A supernatural tale set in Narnia at Midsummer, several generations before the Telmarine monarchy.
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The fairy mound
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Bickerdyke, more properly known as Nutley, lay atop the site of the ancient village of Nutbeam. A hated landlord, Sir John Malfeasance, once had a ditch dug enclosing many of the nut trees, thus leaving Nutley denuded of people and gifting it a bad name. A mile east of Bickerdyke, beyond the edge of the Malfeasance estate, sat Buckle hill. The late Sir John, who had a knack of conveniently finding favourable ancient deeds (not to mention moving boundary markers) never had any ambitions in that direction. "Not a single inch," he'd warned his crooked lawyer, "leave it alone."
In the great castle of Cair Paravel a new Queen, Alfreda, sat upon the seat of the legendary High King Peter. She was young, beautiful and still mourning her younger brother Robin. Nobody dreamt that Alfreda would go on to be 105, nor that she'd be the last monarch until, finally, a Telmarine took the throne. Great affairs of state rarely occupied the minds of the country folk but, even so, word reached them. There were fewer people in the land than in days gone by and fewer still travelled much. Roads were poorly maintained and footpads abounded. When land couldn't be worked through sickness and/or depopulation then (and only then) did drifters take to the roads, in hope of a better life.
Alfred Cobb lived in a hovel (there is no better word) just beyond Buckle hill. He was born and bred there; the cottage had been home to his parents and grandparents. Some of the locals said that he was 'simple' but that was unfair, for he was merely uneducated. His parents had kept him from the Nutley Dame School when he was a boy. Others said that he was 'moon kissed' and that was perhaps nearer the mark. Certainly there was something otherworldly about him. "Full of old tales and fairy dust, he is," they mocked. The kind of lore remembered by the Cobbs meant little to them. The oldest gaffers in Bickerdyke who recalled his parents claimed that they'd been the same. Cobb scratched a living catching rabbits and fish, some of which he sold, the rest he ate. If he occasionally took game from the Malfeasance estate then he was too sharp to be caught.
It was on a Midsummer's Eve that a displaced family of six arrived in the district, looking for employment or (better still) land to work. "I'm sorry," Squire Joseph Malfeasance told them, "there's nothing for you here. There's little casual labour and, what there is, won't be needed until Haerfest." The first month of the harvest season is roughly equivalent to our August. The young people had no choice but to move on. They decided to go east, in the general direction of Cair Paravel, to more affluent parts. Lucy, the cook, was told to give them provisions to help them on their journey. "Bread – ham – apples – that kind of thing – oh, and fill their flasks." Lucy had been generous, especially with the ale. "If you will wait until morning my man, Bindweed, can guide you part of the way," Joseph suggested.
The Squire was courting the Princess Sophia (younger sister of the Queen) which many deemed a misalliance. The pair had known each other for several years with no sign of their attachment weakening. For some inexplicable reason Queen Alfreda seemed to tolerate the match even though she'd never shown Joseph any great favour. With the squire caught up in estate business, Serjeant Bindweed found himself employed again as a courier.
Hilda, eldest of the six siblings, thanked the Squire. They'd already travelled forty miles by cart, on rough track-ways, and quickly realised their ignorance of geography. She was tall, like the others, and they all had the same mess of black curls. Beornred, the eldest brother, was a strong man of nineteen summers. In normal times he might already have had his own small holding and a bride. "Yes, we thank you very much," he said earnestly.
"You're welcome," Sir Joseph said, with some sympathy. "Bindweed here will meet you at the main gate, an hour after dawn. Please don't be late."
The group left the manor and made their way down the driveway to their donkey carts. "Where shall we go now then?" Siward, the youngest, a youth of thirteen, asked.
Beorned shrugged, "The boundaries seem clear enough; maybe it'd be wise to camp beyond them. We don't want to trespass on the Squire's patience." In the end they settled upon Buckle Hill for it was a lovely day with scarcely a breath of wind. "I reckon we'll be able to key an eye on the gate and road from there. We don't want to miss Serjeant Bindweed." It would be intolerable to sleep in so exposed a spot in bad weather but they'd been fortunate in so kindly a summer.
"See," Martha said, as they approached the hill, "there's the boundary marker. You were right Beornred." They set up two long tents covered in hide, cleverly designed by seventeen year old John who was skilled in such things. "There," Martha praised, "solid as a rock."
"Let's hope the wind doesn't get up," Margaret said (for she was prone to pessimism).
They lit a small fire and ate sparingly of the fresh food. "We don't know how long it will have to last us," Hilda regretted. Now, at the height of summer the days are long in Narnia. At the peak, the sun rises after four in the morning and sets again just after ten o'clock at night. The siblings knew that it was pointless going to bed too early, it being so light, so they sat and talked. "We'll turn in at dusk," Hilda decided, "It'll be a long day tomorrow."
Night's shadowy fingers were just beginning to unfurl when a figure trudged up the hill towards the camp. "Hullo!"
"Hullo!" Beornred said in reply. "I hope we aren't about to be moved on," he said softly to the others.
"Are you camping here?" Alfred Cobb said unnecessarily. Beornred refrained from sarcasm and agreed. "You're camping here, hey, on Buckle Hill!"
"Buckle Hill, is it?" Hilda said. "That's right."
"Not a problem is it?" Beornred asked.
"Nay, it's no problem. I live hereabouts, saw you and thought – hullo - it'd be rude not to make myself known. Are you staying here long?"
"No, we're heading east tomorrow."
"East is it? Never been anywhere much, myself."
"Won't you take a drink with us?" Hilda asked politely.
"Well, that's good of ye, why not?" Alfred joined them by the fire (not for warmth but for its comforting glow). They talked a little of local affairs and their own recent problems. Finally, Alfred steered the conversation round to the hill (the centre of his small world). "Of course, Buckle Hill isn't its real name, although many folks seem to have forgotten it."
"Is it not?"
"Nay; why, it 'twas Pucel Hill not Buckle Hill," Alfred laughed. The strangers shifted uneasily for that meant 'goblin' or 'demon' to country folks.
"There aren't any goblins here are there?" Margaret asked nervously.
"Do you see any?" Alfred retorted. "There's an old legend about t'hill though, if you'd like to hear it."
"If I can't sleep, I'll blame you," Martha joked, wagging her finger at him.
"Don't you worry, miss," Cobb comforted her. His tale began (like so many good tales) with 'once upon a time…'
Deep inside the hill, in a realm unseen to man, in a strange non-time not bound by our clocks, days or seasons, lives the Aelf Cyning. He has lived there, with his court, for time out of mind. Generations of Cobbs had come and gone and yet the Elf King endured. "My great grandfather and his great grandfather before him appeared but children to the Aelf Cyning," Alfred told them.
The King's marble halls are set with semi-precious stones and the seams of silver and gold glint in the candlelight. His Majesty sits upon an amethyst throne and is guarded at all times by two-legged serpents that exist only to do his will. The King and Queen might have been thought beautiful but for their snake like eyes and unnaturally shiny green skin. They command 144 warriors each one bearing a bronze spear and shield, with a bronze helm upon their head. The King is so very ancient that he can no longer fight, but the Queen may still take her place in the shield wall. "They say it's the Queen who hates men with a passion," Alfred observed, shaking his head sadly. "She works them something fierce as slaves inside the hill."
"Now I remember, when I was a lad, they still used to talk of Old Tom Choke. He was an elderly fellow when my grandfather was but a youth. He liked a drink so he did, Old Tom. Liked it a bit too much, I reckon. He got drunk one summer's night and took a fancy to sleep under t'stars. He fell asleep on this very place and – clap – the hill opened and the elves poured out. They took him, they did, poor Old Tom Choke."
The Queen – who is younger than her spouse – had grown up in a different fairy mound in foreign parts. It had been flattened by a greedy landowner who cared naught for its reputation or for the elves that lived there. His men struck the elves with cold iron, and the fairy folk had to flee for their lives. The lady had become separated from the others and, lost in Narnia, had eventually found herself on Pucel Hill. "And so she found love," Alfred said tenderly. He rose to his feet and looked at the darkening sky. "Midsummer Eve," he observed, "It's a bad night to camp, Midsummer's Eve. They venture into the world of men on Midsummer Eve." There was a loud cracking noise as he turned away.
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It was dusk and all about Pucel Hill was silent save for the lament of birds wheeling overhead. Alfred shook his head as he walked on. "Foolish youths," he muttered and he clutched the 'hag stone' that he carried in a loose pocket inside his tunic. It was a merely a round stone with a single hole through which was threaded a broken leather thong. He kept his grip on it and looked resolutely ahead. Only when he reached the bottom of the slope did he allow himself to look back. Everything was still.
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The end
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Glossary:
Cyning: King (Old English) (from protector of the kin)
Gaffer: an old man (English dialect)
Haerfest: Trans. Harvest (Old English)
Pucel: Trans. Goblin / Demon (Old English)