Chapter 3, The Princess and the Monks
Princess Maia knew very little about her parents. Rumour had it that she had been rescued just hours before the jealous king from a neighbouring land had cast a spell on the king and queen’s castle. In his loneliness and jealousy, or so the story goes, he had conjured up spirits to rob the castle and the surrounding lands of all life. Maia’s parents, the king and queen, had died instantly and the lands across the kingdom transformed over night from fertile farmland and lush forests to a barren, dusty landscape. The villagers scratched out a meagre living by leading their cattle high up onto the greener mountain slopes near the border and by working leather and metal, which they sold to passing traders.
Maia had been raised by a group of kindly monks who lived in a monastery high up in the Ulike mountains. The monastery was simple and austere, but it was incredibly beautiful. Every morning for as long as she could remember, Maia had been awoken by the bells that called the monks to morning meditation. When she was a baby, she lay in her cradle as they chanted. As she grew, she was given her own orange robes. She learned to meditate and to chant in the temple with the monks, to grow food and to prepare medicines, to read and write and to study. But she knew that she didn’t belong in the land of the monks, and feared that one day she would have to return to the castle and the death that surrounded it.
There was no king or queen in this land and the monks knew nothing of royalty or how to behave in the presence of a princess. They simply treated her as the magical soul that she was, naming her Rinchen – precious gem.
On the morning of the solstice in the year of the Yellow Star, after they had finished a shared breakfast of sugar bean stew and yamas milke, one of the elder monks sat down beside her. His normally smiling round face today looked downcast, and he took a parchment from his robes.
“Maia-Rinchen, precious gem. You came to us a surprise gift and have filled our days with sunshine and our hearts with joy”, he began.
“but today you must return to your own lands. Today is your sixteenth birthday, and you become Queen of the castle from which you were taken many years ago.”
He turned his large brown eyes to hers and Maia-Rinchen saw a teardrop trickle down the old monk’s smooth face. He placed his kindly hands on top of her head, interlacing his fingers as was the tradition when the monks gave one another a blessing.
“Maia-Rinchen, may your lands give great harvest, and may you share your precious gems with the world. Govern with kindness and know all the people in your care, from the littlest to the greatest. Resolve disputes with understanding and make laws that are fair. Protect and nourish the weak. Take care of the land and the plants and animals that live upon it. And after seven years on that soil, open your heart to love and let new life begin”.
At sundown, the mountains rang out with the song of the monks as they joined hands, fingers interlaced, around the small carriage that was to take Maia-Rinchen back to her homeland. Her sobs mingled with the monks’ voices, carried up into the sunset on clouds of sweet incense.
Three days later, Maia-Rinchen’s carriage arrived at the castle and she was saddened at what she saw. It was large, cold and unwelcoming and the lands surrounding it were dead. Not one tree or blade of grass could be seen north, south, east or west. An eerie silence lay around, as no birds sang and no animals made their home there. Every summer since the king’s spell, the sun had bleached the ground into a fine white dust and the winter wind had reached its icy fingers far down into the earth.
No sooner had Maia unpacked her few belongings than she was summoned to a meeting of her Advisers. They took turns to introduce themselves and outline their roles and responsibilities. They had been acting on her behalf whilst she was with the monks, but now she was in charge. Each week she would be required to attend meetings, listen to their reports and make decisions on how the lands should be run. Villagers’ disputes would be summarised and she could make decisions on how they should be resolved.
Compared with her life in the land of the monks, this life of privilege and riches felt lonely and joyless, and Maia fell into a deep sadness. At her formal coronation, she had to give up her monk’s name – she would be now known as Queen Maia the Powerful. But she didn’t feel powerful at all, it was the worst name she could possibly have been given.
Try as she might, Maia found it was almost impossible to put any of the old monk’s words into practice. Unable to travel or even to leave the castle without permission and the company of knights and watchmen, she had little to do other than attend the Advisers meetings in the main chamber room. She knew nothing of the villagers and so found it hard to address their disputes or concerns. She passed whatever laws the Advisers recommended so long as they didn’t sound too bad. She suspected that her Advisers kept from her any distressing stories of poverty or suffering, so she had no idea who needed nourishing and protecting. She tried to forget the monks, telling herself that her childhood days were over and that this was a land run by royalty and power, and the monks’ ways could never work here.
On the solstice eve of the year of the North Star, a banquet was held in the honour of Maia the Powerful’s twenty-third birthday and seventh year as Queen. Looking down the table, she saw the same set of faces that she had become accustomed to. Some kindly, some careworn, some happy and some sad. Then her gaze rested on somebody she had never seen before. At the far end of the table was the most extraordinary woman she had ever seen. She was talking and laughing with two knights who were clearly captivated by her beauty. They had a glazed look in their eyes and as one of them lifted a tankard of ale to his mouth, he missed and poured it into his lap. Embarrassed, he flapped at the spill with a napkin while his companion shouted with drunken laughter.
The woman’s hair glistened black like the wings of a crow, and her blue eyes twinkled like the sunlit stream that ran through the monastery in the land of the monks. Maia had the impression that this was some kind of elf or imp spirit and wondered who on earth she was and who had invited her. But before she could find anybody to ask, the treasurer began to bore her with his latest update on the castle’s finances, proudly listing how many golden coins had been locked away in the vaults for hundreds of years. For what purpose, Maia couldn’t imagine – surely money was for spending.
At the end of the evening, as the guests began to put on their cloaks, Maia turned her head left and right to try and see where the magical spirit woman had gone. One by one the guests came to bid her goodbye and to add their gifts to the already groaning table. But not one of the well-wishers had coal-black hair or sparkling eyes.
Saddened, Maia bid goodnight to her Advisers and took a candle to light the way to her quarters. But as she crossed the courtyard to her tower, she heard a sharp whisper that made her heart leap.
“Maia-Rinchen. Precious gem, giver of sunlight and joy. The monks send their blessings to you on this special solstice eve”
The voice used the formal dialect of the region and belonged to a heavily cloaked person astride a large black horse.
“Come with me Maia-Rinchen. It’s time for you to see your lands”
The woman held out her hand, and with surprising strength, swung Maia up behind her on the horse’s broad back. As if by magic, the portcullis began to lift, gliding up soundlessly instead of its usual slow clanking. Turning to wink at Maia, the imp-spirit woman urged her horse onwards and they slipped soundlessly through the castle gates, out across the bare earth and towards the flickering lights of the far-distant villages.
Maia hadn’t ridden a horse since she had left the monastery, and the journey was an uncomfortable business. She bounced about on the horse’s back whilst clinging limpet-like to the woman’s cloaks and begging her to slow down. Beyond this, there was no possibility of much conversation. She fell off and crunched her knee awkwardly as she landed, shouting a curse that made her companion giggle. After what seemed like hours and hours, the horse’s gait slowed to a walk and finally, thankfully, stopped outside a small and humble cottage that spilled a warm light out onto a tiny garden in front.
“This is our home for the night Maia-Rinchen”, the woman spoke in a lilting accent from the North West that Maia hadn’t noticed before.
“There are good people here”.
Before Maia could reply, the door swung open and an elderly couple stepped outside to take Maia’s companion in their arms, forming a three-way hug that left Maia feeling momentarily and oddly alone, painfully aware that she had no family at all.
“Saoirse!” she heard the elderly woman’s voice, muffled through everyone’s cloaks “thank God you made the journey safe”.
As if suddenly remembering themselves, they broke apart and turned to Maia.
“Forgive us, my lady. Welcome to our home. It’s no castle, but I’m surely hoping that you’ll be warm and cosy here”
She certainly was. There was hot chocolate on the stove and a warm lemon drizzle cake on the table. Both were under the watchful eye of a large black Labrador sitting with his back to the fire, a ribbon of drool catching the colour of the flames and his tail sweeping the floor in a slow semi-circle. As soon as the earthenware mug was in her hands and a generous slab of cake on a colourful plate in front of her, Maia felt completely at home. Later, as she lay in the small bed, the cosy room a stark contrast to the draughty castle, tears slid down the sides of her face and into her ears. She wasn’t sure that she wanted to be a Queen.
The next morning, there was a tap at the door and Saoirse appeared with a bag of clothes and a disconcertingly large pair of scissors.
“What are they for?” said Maia, nodding towards the pair of blades in alarm.
“Well Maia-Rinchen.” (Maia’s heart flooded with happiness each time she heard that name, especially the way Saoirse pronounced it).
“It’s up to you of course, but if you want to meet people properly, it might be better if they didn’t know you were royalty”.
Twenty minutes later she stood before a full-length mirror, gazing at her reflection with a mixture of horror and fascination.
She wore a pair of simple brown labourer’s trousers and a pale blue shirt, made of a thick material and with the sleeves rolled up. She wore a large overcoat and an even larger woollen scarf that looked like it may have been knitted by a child. Surrounding her feet were thick brown ropes of hair that Saoirse had hacked off, the scissors having turned out to be somewhat blunt. She rubbed her head and the remaining tufts stood up on end, giving her a boyish appearance which she couldn’t decide if she liked or not.
“You’re no hairdresser Saoirse”, she sighed.
“That may be so, but I’m a pretty good tour guide” she said with a wink. “Are you ready?”
She wasn’t sure for what, but she nodded anyway. Saoirse had a way about her that made almost any suggestion feel like a great idea.
At the back of the cottage was a row of stables that were shared between the neighbours. She was relieved to see that today there was a horse for each of them, and happier still to see that hers had a comfortable saddle and looked distinctly lazy. It fixed her briefly with a bored stare before tugging a knot of hay out of the trough and munching it steadily.
Alongside Saoirse, Maia spent the day travelling through her lands. They visited villages and towns and met hundreds of people. They all seemed to know and love Saoirse, and Maia began to feel a bit envious. She was introduced to them as Rinchen, a distant relative who had been brought up by monks and was coming to live with Saoirse and her family. This generated a lot of interest among the villagers, who asked endless questions about life in the monastery and all the fruits and vegetables that grew on the fertile land. As she recalled the monks’ farms and the almost endless supply of locally grown food on the monastery table, she felt sad looking at the dry, lifeless land on which the villagers here scratched out a living. Many of the cottages were in a bad state of repair and not all of them had water or electricity. When the rainy season came, the treeless landscape meant that torrents of water swept across the land, taking with it several cottages each year, and in the dry season, villagers had to stay indoors as there was no shade to be found. The villagers earned just enough money from their wood and leather work, but many of the elders had been farmers before the marauders’ spell and the barren land had clearly broken their hearts and their spirit.
“Saorise”, said Maia-Rinchen that evening. They were huddled up together in the corner of the local tavern, a tankard of ale on the bench in front of each of them. It had been an emotional day. They had met villagers who had lost their homes and were living in makeshift shelters and a woman whose baby had died because the road to the hospital had been washed away by the rain and they couldn’t get there in time. They had spoken to older farmers who had once supplied whole villagers with fresh and nutritious food but who now spent what little money they had drowning their sorrows with whisky.
“I don’t think I want to be a queen any more – I mean, I don’t think I ever was one. I hate pretending to be something that I’m not. I hate living by rules that I don’t care about”
She was crying again, her nose red and her eyes puffy, her voice weak and croaky.
“I want to be part of a family, I want to help…” She paused and gazed over to the bar where a man and a woman were arguing about how they could find the money for repairs to their storm-damaged cottage. The man put his head in his hands and the woman twisted her handkerchief, her face sick with worry.
“I don’t want to think that I just sat in the castle surrounded by all those riches and did nothing. I want to at least try.”
Saoirse nodded and touched her hand lightly onto her friend’s arm. Maia had the sensation that starlight was tingling on her skin. Saoirse leant in closer, her blue eyes sweeping left and right, as if to gauge whether or not they could be heard.
“There’s something that we might be able to do. An old spell called the Threshing”.
“It sounds terrifying”
Saoirse waved away her friend’s comment as if she was swatting a fly
“Threshing as in getting the real stuff out – honesty, integrity, authenticity, that sort of thing”
Seeing the puzzled look on Maia’s face, she continued
“The spell needs someone who is willing to give up the things that they have been hiding behind. To speak out the truth and live in accordance with who they really are.”
“How on earth is that going to help? How is that even a spell?”
“You’ll see Maia-Rinchen. If you’re willing, you’ll see”.
Saoirse’s eyes twinkled and Maia felt herself falling under a spell. Was this why Saoirse had come to find her? To show her the villagers and the land, and to persuade her to help with the spell? She couldn’t decide whether to feel outraged or flattered, used or chosen. But she knew that Saoirse’s heart was good and she couldn’t be angry for long. Perhaps it was a good idea. She just needed to work out who on earth she was. If she wasn’t a princess or a queen, or a villager, who was she?
That night, Maia slept fitfully. In her dreams she was back at the monastery with its peaceful inhabitants, its simple life of meditation, study and working the land. She woke up with her heart beating fast – it was the only place she had truly belonged. The monks were the only family she had.
At sunrise Maia woke and crept out to the stables to find Lulu, the lazy horse of which she’d become rather fond. With difficulty she fitted the saddle, climbed onto Lulu’s back and turned in the direction of the castle, clear in her mind what it was she was going to do.
The emergency Adviser’s meeting was called for that very same afternoon. After the panic surrounding her disappearance after the banquet, the watchmen didn’t know whether to be angry or relieved at her sudden return. Maia-Rinchen appeared in the main chamber and took her throne at the head of the long table. Her orange robes and short-cropped hair made her barely recognisable as the queen that had sat there only a few days before.
“Ladies and gentlemen”, she began, trying to control the wobble in her voice.
“I apologise for any distress I have caused by my disappearance. I took the liberty of visiting my own lands, of meeting the villagers the other side of the fortifications, who are supposedly under my care”.
There was some shifting of bottoms in seats and exchanged glances.
“I have come to the conclusion that living inside these ramparts and behind a heavy Portcullis is not a life. That the riches in here and poverty out there is more of a disparity than any person with a heart should have to witness.”
She paused again to look around the room. The same set of faces but this time, some of them pale and awkward, others red and defiant.
“None of us here have known unemployment, or lived without a weatherproof roof over our heads. How lucky we are that this castle stands firm against the floods that sweep away other dwellings, and protects us from the sun that has turned this land to dust”
She swallowed, not sure whose voice this was, or where the words were coming from.
“But now we all shall, I’m afraid”. As the last in my line and as the only owner of this castle, I declare it property of the villagers. They may do with it as they please, although I doubt that will include the employment of watchmen or treasurers…”
Suddenly there was a fluttering sound, and the group looked up in astonishment as a bird that had entered through an open window darted around the room in panic. There had been no birds since the Marauders’ spell, and Maia had almost forgotten what they looked like. One of the watchmen stood up, staring out of the window with a look of confusion on his face. Maia continued.
“All my possessions, including the precious gems in the vault will be sold – I will have no need for them where I am going. The money from their sale, together with the golden coins that the treasurer has so diligently hoarded away will be used to provide a scheme of repairs for the villagers’ properties, and to research what can be done to make the land fertile again. A villagers’ council will be funded to ensure fair and kind governance, so that the weakest be nourished and protected”
But no-one was listening. They were all gathered around the open window, open-mouthed and in awe. Cherry blossom petals billowed in like snowflakes, creating a deep pink carpet on the floor and the intoxicating smell of fresh grass washed over them in waves. The Treasurer, who used to suffer from hayfever as a boy, pulled out a large handkerchief and began to sneeze uncontrollably, his eyes puffy and streaming.
For the rest of the day and evening, the sound of birdsong grew louder, and wild poppies burst into red, yellow and orange between the gravel stones of the courtyard until there was no gravel visible at all. springs appeared and turned into streams and rivers, tall trees breathed out clean air that made everyone feel giddy and uninhibited – the following winter saw a surprise cluster of newborn babies.
If the Advisers had climbed high into the castle’s battlements, they would have seen the green unrolling like a carpet across the land, or perhaps even heard the shouts of joy and astonishment as the village elders rushed out onto their land, falling to their knees and smelling the rich earth, their tears mingling with the minerals of the soil.
And if they could have climbed higher still, they might just have been able to make out the figures two women, climbing the mountain pass hand in hand towards the clouds of incense and the sound of meditation bells.
The end
theradicalsabbaticalblog