Weaving a Tangled Web

Where do stories start? A story might start “once upon a time”, but that’s what it starts with. It might start with Grand Vizier Rumpole glaring at his chief court adversary, Duke De Stihle, but that is part of the who. No, where stories start is bound up tightly with when they start. And this story starts one evening, at the pub.

“I tell no word of a lie,” said Darragh, the weaver, “she spun seven skeins of wool in an hour.”

“Yer titching a tadler,” said one disbelieving co-drinker, “ain’t nobody ever done more than five skein and three-fifths.”

“No,” insisted Darragh, “she’s got the golden touch. No matter what you give her, she’ll spin it. Give her coarse wool and she’ll spin it to fine, give her pig’s bristles and she’ll make an angora coat. Even” he said, raising his voice above the growing chorus of jeers, “give her nothing but straw, and she’ll weave it to gold!”

The problem with stories, is that they don’t really have edges, their boundaries are fuzzy, like lantana bushes. And just like lantana, if you don’t prune a story back, rather viciously, it can grow out of control…

“Did you hear that?” Private Abernathy nudged his partner in mediocrity, Private Barnabus.

“Eh, ‘ear what?” said Barnabus.

“He just said how his daughter spins straw into gold. I reckon that’s important, that’s something we should tell the Sergeant.”

Two other soldiers at the table perked up their ears, then nudged each other and winked.

“You’re right,” said one of them, with exaggerated interest, “but you shouldn’t just go to the Sergeant with this important information, you oughta tell the Captain. In fact, if I was you, I wouldn’t even wait.”

The other soldier sniggered into his beer as Abernathy nodded sincere agreement.

“Come on Barny, we’ve gotta get back to the barracks.”

You’ve got to get right on top of a story early, because they tend to grow very quickly, even a mild story can double in size overnight…

“So I heard it, right from the old man’s lips, his daughter can spin straw into gold, mountains of it, he reckons.”

Guard Captain Eoin regarded Private Abernathy with suspicion. Abernathy was not the sharpest spoon in the draw and Eoin held his word in scant regard. Likewise, his compatriot, Barnabus, was a drunk and a fool, so his substantiation was equally suspect.

“Get yourselves to bed, you’re both drunk. You misheard,” said Eoin, “spinning straw into gold…” He shook his head in disbelief.

…and just when you think you’ve pruned the story down, ground the stump and poisoned that sucker into non-existence, up it pops somewhere else, the seeds scattered by a passing breeze or little bird.

Two days later, Captain Eoin had the entire barracks out on parade to conduct a thorough yelling at.

“For the last time, you lot,” roared Eoin, “there’s no bloody spinning of straw into gold.”

The soldiers stood at attention, listening dutifully, then immediately dismissing his words. After all, if she really couldn’t spin straw into gold, then why was he yelling about it?

“Ahem,” said a cultivated voice, behind the Captain.

“Bugger,” is what Eoin wanted to say, when he turned around and saw the ‘ahemmer’. What he actually said was, “Good morning sir, always good to see you on parade. How can I help?”

Major Ponsionbey Luqdashe, who, Eoin felt, had far more vowels in his name than was warranted, peered over his affectatious half-rims and said,

“A word, captain.”

“Very good sir.”

They decamped some distance from the parade, then Ponsionbey turned to Eoin and hissed, “What’s this about someone spinning straw into gold?”

“It’s nothing sir, just a rumour.”

“Bollocks it is! I’ve heard the same thing from the chambermaid’s daughter’s friend.”

“Indeed sir? Incontrovertible proof then.”

Ponsionbey nodded sage agreement, being the sort of person who wouldn’t know sarcasm if it bit him.

“My word, you’re right, Captain, definite proof. I must bring this to my lord’s attention at once.”

“Yes sir, very good. Now, if you’ve no objection…”

“What? Oh, yes. Yes get back to your soldiers. Good day, Captain.”

Major Ponsionbey wasted no time in reporting back to his superior, Lord Bothringham, who was unconvinced. But Bothringham hadn’t reached his position by being the last to claim the credit for good news. He quickly informed his patron, Duke Ermond De Stihle, and he whispered it, finally, into the receptive ears of his Majesty the King.

“Spin straw to gold?!” said the King, “but that might ruin us. Imagine, if I no longer controlled the gold supply, why, anybody could buy things, like food, or even clothing. No, I’ve worked far too hard creating a monopoly to let some girl ruin it; and a weaver at that. Ew.”

“Indeed Sire,” said the Duke, “I fully agree. We should immediately prevent her ever spinning again.”

“Thankyou Ermond, now see to it.”

“I’ll make sure she’s not heard from again, Sire.”

“Wait,” hissed a sibilant voice, and Grand Vizier Rumpole stepped from the shadows.

Somewhere, there is a grand vizier who is short, plump and rosy-cheeked, with sparkling blue eyes in a round, happy face. Rumpole was not that vizier. He could be described as thin, but that would fail to capture how much he looked like dried leather stretched over a dozen coat-hangers. The only reason he didn’t get mistaken for dead, was that he apparently never slept. And nobody knew his last name, he was simply known as, ‘Steel-skin’.

“Wait,” said Rumpole Steel-skin again, “if she could be turned to your cause, she could enhance your monopoly.” He glanced slyly across at the now fuming duke, then resumed his cajoling. It didn’t take the vizier long to sway the King, although he balked briefly at one point.

“Marry my son? Surely not.”

“Sire, if she is part of the royal family, she can’t be in opposition to you. Besides, you might have grandchildren with the same talent!”

And that was that. The King gave immediate orders to have the weaver’s daughter arrested.

So it was, that Captain Eoin, in the regrettable company of Abernathy and Barnabus, walked down the back-streets, to the house of Darragh the Weaver. It was evening, and dim lamplight gleamed through the cottage’s sole window. Eoin rapped on the door.

“Get that would you Shonny,” came a cracked old man’s voice.

The door swung inward and for the first time Eoin saw the subject of the current court scheming, the seed of discord and eye of the imminent storm. She was short, not petite exactly – too lithe and strong-looking to be considered that, with light brunette hair and deep brown eyes, overflowing with innocence. For a moment Eoin was stunned to silence.

“Yes?” she said brusquely.

“Uh, sorry miss. We’re here to take you to the castle.”

She looked at him, across to Abernathy, took in their uniform tabards and short swords, then immediately slammed the door. Eoin sighed, then hammered on the door with his fist.

“Miss, don’t make me kick the door down.”

“Bugger off. I’m not going. Dad, tell them I’m not going.”

“Miss, the King himself commanded your presence,” said Eoin

“Why? What does he want with me?”

“He believes you can spin straw to gold.”

“What! Why would he think that?”

Eoin paused as he heard some muttered conversation inside. It lasted for several minutes, gradually rising in volume until;

“What!? You told them bloody what!?” she shrieked, “why would you think that was anything but insane?”

There followed a significant period of invective which was both poetic and explicit. Eventually, the torrent of rage eased, and finally stopped. The door creaked open again, and Darragh, the weaver, looked out.

“Sinead will be out presently.”

“Thank you sir,” said Eoin.

Five minutes later, Sinead was at the door, a small bag in one hand, wearing what was clearly her best dress and bonnet.

“Well,” she said, in a haughty voice, “hadn’t we better be going? The sooner we’re there, the sooner I can sort this mess out.”

“Yes ma’am”

At first they walked in silence, Sinead and Eoin at the front with Abernathy and Barnabus behind. Soon though, the silence became uncomfortable, and Eoin spoke.

“Sorry to put you out like this ma’am, it’s not my idea.”

Sinead sniffed, “You’re still doing it though.”

“Yes, but you need fair warning. I don’t think you’ll sort this out easily.”

“Why not? Do you doubt me? Because I’m woman?”

“No. I don’t doubt you, but you are caught between two very powerful men, the Duke and the Grand Vizier. No fault of yours, but you’ve been swept into court intrigue.”

“I’m sure I can sort this out, it’s a simple misunderstanding.”

She remained sure, right up until she stood in the King’s private court, the Duke to her left, Rumpole to her right and the King seated in front of her. The King’s proposition brooked no refusal.

“You will spin straw to gold for me,” he said, “when you prove you can, my son shall marry you. If you cannot, you will be imprisoned and your father beheaded for disturbing our peace.”

She turned ashen and would have fallen, had Captain Eoin not been there to steady her arm.

“Excellent your highness,” said the Duke, “I will have her escorted to a room.”

“No need,” said Rumpole smoothly, “I’ve a place for her, already sorted.”

“I have some men without the door, they’d be honoured escort her,” countered the Duke.

“Not at all, my good man, I’d hate to put them out for such a trivial matter. I’ll escort her myself; it’s on the way to my own chambers.”

Eoin noted, that the King watched the two fencing lords with careful interest. Eventually the Grand Vizier prevailed and deftly steered the girl away.

Rumpole ushered Sinead into a high tower room, shut the door firmly behind him and locked it. There was a pile of straw and a spinning wheel.

“We both know you can’t spin straw to gold,” said Rumpole, “and you’ve heard what will happen when the King finds out.”

Sinead nodded mutely in response.

Rumpole tilted his head slyly, “However I can help you. Here’s what we’ll do; we’ll show the King this pile of straw, then say tonight you’ll weave it, but can’t have anyone watching. You burn the straw in the fireplace and I’ll bring a strand of gold for you to present.”

“A single strand of gold? Will that be enough?”

“Nobody said how much gold you could weave now, did they. The King will honour his word, I’m certain, and you’ll wed the Prince. Congratulations, you’re going to be a princess.” He took in her shocked expression, “yes, quite the promotion, isn’t it.”

“What’s in it for you?”

“Your first-born child will be a girl. As soon as legally allowed, we shall marry. Don’t look like that, I’ve no personal desire, we will be married in name only.”

“But wouldn’t that make you…”

“Heir? Yes.”

“What good will it do you?” asked Sinead, “I mean, you’re, you know, getting on a bit.”

“Old, you mean. Yes, I am old, far older than you imagine. And I am patient.”

That night, Sinead fed the straw into the fire. It smouldered and smoked in thick white billows, but by dawn, the straw was gone and she held a single strand of wire gold. The King’s disappointment was evident, but with subtle reminders from Rumpole, he kept his word and Sioned was married to the Prince.

In due course, Sinead fell pregnant, and Rumpole visited her chambers one evening.

“Our deal nears its completion. You will hand over your daughter the moment she’s born.”

“What? That wasn’t the deal. You said you’d marry her as soon as legally allowed.”

“Yes. And until that time, she will be my ward. There will be no accidents, no sudden running off with the heir-maker, no avoiding it.”

“Surely the King must be consulted.”

“I have spoken with the King,” said Rumpole, “he is in full agreement with my plan.”

“But…” Sinead hesitated, “very well. But let me have three days with her.”

“Three days. Yes, three days is fine, but be warned, I will be there the whole time, there will be no escaping our deal.”

In what must have been one of the most awkward births in history, Rumpole hovered over Sinead’s bed, ignoring the strident calls of the midwife to, “Bugger off, you nosy old git.” The child was born, a girl as promised, and Sinead wept holding her.

The King naturally wanted to meet his granddaughter, but Sinead begged off for two days, saying she wanted the girl to be well and happy when first presented. She was surprisingly eloquent and persuasive, and the King relented. Her real reason was to eke as much time as possible with her baby before giving her up.

Finally, on the third day, she brought the baby to the King's private court. Duke De Stihle, Rumpole, and a few select dignitaries were the only audience permitted for this first presentation of the baby.

“Your Majesty,” said Sinead gracefully, “may I present to you, your first-born grandchild. As you deserve, a beautiful child with strength, wisdom and kindness, to reflect your own magnificent character.”

The King smiled, “I see you’ve developed a silver tongue, to match your gold-weaving.”

Sinead looked puzzled for a moment, “Gold-weaving, Sire?”

“Yes, yes, your weaving. I must admit I thought it unlikely at best, but you proved me wrong.”

“Why no, your Majesty. That was a jest. I burnt the straw and was given a strand of gold.”

“A jest!? You… you dared to… to insult our person with such a… jest!?”

“No Sire, no, not I. It was all the idea of someone else. I thought you knew.”

“Who!?” thundered the King.

“It was Rumpole Steel-skin, your highness.”

“Sire,” said Rumpole desperately, “surely you don’t believe this.”

It was not the King who answered him though.

“And yet Rumpole,” said the Duke smoothly, “you are undoubtedly the one to gain the most from this… jest. Clearly this girl is innocent, and you have manipulated her.”

Things did not go well from there, not for Rumpole at least. His betrothal to Sinead’s daughter was annulled, and he was banished, though not forever. The King was no fool; he knew he needed to counterbalance Duke De Stihle’s power, so Rumpole’s banishment lasted only a year and a day. For Sinead, she was accepted at court, having demonstrated the appropriate deviousness for the mother of the King’s heirs. And besides, the King had a good laugh at Rumpole’s expense.

Most importantly, however, Captain Eoin lived a quiet, contented life, free from court intrigue. He married a nice girl and, after a long career, retired with the rank of Colonel. And he lived happily ever after.