The Queen of the Perilous Wood

Once upon a time Gervais, the king’s son, went riding in his fields. He had not gone far when he saw a hunt in pursuit of a deer come hallooing over the land. But in their path lay a farmer’s fields, and he saw a maiden standing in the fields, seeming distraught.

He spurred to meet the hunters. They were members of his court, and drew up their steeds when they saw him.

“Hold off now,” he said to a hunter that he knew. “Hildred, ride another way. You will bring ruin on the good man’s crops if you continue.”

They shook their heads, but did as he asked. He turned to ride away, and the maiden came across the fields and said, “Thank you, my lord. You have saved us from ruin.”

He thought her lovely. “I thought you could use some help. May I ask your name?”

“I am Janet,” she said, “daughter of this manor.” She gave him a deep curtsey. ”I must go back to my father now.”

“I give you good day,” he said and rode away. But she looked after him when he had gone.

When he had ridden some distance, he came to the edge of the Perilous Wood and halted, for he had heard frightening things of that forest. Some said part of it lay in Elfland, where ruled a queen whose beauty and cold heart were whispered of throughout the realm. Gervais would have turned back, but he did not want to think himself lacking in courage. So he rode his horse in under the trees, which rustled and whispered above him almost as if they had speech, but it was a dark and murmurous speech.

At length the wood grew so thick and tangled that the horse could make no headway, so he dismounted and left his mount tied to a tree, and continued on foot. Stepping into a clearing he noticed a glint on the ground, and bending he picked up a golden ring. He looked around, but there was no one in sight who might have lost it, so he slid it on his finger. At once his world changed; he heard the thoughts and fears and joys of the birds and creatures all around him: squirrels running up the boles of trees, searching for nuts; a pair of bluejays quarrelling on a branch above; a fox slinking through the bushes in search of prey; a rabbit, timorous and alert, crouched in the weeds.

He was enchanted at the world thus opened up to him, and said to himself, “I wish I were a squirrel, and could run and jump in the trees like they do!” At once he felt himself shrinking, his hands turned to paws, the ring shrinking with him, and his heart began thudding fast. He whipped his bushy tail behind him and whisked up the nearest tree. Leaping and scurrying, he crossed the forest, filled with the joy of swiftness.

Then beneath him he saw a clearing, and it was filled with the lights of lanterns, the sound of unearthly music, and the scents of a thousand flowers. A crowd of fair slender folk stood there, wearing clothing of shades that changed as they moved. Soon they began to dance in a ring to the sound of harps and viols. From the treetop Gervais watched, clinging to the tree with his little claws, enchanted.  Then a woman entered the clearing, tall and regal, her face as pale as ice, the mane of her foam white steed tipped with a hundred silver bells. She dismounted and joined the dance, and her graceful movements held him enthralled. But suddenly she stopped and stood still, head tilted, and said, “Do you sense what I do? We are being watched.” Then abruptly the music died, the lights flashed out, and silence fell over the clearing.

Gervais fled, afraid that they would discover him. When he was a distance away, he ran down from the trees and took off the ring, returning to his own size and shape in seconds. He leaned against a tree to catch his breath, then looking up, he saw the lights in the hands of the fair folk surrounding him. Before him sat the Queen on her white steed, looking down at him.

“You have been watching us,” she said. “It is forbidden for human folk to enter these woods, and even more so to spy on us.  How did you do it? Tell me, have you found something that belongs to me?”

“I—no, I have not,” he stammered. He was too ashamed to admit that he had the ring, now in his pocket.

The lady gazed at him in silence, and he began to be afraid. “I am sorry for trespassing on your land,” he said. “I will go and leave you in peace.”

The lady smiled a cold, cruel smile. ‘I think not,” she said, and drew from her sleeve a slender flute. Putting it to her lips she blew a note, and the ring in his pocket responded with a shrill note of its own.

She held out an imperious hand; with a sheepish air he took out the ring and gave it to her. She slipped it onto her own finger, and it only seemed to enhance her beauty. “You have lied to me,” she said, “and no one lies to the Queen of Elfland with impunity.” She made a gesture at him, and he felt himself changing. Fur sprouted on his skin, his hands and feet grew hooves, he fell to all fours, and a weight grew on his head as antlers sprouted. A young stag, he stared speechless at her, his heart pounding in terror.

“Now go,” she said with a dismissive gesture. “See how well you like my forest when pursued by your own hunters.”

He turned and leaped away. As he ran he heard her musical laughter behind him, and that of the other fair folk underscoring it.

* * *
For three nights, Janet had found it hard to sleep. It was as if a dark cloud hung over her, threatening and ominous. On the third night she had a nightmare: she felt that she was walking in the forest and she saw a pack of hounds and hunters on horseback chasing a stag. They chased it until it came to a rock face and could run no farther, then the hounds began baying and leaping and tearing at it. She saw the look of despair in the stag’s eyes. The dream faded.

When she awoke, she said to herself, “It was only a dream.” But she could not get it out of her mind. As she went about her tasks of the day, the sense of helplessness she had felt in the dream kept recurring to her. In the late afternoon, after she finished her work in the dairy, the steward mentioned to her, “Have you heard? The king’s son has been missing now for three days. They have found his horse, but there is no sign of him.”

She stared at him, appalled. “I must go,” she said. Tying her skirt above her knee and throwing on a cloak against the cold, she ran off across the fields. She had not gone far when she heard the hunt coming across the land toward the forest. Her heart in her mouth, she ran as fast as she could. The sound of the hounds barking and baying terrified her, though she tried to tell herself that her dream was only a dream.

She came under the trees, following a path, and deep in the dark forest against a stone cliff she saw the stag at bay, hounds snarling and darting in to bite at him. Running into the melee, she turned to face the hunters, some six of them on horseback. “Stop!” she cried. “You must not. He is the king’s son.”

The hunters called back their dogs for fear of hurting her. “Madam,” said one of the lords, “this is our stag, please let us finish our hunt.”

“No, I tell you!” and she repeated her assertion.

She saw the looks they exchanged among themselves. “Mad,” they murmured. One, braver than the rest, said, “Madam, your grief over the king’s son has affected your mind. This is no man, but a stag.”

Janet would not listen or move. At length, shaking their heads, they rode off rather than do her injury. Turning to the stag, who stood trembling and bleeding, she held out her hand. “I’m sorry,” she said. “Can you speak?”

Night had fallen, and she could barely see him shake his head. She went to a stream running nearby, wet her kerchief, and cleaned off the wounds on his chest and legs. As she rose, she heard a musical chiming, and a forest of dancing lights appeared around her. She stared at the icy beauty of the Queen on her white horse, surrounded by her court.

The Queen drew rein and cast a haughty glance at Janet and the stag. “No, girl, he cannot speak. He is bound to suffer for his impudence in coming into my forest. I adjure you to leave now. He will suffer the fate he has brought on himself.”

“I will not leave,” said Janet, trembling. She put her arm around the stag’s neck.

“So you want him,” said the Queen. “Then if you can hold him, you may have him.” She lifted a light-tipped wand, and the stag began to change.

He dwindled and broadened, and Janet clung to him more tightly as his stag’s horns vanished, bristles sprang out on his sides, and tusks grew from his mouth. With horrific huffs and grunts, the boar swung his head from side to side and tried to dart away, but Janet hung on with all her might.

Again he changed, and instantly she held a writhing serpent in her arms, his body as big around as her thigh. Frantic, it thrashed and whipped, but she held on.

Abruptly he changed to a bar of red-hot iron, heavy and burning in her hands. With a gasp, she ran to the nearby stream and plunged it in. The pain stopped, but suddenly he transformed into a large fish, slippery, darting, flapping his tail in panic. She clutched it and did not let it go.

Then with a roar the fish leaped from the stream and a great lion stood above her where she had fallen. But she still held on to his foreleg and he could not shake her loose. He roared in her face; she closed her eyes in terror, sure she would be eaten, but did not let go.

Abruptly the lion vanished, and she lay with her arms around a man, dripping wet and shaking. He uttered a moan as she got to her feet.

“Well,” said the Queen with a chill laugh, “you have done better than I expected. Gervais, if I had known this maid would steal you back, I would have taken out your heart and replaced it with a stone.”

Gervais looked up at her, but said no word.

“But your pitiful lives are so short, it’s a shame to interfere. I will have no more to do with you. Do not set foot in my realms again.” With that the Queen turned her horse about, and she and her retinue vanished into the forest.

“Are you all right?” Gervais said to Janet.

“I think so.” She looked at her hands, and the burns and scrapes she had suffered had vanished as if by magic.

“You saved me,” he said in wonder.

She smiled. “I thought you might need some help.”

He took her hand and kissed it.  “You are braver than any knight I have ever known,” he said. “Will you be my wife?”

“Yes,” she said.

And so they were married. But never did they or any of their children enter the Perilous Wood again.