The Enchanted Glade

The Robot Prince looked just like a real boy. He walked and talked like a real boy. He ran and jumped and laughed and played like a real boy. And nobody in his father’s kingdom ever thought he wasn’t one. Not even the robot prince.

The queen and the real prince had died in childbirth. The king was so lost in his grief, that he forgot all about being a good king. He locked himself in a room at the very top of the castle’s tallest tower, and wouldn’t talk to anyone, not even his closest and dearest friends.

To light a candle is to cast a shadow. All light has shadow. As death is a natural part of all life. As clever as he was, Aldhyrwoode could not save the lives of Queen Eleanor and her infant son. It was fully ten years before he had the knowledge and the power to create the robot prince.

An act of desperation by a desperate man, who wanted only to ease the suffering of his friend, the king.

Aldhyrwoode asked every boy he met what games they liked to play. What kind of food did they like to eat. What did they think and feel. What did they have in their pockets. What secrets did they hold in their hearts. All their hopes and dreams and wishes.

He worked all day and all night for a month, and when everything was ready, he said the magic words - And the robot prince sat up and breathed.

He blinked and looked around. He licked his lips and scratched his head. He could wriggle his fingers and touch his toes. He could cross his eyes and poke out his tongue. He could hop on one foot, and skip and dance and tumble. He could talk and sing and shout for joy. Everything a real boy could do, the robot prince could do.

But Aldhyrwoode knew it was not enough. People still remembered the queen and the baby prince who died. The king was still heart-broken. So the wizard cast a spell on every person in the kingdom to make them forget. He made them think the baby prince had lived and grown up strong and healthy. And they all believed it, because the wizard's magic was the most powerful kind of magic.

It was the magic of hope...

The Story begins.

Prince Robin was riding his pony in the forest one day when he came to a path he couldn’t remember exploring before. The path was narrow and so overgrown, Robin and his father King Roland must have ridden right past it many times but had taken no notice.

Certe, thought the prince to himself. This trail looks as if no one has used it for a very long time.

What say you bold Sir Butternut? He asked his pony. Are you as curious as I am?

Butternut nodded his shaggy head. The prince touched the heels of his felt slippers to the pony’s flanks, and they set off at a trot, to see what great adventures they might find.

The path led them deeper and deeper into the woods. Even in the forest’s green shadow the day was unusually warm, and Robin was sweating in his red velvet doublet and undershirt. His grey woollen hose were making him itch, and he wished he could wear the simple tunic other boys wore. One good tug on the rope belt around his waist and it would have been a simple thing to pull the tunic off over his head. But all the prince could do was unbutton his doublet.

And curse his itchy hose. Unless...

Faith, thought Robin. But who is there to see?

He wrapped his hose slippers and shirt in his doublet and folded them into a neat bundle he tied with his belt. Thinking Butternut might like to be more comfortable too, he unbuckled the leather strap holding his saddle in place and lifted it off.

He piled everything next to the trail.

They will be here when we come back, he said to Butternut.

He swung himself easily on to the pony’s back and they set off again. They came to an ancient oak tree where the path appeared to divide in two. He left Butternut munching on fallen acorns and walked a short way along the path on the left to see where it might lead. Robin was sure he could hear the sound of running water. He was thirsty and a small stream or brook would be welcome.

He hadn’t gone very far when the ground began to slope down steeply. The path turned into a muddy track. The prince lost his footing and fell on his bottom. He started to slide downhill. He couldn’t stop. He grabbed at saplings and small bushes to slow his descent, but he just kept going faster and faster. It was scary. But exciting too. And Robin was laughing.

The trees ahead thinned. He could see sunlight through their branches. The sound of water grew louder. The forest ended. He was heading straight for the edge of a cliff.

Then. Suddenly - He was flying through the air!

The water was an ice cold shock. He tumble-twisted and kicked for the surface and came up gasping. He was in a small clearing. A sun filled glade where a natural spring had formed a deep pool. He swam to the edge and climbed out and sat on a rock. The churning water had washed the mud off. He felt cool and clean and lucky to be alive.

Robin lay back on the rock exhausted.

I’ll just close my eyes for a moment, he thought to himself. Just for a moment.

He felt a shadow loom over him. Opening his eyes, Robin saw a flash of bright steel and rolled aside only seconds before the blade of a woodsman’s axe struck sparks off the rock where his head had been.

A giant of a man fully eight feet tall raised the axe over his head for another blow.

The giant roared, No one but the maiden is allowed to bathe in the most holy water!

The prince scrambled away saying, Good sir! I did not know!

But the giant followed him. Still swinging the heavy axe.

Robin crouched behind a tree. The giant swung his axe. It bit deep into the wood. So deep the tree began to fall. Cut clean through. It landed with a loud crash of snapping branches. Almost crushing the prince. He dodged and ducked and tried to stay well clear of the giant and his axe. But then he tripped on a tree root and one of the giant’s enormous boots pressed down on his shoulders, and pinned him to the ground.

The giant raised the axe again...

Stop!

Robin looked up and saw a pretty girl no older than he was.

Your pledge is to guard me woodsman, she said. Not to murder children!

The giant bowed and said, My Lady. The axe dropped harmlessly at his side.

Back on his feet, Robin dusted himself off and bowed like only a prince can. He thought the maiden was the most beautiful vision he had ever seen. Her long flaxen hair was woven with wildflowers. She wore a chain of tiny white daisies on her slender wrist and twists of green ivy tied around her ankles. Her skin was pale and smooth, and as perfect as the finest porcelain from far Qin Xa. A land the prince had only heard of in the wizard’s tales. Her lips were a rosebud. Her blue eyes sparkled like starlight.

For sooth, he said. Tell me blithe spirit, are you real or faerie?

The maiden smiled. I am as real as you are, she said.

There was the clip clop of hooves and Butternut trotted into the glade. He must have taken the other path, thought Robin. So the path on the right really had been the right path!

It seems your pony has more sense than you, the maiden teased him.

Robin heard laughter behind him, and the woodsman draped a lambswool fleece over his shoulders saying, Forgive me young master.

It might have been the cold water of the spring, or relief at keeping his head, but Robin realized he was trembling, and pulled the fleece tighter around him.

Do you have clothes? The maiden asked. Where are they?

I left them on the trail, said Robin.

The maiden asked the woodsman to go and find the prince’s clothes and to bring them back. The woodsman bowed again and left the glade with his axe over his shoulder by the same path Butternut had followed.

Robin’s tummy rumbled. The maiden laughed. They feasted on sweet chestnuts and wild honey. They gathered apples and picked blackberries. Washing the sticky juice off their chins with cold water they drank from the other’s cupped hands.

Robin chased the maiden through the clearing. She seemed to float from blossom to blossom like an elusive butterfly. He caught her finally, and they rolled and tussled playfully in a field of flowering clover. She lay beneath him breathless. The prince became all too aware of their nakedness. Something that had never troubled him before, now made him blush bright scarlet.

The maiden pressed her body to his.

Would you joust with me sir knight? She teased. Your lance has found my shield.

As surely as love’s arrow has found my heart, said Robin.

The giant woodsman returned a short time later and found them lying together on the lambswool fleece. The maiden on her stomach. The prince on his back with his head resting on the maiden’s bottom. The sweat of his exertions cooling on his brow.

Faith, thought Robin. What bliss it was to lay with his head on such pillows. No Sultan of Pershia could wish for a more comfortable bed.

They slept. The shadows grew longer. It was almost sunset when Robin awoke.

He sat up with a jolt and looked for his clothes. He dressed quickly.

I must hurry, he said. My father will be wondering where I am!

Fret not, said the maiden. The greybeard knows where you are. He watches us even now.

The wizard? Robin asked. But - How do you know?

She held a finger to his lips. Hush sweet Robin, she said. And she silenced any more questions with a chaste kiss.

Robin looked around for his father’s friend the wizard, but could not see him anywhere. There was the ruffling of feathers and an owl peered at them from its high perch in a pine tree. A sly fox poked its whiskered nose out from under a nearby bush.

Ahhh, thought Robin. He should have guessed the wizard would have friends in the forest.

The maiden began to sing...

Oh noble steed

Of golden hoof

And silver mane

Old Gods pass

And new are born

Long the furrows ploughed

In the years of men

Yet none wear a crown

More wondrous than a horn

I need you now

As I needed you then

Will you bow to bridle

And serve again?

The prince watched wide eyed with amazement as sturdy little Butternut the pony grew taller on long powerful legs, and his shaggy grey coat paled to a smooth shining white. Then a spiral of golden horn appeared on his forehead. He suffered no cruel bit between his teeth, but wore a bridle of jasmine in full flower, and it filled the glade with its perfume.

Faith, said Robin. But never have I ridden so magical a creature!

The woodsman laughed. Robin blushed.

He’d meant the unicorn.

Of course he had.

Come again dear Robin, said the maiden.

You will always be welcome, said the woodsman.

I will, Robin promised.

No sooner had he climbed on the unicorn’s back than they were galloping away from the glade. He only had time to wave a quick goodbye.

Will you not come with me? He begged her.

I cannot leave the glade, said the maiden sadly.

I do not know your name.

Call me Annaed!

He reached the castle drawbridge in the blink of an eye. There was a flash of bright white light and Robin was suddenly bouncing up and down on his faithful little pony Butternut again.

He saw his father pacing back and forth outside the tower gate. The wizard stood nearby smiling calmly. The wizard only nodded as the prince approached. But his father the king threw his arms around Robin and hugged him so tightly he lifted Robin clear off his pony. His father swung him around in his arms. So happy was he to have his son returned to him.

Certe, thought Prince Robin. He would go back to the glade again, and again, for as many days as there were stars in the sky - But it was good to be home!