Ardennia: The Unlikely Story of Cinderella's Prince
Chapter 14

The Stuff That Dreams are Made of

Bright and early the next morning Guy and Henry found Baronet Badeaux’s residence. It was located on a small island in a tributary of the River Rhone that emptied into the Mediterranean Sea three hundred miles to the south. It looked like a miniature castle complete with battlements and turrets, but constructed of wood and so small that a child could climb over the walls with little effort. Such a child was knee-deep at the edge of an eddy caused by the currents of the river going around the island.

“Young fellow!” shouted Guy.

“Yes!” shouted back the youth.

“What are you doing and how does one get over there?” asked Guy.

“You get over by hailing the guard and asking for the drawbridge to be lowered; and I am hunting frogs for the Baronet’s dinner at midday!”

“How goes the hunting?” shouted Henry.

“I’ve caught ten and have two to go!” shouted the boy, who promptly went back to stalking his prey.

“Hi ho there!” shouted Guy.

No response.

“Hi ho!”

No response.

“He must have fallen asleep,” said Guy to Henry. Sᴇaʀᴄh thᴇ Findɴovel.ɴet website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

“Salutations, I am Prince Henry of Ardennia. I’ve come to see the Baronet and his daughter!” shouted Henry.

No response.

“Are you really a Prince!” asked the boy who couldn’t help overhearing.

“Yes!”

“Wait there, I will lower the drawbridge for you!” shouted the boy.

The boy, with his sack of ten frogs in his left hand, ran to the castle wall, clambered over it with hardly any effort and let down the drawbridge, which was the most impressive thing about the toy castle.

“A denier for helping us,” said Henry, flipping a coin to the boy.

“Thank you, Prince Henry, but please don’t tell the Baronet I opened the drawbridge; my father will get in trouble for wandering off, which he is always doing,” said the boy.

“I won’t whisper a word,” said Henry.

Henry dismounted, walked a small distance across a small courtyard and banged on the small door of the small building with his fist. A young woman opened the door. She had big dark eyes, heavy eyelids, a very wide mouth with extremely thin lips, hardly any chin, a flattened nose and an oval face; in addition she was wearing a head cap that hid her ears – if she had any. For a moment Henry was so shocked by her frog-like appearance that he couldn’t speak, and memories of his dream about the princess frog came flooding back.

“May I help you?” she asked sweetly.

“Yes. . . I was hoping to see the Baronet and possibly his daughter.”

“Come in; I will see if my father is up, and if he isn’t I will wake him; and you can have your tete-a-tete with me while he dresses,” said the daughter of the Baronet, closing the door behind them as Henry entered tentatively.”

“Oh, well –”

“Sit down, I’ll be right back,” she said.

Henry sat down reluctantly, looking around at the dreary furnishings, the damp walls and the low ceiling. He felt like he was underneath a porch in a toad warren.

“He’ll be out, forthwith,” she said, returning in an instant and sitting right next to him on the couch.

“I am sorry for putting you out, I should just go,” said Henry.

“Oh no, now that you are here we shall at least make a morning of it before a midday meal of frog legs, for which my father has told me to invite you.”

“I couldn’t possibly impose,” said Henry.

“You aren’t imposing, and you don’t want to miss out on the frog legs; they are divine, though I must say that having them for lunch every day during the summer has lessened my enthusiasm for them.”

“But my friend is waiting outside,” said Henry.

“You’re a prince so he can wait, and as a reward we can give him any leftover frog legs,” she said.

“I think he may be allergic to frog legs, and now that I think of it, so am I,” Henry said.

“Nonsense, I’ve eaten so many frog legs that sometimes I think I am turning into a frog and I have never developed an allergy,” she said.

“I see no sign of you turning into a frog,” said Henry.

“I hope not, it was only a manner of speech,” she said: “Now tell me all about your trip and why you are calling on us.”

Henry tried again to extricate himself, but without success; and he spent the whole morning as the guest of the Baronet and his daughter. He did enjoy his frog legs, however, and there were none left over for Guy. After the meal he finally was able to beat his retreat and reunite with Guy, who was talking to the guard who had returned to his post.

“You were in there a long time, is she the one?” asked Guy.

“She most definitely is not. Let’s go,” said Henry.

This time the guard lowered the drawbridge for them, and with a sigh of relief Henry headed his entourage in the direction of Baron Fontaine’s estate. They rode all afternoon in an attempt to make up for lost time and eventually camped in a glade that several deer abandoned upon their arrival. A blood moon rose as Guy struck his flint against his piece of iron to light the tinder – some dried moss he carried with him. The spark he generated failed to ignite the tinder on his first try. It failed on his second try; and then on his third.

“It looks like you’re losing your knack for starting a fire,” said Henry.

“I hardly think so, I just have some poor moss to work with,” said Sir Guy.

“Or maybe not, maybe you are really losing your knack,” said Henry.

“That would not be possible. I have been lighting fires for fifty years,” Guy replied, becoming a little annoyed and failing to light the moss on his fourth try.

“And fifty years is a good long time, but it seems you have come to the end of the line and have lost your touch,” said Henry.

“Do you want to do it!” snapped Guy.

Henry broke a smile and said: “No, I was just playing with you; trying to get your goat.”

Guy gave Henry a querulous look and then guffawed and said: “I bet you have been waiting to use that pun since I won Adele at the fair.”

“I have, and it couldn’t have happened at a better time. I am sorely in need of a little mirth,” said Henry.

“Because of your morning with Baronet Badeaux and his daughter?” asked Guy.

“Yes; and the realization that our quest may not yield the results I had hoped for,” said Henry.

“It’s not over until the fat troubadour sings,” said Guy as he finally ignited the moss.

The fire was soon blazing and the supper was cooked and eaten under the blood moon. When it came time to go abed Guy warned that this would be an especially bad night for pixies and that they should plug their ears with extra beeswax. They did, and it was a good thing because the pixies visited them that night.

Toward the end of the next day, after being misdirected twice, Henry and Guy finally arrived at the estate house of Baron Fontaine.

“Wish me luck,” said Henry, dismounting his palfrey and walking to the front door of the estate house.

“Good luck,” called Guy after him.

Henry knocked on the door, and after a short interval the Baron answered his summons.

“Who art thou?” asked the Baron.

“I am Prince Henry of Ardennia; I happened to be passing by, and I thought it would be proper to stop in with you and perhaps have a tete-a-tete with your daughter.”

“I would like nothing better than to accommodate you, but my daughter is no longer of this world,” said the Baron sadly.

“I am so sorry to hear that, Baron,” said Henry.

“It was an accident. She hit her head on a low hanging branch when she was out riding. I slit the throat of her horse for its role in her death and buried my little girl in hallowed ground in the church cemetery just this morning. Her funeral was well attended, as it should be, and people will long remember the rites she was given. We are in the middle of a mourning vigil at present. Would you like to come in?”

“No, I wouldn’t dream of intruding at such a solemn moment. Again, let me offer you my deepest condolences,” Henry said.

“Thank you,” said the Baron.

The Baron shut the door and Henry walked back to Guy.

“What happened?” asked Guy.

“The Baron told me his daughter had just died in a riding accident,” answered Henry.

“That was really bad timing on her part. Now we’ll never know if she was the owner of your slipper or not; unless of course our last candidate turns out to be the one,” said Guy.

“I know that, but you shouldn’t speak so glibly. Whoever the Baron’s daughter was, she has lost her life and her family is suffering greatly right now,” said Henry.

“There is nothing we can do about that. Let us be gone and about our business,” said Guy.

Henry mounted up and they departed for the estate of Baronet Rayne. They made what would be their last bivouac in Comte and rose early in the morning to resolve their quest one way or another. About midmorning they came upon an itinerant cobbler on his nag. He was cradling a fat goose in one arm and was looking quite pleased with himself.

“That is a wondrous fat goose,” complimented Guy.

“Wondrous it is, but not just because it is fat,” replied the cobbler.

“What do you mean; is it a talking goose?” asked Guy.

“No, it is a goose that will soon make me rich and able to retire from cobbling,” said the cobbler.

“How will it make you rich?” asked Henry.

“Are you honest men?” asked the cobbler.

“Honest we are, and discreet too,” said Guy.

“Then I will tell you how the goose will make me rich and how it came into my possession,” said the cobbler.

“We are all ears,” said Guy.

“This morning I made a call upon a freeholder and his family. They lived on a nice little farm, and I thought the freeholder might need his boots mended. He did; so I got out my hammer, awl, cutter, spare leather and thread, and commenced upon my task. While I was working, the freeholder’s young son came over to watch and make conversation. Just as I was finishing, the subject of the fat goose came up and the boy let it slip that the goose had recently been bewitched and would soon be laying golden eggs. I pretended to be disinterested, but when I completed my work I said there would be no charge for my services if they agreed to give me the goose. The freeholder was hesitant, whereupon I sweetened the deal with some coin. That did the trick, and I was soon on my way thinking how stupid the freeholder was to exchange a goose that laid golden eggs for a little silver and the mending of his boots.”

“Yes, that freeholder was very stupid,” agreed Guy with merriment in his eyes.

“And you were very clever pretending to be disinterested,” added Henry.

“I was; and now all I have to do is wait until the goose starts laying,” said the cobbler.

“You may have to wait a long time,” said Guy.

“That’s alright. I’m a patient man,” said the cobbler.

Henry and Guy wished the cobbler luck, bid him goodbye and continued on their way, arriving at the Baronet’s estate house early in the afternoon. The house was of modest size but it looked well-kept and couth. The estate in general looked couth; more so than all the other places they had visited in Comte – perhaps because it was in the vicinity of the border between Ardennia and Comte and was situated in open country which abounded with cultivated fields. Henry dismounted, walked to the front door and pulled on a rope that rang a bell. In no time flat the Baronet’s wife opened the door.

“Good afternoon. I am Prince Henry of Ardennia. I am passing through your fair country and I thought I would take the opportunity of thanking your daughter for attending my masquerade ball,” said Henry.

“How very nice of you; do come in,” said the Baronet’s wife.

He entered the house and followed her to the parlor where Giselle, the daughter, was crocheting a sweater. She ceased her crocheting, stood up and very ladylike extended her hand. The Prince kissed it with courtly grace and the two were left alone for a tete-a-tete.

“It is so very good of you to call on us,” said Giselle.

“It would have been rude of me not to, since I was travelling so close by,” said Henry.

“And what is the purpose of your travels?” she asked.

“To expand my horizons and get to know Ardennia’s neighbors better,” answered Henry.

“And what do you think of Comte?” asked Giselle.

“It’s a beautiful and wild place, a little too wild at times,” said Henry.

“So I’ve heard other visitors say,” Giselle said.

“Have you heard other visitors say how lovely you are?” asked Henry.

“No; none of our other visitors have been bachelors with romance on their mind,” said Giselle unflustered.

She is beautiful, unassuming and straight forward, just like my enigmatic lady, thought Henry – she must be the one. I may as well lay it on the line right now.

“Giselle; I don’t know why you ran off when the church bell rang Matins at the masquerade ball, but my heart is set on you and I have found you – after many trials and tribulations. Please, may I place this slipper that I have carried so far and wide upon your exquisitely dainty foot?”

Henry knelt on one knee, took out the slipper, took off Giselle’s left shoe and tried to fit the slipper on her foot. It wouldn’t fit. Henry, realizing his faux pas, looked up at Giselle to see her regarding him as if he was stark raving mad. He rose up, bowed and retired from the scene of his mortification without a word. The quest to find the enigmatic woman had ended with a resounding thud.

“An unfortunate way to wind things up,” said Guy when he finally coaxed Henry into telling him what happened.

“Yes,” said Henry, glad to be putting some distance between him and Giselle.

“You were sure she was the one,” said Guy.

“I would have staked my life on it,” said Henry.

“Then we are lucky your tete-a-tete with Giselle only ended up in humiliating you,” Guy comforted.

“Yes, I am a lucky prince,” said Henry sarcastically.

“To be a prince is the definition of luck, my Prince. You may be burning with embarrassment right now and disappointed in the results of our quest; but you are still the heir to the fairest realm in northern Europe.”

“I feel more like a laughing stock who has lost his only chance for true love. If I had only begun our quest in Comte instead of Picardy I would have found my enigmatic lady before she died and we would have lived happily ever after,” said Henry.

“We can’t be certain that Baron Fontaine’s daughter was the owner of the slipper,” said Guy.

“I don’t see how it could have been anyone else,” said Henry.

“If it was, it was; life goes on and so must you,” Guy said.

They rode on into the gloom of night, made camp, ate supper – at least Guy did – and resumed their cheerless ride back to the castle the next morning under cloudy skies. At the junction with the road from Saux they encountered Friar Bede and the Captain of the Guard.

“How now, Friar; this is a rare confluence,” said Sir Guy.

“Forsooth it is,” said Friar Bede.

“Did you find the scallywags and retrieve the Queen’s jewels?” asked Guy.

“We did; in Strasbourg,” said Bede.

“They led you on a merry chase then,” Guy said.

“I wouldn’t call it merry. It took us six weeks to track them down and we spent many a night sleeping on the hard ground,” said Captain Hugo.

“I know what that feels like. We’ve been on the road for over a month and my bones are feeling it,” said Guy.

“What business were you on?” Bede asked.

“None that concerns you; what of Lenore and the buffoon?” said Henry.

“They are ensconced as the Countess of Lorraine and the Royal Consort,” Friar Bede said.

“And how did that come about?” asked Henry.

“It’s a long story,” Friar Bede said.

“It’s a long way to go to the castle,” said Henry.

“Alright; I will start with our pursuit of the fugitives. We picked up their trail in Saux, at an inn where they spent a night and paid for it with a gold crown. We followed it for a few days, after which the trail went cold. Then we searched around for a week until someone told us that two thieves had been found with their heads smashed in with a broken croquet mallet that was found nearby. That put us on their trail again.”

“But not for long,” broke in Hugo.

“No, not for long; at first a few peasants confirmed seeing a sturdy woman and a man riding east, but after a few days the trail went cold again. We resorted once more to a general search. Finally, we fell in with some bricklayers at a tavern in Strasbourg and found out one of their number had a brother who had just showed up flush with coin and with a husky consort by his side.”

“The rest was easy,” said Hugo.

“Not that easy,” contradicted Friar Bede: “I had to convince them that all I wanted at that point was Queen Bernadette’s jewelry, and in return I would preside over their marriage ceremony and see that they were made the Countess of Lorraine and the Royal Consort; which would be in accordance with custom since Lenore’s father had died – which was news to them.”

“So our courier did reach you and gave you the message about the Count’s unfortunate accident,” said Henry.

“Yes, though I found it hard to swallow that he had drowned in a river and his body had never been recovered,” said Friar Bede.

“It is not important if you swallowed the message as long as the Count’s Chamberlain did; and he must have if Lenore is now the Countess of Lorraine,” said Henry.

He did, and so, apparently, did the buffoon and Lenore; for we left them on good terms. They even wanted to continue the collaboration of the mint in Ligny.”

“So your mission has been a crowning success,” said Guy.

“Yes, very much so,” said the beaming Friar Bede.

“Not yet. We still have to see the jewels safely back to the Queen,” qualified Hugo.

“We shall certainly help you with that,” said Guy.

The next day the combined forces of Henry’s quest and the Friar’s mission started out early, anxious to sleep in a soft bed that night. Before long they overtook a peddler on his donkey.

“Make way for our party,” said Hugo, the Captain of the guard.

“I shall, but first won’t you see what I have in my saddlebag,” said the peddler.

“We are not at all curious to see what you have in your saddlebag,” said Sir Guy.

“You should be,” the peddler said.

“Why?” asked Friar Bede.

“Because it contains the stuff that dreams are made of,” the peddler answered, taking out a handful of vials.

“Are those elixirs?” asked Guy.

“Yes, and I have something for just about anything you can imagine.”

“Do you have a love potion in there?” asked Hugo.

“I do, is there someone you would like to give it to?”

“Yes, there is a young woman I’ve seen on market days in our village. She has the most exquisite buck teeth, but she will have nothing to do with me,” answered Hugo.

“For five deniers this will make her yours,” said the peddler, offering Hugo one of the vials.

“Four deniers,” countered Hugo.

“Will you quibble over a denier when I am offering you your heart’s desire?” asked the peddler.

“Four deniers is all I have,” said Hugo,

“I don’t believe you, but I’ll take them anyway,” said the peddler.

The peddler accepted the four deniers and gave Hugo the vial.

“Who’s next?” asked the peddler.

“Do you have anything to ease my aching bones?” asked Guy.

“I have something better; a new potion I acquired from a pilgrim who recently returned from the Holy Land and it actually reverses the process of aging. But it is very expensive.”

“How expensive?” asked Guy.

“Two gold crowns.”

“Two crowns is an outrageous sum for a potion,” said Guy.

“Do you want to be young again or not?” asked the peddler.

Sir Guy looked at Henry. Henry took out two gold crowns and gave them to the peddler. The peddler then gave Guy a vial containing the potion.

“And what can I do for you?” the peddler asked Henry.

“Nothing,” said Henry.

“Are you sure? I have everything under the sun in this saddlebag of mine.”

“Do you have something that can bring back the dead?” asked Henry.

“No, but I have something that can make you forget the dead; would you like to forget someone who has died?”

“Yes. . . No. But it doesn’t matter anyhow because I don’t believe in magical elixirs,” said Henry.

“What about you then?” the peddler asked Friar Bede.

“I don’t believe in magic potions either. But do you have anything that removes hair; I spend far too much time shaving the crown of my head to keep it bald,” said Friar Bede.

“That will be one denier,” said the peddler, exchanging a vial for the single denier.

His business concluded, the peddler made way for Hugo, Friar Bede, Guy, Henry, the pack mule and Adele. The party left him in their dust and by evening arrived home to the joy of the King and Queen.

The joy was tempered by the fact that Henry’s spirits were so low. He moped around the castle for days, showing no interest in food, chess or conversation. As he sunk lower in his melancholy he let his hygiene go and even became short with Sir Guy, who tried to entertain him with the tricks he was teaching Adele; and when the Queen told him the Marquis of Picardy was still open to a dynastic match he said it would be a cold day in hell before he would be a pawn in a dynastic match.

“You are talking to a queen and to your mother,” chastised Lord Phillip who was present for this exchange.

“I beg forgiveness. I am just in a terrible state of mind these days,” said Henry.

“I know. But you must reconcile yourself to reality. You have met with every single lady who attended the masquerade ball and not found the owner of the slipper,” said the Queen.

“Well, not every lady,” said Lord Phillip sheepishly.

“What do you mean?” asked Henry.

“I sort of invited Lady Tremaine and her two daughters to the ball,” answered Lord Phillip.

“And you didn’t see fit to tell me about them before I set out on my quest?” asked Henry, both angry and now hopeful.

“Well Lady Tremaine’s daughters are not technically ladies so I thought it better not to tell you. Besides it was hard for me to imagine you would have found them attractive,” said Lord Phillip.

“Beauty is in the eyes of the beholder,” said Henry.

“So the saying goes,” said Phillip.

“I am going to spruce up, and immediately after you are going to take me to Lady Tremaine’s house,” said Henry.

“Very well,” said the Lord.

“And you, Mother; if I find the woman whose foot fits the slipper, I will expect you and Father to honor your oath,” said Henry.

“We will. But if you don’t?”

“Then I will wed the Marquis’ daughter no questions asked,” said Henry.

“I will hold you to that,” said the Queen.

“I would expect nothing less,” said Henry.

Henry spruced himself up and was escorted to Lady Tremaine’s house by Phillip. His arrival there with the slipper caused a sensational stir. Lady Tremaine took command and told Henry he would have to wait until Drizella and Anastasia were presentable. Those two ran up the stairs, commandeered Cinderella and put her to use in making them ‘beautiful’ for the Prince.

“Cinderella, primp my hair,” said Drizella.

“Cinderella, file my nails,” said Anastasia.

“Cinderella, pluck my eyebrows.”

“Cinderella, fetch me my favorite stockings.”

“Cinderella, help me with my earrings.”

“Cinderella, powder my nose.”

“Cinderella, where is my scarlet red lipstick.”

“Cinderella, mist me with the perfume of lilac, but not too much and not too little.”

“Cinderella, tighten my corset.”

“Cinderella, bring me my blue gown.”

“Cinderella, Cinderella, Cinderella, Cinderella. . .”

Half an hour later Drizella and Anastasia descended the stairway majestically, and the Prince – heartily disappointed by what he saw – went through the motions of trying the slipper on them. Both of them failed the slipper test miserably; at which point Cinderella came down the stairs in her bare feet and worn out dress.

“May I try on the slipper,” she said, locking eyes with Henry.

“Are you insane!” said Lady Tremaine. “Go back to your attic and stay there.”

“No; come down and claim the slipper you gave me at the masquerade,” said Henry, recognizing that she was the one.

She came down and – to the chagrin of Lady Tremaine, Drizella and Anastasia – fit her foot into the slipper with ease.

And that was it. Henry and Cinderella lived happily ever after; as did Lady Tremaine and Lord Phillip who – following the precedent set by Henry – married well beneath his station. The same, however, could not be said of Rosencrantz and Guildenstern, the Count’s two retainers who had found him stabbed to death in the council chambers of Queen Bernadette. They rotted in Lord Phillip’s dungeon and died a slow death, forgotten and unmourned; innocent casualties of events beyond their control.

The End

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