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What can change a cruel tyrant? |
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  Count Floris of Canterbury Floris of Canterbury ruled his town with a vice-like grip. His peasants slaved long hours to appease him, but he was never satisfied. His whip fell on their backs regularly, and his soldiers killed for even a word spoken in disrespect. Throughout the lands everyone feared the tyrant, Count Floris. One day the townspeople gathered together and discussed what was to be done. After long moments of silence, in which no one had the courage to speak, a young girl stood. “You deserve to feel the count’s whip, for you are all cowards!” she said. “Daughter, sit down,” her father whispered, attempting to pull her back into the chair. “I must speak, Father. For no one else will.” “Enough,” ordered the head peasant, and with her father’s hand over her mouth, and the glares of a room full of angry men, Susan had no choice. With eyes burning with rage, she heaved an angry sigh. It did not take the men long to decide their course of action then. Despite the objections of the girl’s father, it was decided that Susan would be taken as a present to the count. Maybe then, with a beautiful slave girl to do his bidding, he would at long last be appeased. Therfore, the next day, bound and gagged, Susan was delivered to the castle. When the count saw his present, for the first time in months, he smiled. Immediately he ordered one of the guards to remove the girl’s gag. “I am not a willing partner in this,” Susan burst out the moment she could speak. Count Floris took a step backward. His eyebrows lowered, and he stared at the girl. Her eyes were the color of emeralds -- a shade he was quite fond of. Her face was heart-shaped with clear, delicate skin -- creamy as milkweed sap. Her hair was dark as a crow’s wing, and it poured down her back, almost reaching the floor with its shiny richness. “Remove the ties that bind her wrists,” the count commanded with a voice that boomed throughout the chamber. For the first time, Susan shut her mouth without being told to be quiet. She watched the count draw nearer. His hand reached up and stroked her cheek. Strangely she found his touch delightful. That frightened her worse. She dropped her eyes and stared at the floor, wishing she had not been so brazen in her speech the day before. “I am pleased with your gift,” Count Floris told the town’s head peasant. “Now, go away.” The count’s hand rested on Susan’s shoulder. She wondered if he could feel her shivering, but he said nothing. He simply waved for the others to leave and then continued to stare at her. Finally, Susan gained the courage to speak again. “I have never been a servant in a great castle, my lord. I do not know what you will want me to do.” The count laughed. His laugh echoed evilly, and Susan looked up, meeting his eyes. Despite the nature of the laugh, the eyes that were looking down into hers were not cruel. They were a gentle brown, and they smiled. “I do not understand,” she tried again. Count Floris nodded his head. “Let us say, that for today, at least, you will talk to me, and you will explain why the peasants have given me such a rich present.” All that day, Susan and the Count talked. He allowed her to sit by his side. He permitted her to eat at the table at luncheon and at dinner. Susan was mystified. The count did not seem such an ogre at all. As the night wore on and Susan could no longer hold her yawns, a servant led her to a fine bedroom chamber, and she slept through the night. Day followed day, and Susan and the Count talked throughout them. One day Count Floris took Susan to the stables and lifted her up on his stallion. Together they rode through the town of Canterbury, stopping at the house of her father. When Susan's father came out, he was pasty white. He threw himself onto the ground. “Rise, peasant,” the count demanded. Susan’s father darted a glance at his daughter. His loving eyes traveled her as if asking if she were all right, but then the father stood without a word and stared down at the ground in humbleness. “Did you offer to sacrifice your daughter for the town’s well-being?” the count asked sternly. “No, my lord. She is the love of my heart.” “I see. Then you will walk at my side, and return with us to the castle.” Susan started to defend her father, but the count who had his arms fastened about her waist, forbade her to speak. She felt his arms tighten about her waist, almost warningly. She bowed her head and was silent. When they returned to the castle, the count lowered Susan from the great stallion, and his arms still circling her body, pulling her close. “You are trembling again, Susan. It is wise to fear my wrath, but I am not angry. I have decided to make you my wife.” Susan lifted up her emerald eyes. They filled with tears, and then she glanced at her father, standing a short distance away. “Yes, your father will be safe, too,” the count replied to her unasked question. And so it came about that Susan became the Countess of Canterbury, and although she was born a peasant and became a royal, she never forgot her upbringing. Through her good works, the townspeople prospered, and the count, no longer dissatisfied with life and with the ugliness of his soul, began to smile more each day. Years passed, and Susan gave the count many fine sons and daughters. And it is rumored, that the sound of whipped peasants, screaming and begging for mercy, was replaced by laughter as the count enjoyed his children and the numerous, interesting discussions he held with his beautiful, brave, young wife. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ |
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