must be,” he said.

“No, I can’t live without you.”

“What then?”

“We’ll flee together.”

Upon this declaration Lenore wrote a note for her father, and the two hastily packed a few of her things, including the jewelry from her trousseaus and her favorite croquet mallet; and sneaked out to the gatehouse where Lenore waited in the shadows while Ethan fetched the palfreys. When he returned with them they mounted them and rode up to the guard at the gate.

“Who goes there?” challenged the guard.

“It is I, the buffoon,” said Ethan.

“And who is that with you?” asked the guard.

“A little morsel from the scullery,” Ethan answered.

“I was not told about her.”

“You’re being told now.”

“I will have to check with Friar Bede,” said the guard.

“Go ahead. I am sure he will be delighted to have his sleep disturbed over the matter of a scullery maid,” said Ethan.

“A scullery maid, eh,” said the guard.

“Yes,” said Ethan.

“You may pass,” said the guard, opening the gate.

The two rode out through the gate and down the hill to the village. They passed down the main street past Tremaine’s house where Cinderella was deep asleep in the attic after another exhausting day of demeaning work. They kept going out of the village toward the east and a fork in the road; one heading to Ligny and the other to Saux – which was also on the border of Ardennia and Lorraine, but a little further to the south. They took the road to Saux.

The moon was nearly full and the road to Saux was easy to follow, but a hooting owl alarmed Lenore and she broke out her mallet.

“That’s just an owl,” said Ethan.

“Or one robber signaling to a second,” Lenore said.

“There are no robbers in these parts. I checked with the castle garrison and they said no one has been robbed around here for years.”

“It would be just our luck to break that streak; and think of wealth we would forfeit,” said Lenore.

“You’re right that we stand to lose a fortune if we are robbed; and surely we would be a great temptation to robbers if they got wind of the jewels and my purse. We will have to be very discreet on our journey. But for tonight I think we should be okay.”

They rode on through wood and field, past cropland and the occasional cluster of peasant huts. Dogs would bark at them when they passed these huts, but that was the only excitement, and Lenore almost fell off her palfrey when she dozed off in the saddle. At dawn they came to a crossroad and they turned left, continuing on to Saux.

When that same dawn rose on the castle it was discovered that Lenore was missing. Friar Bede was summoned to the great hall where the Queen – who had Lenore’s note in front of her on the table – was awaiting him.

“It seems the buffoon has absconded with Lenore,” said the Queen.

“It seems so,” said Friar Bede, his head cast down.

“How could this have happened?”

“I don’t know. All seemed to be going as planned when I met him at the stable and gave him the two palfreys.”

“Two.”

“Yes, he had demanded two so he would have a spare if the first went lame.”

“So the fool made a fool of you.”

“Yes, your Highness.”

“And you had no idea that he was playing you?” asked the Queen.

“Well, I did have a vague feeling that there was something wrong after my initial meeting with the buffoon.”

“Why?” asked the Queen.

“Because he said one day I would find out he wasn’t a buffoon.”

“And that day came sooner than you thought,” the Queen pointed out.

“Much sooner,” admitted Friar Bede.

“Did he say or do anything else that aroused your suspicions?”

“Yes. . .”

“Well tell me,” instructed the Queen, her ire rising.

“I caught him coming down the stairway from the royal bedroom.”

“And was he carrying a bag full of plunder?” asked the Queen.

“Of course not; why do you ask that?

“Because along with Lenore, my jewelry is missing,” said the Queen, trying not to grit her teeth.

“Holy Mother of God!” exclaimed the friar as he put both his hands on top of his bald crown.

“Yes, Holy Mother of God. Friar Bede, I cannot say in words how utterly dissatisfied I am with your handling of the buffoon. You told me you would make our coins talk, but all you have done is bring me close to tears with frustration. How could you be so incompetent?”

“Forgive me, your Grace; but I think it was less my incompetence than the buffoon’s wile.”

“I think we can dispense with calling him a buffoon,” said the Queen.

“I know not what else to call him.”

“What shall we call him then?” asked the Queen.

“I don’t know.”

“How about the thief?” she asked.

“That would be apt.”

“Or the abductor?” she asked.

“That would be apt, too,” said Friar Bede lamely.

“How about Ethan?” the Queen asked.

“Ethan?”

“That is his name, or at least it is according to the note Lenore left,” said the Queen, picking up the note and showing it to Friar Bede.

“The note?”

“Yes, the note; I found it when I inspected Lenore’s room just a few moments ago.”

“What does it say?” he asked meekly.

“Enough to turn the Count against us when he reads it.”

“Oh dear,” expressed Friar Bede.

“What a mess. What a perfect mess,” said the Queen more to herself than Friar Bede.

“I concur,” agreed Friar Bede, biting his tongue immediately.

The Queen looked at him as if saying ‘I concur’ was the last straw and ordered in the Captain of the guard.

“Your Majesty, I’m sorry. Please have mercy. I –”

“Be quiet and listen to what I have to say. Captain, you shall saddle two horses, draw rations, pack for a journey of indeterminate duration and wait upon Friar Bede – whose orders you will obey unless they are entirely imbecilic. . . Dismissed.”

The Captain bowed and departed.

“Friar, I am going to give you the opportunity to redeem yourself. You will set out with the Captain posthaste and pursue the runaways. Follow them to the ends of the earth if necessary.”

“Yes my Queen,” said Friar Bede.

“I mean it; leave no stone unturned, no clue uninvestigated.”

“And if I come up empty?” asked Friar Bede.

“Don’t bother coming back,” answered the Queen.

“One more question; where should I start?”

“Where do you think you should start?”

“Lorraine?”

“I see you still have some wits about you. Yes, you should head east toward Lorraine, but be prepared to go beyond Lorraine. If they are headed east it will probably be to a destination more easterly. And here’s a little more advice; the trail should be marked by the crowns we bribed Ethan with – follow the gold coins.”

“I will, I will follow the gold coins as God is my witness,” said Friar Bede.

“Alright, don’t just stand there, get going.”

Friar Bede bowed and scampered away, relieved no doubt, that he hadn’t been thrown into the dungeon for playing such a prominent role in the disaster which had taken place. On the way down the passage he barely acknowledged Lord Phillip, who was on his way to the Queen to report his return from Ligny.

“What’s with Friar Bede?” asked Phillip of the Queen when he reached the great hall.

“He’s in a hurry to track down our runaways,” explained the Queen.

“What runaways?”

“Ethan and Lenore.”

“Ethan?” asked Lord Phillip.

“The buffoon.”

“The buffoon has run off with Lenore; that seems a little far-fetched,” said the brother of the King.

“It’s all here, just read this note,” the Queen said, handing Phillip the note.

As he read the note his brow furrowed and his lips pursed.

“Damnation,” he said as he finished.

“And this development just the day after a message from Guy of Lucent reached me saying that our forces had sent the Duke of Burgundy home with his tail between his legs.”

“It seems we won a battle but may have lost the war,” observed Lord Phillip.

“Yes, our best laid plans have gone awry,” said the Queen.

“It was actually your plan,” Phillip reminded the Queen.

“Thank you for refreshing my memory,” said the Queen.

“What do we do now?” asked the hunchback.

“What can we do? I will send a message to the Count telling him what happened.”

“May I make a suggestion?”

“Of course,” said the Queen.

“Refrain from sending a message to the Count; throw him in our dungeon the moment he returns here with the King, and make some excuse for annexing Lorraine.”

“That’s a little nefarious for my taste,” the Queen said.

“Would you prefer a war with the Count?” countered Phillip.

“It may not come to that,” said the Queen.

“But it probably will. Is being scrupulous worth the risk?”

“Is being nefarious? Because your plan may not work out for us either; besides I couldn’t look myself in the mirror if we so grossly abused the Count,” the Queen said.

“Well, at least burn the note,” advised Lord Phillip.

“That I will consider,” she said, after which she ordered that a message to the Count was to be sent.

The messenger set out, riding west. Ethan, Lenore, Friar Bede and the Captain rode east, and night eventually fell. At the castle Queen Bernadette tossed and turned in her bed. At the crossroads where a left turn took travelers to Saux, the Captain and Friar Bede made their bivouac. In Saux Ethan paid a gold crown to the owner of the Inn de LaFouche for some ale, a couple plates of mutton and turnips, and a room; he received four deniers in change.

“This mutton is inedible and the turnips are worse,” complained Lenore.

“Try to eat something or your stomach will be growling all night and neither one of us will be able to sleep,” said Ethan.

“Oh, I will be able to sleep. I can hardly keep my eyes open right now. . . Some more ale here, Innkeeper!”

“I would go easy on the ale; we have a long road ahead of us tomorrow.”

“But my rump is sore. I need at least two days to recuperate before we resume our journey.”

“We will never resume our journey if we tarry here for two days. I am sure they will be searching for us,” he said.

“Then I will be needing a pillow for my rump,” she said, holding out her tin mug for a refill.

“A pillow you shall have for your rump and a romp in the hay if you are in the mood,” said Ethan.

“I am hardly that. You’ll have to do better than mutton, a seedy room and twenty hours straight in the saddle if you want to bed me.”

She dug into her mutton, that wasn’t inedible after all. She devoured her turnips as well and actually asked for more of both. But it was the ale that she devoted herself to the most.

“Innkeeper, more ale,” demanded Lenore for the fifth time.

“If you are going to keep drinking, that will cost you another denier,” said the innkeeper.

“Pay the scoundrel,” said Lenore, no longer sleepy or sore in the rump.

Ethan paid the scoundrel and had him refill his mug too, for Lenore was beginning to become playful. She put her hand on his thigh, nibbled on his ear and ran the fingers of her other hand through his hair. He returned her affection by groping her behind and rubbing up against her not insubstantial bosom. Her response to this was to move her hand up his thigh to the crotch; which she had only done one time before – and began to unbutton his pants, which she had never done before.

Ethan panted. Lenore panted. The candles in the dining room flickered as they began to burn down to the nub. The innkeeper yawned and tapped his fingers on the counter. He had no doubt witnessed this sordid scene many times before; no doubt been bored to death plying his trade late into the evening; no doubt been disgusted by the lewd behavior of his guests.

“It’s getting late. You can take your mugs to your room if you wish,” the innkeeper finally said.

“A splendid idea,” said Ethan.

“Yes, but first show me to your cesspit; I need to pee,” said Lenore, just before letting out a tremendous burp.

“This way,” said the innkeeper.

Lenore and Ethan, mugs in hand, followed the innkeeper out the back door and into the moonlight.

“There it is,” said the innkeeper, pointing to a small unroofed privy with a rickety gate.

Lenore handed Ethan her mug and entered the enclosure. There was a stool with a hole in the middle of it that was covered with flies. She shooed them off, raised her dress and discharged her urine into the pit with a sigh of relief. Then she exited the privy, reclaimed her mug and staggered off to their room on the arm of her paramour. The room had a low ceiling, was filthy and stank like a barn. But that did not deter the lovers. They emptied their mugs and got to it on the flea-ridden bed.

“I love you more than life itself,” proclaimed Ethan as he finished the unbuttoning of his trousers.

“I love you at least half that much,” said Lenore, pulling her dress up and exposing the prize that Ethan had been seeking for so long; the holy grail; the goal of man and not a few women; the warm and happy home that phalluses exist for; the wondrous invention that makes the world go round.

“I’ll be gentle,” Ethan said, knowing he was about to go where no man had gone before.

Lenore passed gas and said: “No, be rough; drive your rod into me with all your vigor and take me to the mountaintop.”

Ethan didn’t need to be told twice. He breached her virgin gate, which yielded up her innocence and made her quiver.

“That’s it, you’ve hit your mark,” moaned Lenore.

“And I’m just getting started,” Ethan said.

That turned out to be true. Ethan ravished his heart’s desire for a good long time before he lost control and planted her with his seed. Having accomplished this, and in the process ended any possibility that the marriage between Lenore and Henry could still take place, he rolled off Lenore and soon was fast asleep. Lenore soon was fast asleep too.

Fifteen leagues to the west, the Captain of the guard and Friar Bede were rolling out their blankets at the crossroads, while their campfire petered out and their eyes adjusted to the darkness that was shafted by the moonlight filtering through tree branches above them.

“So what will we do with them if and when we catch them?” asked Captain Hugo, continuing their conversation.

“We will truss up the buffoon and take them both back to the castle along with the Queen’s jewelry,” answered the friar.

“And how far do you think our chase will take us?”

“Your guess is as good as mine.”

“Do you think we are on the right track?” asked Hugo.

“I hope we are, but if we aren’t we shall try another direction.”

“It is a long shot, finding them, methinks,” Hugo said.

“Forsooth, but we won’t be going back to the castle until we do.”

“I think I would rather go on a campaign against Burgundy than pursue a wisp in the wind until the cows come home,” Hugo said, swatting at a mosquito.

“Understandable. We do have a formidable task ahead of us.”

“And few comforts to ease our travels.”

“Yes,” said Friar Bede, patting the hard ground.

“If we were back in the castle right now I would be digesting a hearty stew and sleeping on a mattress stuffed with nice soft straw,” the captain bemoaned.

“And I would be in my hut reading scripture by candlelight. C’est la vie.”

“Forsooth, such is life,” echoed Hugo.

“Good night,” said Friar Bede.

“Good night,” Hugo returned.

They stretched out on their blankets and laid their heads on their saddles. Hugo shut his eyes but the friar just stared up at the rays of moonlight piercing the tree canopy. He did this for quite some time, then closed his eyes too. But he couldn’t fall asleep.

“Captain, are you asleep?” the friar said.

The captain did not respond and Friar Bede poked him.

“Hi ho!” exclaimed Hugo.

“It’s just me,” said Friar Bede.

“What’s the matter?”

“I can’t sleep,” answered Friar Bede.

“That is a shame, but what do you want me to do about it?”

“Could you entertain me with some kind of story that would make me woozy?”

“I know none,” said Hugo.

“Are you sure, didn’t your mother tell you any?”

“Not that I remember. . . Oh wait, there is one story I can recall,” said Captain Hugo.

“What’s it about?”

“A firefly and a fairy.”

“Can you tell it to me?” asked Friar Bede.

“I will do my best. There once was a fairy that enchanted a forest much like the one we are in right now. She was very tiny, had wings of gossamer and only came out at night. . .”

“Go on,” encouraged the friar.

“One night, as she was flying above the forest floor she saw a light flashing in front of her. She went to investigate and met with a firefly who greeted her cheerily. They talked a while and parted ways. The next night the fairy came upon the firefly again, and again they had a pleasant conversation, only this time the firefly snatched a kiss from the fairy. The next night the fairy, having liked the kiss, searched for the firefly but could not find it. This made her very sad. The next night and for many nights to follow she searched in vain for the firefly and this made her even sadder. Distressed, she went to the wise old owl that could almost always be found perching on a particularly large oak branch. She asked the owl if he knew anything about fireflies. ‘I do,’ said the owl: ‘why do you ask?’ The fairy told him what had happened and added that she was asking because she thought she was in love with the firefly. ‘My poor fairy’ said the owl, ‘your firefly is long dead. You see fireflies are ephemeral while you fairies live forever. Your love was doomed from the start’. The fairy cried when she heard this; and where her tears hit the ground mushrooms sprung up – and that is where mushrooms come from.”

“A charming story,” said Friar Bede.

“Do you think you can sleep now?” asked Hugo.

“I will try.”

The captain fell back to sleep and the friar attempted to follow his example. But he was just too keyed up thinking about the buffoon and Lenore to do so. He poked Hugo again.

“Hi ho,” exclaimed Hugo.

“It’s me again, how about another story?” asked Friar Bede.

“I’m fresh out. But I have a rhyme appropriate to this time and place that may help you.”

“Let me hear it then,” Friar Bede said.

“It goes like this: Moon rising as I sleep; through the canopy moonlight slips; I am dreaming sweet and deep; moon rising as I sleep. . . Can you repeat that?”

“Yes,” Friar Bede said.

“Repeat it three or four times then; that should do the trick.”

The friar did so and fell into a sweet sleep after six repetitions.