Gilly

Gilly Blackfoot was so named because he was always getting into mischief, falling into puddles and hardly ever bothering to wash himself. Near the farm where he lived there was a fort of big trees and it was so dark in there that you would need a torch to light the way, even in broad daylight. People said that fairies congregated there on certain nights when the doors between the two worlds are flung open and spirits come up from the nether world to make merry or to steal some person of worth.

On Halloween Gilly decided to creep out of bed and go down to the fort to see if he would come across any of these fairies. It was so cold that the dogs didn’t even bother to follow him, they let out a yelp or two and, went back to sleep. As Gilly walked down the path towards the fort of trees he thought he heard some chattering but decided it was probably due to his imagination but then as he got nearer he heard a sound as of silver bells all tinkling together, an orchestra so soft and so melodious that it filled the night. There before his eyes was a whole troop of fairies dressed in the most lavish costumes and up to all sorts of pranks. They were just as Gilly had heard them described, a few inches in height, wearing green caps with cocky feathers and very impudent in their ways. Some were dancing, some were drinking from little crystal goblets which were about the size of a thimble and others were playing tig in and around the fort and making a terrible racket. The fort itself was lit with little magic gold tapers and even the leaf mould looked very beautiful. There were he-fairies and she-fairies and they seemed to be saying some chant which Gilly could not understand because they all spoke so fast. He began to lose his nerve and was about to run back when up comes a marshal fairy, taps him with a baton on the knee and says ‘Hello Gilly Blackfoot.’

‘Hello,’ said Gilly trying to be nonchalant. His legs were like jelly and his breath sounded like a penny whistle inside him.

‘Would you like a joy ride?’ said the marshal.

‘I can’t,’ said Gilly.

‘Ah, you “distasteful little squid,’ said the second fairy who stood in front of him with gritted teeth. All around, Gilly could hear the other fairies saying it was time to go and all of a sudden he felt his two hands pulled behind his back and a chant in his ear ‘Roolya-Boolya, Roolya-Boolya, Roolya-Boolya, Roolya-Boolya.’ In the distance there was the thunder of hooves and at once a whole host of riderless horses came over the field. They were jet black horses with black manes and silver harnesses and they lay down on the ground so that the fairies could mount them.

‘By Yarrow and Rue

And my red cap too

Hie over to England.’

They were chanting this as Gilly found himself thrown on a big high horse and a rein put in his hands. There was a very joking fairy on the horse next to him and as they set out he shouted ‘jump to it nuncle.’ Gilly found himself soaring up into the air surrounded by horses on all sides and loud chanting.

‘By Jonquil and chance

By wild horses’ prance

We’ll hie us to France.’

It was all at a terrific speed, so much so that Gilly didn’t dare look down, but from the chanting going on around him he knew that they had crossed the Irish Sea and were going towards Dover, bound for France.

When they landed in France he was pulled from his horse and the fairies formed a dense huddle around him. It was then he learned their wicked plot which was to carry off a princess; and he, Gilly, was essential to them because it was on his horse she would ride, since a fairy cannot sit beside a mortal. Her name was Irma and the password was ‘Get Irma’. They were in the grounds of the palace where she lived. In the moonlight Gilly could see that it was made of stone and ramparts and turrets all about. There was an owl hooting. No one could see Gilly or his companions because the chief fairy had made them invisible; they were aerial beings.

‘Roolya-Boolya. Roolya-Boolya,’ they chanted as they advanced towards the door, passing the guard dogs who did not even sniff them. A great feast was going on inside. All the noble men and noble women of the land had gathered there because the King was about to give his daughter Irma in marriage to a Prince from Syria. When Gilly caught sight of the Princess he gasped. She was very young and was splendidly dressed with her bright yellow hair bound by circlet of gold and she was wearing shoes with silver embroidery on her small white feet. She had a lace mantle that was fastened in front by a diamond brooch and underneath, next to her soft snow-white skin, was a garment of white brocade. Everything about her was beautiful except for her eyes that looked like misted pearls so sad were they. Her father the King was leading her up the aisle of the church where bishops waited to marry her. She looked from left to right as if she wanted to escape and Gilly, knowing what lay ahead for her, pitied her with all his heart. He and the fairies were advancing up the aisle, covered in a mist that lay like a net over them.

From the opposite wing of the church the groom appeared, followed by a retinue. He was fat and very flashily dressed and he wore a gold cap that stuck up like a drum on the top of his head. The jesting fairy told Gilly how unhappy the Princess was at having to marry Prince Podge but that her father insisted on it because the Prince had vast riches in Syria.

All of a sudden, as the bride and the King were advancing to the strains of organ music, there was the most terrible commotion and confusion. Three of the lead fairies stepped before the bride and put their batons out while other fairies formed rings around, and as the Princess took the next step she fell forward on to her face and before she could rise or be picked up they had thrown a net over her head and uttered words that made her invisible. The King was jumping up and down in an apoplexy and his crown was jumping up and down with him as he shouted out ‘Irma. Irma, Irma.’ The bishops were looking very startled and the whole congregation was in an uproar as Gilly heard a fairy tell him to pick Irma up and run for the door. He had no choice but to pick up this creature who seemed lifeless and was light as a feather, and he hurried down the aisle with sentinels of fairies guarding him on either side. As he got to the garden he heard the same wild sounds ‘Roolya-Boolya. Roolya-Boolya’ and just as before the horses appeared fully caparisoned and ready to fly. As they rose into the sky Gilly heard, from behind him, his passenger crying and begging to know where she was being brought. He would have liked to comfort her but he couldn’t and he did not dare tell her the truth. The first words that he spoke to her was when they had landed in Ireland and he was helping her down.

‘May God protect you’, said Gilly and as he said it the most amazing thing happened. The horses turned into handles of ploughs and bits of broken sticks and the fairies began to hiss and fume at him like a pack of weasels.

‘You traitor,’ said the marshal fairy because as soon as God’s name was mentioned the Princess was protected and could not be carried away. Cries of rage and fury arose on every side; Gilly was hemmed in with curses and thumps and each fairy thinking up the most terrible punishment for him. There is no knowing what they would have done to Gilly’ except that it was the hour of morning when they had to vanish underground and the bugle was blowing, summoning them to the Underworld.

‘Vamoose ... Vamoose,’ the marshal called. They disappeared like specks of dandelion seed, just drifting away out of sight. Three elder fairies whispered to one another and then one of them, who was very old and hunched, came forward and struck the Princess a slap upon the face so that she staggered and fell. He laughed as he did it.

‘She won’t be able to say a word, she’s a dummy now,’ he told Gilly and added that they would get even with him for ruining their plot. Then they all disappeared and silence fell on the fort and on the fields around and for the first time Gilly breathed freely. But when he looked at the poor Princess lying there he became desperate. He picked her up and there she stood in her wedding dress thin and shivery, her skin showing through her clothes, white as snow. He could not tell whether she’d heard him or not when he spoke because the expression on her face did not change. It was one of woe and perplexity. Gilly took off his jacket and put it around her as he pon­dered on what to do. He did not want to bring her back to France immediately because the marriage would go ahead and anyhow he had no horses or no transport. He thought and he thought and he decided that he would bring her to his godmother who lived in a big house on a great estate. When they got to his godmother’s house she re­ceived them very kindly and put Irma sitting by the fire with a rug over her knees. She resolved with Gilly that they would keep the girl safely and send a letter to the King of France to say that she was safe. She said that sometimes merchants came to sell her tapes­tries or vessels, and that these merchants always travailed back through France to the East. But for the time being they decided they would tell no one about Irma. Poor Irma sat there with her head down, giving no response at all so that they did not even know if she understood or appreciated what they said. The godmother then spoke to her in French and to these remarks too she remained dumb and indifferent.

Now the months wore on and Irma began to be a little more cheerful. She helped in the garden, she embroidered some cushions, she sometimes smiled when Gilly and the woman addressed her, but she never spoke and she never appeared to understand. Letters were sent by two merchants but no reply came and Gilly could only assume that they got lost or else that her father wanted nothing more to do with her, realising that she’d been carried away by a fairy tribe who put her under an enchantment. He decided that there was only one thing for it which was to wait for the fairies to come again and to put himself at their mercy, or maybe to learn some secret by bribing one of them. The next time that they were due for one of those midnight forays he waited at the fort, with a torch in one hand and his father’s ash plant in the other. He decided that he was going to be very brave but he did not feel at all brave as he looked in the distance and heard the strange soft melodious sound that presaged their arrival They were the same fairies as before and they sprung up around him like myriads of mushrooms, wearing their green caps with the jaunty feathers and shrieking joyously, ‘Roolya-­Boolya, Roolya-Boolya.’

‘Oh, you’re here, said the hunchback who had struck the Princess down. As the horses galloped over the fields throwing up clods of earth behind them, Gilly wondered if perhaps he shouldn’t go back to France and go straight to the King and tell him everything that had happened but then it occurred to him that the fairies were probably going to Spain or to Germany to filch another princess since they had lost out on their previous guest.

‘Ah you distasteful traitor,’ said one of them as Gilly ventured to ask a question, indeed to ask for help.

‘No matter,’ said the hunchback, ‘he can’t converse with the girl, he can’t court her.’

This time they were not waiting to have any drink­ing or any frolic, they were leaping on to their horses and soaring into the air. To his great amazement Gilly found the jester fairy lagging behind, and just before he mounted he whispered in Gilly’s ear, ‘Cry to it, nuncle, give her the herb that grows in your garden,’

‘Which one?’ said Gilly, but the jester was way up over the trees and off.

‘And boil it, nuncle,’ he shouted. Now Gilly was more agitated than ever not knowing which herb it could be, but he resolved that he would look at every herb and every weed that grew in their garden and he would boil every single one and examine their properties. He could not sleep a wink that night; he left the curtains open and he rose with the first sign of light. He took a carving knife and headed straight for the kitchen garden and there, as he started near one wall, he saw thistles, ferns, dock leaf, hips and haws, convolvulus, masses of things that he’d seen all his life, and then under a bush he saw this odd little plant that seemed to sparkle, seemed to speak to him. Its little silver hairs seemed to be humming and the leaves made a zing-zing. He pulled up a stalk, broke it and as he did a white sap-like milk oozed out. Then he pulled another and another and he decided that this must be what the jester fairy had talked about.

Near the kitchen garden there was a boiler house so he went across, kindled the fire and put the broken bits of stalk into a saucepan to boil. Now it occurred to him that maybe the stuff was poison and that the fairy was playing a trick on him so that the Princess would die and on that account he knew that he had to taste the stuff first. He was very fearful. As he put it to his lips he wondered if maybe he should not abandon the whole idea, throw the stuff away and leave the Princess to her unhappy fate.

‘But you love her,’ he heard himself say. Yes, he loved her. He had not realised it before, but he knew now that when he called on her every day, when he saw he sitting in the garden or helping in the kitchen he was totally in love with her and fearful that she would go away. Having her there even as a dumb person was far better than not having her at all. The liquid did not taste too bad and he drank several gulps of it but did not remain awake to judge its effect. Before minutes had passed Gilly had fallen into a deep sleep in which he had a beautiful dream – Irma and he walked out of a gigantic wedding cake and went up the aisle of a church. He came to, with some hens clucking around him, and a crick in his neck. Not only that, but he was speaking French, he was making a speech, thanking the lords and ladies at his wedding reception.

‘It works, it works,’ said Gilly as he hurried off to his godmother’s house with the saucepan of brew.

The drink had made him much more confident. He told them how he had waited for the fairies, how he had got the hint from the jester, how he had tried the brew himself and how no harm had come to him ­indeed he felt stronger. The girl drank willingly, and as she did, she fell back on to a chaise longue and sank into a profound slumber. Gilly and his godmother watched and waited all day and when Gilly touched her and she did not even stir he was worried that maybe she had drunk too much. Sometimes he leaned in and whispered something to her in French but she was lifeless like some statue from which came the faintest and most serene breath. Eventually, her foot stirred and they saw her raise her arms above her head and give a little yawn followed by a most beautiful smile. She wakened and looked at them both but made no effort to speak. Gilly and his godmother were in terrible suspense, torn between hope and despair as they ventured a question. They asked her if she had slept well.

‘Very well, thank you,’ she said, in the most beauti­ful lilting voice. Gilly, insane with joy, asked her to speak again, in God’s name, to say a lot of things so that they would know that the power of speech was hers. The Princess sat up and said that the first thing she must do was to thank them both for the kindness and forbearance they had shown to her, adding that she hoped to repay their hospitality by inviting them to France.

‘You mean you’ll leave us,’ said Gilly dreading the prospect of having to live without her ever again.

‘We will go together, you and I, and our guardian here, and we will ask my father to relieve me of the promise of marriage and let me be betrothed ...’

‘To who?’ said Gilly.

‘To you, my sweet,’ said the Princess as she put her dainty hand out and asked him to kiss it in the French manner. Gilly was not sure if he knew the protocol but at any rate he knelt and delivered a ceremonious kiss so that she laughed and asked if he had been schooling himself in French customs over the months

‘Oui?’ she asked saucily.

Now it was Gilly’s turn to be struck dumb. Such a change had come over her: her cheeks flushed as if cochineal had been poured on them, her eyes shone like wet opals and she tripped about exclaiming how heureuse she was and announced when they were married they would divide their time between Ireland and France, and live in pink stone castles, with woods and waterfalls all around.

‘Speak, mon poulin ...’ she teased, but Gilly could not speak; he was tongue-tied, being too full of love and adoration for her.