I
There was once a village lad whose name was Jehan, but because of the
golden curls that covered his head they called him “Goldhair;” and
because he chose to sit at home and read his grandame’s parchment
book of knightly glory and fairy gold, while the other lads tilled
the fields or roamed the woods, they called him a milksop, and he was
laughed at and sometimes roughly treated by his parents and elder
brothers. But his aged grandame, who dwelt in a lonely tower on a
heath, and who was called the “wise dame,” would shake her staff at
them and prophesy fame and fortune for her favorite.
[A] From William Morris’ “Goldilocks,” published by Thomas Crowell &
Company.
It was in the high tide of summer and all the villagers were in the
upland fields cutting grain. Indeed, so large were the wheat-fields
of Goldhair’s countryside, that it was called “The Land of the
Wheaten-shocks,” and Goldhair was often named in derision, “My Lord of
Wheaten-shock.” Early one morning as the household ate the porridge
and yellow cream which the serving wench poured in earthen bowls,
Goldhair came into the rush-lighted kitchen, his grandsire’s sword
clanking along the flagged floor. For, though they tilled the soil,
the forebears of his family had worn armor and fought under a crested
banner.
Goldhair was a brave sight that morning with his coat of scarlet and
his hosen of green; a pheasant’s feather curled from his cap; a scrip
hung over his shoulder, and he girded the good sword at his side.
“Whither away, son Jehan, when my wheat hangs heavy for the sickle?”
thus his father.
“Whither away, son Jehan, when the water buckets await thee at the
well, that the reapers may not be athirst?” cried his mother.
“Whither away?” said his little sisters, “and why do you wear your
holiday dress, Jehan?”
“Whither away?” chorused his three great brothers, their smocks
upgirded for the reaping and their brown arms and legs bare.
“I go into the wide, wide world,” answered Jehan, “to seek fame and
fortune and to bring back the nut-brown fay for a wife.”
Now I must tell you that in an ancient wood nearby there dwelt a fay, a
lovely creature with long, brown hair that clothed her like a garment.
She seemed to serve and love all the woodland beasts and birds, and
they often heard her sing there at twilight. Many a lad spent hours
trying to catch a glimpse of her, but heard only the flitting of a
light body through the leaves and a laugh like a wood bird’s call.
Within the depths of the wood, there stood a ruined castle. Though its
drawbridge was gone and its moat a mere reed-grown swamp, the great
iron gates stood closed and none had ever dared to scale its massive
walls; for at night when the wind rocked the great old forest trees
and the screech-owls cried weirdly, strange lights flickered in its
iron-barred windows and strange wails echoed from its vine-covered
walls. It was to this fearful place that Goldhair had full intent of
going, though he dared not say so, for fear they would forcibly detain
him. So, amid the jeers of his brothers, the reproof of his father,
and the tears of his mother and sisters, he set out to seek his fortune
in the wide, wide world and to bring back the nut-brown fay.