This is the origin story of 'the lady of the green kirtle', set in the western waste beyond Narnia. It contains some violence and peril and is not suitable for young children. No bad language.
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NEST OF VIPERS (OR THE GREEN WITCH RISING)
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"A thatched barn where brigands drink in the reek"
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Hilda was first to react; her knife spun through the air. It narrowly missed its target because the glistening body arced, just in time. The blade stuck upright in the board on which they'd been dining. There was a loud hiss and an obscenely mobile tongue flickered angrily. Three kids, penned in the far corner, began to quail and pule instinctively even though they'd never seen the like before. A bowman, lacking arrows, backed off.
Two others ran forward brandishing sickles and there was a dull thud as the serpent dropped out of sight. "Light," Eadbald shouted, "It's by the wall!" The hut was dimly lit with rush-lights, mere greenery dipped in tallow, with just two proper torches in brackets. Smoke from the hearth pestered the hut as it wended its mazy way to a hole that served as a chimney.
Eadbald's sister-in-law seized a torch, thrusting it ahead of her. There, amidst the straw and dirt of the floor, the beast slithered. Its oily looking skin shone in the flames. The woman jabbed the burning brand towards it and heard its fierce complaint.
"A rake, get a rake," Hilda cried. "We can stick it!" The worm reared up and directed its gaze towards her, having clearly understood.
"Yes, you heard that, didn't you, wretch," Eadbald said grimly.
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Many years earlier…
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She'd wandered long - weak, dazed and drained - the good air of the new land being hateful to the witch. Beyond its borders she could recover, but whenever she approached she had to fight for her very breath. She took air in great gulps and must need concentrate to do that. Her lungs were restricted by bonds of iron. Eventually she began to explore the rest of the world and the desire for dominance remained a cruel flame inside her. Finally, she tried once again but, even as she approached the boundary, she felt that familiar weakness. It was no good; she was still excluded from Narnia.
The witch, Jadis, had learned much since Narnia's natal day. Her desire to control the land was constant but thwarted. Jadis wasn't the maternal type nor was she one who would tolerate a rival. Perhaps it was mere spite that made her do what she did next, for what else motivated her? Happily the dark spells that can do such a thing are lost (forever, I trust). Two available sources concur that the snake was perfectly ordinary in every respect. However unpleasant we may find those cold, calculating, primordial creatures we cannot blame them for their nature. We should only blame those that seek to use them for their own ends.
Somewhere in the western waste, on a high place, where the wind howled in wild lament and a full moon bathed everything in white, stood the witch. In that strange, lunar landscape she shed red blood. It dripped from a gash in her arm onto the drugged serpent and she spoke whatever words of power were needed create the obscenity she sought.
Jadis must have watched as the drowsy worm began to awaken, glistening with her own lifeblood. The most unnatural of parents would have seen the snake lift its tail and slowly expel not one, not two, but three pearly white eggs. What can have gone through that twisted mind as she considered her own offspring? Legend says that she struck the serpent down with a flick of her wand, for its purpose was fulfilled. The eggs were hidden and hedged about with magical protections. This perversion of motherhood was doubtless intended to cause trouble for the lands about Narnia.
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"The invisible worm, that flies in the night, in the howling storm"
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Some distance west of Pucel Wood could be found the village of Aethelwic, founded by one Aethelwold (1) who later sought the gull's way (2). It was a recurring trait in the next two generations. Was there an awareness of having originated elsewhere? Aethelwold's grandson Cynegils, known as Longshanks, eventually became headman in his place. Their looks, manners and customs differed from those Sons of Adam in Narnia. The people of the western waste were always few in numbers and, although brave, they were insular and wedded to their land. They never banded together in war, rarely threatening their neighbours (and much credit to them, for that).
At night, the stockade gates were closed and a guard put on each to watch for wolves. A deep ditch, always slaked in mud or green with brackish water, surrounded the settlement. Good luck charms ranging from animal skulls to flower garlands hung from the palings. What is superstition except for the practices of devotion divorced from some religion? Whatever it is, it did the people of Aethelwic little good.
Thorgum was the first to die. His head drooped and jerked, as sleep set in. What a guardian this drowsy goatherd! He heard not the slither of the serpent's body nor saw it glide up onto the bench beside him. Some snakes smother, others bite. This, being yet more dangerous still, wrapped itself in a choking hold about Thorgum's neck whilst piercing his head with deadly venom. His scream was long but silent.
The goat-pen, which should have held some attraction, was ignored. The vicious worm had other prey; feasting could wait. The second watchman was hit as if by a flying missile; that acid tongue took him in the back of his neck.
There is surely no need to describe how death came to many in Aethelwic that night; for this is not the Iliad and to hear detail of so many murders is unedifying. Suffice it to say that only one person survived the assault. The village lay abandoned thereafter. The remaining stock was later driven safely from the village and the folds left empty. The straw roofs of the huts fell in, their daub and wattle walls collapsed. The grass grew long and thick in the pastures; crops went to seed in the fields. Lucky charms fell from rotten staves; why repine? They'd served no purpose when needed. Eventually there was little to suggest that man had ever lived in the place except for some irregular humps in the ground. Aethelwic had 'come up and been cut down like a flower'.
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Happy families
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Ethelberga was sister to Bretilda and she was like the moon unto the sun. Ethelberga was pale and thin with something of the night about her. Bretilda was younger and joyous. Her very presence warmed and her smile was like the glow of dawn. Longshanks had courted Bretilda but it was Eadbald that won her heart. Ethelberga affixed a smile at their wedding and cursed them in her heart. She watched her sister set up home with a man she herself loved.
An early scheme to marry Ethelberga to Longshanks was soon forgotten, for she refused all suitors and grew into middle-age. When Bretilda drowned alone at the age of 35, all of the old feelings resurfaced. She wondered if she could now win Eadbald for herself. Unfortunately, she'd not reckoned on the gossips. She soon became aware that the people of Eadthorp were muttering about her behind their hands. Why was Bretilda alone that morning? How had such a nimble woman lost her footing? Had anyone actually seen her sister out picking mushrooms to the south? Did the fungi not also grow near the pool? Eadbald heard the talk and found it hard to credit; yet he doubted. He found Ethelberga's manner a grotesque parody of courtship and her attractions pitiful compared with those of his late wife. She recognised his coldness and closed her heart to him once more. Perhaps it was to resolve the matter conclusively that Eadbald then married a maiden of eighteen summers.
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"He will strike your head, and you will strike his heel"
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"Just in time for 'mete'," said the man on the gate (meaning the evening meal). "Who's this? Don't I know your face?"
Hilda, daughter of the headman, said, "This is Ulfstan, of Aethelwic".
The stranger looked dirty, tired and dazed. "No, no," he shook his head, "I was from Aethelwic but it's no more; all dead!"
"Grim news, Hilda," said the watchman. "You'd best go and see your father. Take him with you, but he must leave his weapons".
"I only have my father's bow and I'll not be parted from it," Ulfstan explained. "I'll leave the arrows though". He unslung the quiver and the watchman propped them beside his bench, with a nod of acceptance.
"Beware of wyrms," Hilda cautioned the guard. "I reckon the whole village will be out watching with you tonight".
"What type of wyrm?"
Ulfstan, with a frightened look on his face, answered, "It's the most cunning and dangerous serpent imaginable. It can crush like a great bear and sting like a thousand hornets".
'Mete' was usually eaten in the privacy of a family hut. Eadbald, being the headman, treated the occasional guest and so had two particular friends dining there that evening. "Daughter! You are late," he cried on espying Hilda. "We have company I see".
The smell of roast kid pervaded the large hut. It turned on a spit worked by a young lad. Eadbald and his young bride Eanfled sat at the board, beside Ethelberga and the guests.
"Father, this is Ulfstan of Aethelwic; there is terrible news".
"Speak child, although ill news sours good food and good ale".
"Let me," said Ulfstan, unsteadily. Above the crackling of the fire, the spitting of the meat and the bleating of the kids, it was just possible to hear a slight vibration. "We have met before, so I ask that you trust me. Death came to Aethelwic in the dark hours of last night. It had the form of the most terrible draca. You see before you the only one left to mourn his kinsfolk".
"A draca? Of what sort; fire?"
"Nay; it's a slithering wyrm that shifts its size. It can crush a man's ribs or spit its venom into flesh. None can withstand it."
Eadbald frowned, "and yet you did?"
"I watched everyone that I know and love die. Aye, call me a coward if you will but I fled when I could take no more." Ulfstan looked around at his audience, defiantly.
"I'll call no man coward if he tried but failed to kill such a monster," said the headman pensively. "If you hadn't survived then we'd be unaware and fall prey. We may yet!" The vibrating sound became a very perceptible humming but, in the drama of the moment, none had registered it. "Ham: rouse the village. I want half the men and younger women on guard, immediately."
Eanfled was a delicate young lady who'd charmed most of the village, except for Ethelberga. She sounded scared, "Husband; I may be excused such duties, surely?"
Eadbald frowned then patted her hand. "I think so, my pet". He had the indulgent manner of a man whose bride is young enough to be his daughter.
"What is that buzzing?" Ethelberga said loudly.
"Huh; oh yes," said Eadbald. "What is it?"
"Why, I think it's my bow!" Ulfstan was as surprised as anyone. Its harp-sound grew louder and louder.
Eadbald squinted, for the dim light of the hut made things difficult to see. "Was your father Holcwin? Yes: then that must be his bow!" It was a magic bow gifted to him by the master of Pucel Wood.
The yew bow was slender and yet seemingly unbreakable. The string was a fine golden thread, firm and not replaced in several generations. Nobody could make 'head nor tail' of the runes thereon. Ulfstan shrugged the bow off his shoulder. "Aye; it once belonged to Hob o' the Greenwood (3). Would that I'd had this in my hand last night! My father had left it locked in his coffer".
"Why does it make that noise?" Ethelberga asked, curious.
"It is to warn me of deadly evil," said Ulfstan, puzzled.
"He has not his arrows," Hilda whispered to reassure the company, as Ulfstan toyed with the bow. "They are outside".
"Then why does it hum now?" the headman pursued. Ulfstan held the bow and drew back the string as if in practice. Like a diving rod over water, it swung towards Eanfled. "What is the meaning of this?" asked her husband.
"It is telling me that the lady is dangerous," said the bowman, grimly.
"Perhaps she is," Ethelberga purred. "I do recall hearing of this bow now; has it been known to lie?"
"No, mistress," said the man from Aethelwic.
"But this is absurd," protested Eadbald.
"Is it?" said his former sister-in-law. "Tell me, Eanfled, where were you last night?"
"She was with me," the headman said testily.
"You retired early; are you sure she was with you all night?"
"Well… I had a lot to drink. I fell asleep. I don't remember anything till morning," admitted the man. He looked at Eanfled. "My dear; explain to me why the bow thinks so badly of you."
An older woman (if I may use that word of Eanfled) might have been able to keep her composure and sweet-talk her husband. Men, particularly older men, can be fools for an attractive girl. The maiden, had finally hatched but eighteen years since, and was unused to being challenged. In the years to come she'd be able to bewitch men of greater sophistication than the village chief. Back then her powers were also but poorly controlled. She turned momentarily white as snow, like a schoolgirl caught out in some mischief. Just as quickly, she went green and her form began to change. Her human-like body began to crumple as an old tissue does, and turned inside out. It was almost as if a serpent emerged from within and consumed that maidenly form.
Hilda's knife missed its target and Ethelberga's torch kept the snake at bay. There was a call for a rake and Eadbald said, "Yes, you heard that, didn't you, wretch."
The thing that was Eanfled looked her spouse straight in the eye and began to diminish. Sickles swiped about her as she thinned and curled. As the torch thrust once more, the snake leapt towards the wall, bursting through a patch of dried mud applied as a temporary repair.
"Quick, outside, after her! "
"Ware serpent!" went the cry. The village would hunt, day after day, but it was fruitless. Eanfled was gone to take her talents into the wider world.
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Postscript
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This tale was remembered in the oral tradition of the wilds and wasn't recorded in writing until the reign of the Pevensie siblings or Queen Reposco (their immediate successor). There are two extant copies in the priceless archive recovered from Cair Paravel. Both are very similar so I've amalgamated the two versions to form a single narrative. They agree that the other eggs either failed to hatch or, more horribly, had been consumed by Eanfled. Why it took so many years for her to hatch is a mystery. She is thought to have lived in snake-form for eight years until her adoption by the villagers. Because the tale relates to events in the western waste I can only conclude that it hasn't previously been associated with the infamous 'Lady in the green kirtle'. You can imagine my excitement when I saw the apparent link. Of course, you could argue that the evidence is circumstantial but I think it is compelling and highly probable.
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THE END
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Notes:-
1 For the legend of Aethelwold see my short story 'The star-bride Aster & Aethelwold'
2 Gulls' Way: the sea
3 For Hob O' the Greenwood please see my short story "The serpent in the kirtle"