Read by Patsy Prince (first story in podcast, here)
There was once a princess in a high, far, wintry kingdom who had a very strange gift that some called a curse. It was on account of this that the princess was locked away, her contact with other people forbidden, and gloves of the most curious kinds ordered for her from the lands to the south, where costly materials were woven by many skilled artisans, softer and kinder than the rough wools of that mountainous kingdom.
The princess was treated well and wanted for nothing, but her heart was sore from loneliness. She could often be seen at the window of her high tower, talking to the birds and to the air. The folk in the fields below saw her, and looked down again to their work.
“Tis a shame,” one would say, at length.
“A crying shame,” the other would agree, and they would work on together in silence, both holding in their mind the vision of that lovely young woman with her long hair and sorrowful bearing.
The princess found company in the animals of the castle, and, once a week, her father the king would visit her for a game of chess. These visits were both a trial and a joy for her, for, though she loved her father and he loved her, it was plain to both of them that she was not happy.
With the animals, it was simpler. The birds tweeted and sang, making their curious little hops across her chamber, following the line of breadcrumbs she would set out for them. The dogs were even better, and gave her their whole hearts without question or hesitation. She was always careful to stroke them with her hands safely encased in the lavish gloves her father had provided.
As far below the castle as the princess was high, in the kennels lower down the hillside, there lived a kennel-girl. No-one knew much about this kennel-girl, for she was a quiet sort, but she was a good worker and when she turned up in the middle of a harsh winter, two fine whippet dogs at her heels, and told the castle’s steward that she could work for her living if he would give her a place, and what with the last kennel-girl marrying off last June and the dogs getting a bit neglected – the answer was an easy one. She was soon accepted as part of the background of the castle, old and crumbling though it was, and the dogs, traditionally kept for the hunt but now, like their king, more inclined to rest and eat heartily, loved her well for her care of them.
One day the kennel-girl received two messages. One was from her brother, and it was a letter which told her that her youngest sister had married, and pressed up between the pages was a dried flower from the bouquet she had held. The kennel-girl recognised the flower as meadowsweet, so abundant in the southern kingdom where she was from. She propped the sprig up onto a windowsill, and watched the light touch it.
The second message came by runner, and it was a command from the king. “The high-king from the south will be proceeding to the seven kingdoms in the summer,” it said. “He will need a gift, and the king has determined that you are to breed the running dogs now, so that the best pup can be selected and given to the high-king when he comes.”
The kennel-girl was uneasy. In her time at the castle, none of the dogs had ever given birth. She suspected that many of them were too old for it now, and the two that she had had from puppies had only ever miscarried. She had been keeping this fact quiet, for it had seemed that the royal dogs were as forgotten as she was. But now, it seemed not.
The kennel-girl went about her task but with no success. Whatever she tried, the dogs would simply not fall pregnant.
*
Late in the winter, as dirty snow was falling from the sky, the princess slipped away and came down to the kennels.
“Why have the dogs been kept from me of late?” she asked, for she missed the visits that had been allowed of the dogs to her rooms.
The kennel-girl was close to tears as she explained the situation to the princess. “But you see, there is nothing I can do now,” she said. “If they do not breed soon, then the pups will not be born in time, and then I am bound to be cast out!”
The princess felt the kennel-girl’s distress keenly. She slipped one hand out of her glove, and laid it on the flank of one of the whippet dogs, a beautiful creamy racer who regarded the princess with a limpid gaze and lay still, the only movement the rise and fall of her chest. The kennel-girl looked at the princess, not seeing the other girl’s fear and loneliness, but instead her courage, beauty, and a kind act that she did not fully understand. The princess met the kennel-girl’s eyes, and gave a soft smile.
“There. I have done what I can to help you,” she said.
Knowing that she had done not one, but two forbidden things, the princess made haste back up to her rooms.
The kennel-girl did not know what had changed, but, days later, when it became plain that the cream-coloured whippet was pregnant, she concluded in wonder that it must have been the touch of the princess’s hand. Not believing it, she began to watch the princess, and that was how she found that where the princess touched a bird, there grew new life, even out of season; and the plants that grew in the princess’s chamber were always needing to be trimmed, they brimmed so with excess energy.
She was filled with awe and tenderness, remembering the princess’s words: it had been done to help her. To help her! And surely that was the reason for the princess’s seclusion, with such a magnificent and dangerous gift. Then the kennel-girl remembered the rumour of the princess’s mother dying in childbirth, and how the king would not speak of it, and she wondered.
As the weeks passed, the kennel-girl tended to her dogs, and the princess kept to the high tower. The kennel-girl was sure the pregnancy was a safe one; she and the dog both wore expressions of contented wonder, such that others, seeing it, scoffed and muttered aloud that some folk had nothing better to do all day than sit around with their head in the clouds. Not that the kennel-girl cared; her mind was full of the promise of summer, all tangled together with that memory of the princess, her gloveless hand on the dog’s flank, her eyes meeting the kennel-girl’s with that strange mixture of happiness and sadness. Now, when the kennel-girl exercised the dogs, she did so in view of the tower.
The castle bustled with preparations for the upcoming royal visit, and all the staff were in a state of excited anxiety. Only these two silent, secluded women seemed untouched.
Occasionally, the kennel-girl would pick up the dried meadowsweet from the windowsill, and lift it to the horizon, picturing the fields full of wildflowers as they were in the south.
The princess heard that her father had plans of marrying her to the high-king’s eldest son, and though when young she had sometimes thought marriage might allow her the freedom she didn’t have in her mountain home, now the thought sickened her. All her life, she’d had to keep herself in control, keep her gloves on and stay in her room. Seeing the kennel-girl surrounded by those dogs and full of life had made her yearn for something else, and every time she heard the servants talking about the miraculous pregnancy and then the seven strong newborn puppies, her heart skipped with guilt and joy. From the window of her high tower she watched the kennel-girl and her dogs, and the loneliness seemed a little less.
One day close to the high-king’s visit, the princess confronted the king.
“Do you intend to marry me away?” she said, and she meant, do you intend to get rid of me so that I am not your problem any more?
“Yes,” said the king, and what he meant was, I do not want to lose you, my darling girl, but it’s for your own good.
They argued, then, and it was a bitter quarrel that shocked the castle. They talked about it for days: how the princess, usually so meek, had stood her ground so strongly, and how the king had sat and said nothing, but had eventually commanded her to obey him, invoking the spectre of her dead mother.
“Tis a shame,” they whispered, as they scrubbed the floors and prepared the food. “Tis a crying shame.” For though marrying the high-king’s eldest son was honourable, still they were fond of their beautiful princess, and did not want her sent off to other lands where who-knew-what could happen to her.
*
That night, the princess crept down to the kennels. She had with her a travelling-bag, and wore a warm cloak. The kennel-girl let her into the dark warmth, where the dogs and puppies were sleeping.
“My lady!”
The princess was flushed and kept wringing her gloved hands together. She had come to ask for help, but suddenly she wasn’t sure that this was fair. Casting about the room, she saw the dried meadowsweet on the windowsill.
“I once helped you keep your post here,” she said, “but tonight I come to undo that work, because now I am the one in need of help. So please, take this, and hear what I ask,” and so saying, she removed her gloves and picked up the sprig from the sill. She gave the kennel-girl the meadowsweet and it was not a dried and fragranceless plant but a living one, with a scent like summer.
The kennel-girl took the bloom in amazement, thinking of what she had read between the lines of her brother’s letter: our sister has married, and you have not; you are old, shrivelled, dead, like this flower; do not come home. These things and more had been said aloud, after all. And now there was this girl, this princess, and her gift.
“Whatever you ask of me, I will give,” she said.
The princess smiled, and though the kennels were dark it seemed like the moon shone brighter at that moment.
“My lady, I would do anything for you, and go anywhere,” said the kennel-girl, for she had already realised why the princess was here. “Even the grass worships you; I have seen it. And I will worship you, too, if you will let me.”
“You make me bold, and I shall ask what I came here to, but you must not worship me, for what I have is a curse —”
“It is not,” said the kennel-girl, and she held the sprig of meadowsweet to her heart. She could see it, fields of it, spreading out before her, and the princess was with her too. “It is a great gift.” And then, growing uncertain, “But I am unworthy—”
The princess saw that they were both of them certain in their love, and only unsure of whether they were worthy of its return. The instant of that knowledge, she stepped forward, and took the kennel-girl into her arms. Their kiss was tender and fierce and released the scent of meadowsweet.
“Let’s go,” she said, and took the kennel-girl’s hand. As they turned to leave, two girls and seven dogs and seven puppies in the last of winter’s snow, new life was kindling where others had thought it barren and past time. But the time was ripe; the time was coming. Together they walked to meet the summer.
(c) Fiona Mossman, 2023
Fiona Mossman is a writer from the Scottish Highlands who works as a librarian in Edinburgh. Her writing is often inspired by fables and folktales, and has appeared in The Bureau Dispatch, Wyngraf, and the Creatives series from the Scottish Mountaineering Press, and been nominated for Best Small Fictions 2023.
Patsy Prince trained at RADA and KCL and is currently the face of National Rail but don't hold that against her. Recent film includes: The Bad Nun, Mummy Reborn and Culture Shock. Theatre includes Misfits at the Space Theatre (nominated at The Asian Media Awards) Voices from September 11th (Old Vic) and Swallows (OFS Theatre Oxford). She also co-hosted 'Open', a podcast on The Women's Radio Station. An ex-lawyer, ex-parliamentary candidate and ex-hotelier, Patsy is now excelling at being a bad wife, drinking too much gin and expanding her collection of millinery.
Comments