The Queen and the Hero

by Tala Bar

conclusion

III

The Hero stayed in that country, then, enjoying the company of the Huntress and her mates, as well as the Queen’s Daughter and her friends, until winter set in with its rains and cold. It was a season of much work in the fields and with the animals, the women did not have much free time for the Hero and he was beginning to get bored.

“My Queen,” said her favorite Daughter one day; she had been serving as a liaison for the Queen with the Hero, who was not called to her presence daily but was loose to please himself.

“Yes, Daughter,” the Queen said kindly to her. She noticed a change that had come over the girl and thought she might be pregnant. This would demand new arrangements, but for the time being she said nothing.

“I think the Hero is bored here,” the Daughter said, “Would you permit him to leave us, or do you want him to stay?”

“It’s much too early for him to leave. Have you thought of something for him to do?”

“There is that young bull,” she replied, “who has grown up from a calf and turned not only very strong but also very obstinate. The Farmer has some difficulty in putting him to good use on the farm, and we thought that perhaps the Hero could give her a hand.”

“Indeed, Daughter, you have a good head on your shoulders. Bring him over and I’ll give the order, and turn him over to the Farmer for help.”

The Farmer, who was a middle-aged woman with strong, ample figure, came to the Queen’s presence and was ordered to have the Hero help her with the obstinate young bull. She took the Hero to the field, where the bull was standing with his head bowed to the earth, his feet glued to the ground and his sharp horns stretched forward against anyone who would try to move him.

The Hero grabbed the bull by the horns and the bull tossed his head and threw the man up into the air. It was a dance fit for an audience, and many girls and women hurried to the field that day to watch in amazement. From late morning to early evening the dance continued, but the bull got tired first. The Hero then jumped on his back and made it carry him around the fields, his arms in the air and victorious shouts bursting out from his mouth.

“He’s done it,” the Farmer told the Queen when they both came to stand before her later, gasping for breath. The hero stretched his arm and hugged the large woman by the shoulders, grinning at the Queen.

“Take him, then, if you want him,” the Queen told the Farmer, and the two left her presence dancing on their feet.

Months passed and spring arrived, when preparations were made for the special festival of Spring and Love. The Hero had been staying in the country for half a year now, and the Queen knew it was time for her to take a personal hand in his existence. He had been spending his time doing all kinds of jobs to help the women in their life and work — farming and hunting, taking part in fighting exercises and making love at night. The Queen heard nothing but good news of him, but neither she nor her sisters, aunts and daughters knew of his particular mission in their land — to get a token that would show he had been in close proximity to the Queen herself. And this he had not achieved yet.

The Festival day was nearing, and the Queen called the Hero to her presence. “How are you doing in our land, Hero,” she asked him pleasantly. “Are you happy? How long would you like to stay and do you intend to leave us soon?”

“My Queen,” he bowed, “I feel that you are my Queen indeed, as I feel so close in thoughts and feelings to your natural subjects. But as to the length of my stay, that depends entirely on you. If you tell me to go, I’ll go, but as long as you allow me to stay, I am here to serve you.”

“Nicely said,” she replied. “Now, as you have fulfilled your previous tasks so well, I have a new one for you. We have had rumors of a great big young lion roaming the area. At the moment, he is feeding on our flocks, but there is always a danger that his taste might change to feed on humans. Would you take care of that lion for me, for us?”

“My Queen, your command is always a pleasure to obey.” He bowed again, turned and left the audience chamber, went to see the Huntress and talk to her. He then found out that catching the lion was a very different thing from hunting the boar, which was supposed to be killed for the pot.

“You have to catch him with your bare hands to prove your prowess,” she told him, “if you want to win the prize which is in store for you.”

“Prize?” he wondered, but she would say nothing else. Now the Hero, with his strong, muscular arms, had sometimes fought men with his bare hands, but he had never hunted without a weapon of one kind or another. Still, the idea both of the prize and of proving himself worthy of it intrigued him and he knew in his heart he was ready for any test of this kind.

The next morning he prepared himself by getting his body clean, then daubed it well in oil to make it too slippery to be taken hold of. He put around his loins a well-fitting new skin of leopard, a gift from one of his many lovers, and with a pair of strong sandals on his feet he went out of the City in the direction shown him by the Huntress.

Spring was indeed there, and the green pastures were covered with colorful blossoms. Expecting the lion to be lurking in the vicinity of the flocks, the Hero went in that direction, taking his time and minding to go against the wind so as not to let the beast sense his approach before he could see it.

Climbing one of the low hills surrounding the City and looking all around him, the Hero discovered the lion down in the valley. The Hero paused to admire his opponent, his bright golden skin — glowing under the bright sun as if reflecting its light — and the golden-brown mane, not unlike the Hero’s own hair. The lion was crouching leisurely, scanting the peaceful flocks as if his belly was full and he was just measuring his private treasure without trying to take hold of it.

The Hero crouched as well, then slowly climbed down the hill in the direction of the beast, going again against the wind. But the wind dropped suddenly, and when it stirred again, it had changed direction, blowing from the Hero right toward the lion.

The Hero stopped his crawl, then he saw the lion rise on his feet, sniffing the air in his direction. Slowly, it was now the turn of the lion to advance toward the Hero, and at last they stood against each other, each scanning his enemy with curious eyes, ready to pounce.

It happened all at once. Both animals leaped into the air, meeting half way, catching hold of each other. It was a magnificent fight, and for one flitting moment the Hero felt sorry that no other human being was there to witness it. But it was he that in the end carried with him the souvenir of the lion’s head and skin, which would serve him in years to come as his most glorious garment.

Still bloody and untanned, the Hero had the lion’s skin thrown over his shoulder when he returned to the Palace.

“Indeed, you are not just a Hero but a Lion Hero,” commented the Queen with a hidden pride, as she stood down from her throne and came to hug the Hero, blood and all. “Tonight we shall celebrate your victory, and you will receive the prize you are so worthy of.”

* * *

The feast went as royal feasts go, with much food and drink, music and dancing to twirl any one’s head. Then, at the high of it, the Queen rose on her feet at the head of the long table and raised her glass. “Let us praise our Hero, who had saved us from many a menace and helped us in many ways for now and for the future. The Hero!” she cried, then brought the glass to her lips and sipped from it.

“Our Hero!” cried after her all the other women around the table, while the Hero raised grateful eyes shining toward her with prideful tears.

“Let the celebration go on,” called the Queen, then stretched her arm toward the Hero, “Come and take your prize, My Hero!”

He joined her and she led him to her bedchamber, and only when she took off her magnificent royal dress he could see how magnificent her royal figure was, a treasure for a loving and admiring man.

So, they spent their night in making love, and he was sorry when daylight shone through the window. His celebration did not end there, however, but continued through yet many other nights.

Summer came, and the Queen knew herself to be pregnant. “Aunt,” she said one day to her Advisor, “Midsummer is near, and we have to make our preparations.”

“Are you sure of your idea, My Queen?” the Advisor asked with some hesitation, as she knew how the Queen felt about her Hero.

“There is no other way if we want to continue our faith and customs,” was the answer; “still,” she was pondering, “perhaps we could find a way out of what might be a dilemma. But don’t forget that for me it is the end, whatever we decide of doing.”

“Very well, My Queen, it will be done as you wish.” The Advisor then went to talk to the Priestess at the Goddess’ Temple, to make the proper preparations. That night the Queen talked to her faithful Hero, who had not slept with any of the women since his first mating with the Queen.

“It is our most important celebration, Midsummer, and you must fill a most important part in it. My heart aches for you, because we’ll have to part for ever, but there is no way out of the our most important ritual.”

“And I’ll have to take part in this ritual?” asked the Hero with a nonchalant attitude, as he had no idea what he should expect from this ritual.

“You are the most important person in this ritual, my dear,” she said and bent to kiss him, which led to another stormy lovemaking that lasted a few hours. She was feeling good with his seed inside her body, and the child growing from it, much better than with any pregnancy she had had before. That child, she felt, whether a female or a male, is going to do great deeds in the future. So, she was able to open herself again and again to the man who had done that for her and for her country.

In time, Midsummer had arrived, and everything was ready. “We are going to the Temple,” she told the Hero. “It’s time you saw it from the inside.”

The Hero was indeed curious, because it was one building in the City, which he had not been allowed in before. It was a great procession, with the Queen leading and the Hero at her heels, the Huntress and Farmer coming right after them, then the rest of the City women, all dressed in somber though colorful garments.

They reached the Temple, whose doors were standing wide open, unlike the other times the Hero had seen it. At the entrance stood the Priestess, dressed in similar somber but colorful robe, stretching her arms to receive the Queen and her Mate.

The Queen then turned to the Hero, “This is a token of my love and appreciation for you, My Hero,” she said, removing from around her neck a silver chain with a bright red stone hanging from it, putting it around the Hero’s neck. Then she climbed the high throne, from which she would watch the ritual in action.

The Hero, accompanied by the Huntress and Farmer, was led to the center of the spacious chamber. An altar had been erected there, with a wide top suitable to receive the offering of a large animal like a bull or a boar. Silence of expectation fell among the crowd of women surrounding the Queen’s throne; she then raised her arm, and some unseen musicians opened with celebrating sounds. Then the Priestess offered the Hero a glass of drink.

“Please, My Hero, this is in your honor and that of the Queen’s,” she said in a persuasive manner, although the Hero was always ready to drink the Queen’s honor.

“To you, My Queen,” he said, raising the glass with much devotion in his dark eyes, then he lift it to his lips and emptied it in one gulp.

It took just a minute for his eyelids to droop, for his head to bend and for his body to drop heavily where he was standing. The Huntress and Farmer took hold of him and laid him on the altar.

“In the name of the Earth and the Moon and the Place which is under the Earth, I dedicate this Hero to you, My Goddess and Queen,” the Priestess said as she raised her arms above the sleeping Hero. The crowd held its breath as the flash of a sharp black stone shone in the raised hand of the priestess; it fell abruptly and, in a second, a red stream shot from the body on the altar toward the ceiling, sprinkling the surroundings with shiny red spray.

A shout burst from the crowd, “Glory to our Goddess,” the women cried as one, “May she rule forever!”

A fire burst on the altar from nowhere, and a cloud of smoke hid everything on it. The Queen raised her arm and gave a sign, and the women began moving away, sifting one by one out of the temple.

* * *

The last of worshippers left the hall, except for the Farmer and Huntress who were still standing on both sides of the Priestess. The Queen stepped down from her throne and approached them. The smoke cleared now, and she looked at the unconscious body lying on top of the altar. There was no sign on his body, either of a cut or a burn. “Is he all right?” she asked.

The Priestess grinned. “Give him a few minutes, the dose had to be extra strong, for such a powerful figure of a man.”

“Come, then,” she said to the Farmer and Huntress, “let the Priestess do her job.” Darkness fell in the temple, as the three women came out into the daylight, walking without looking behind them.

The Priestess walked to the door and closed the last beam of light coming in from it. Then, in the utter darkness, she watched the sleeping Hero until he stirred and then opened his eyes, looking around him dazed and confused.

A single glow emanated from where the Priestess stood, masking her shape in a colored mist, which was all the Hero could see. He sat up, stretched a leg to the ground and stood down from the altar. What had happened to him and what should he do? The first question receiving no answer, he paid all his attention to the second.

The Hero paused. The silence was deep, the darkness impenetrable; he could see nothing around him, he did not know where he could go. Glancing at the glowing mist, he noticed that it had started to move. It moved away from the door, but the Hero did not know it. What if he followed the light? What if it would lead him out? He must try, for there was nothing else he could do.

The misty glow moved away and the Hero came after it. He walked some distance he could not measure, some time he could not count and at last, all of a sudden, the glow switched itself off and again he was sunk deep in darkness. But now, from a distance, he noticed a point of light. He then walked toward that light, which gradually grew until it looked the size of his own body.

As the Hero approached it, he saw that the light came from an opening out into the wide world. He came up to it and stopped. He looked behind him toward the empty darkness. There was nothing more for him there, so he turned and stepped out of the Temple and, though he did not realize it, he walked away from the city, toward the sun that shone over the open world.