Chapter 4

{I freely acknowledge my debt to the late Sir Alfred Hitchcock and the late Dame Daphne du Maurier for one part of the following - no prizes for guessing. Readers of a sensitive and/or nervous disposition might care to skip the paragraphs marked with an asterisk (*)}

She continued her travels after leaving the boy Giovanni with his mother to recover from his abduction, stripping and beating. Her white horse continued to lead her towards the region where she was to spend the winter. The further south she went, the more arid and parched the land was becoming and she appreciated more and more how fortunate she was to have her by now beloved steed to carry her provisions for her, even if she did continue to attract amazement not only at her continued nakedness, but the fact that she walked by his side rather than rode him. And not only her provisions did the horse carry, but another victim of life’s misfortunes.

A few miles outside the town where she had deposited the lovelorn youth, she spied another unfortunate. As this poor man had staggered home from a long night of drinking not wisely but too well, he had been attacked and robbed. Although this particular set of thieves had been good enough to leave their victim with his clothes on, the poor man was so badly injured as to render him totally immobile, lying semi-conscious by the roadside. With much straining and sweating, the Princess had contrived to lift the fellow’s dead weight onto the white horse’s saddle and transport him to his own village.

With the thanks of his grateful wife still fresh in her ears, she had resumed her journey, returning at the horse’s bidding to her ordained route, and feeling somewhat virtuous at the way she was helping out life’s victims in this way!

It was a few hours later that the worst disaster of her exile and wanderings occurred.

The horse led her straight through a small town, right along the main street. She noticed that the townsfolk were looking angrily at her and felt gravely threatened for the first time in her travels. Thus far, something about her had ensured that she had not been subjected to serious violence, despite the disapproval many obviously felt for her nudity. She had never lost a kind of innocence in her demeanor, and this artless charm, together with the air of authority appropriate to her high and noble rank, had won many hearts and appeased much puritanical wrath. The people of this town were different. Very different. Why has the horse led me through here? She asked herself as the atmosphere became more and more menacing and she began to be jostled by the gathering throng of citizenry who seemed to be pouring out onto the street to vent their rage against her.

“Go on, you can’t help me. Save yourself, old boy.” she muttered to the horse, which, since she was still forbidden to mount it, could be of no assistance to her as a way of escape from the people’s increasing wrath. The animal did as she bid, leaving her alone to face whatever fate the angry citizens might have planned for her.

“Shameful.”

“Wicked”

“Whore”

“Harlot”

“Scandalous behavior”

“Make an example of her. Whip the skin off her back and throw her carcass to the wolves!”

At this last cry, she was seized by two of the leading citizens and dragged to the main square where, her hands above her head, she was securely tied to the whipping post, a device much used by the civic leadership in this small community to ensure the maintenance of moral rectitude. She wondered what would happen to her and she did not have long to wait before she found out!

A strong and muscular man, merciless of feature with an ugly glowering face, stripped to the waist, revealing a powerful, hairy chest and phenomenal arms, as thick as many a strong man’s thighs, came and stood in front of her, holding a long whip made of some kind of hide, knotted along its length. It was a devilish implement and, if used on her, would be sure to leave her lovely back horribly scarred until the end of her days, if it did not kill her outright, which she feared it surely would.

“Do you wish to plead for mercy, harlot?”

“I do not plead with the likes of you. I only give commands to my inferiors, and I command you to free me, or it will be the worst for you!”

Enraged by this defiance, the crowd became more insistent in their growled demands that condign punishment be visited on the shamelessly revealed body of the unfortunate Princess. The man went round behind her and she heard the voices of the watching people die away as they silently waited for the show to begin. They were very moral and upright citizens and loved to see sin receive its just desserts.

(*) She scarcely had time to take in the sound of the viciously wielded whip as it descended with lightning-like speed onto her delicate young back, whistling and hissing angrily through the air. All the pain she had so far endured was as nothing compared to what she felt today as the leather tore deep into her flesh, exposing her ribs to the delighted gaze of the spectators. A cheer went up. Despite her agony, Princess Sara uttered no sound. Twelve more times the lash descended and still she did not cry out or beg for the torture to cease.

Despite her silent courage, she knew that this was the end of her life. Even should she survive, a maimed and disfigured bride would be no suitable match for her Prince, who was now surely lost to her forever. She prepared herself to make that most momentous of all journeys, as she felt life slipping from her and a black shadow seemed to obscure the town and the world from view.

(*) The fourteenth lash never came. Because of her agony, Princess Sara had not heard the strange commotion, as of a mighty wind and the sound of a thousand angry squealing, screeching voices, high up above in the skies. Neither had the townsfolk, fascinated by the sound of the lash descending on the Princess’s torn back and the sight of the blood dripping from her wounds, pouring onto the ground, to form a red pool at her feet.

The first intimation of something extraordinary was when the flogger screamed in pain, dropping the whip and clutching his bleeding face. He was suddenly surrounded by a flock of birds - crows, starlings, thrushes, falcons, eagles - every kind of bird. His eyes were pecked out before he had a chance to defend himself and the feathered horde continued to whirl around him, swooping on him and pecking him until he was just a bloody mass of wounded flesh, lying quite dead on the ground.

The sky was utterly black with the incredible concentration of birds, more of whom were flocking to the scene by the minute, and the light of the sun could not penetrate the clouds of winged avengers as the fowls of the air set about the townsfolk, driving them hither and thither in a vain attempt to escape the self-same vengeance that had just been visited so horribly on the executioner.

Not to be outdone, the dogs of the community turned on their owners, snarling and tearing at them, enthusiastically and savagely assisting the avian horde in rending the screaming townsfolk limb from limb.

Some of the birds pecked away at the bonds which held the Princess to her place of torture and she was soon free, slipping fainting and weak to the ground, covered as it was by her blood. Weakly, she rose again, every movement the sheerest agony. The white horse had returned to her side by this time and she grasped the reins for support and slowly the two of them left the scene of carnage behind.

“I did warn him it would be all the worse for him if he disobeyed me, but I never imagined it would be that bad!” murmured the Princess as she slowly and painfully made her way out of the town and into the countryside. “How very unfortunate for me that the birds could not turn up sooner, though. I will be disfigured by the end of my days and who will wish to marry me now? I might as well have died back there. My life is over.”

Still on foot, obedient as ever to the Fairy’s prohibition against her mounting the horse, even in her present weakness and continuing agony, she finally came to a lake, whose blue and placid waters stretched far into the distance. By the shore, she paused to wash herself and clean away the blood. She looked down at her reflection in the still water and, this time, she did not see herself!

The face that stared back at her was that of a raven-haired and beautiful woman, slightly older than herself, her dark beauty contrasting to Princess Sara’s own fair loveliness.

“Welcome, Princess. Wounded and courageous Princess Sara, you are very welcome here! Enter the lake of which I am the Guardian Spirit and lower your torn and bleeding body into its deep. Then continue your journey with my blessings and those of the entire Spirit World!”

Sara obeyed and waded out into the lake, lowering herself into its warm depths as she had been ordered. As the waters closed over her head, the pain disappeared and her weakness was replaced by returned strength. She heard the voice of the Guardian of the Lake order her to rise and continue her travels. Emerging from the water she put her hand behind her, feeling the back which had recently been so horribly maltreated. Her skin was as smooth and unmarked as it had ever been. Her terrible wounds were healed!

“Why did you lead me to that terrible town and those awful people?”

The horse snorted and neighed, hanging its head as though ashamed - which it was. He knew, to his sorrow, that he had repaid the young Princess’s fearless rescue of him very badly indeed by leading her into such danger and pain. Like her, he was not a free agent and must go where the Fairy Queen dictated.

Sara had paused to rest some eight hours after leaving the mysterious healing lake, which, when she looked back, had quite vanished, being replaced by bare and arid land. She drank from the water bottle, filled from the phantom lake. At least that water had not evaporated! Far from it! She noticed, to her amazement that the bottle was still full to the brim, despite the copious draught she had just swallowed, and the water was ice cold, despite the heat of the day that had just passed.

After putting her through such a dreadful ordeal, it seemed that the unseen spirits were making amends for their cruelty. She found a comparatively soft spot to rest her head. She slept and soon dreamt that the Fairy Queen was talking to her.

“I deeply regret what happened to you in that town at the hands of those cruel zealots, who have all perished, but you were wrong to sleep with that boy the other day. You did it not merely for him - to give him warmth and protection, but more for yourself, to satisfy your perfectly understandable and, in many ways laudable, desire for human contact. I know that you had no thought of making love to him and that you remain a pure virgin, but you willfully disobeyed the injunction that you remain alone for one year. Contact of that kind is forbidden and you must avoid all unnecessary dealings with people in future.

“We turned a blind eye to your weeks with Martha, who had been vilely and unjustly used by one of our number, but this night with the youth was too serious a matter for us to overlook. We could not permit such an infraction to go uncorrected. You were severely punished and, but for the intervention of your feathered friends, would have suffered far more before we allowed you to be released from your torments. Another such offense and your fate will be a great deal worse - immeasurably more painful, and there will be no healing to follow - you will bear the marks of any future punishment forever, throughout this life and into the next.”

When she woke, she pondered these stern words and the awful warning she had been given. The Fairy spirit had the power to make good her threat - she was all too well aware of that after yesterday! Even so, she could, at least partially, diminish the power that the unseen spirit world had over her with the help of the animal world. Despite this, she hesitated to provoke their anger again, for she could not bear the thought of being maimed and scarred for life. Or could she bear it, she subconsciously thought? Would she one day decide to defy these unseen forces in order to be herself and live her own life - exactly as she pleased?

What is the body’s worth compared to that of the soul? If her freedom could only be purchased by undergoing permanent physical damage, then ought she not be willing to pay that price? A seed of defiance against the tyranny that had brought her from security and luxury to poverty, pain, loneliness and danger was germinating inside her. Then she saw the face of her beloved before her, and all thoughts of rebellion fled from the mind of this lovesick girl. Love makes the most abject slaves of even the proudest.

A month had passed since the lovely Princess Sara’s brutal flogging at the hands of those wicked people. The physical agony might have been taken away and the wounds may have healed shortly after the horror, but the memory of the ghastly pain and the public humiliation she had experienced had not left her. She was justly proud not to have cried out for mercy to those despicable people, but ashamed of the way that she had been on the verge of meekly letting go of her hold on life, surrendering herself to death many long years before her time was due and her duty done.

Even now she was not permitted to ride on the white horse, which she still had not named. She preferred to address him with endearments, such as “darling”, “my sweet companion”, “Precious love” “my faithful friend” or “Sweetheart” and many, many more. Now that all human love and companionship, even of the most perfunctory and innocent kind, were forbidden, it was only the birds and animals, her beloved mount in particular, who sustained her through the loneliness of her exile.