It began as the telling of all tales do. The laborers and dockworkers and every other sort gathered at the local inn, socializing over a drink, or two, or even three in the case of Big Jones, who they say never felt the first drink until he sent at least two more to suss out where it went. The conversation lulled and in that lull, someone called for a story, a tale, a song, a jest – anything at all to pass the time.
Old Ratch, who they say had forgotten more stories than many a man would ever know, raised a hand to quell the clanking of mugs on hardwood. Every now and again, some other would get the gander to tell, but most nights when the call came, Old Ratch answered.
Standing in front of the bar, thumbs hooked in his belt, the grizzled old man began his tale. “Tonight, I tell you a story of our kingdom.” A spatter of cheers filled the darkened, lively room. “The first tale – that of King Hugh and the Sorcerer – everyone knows. But the tale after that is a lesser known beast.” He paused and a mutter caught his ears. “Aye, ’tis the Bard Thom’s First Tale where-”
Another voice shoved his aside. “Nay, tha’s norrit. Is King Hugh and the Whale, it is! Where -” A cuff from another patron silenced the interruptor.
Old Ratch nodded at his rescuer and fixed his eye on the interruptor. “I am telling the tale and the room is mine. Another time, a measure of measures hence, you can tell it and call it what you will. But for tonight, this is the Bard Thom’s First Tale.” A chorus of ayes echoed his statement. “Now, it was in the time before …”
~*~ ~*~ ~*~
In the time before King Hugh felt he was King Hugh and in the first few measures after he had slain the sorcerer, it still felt as though a pall of distrust hung over the small coastal kingdom. The sorcerer they had known, some of them since they had been born, but this wandering hedge knight who had freed them was another matter entirely. And try as he might, Sir Hugh could not get them to trust him.
One day, as he sat upon the old sorcerer’s throne, he asked Boy Thom what he should do. The bard’s replied simply – do something to prove that you are not as he whose throne you sit upon now. Hugh pondered the words of his only true companion, weighed them and found them wise beyond the youth’s years. Still though, they did not provide him a course of action, so he inquired again.
Boy Thom replied that in the village each year, there was a challenge to catch the biggest fish. The winner had rights to brag and ale at the tavern for a measure of measures free of charge. If Sir Hugh were to enter and debase himself enough to partake in their simple fun, the villagers would know he was not as the sorcerer. The Boy Thom knew that if the king won, many could grumble, but he had his own plan for that and so held his tongue.
The hedge-knight-cum-king agreed on the Boy’s plan and set out to catch a fish – unfortunately a job for which he had neither talent nor training. After registering as a challenger in the lists at the local tavern, something which made him think of a commoner’s tournament, he sought knowledge and training from the old salts who lived down by the docks. Many turned a deaf ear to his requests for aid, but two answered that they would help – but only for a price. One’s was an apple and the other a stew of eels. Both promised the challenge was his if he but tended to their words.
The king thought upon their offer and the character of the two men before them and made his mind that the man of stew seemed to have more sense than the man of apple. On returning to the castle, he requested a stew of eels from his servants, then took it to the man, along with knife, fork and bowl to eat it with. The man of eelslaughed in his face at this and told him it was for bait. He gave him a rod, a line, a hook and bid him go to the river and catch himself a fish.
King Hugh grew mightily wroth at the laughter at his expense, but bade his temper stay rather than loose it as a lesser man would. He took the rod, the line, the hook and made his way to the river. Within minutes he had a tench on the line – the man of stew knew his game indeed! The former hedge knight then took his catch to the tavern to have it weighed, but, alas, it was no champion winning fish.
Rather than give up at this point, he stormed back to the man of eels and demanded to know why the challenge was not his. The man of eels smiled a sly smile, laughed a small laugh, tapped his nose, and informed the king that the tench he had caught was not the end of the man’s guidance. The tench was merely bait for a much larger fish.
For a second time, King Hugh grew mightily wroth at the laughter at his expense, but bade his temper stay. The man of eels told him to go to the village and buy a spear. The king did this, fuming and stewing as his mind turned upon this way and that to make this a trick. Then the man of eels told him to rub the tench he had caught – now high and stinking, over his body. Sir Hugh felt his stomach turn with the thought of laughter and stench of fish, but followed the man of eels’ command.
Then the man of eels told him to sail out of the bay and throw himself into the water, with the spear in his hand and there he would meet his great fish. The hedge knight did this, standing proudly at the bow of the ship as the men behind him wrinkled their noses and laughed behind their hands.
For a third time, King Hugh grew mightily wroth at the laughter at his expense, but bade his temper stay. They sailed for an hour, then another, then finally the king judged that he had sailed far enough. He ran out the prow of the ship, spear held across his body and, just as he lept, a mighty leviathan lept from the ocean, mouth hung wide. The hedge knight soared into the open cavern and the leviathan vanished under the waves. The sailors made the sign of the Watcher upon their chests and sailed back to tell the man of eels what had happened. The man of eels smiled a sly smile, laughed a small laugh, tapped his nose and informed the sailors that he would wait at the water’s edge for the king.
The sun rose high in the sky, hours passed. The man of eels sat cross-legged on the sand at the water’s edge and watched. The sun began to dip towards the horizon, hours passed. The man of eels still sat cross-legged on the sand at the water’s edge and watched. The sun began to meet the waves a thousand thousand miles away, hours passed. The man of eels still sat cross-legged on the sand at the water’s edge and watched.
Suddenly, with a crashing of waves and a thunder that shook the whole dockside, the leviathan arose from the bay to land upon the sand at the water’s edge, a mere span from where the man of eels sat. It’s mouth was wide open and out of it strode King Hugh, the shattered end of the spear still clutched in one hand, the other buried deep in the monster’s mouth. He bowed lightly to the man of eels and praised his advice, then made his way to the tavern.
There he made his case for the biggest fish and none stood with a larger whale. A few grumbled at the plight of kings playing in the games of the commoners, but their voices quickly hushed at the jubilation of others. Then, the men of the village hoisted him upon their shoulders and carried him around his kingdom. Ale ran free and wenches did the same and Boy Thom, sitting in the corner, heard all the grumbles, saw all the jubilation, and made his plans accordingly.
~*~ ~*~ ~*~
A calm fell over the crowd at the tavern as Old Ratch finished the telling of his tale. The interruptor – a young newcomer by the name of Tadge – spoke first. “T’ain’t Bard Thom’s first tale, is. Bard Thom di’n't e’en show up ‘cept begin an’ end. Is King Hugh and the Whale, it is”
The storyteller smiled a warm, friendly smile. “It isn’t the first tale of Bard Thom, Tadge. It’s Bard Thom’s First Tale – that being the first one he ever told.”
A hearty guffaw rambled around the room as Tadge’s face slipped in dismay, his lips forming the shape of the word on his lips, round and full. The man beside him slapped him on the back and he blushed, then hesitantly tapped a coin on the bar. “Joke’s on I, drinks on I.”
Old Ratch nodded.
