Mar 25

Mar 25 Jedrek And The Pirate Princess

Jedrek And The Pirate Princess - book excerpt

Chapter 1: The Find

Many moons ago, in the far-off land of Calvania, there lived a blacksmith and his wife. They were hard-working people and, despite being poor, they were happy together because of their love for each other. They had been childhood sweethearts as long as they could remember so it seemed the most natural thing in the world that they should marry as soon as they were old enough.

The blacksmith, whose name was Rhydon, became famous in the land for his ability to work metal. People came to his forge not just to have their horses shod, but to have their knives and ploughs sharpened as well. Just occasionally one of the villagers would ask to have a new knife or a new plough made and then Rhydon would really be able to show off his skill and produce a wonderful piece of ironwork.

Then there was the odd time when one of the nobles who lived in the castle overlooking the village would bring something for Rhydon to fix. They had their own smiths but none of them could work metal like Rhydon. The problem with this was that the nobles often forgot to pay him for the work he did for them – they were far too busy hunting and shooting to worry about such things – so the blacksmith had to work twice as hard to make up for it.

The beautiful woman who worked by Rhydon’s side was called Clarissa. Everyone said she had the most wonderful smile that could light up a whole room. However, it was also true that Clarissa kept a secret sorrow close to her heart – one that would suddenly cause the clouds to cross her face: she had no child. Yes, even after years of marriage, she and her husband remained childless.

When Clarissa and Rhydon were alone, she would often cry on his shoulder as he tried to comfort her. “Come now, my dear,” he would say, “aren’t we happy enough together, just the two of us?”

Clarissa would admit that she was very happy and had the best husband in the world, but that did not stop the tears from flowing as she thought of the empty space in their house where children should have been playing. Night after night, she prayed to the Eternal Spirit: “Oh Eternal Spirit – grant my request and give me a child.”

But, on one particular day, things were destined to change. True, the day had begun ordinarily enough with Clarissa sweeping out the smithy as usual. It was springtime and the sun’s rays were coming through the window and dancing on the pewter pots and pans that Rhydon had been making. She hoped they would find buyers for them soon as the food that would be on the table next week depended on it.

But as Clarissa swept and hummed to herself, she became aware of another sound. She stopped and listened – it wasn’t the sound of the birds. No, this was far more strident. She went to the door and opened it and heard that the sound was coming from behind a clump of bushes about 20 yards from the smithy. It was a cry, a cry just like she’d often longed to hear in her own home – that of a child. In fact, it sounded very much like the cry of a baby.

Burning with curiosity, Clarissa dropped her broom and made for the clump of bushes. The cry grew louder to her ears. She peered behind the bush and there, lying on the rough ground, was the figure of a tiny infant. As she came closer, she saw that the baby was wrapped in a white woollen shawl. Nothing unusual in that, except that the shawl was so finely made that it had obviously belonged to someone who was a member of the nobility, rather than a commoner.

“This is so strange,” said Clarissa, eyeing the child, who did not appear to see her as it seemed more intent at that moment on crying hard enough to make its lungs burst. “There, there,” she said, gathering the child in her arms, her motherly instincts welling up within her. “Don't cry, little one.” As she rocked backwards and forwards, the child’s cries gradually grew less and less until it was quite still and was staring at Clarissa with big blue eyes.

Clarissa soon discovered that the child was a boy. But who did he belong to? She looked around to see if there was anyone who may have left the child but she saw no one. Obviously the person must have put the child down and slipped away unnoticed. But why would anyone leave a baby on the ground?

Clarissa looked around for clues, but all she saw was something wrapped in a piece of rough cloth lying near where the baby had been. She stooped down and picked it up. Whatever it was, it seemed hard and quite heavy, as if it was made of metal. What’s more, there appeared to be more than one piece. With the child nestled in her arms, she had no opportunity to examine it, so she picked it up – with some difficulty – and took it and the baby, who was now just whimpering rather than crying, back home to the smithy.

Chapter 2: The Sword

“What on earth have you got there?” was all her husband could say when Clarissa walked into the smithy with the baby. “Whose baby is that?”

Clarissa explained how she’d found the baby just a few minutes before. Her husband looked puzzled. “But people don’t just leave babies lying around, do they?” he said incredulously.

“No, of course not,” she said. “But he was there on the ground when I found him.” Then, dropping the heavy bundle on the table she added: “He came with this.”

"What is that?" Rhydon said as he unwrapped the bundle. “It’s a sword!” he exclaimed. “Only in pieces.”

Clarissa looked on the table. There was a sword broken into four pieces. Rhydon put them together and she saw that the pieces gleamed in the early morning sun that came through the window. “There is something written on the blade,” said Rhydon. “What does it say?” Being a simple blacksmith, he had never learned to read but he knew his wife had mastered at least the basics of reading and writing.

Still holding the child, Clarissa read the letters along the metal of the sword: “N-E-E-R-W-A-N-A. Neerwana!” she exclaimed. “What does that mean?”

“No idea,” said Rhydon. “Is it some ancient language? It’s all very strange.” He scratched his head with his work-worn hand. “The broken sword appears to have come with the child. And this name written on it. Why?”

At which point, they were both distracted from their musings as the said child opened his mouth and bawled lustily.

“He’s hungry,” said Clarissa. There was a skin of milk nearby, so she raised it to the child’s lips and, after a few attempts, much to her relief, he started sucking the milk. He looked, she reckoned, about six months old.

“There, there, little one,” she said, “we'll look after you if no one else does.”

Rhydon heard her words: “Surely the child belongs to someone. We’ll have to enquire around for his mother and father.”

“And if they’re not found, he belongs to us,” said Clarissa gazing down at the child, who was contentedly feeding. “A gift from the Eternal Spirit in answer to my prayers.”