A Tale of Fur and Flesh (6 page)

“Very cold indeed,” she said, “but I have nowhere
else to go.”

The huntsman had kind eyes.  He took pity on her and
agreed to take her home to his wife, the king’s cook.  Knowing full well his
wife detested the dirtier tasks of her employment, he suggested Allerleirauh
might help in her duties.  A fire-warmed kitchen inhabited by jolly old cook
seemed preferable to a lonely tree hollow.  Lally consented immediately. 
Though she said very little to the huntsman as they trudged through the vast
expanses of snow-covered Northern land, Lally felt tremendously indebted to
him.  The huntsman’s caring warmed her heart.

When Cook caught sight of the mongrel, she clapped
him over the ears with a carrot.  “What are you playing at, bringing that hairy
animal into my kitchen?  How am I supposed to work with that beast about?”

Lally felt uncomfortable, conspicuous, ashamed that
the huntsman’s sympathy had brought on his wife’s wrath.  Perhaps she ought to
go.  There was nowhere she belonged now.  Not in the turrets of her own castle,
not in the subterranean kitchen of the Northern Palace.  She might as well
return to the comatose comfort of her frozen tree.

“She isn’t an animal, she’s a girl.  Poor creature’s
been sleeping rough.  She’ll catch her death out there.  I figured she might
help you with your dirty work, what with you always saying you hate to do it.”

A malignant grin spread across the plump woman’s face
as she assessed Allerleirauh once again.  “I suppose you’re right, husband
mine.” 

Cook pointed to a kitchen cupboard, where no daylight
entered.  “There you can live and sleep. You’ll eat what scraps you find. 
Might as well get you started.  You’ll be carrying the wood and water, and then
I’ll need you to sweep the hearth.  And I’ll have no dilly-dallying, because
after that you’ll be plucking the fowls for supper.  Don’t think you’re
finished your day yet, though.  You also need to rake the ashes, and do
whatever other dirty work I can find for you.  Can you do all that, hairy
beast?”

From within her layers of peltry, Allerleirauh nodded
despondently.  Tears soaked her cheeks. 
Alas, fair princess, what is to
become of you now?

* * * *

Allerleirauh lived for a long time in great
wretchedness.  It happened, however, that one day a feast was held in the
palace.  When food was prepared and the event well underway, she asked the cook
if she might she go upstairs for a while and look on. She would place herself
outside the door, of course.  She had never seen the Palace beyond the
kitchen.  Every day she worked from dawn to dusk, then collapsed upon her straw
bed.  Might she enjoy some gaiety?

“Yes, go,” the cook answered in a surprising show of
goodwill, “but you must be back here in half an hour to sweep the hearth.”

A long-forgotten feeling of delight bubbled up in
Allerleirauh.  She took her oil-lamp and went to her den to wash the soot from
her face and hands before journeying upstairs.  Just as she sought to enter her
small closet, she beheld a sight most peculiar.  A brilliant light shone
through the cracks in the wooden boards of her door.  Lally had not seen
anything so spectacular since her mother was alive.  Suddenly, she knew what
was contained in her enchanted walnut.

Throwing open the door, she found upon her straw mat
the late queen’s three loveliest gowns.  One was golden as the sun, one silvery
as the moon, and one bright as the stars.  Forgetting her wretchedness, Lally
leapt smiling upon the three gleaming gowns.  She hugged them as though they
were her mother’s own person.

“Make haste in there, will you?” the cook called
out.  Lally froze.  In her mind, she cried,
Please, oh please, do not open
the door!
  She couldn’t bear the thought of Cook seeing her mother’s
precious things.  Here in the North, her safety was in peril if anyone should
discover her true identity. 

She breathed a sigh of relief when the cook went on,
“I’ll be heading out of doors for a moment.  Remember to come back down for the
soot, hairy beast.”

It then occurred to Allerleirauh what her mother
meant for her do to.  Her heart ceased its joyful thumping.  For so many
months, she had hidden her pretty face and golden hair beneath Wolf’s repulsive
head.  There was comfort inside her warm, dark mantle.  There was security in
knowing others could look her straight in the face and not see her at all.  She
was shielded, guarded, protected by the cloak.  Those who sought to harm young
women could not harm her; they knew not a woman resided within the layers of
fur.  They saw only the beast.

But, was it not safe where she endeavoured to go? 
The king of her own castle—her father, no less—was a diseased old man, but the
Northern king was said to be gentle and kind.  Seeing these dresses of mother’s
once again, Lally was overcome with the ebullient desire to bring her full
beauty to light.  Were her golden hair and lovely features not also gifts from
her devoted mother?  And the long-forgotten lessons in humility and grace?

Princess Lally removed the wolf’s head and cast off
her heavy mantle of furs.  The night air shocked her bare arms.  It had been so
very long since she had removed the pelts.  In a small pot of water, she bathed
her skin and washed the soot from her hands.

From the hip of her tattered skirts, she untied the
knife with which Snake was slain.  Poor creature.  All that remained of him
were the boots Lally wore for want of other shoes, and the bustier she peeled
from her breasts.  Snake’s skin left an embossed impression on her flesh. 
Dropping her blackened skirts to the floor, she selected the dress which shone
like the sun.  In this gown of her mother’s, Lally was a monarch again.

Bubbling with pride, Lally bolted up the kitchen
steps and into a corridor of the Palace.  It was nothing like the stone castle
of her childhood.  The floors gleamed.  The stone had been polished smooth. 
The corridor was not dreary grey, but warm like the colour of butter. 
Following the sound of laughing voices, Lally arrived at the entrance to the
main hall.  The dining had finished and all inside were dancing.

When she entered the place of the king’s feast, the
guests made way.  She recognized their expressions of awe.  Never had they seen
a dress so gold as sunlight.  All guests gazed upon her, the stranger in their
land.  Two eyes to each head.  Lally’s heart pounded in her chest.  It had been
so many months since anyone had looked upon her face. If only she had her
protective mantle.  She wished to flee to the safety of the subterranean
kitchen, but mother’s dress propelled her through the crowds.  It held her firmly
in place before the king.

She admired the striking king the moment she saw
him.  The rumours of his handsomeness did not do him justice.  Though an aura
of wisdom hung about his noble head, he appeared far too young to rule a
kingdom.  His eyes were warm brown, and his skin was the colour of cocoa.  The
lines of his jaw were strong and square, and his hair was black, and tightly
curled against his scalp.  Lally imagined herself pressing her mouth against
his full pink lips.  Bowing her head, she smiled.

The king took no notice of Lally.  He was rapt in a
discussion of philosophy.  She hoped he would glance in her direction, but also
dreaded the moment his wise eyes beheld her.  He might not see in her what she
saw in him: a perfect partner.  Time seemed to slow to a crawl as he turned his
head in her direction.  She stood tall, shining like the summer sun.  When he
cast his gaze over her, all other eyes disappeared.  The room was empty but for
Lally and the handsome king.  For months, she’d helped Cook prepare this man’s
meals, and he had no idea who she was.  What would he say if he knew she lived
in the cabinet of the cellar-kitchen, plucking foul and raking ashes, disguised
under layers of peltry?

“Why, hello,” the king said to Lally.  His deep voice
might have been frightening if it weren’t so jovial.  She wheezed, nodding in
response.  Her throat constricted.  She felt as though she were breathing
through a reed.  The king extended his hand.  When she grasped it, warmth
enveloped her.  “I’m King Aelwyn,” he continued.

She ought to tell him her name. 
What was it,
again?
  Ah yes,
Allerleirauh.
  But this man was her father’s enemy. 
Then again, was not she her father’s enemy too?  None of that mattered as long
as she concealed her true identity.  But if she
were
to reveal her
identity, would this man imprison her or protect her?  It was all too much to
process.  And the cook!  How long had Lally been away from the kitchen?  Cook
would come searching for her.

“I must go,” she yelped, releasing the king’s warm
hand and darting for the door.

Fleeing through the shimmering corridor, Allerleirauh
stumbled down the stairs to the underground kitchen.  She threw her comforting
mantle over the dress as gold as the sun.  Falling to her knees at the hearth,
she panted as she swept the ashes.   

“Why, there you are, hairy animal!” the cook cried. 
“Leave that sweeping ‘til morning.  I’ve another task for you.  I’m going
upstairs to take a gander at the goings-on.  I’ll need you to fix the king’s
soup.  Just don’t let any hair fall in it, or I’ll not be feeding you in
future.  Not even scraps.  You hearing me, hairy beast?”

Allerleirauh nodded beneath her wolf’s head. 
Anything for a moment’s peace!  Sitting in cinders, she reflected on the king. 
Aelwyn.
  What a wonderful man.  “Aelwyn,” she said, tasting his name in
her mouth.  King Aelwyn and Queen Allerleirauh.

Ah, yes, the soup.  Cook had never asked her to
prepare food unsupervised, and she had never done so at home.  How did one go
about making soup?  It was soupy, so it must contain broth.  Where did they
keep the broth?  Oh, it was hopeless!  And if she shed hair in it, which she
was sure to do, she might never eat again.  Just while the cook was upstairs,
she took off her hairy cloak and set it in the corner.

Into the pot, she threw carrots and onions and bread
and stock.  What else went into soup?  And how did one judge when it was ready
to serve?  Staring at the violently erupting bubbles, Lally’s thoughts returned
to king Aelwyn: his gleaming skin, his large hands, and his noble but kind
demeanor.  This soup was for him.  It must be perfect. 

She went to her little den and searched for some
small object she could put into the soup to make it special.  What had she to
give?  Ah, yes.  She knew just the thing!  Into the bowl, Lally placed a small
cord of golden thread.  Aelwyn would drink Allerleirauh’s bread soup and
recognize that someone special had prepared it, lovingly, for him.

Heavy footsteps fell against the stairs.  Lally’s
heart went cold.  Cook could not see her in her mother’s dress!  Fleeing to the
corner, she slipped the mantle over her shoulders, and the wolf’s head over her
golden hair.  Whirling around, she saw through Wolf’s eyes that it was not Cook
at all.  “Oh, Liam!  ‘Tis only you,” Lally sighed with relief.  “Cook has gone
above ground to observe the feast.  I had to make this soup myself.  I fear the
good King will find it a most unsavory meal.”

“I’m sure he will and all, wild beast,” retorted
young Liam, the excessively proud server.  “Your soup is probably hairy as you
are!”

Could Lally not ask for one sliver of kindness from
the servants of this palace?  Squinting through her tears, she ladled a small
serving of bread soup into the specially-prepared bowl.  King Aelwyn would not
wish for any more.  He would likely have one spoonful and reject the rest. 
Staring at the oil spots floating atop the pot of soup, Lally’s stomach turned
that the King might discard it.  How could she allow that?  Reaching for the
soup bowl to throw its contents back into the pot, she found it had
disappeared.  Liam too was gone.  Lally’s face burned at the thought of the
King, upstairs at his feast, eating her dreadful meal.  The soup pot mocked
her.  Curious, and fearing Cook might never let her eat again, she slurped
broth from the ladle.  The soup tasted nothing like Cook’s.

Sinking to her knees, Allerleirauh crawled to the
hearth like a wounded animal.  Resignation to a life underground sat heavy on
her heart.  When Cook descended the stairs, Lally was raking the cinders with
her hands.

“What are you playing at, hairy animal?” Cook cried,
her voice muted by the gloom hanging about Lally’s head.  “Never mind that. 
When you were peeping in on the feast, did you see the beauty in the dress as
gold as the summer sun?  I missed her myself, but the word is all about the
palace:  the King’s mad for this gorgeous princess and nobody knows where she’s
from or where she’s got to!”

Allerleirauh whirled about.  Did Cook suspect?  No,
she was merely gossiping.  “What said the king of this golden woman?” Lally
inquired, coating her anxiety in a casual tone of voice.  She shook the soot
from her fingers and rubbed her palms on the skunk’s fur of her mantle.

“Well, ‘course, I didn’t talk to his highness
directly.  It was one of the guards what told me.  Boris.  That big tall beast
of a man.  Gentle as a lamb, he is.  So, I saw Boris running about the palace
and I asked him, ‘Boris, what’re you playing at traipsing around when you ought
to be guarding King Aelwyn?’  That’s when he told me about the girl what the
king laid eyes on.  Hair of gold and a gown to match.  She didn’t stop to chat,
but fled the great hall.  At once, the king had his guards block the palace
exits, but she never arrived at any of them.”