There once was a knight by the name of Sir Wicket. Now, he really was a knight, but truth be told, he wasn’t actually very good at it. He was clumsy and silly and often said things that made people hate him. He wasn’t very good at any of the things that knights were supposed to be able to do.
One day Wicket was having a particularly bad day. It all began when he was talking to a knight by the name of Sir Melvin. He was simply commenting about an incredibly boring and ugly woman he had met at a banquette the previous night. Unfortunately this woman happened to be Sir Melvin’s mother. Enraged, Sir Melvin challenged Wicket to a duel.
“How dare you disrespect my mother like that. Let’s see how you handle a sword. En gaurde!”
They fought a short battle which ended with Wicket tripping over his own sword and landing face-first in a pile of horse manure.
“Wicket, you are ridiculous,” laughed Sir Melvin. “A more pathetic knight I have never ever seen.”
Feeling understandably ridiculous Wicket decided to go for a relaxing horse ride in the country. He went to the stable and found his horse, a spunky coal-black steed named Silver. Quickly he saddled Silver and led him out into the street. As skillfully as he could he mounted the great creature. Unfortunately he had absolutely no skill and so he slipped off the opposite side. As Wicket’s luck would have it his foot became caught in the stirrup as he fell. As he was falling he cried out, “Aaaahhh!” which to a horse sounds remarkably like “Yah!” Silver took off with wicket in tow.
Eventually, after bumping along for some time, Wicket’s foot slipped out of the stirrup and he fell to the ground. Silver immediately came to a stop and began munching on the leaves of a nearby bush. Wicket got up and brushed himself off.
He was muttering under his breath when all of a sudden he heard the most beautiful sound he had ever heard. It was a woman singing. He looked around and sure enough the singing was coming from a tall stone tower in a nearby clearing.
“Hello there,” called out Wicket.
The singing stopped. Then the beautiful face of a princess poked out of a window at the top of the tower.
“Who’s there?” called the princess.
“My name is Sir Wicket, what’s yours?”
“My name is Princess Sophia. Have you come to rescue me?”
“Do you need to be rescued?”
“Well, I am at the top of a tower in the middle of forest. The tower has no door and only one window. And I’m a princess, of course I need to be rescued!”
Here there was a brief awkward silence.
“Do you want me to go and get someone to rescue you?”
“Don’t be silly, just rescue me yourself.”
Wicket scratched his head for a moment and then decided that perhaps he could rescue a damsel in distress. And so, he began to climb up the side of the tower. A thick vine was growing up along the stones of the tower right below the princess’ window.
He was half way up when he lost his grip on a slippery branch of the vine. The princess was busily packing her bag when she heard a startled cry and a loud thump from outside her window. She went to investigate and saw poor Wicket sprawled out on the grass rubbing his backside.
“You’re not a very good knight,” she commented with a laugh.
Wicket, his pride wounded, looked down at his feet.
“Hey,” called the princess. “I have an idea. I have this very beautiful hair that hasn’t been cut my entire life. I bet it’s so long that it could reach all the way to the ground. I’ll just hang it down and you can use it as a rope to climb up.”
And with that she tossed her long locks out the window to the ground. Wicket couldn’t think of a better idea, so he jumped up and grabbed onto the rope of hair. But instead of remaining suspended in the air as he had expected he found his feet once again firmly planted on the ground. A shriek that occurred at that exact moment suggested to Wicket that he ought to look up. This he did in time to see the shape of a plummeting princess.
Instinctively he stuck out his arms and caught the princess before she struck the ground.
“Hello princess,” he said pleasantly.
She on the other hand was not so pleasant. In fact, she said all sorts of things that a princess is not supposed to say. Wicket set her down.
“You could have killed me!” she shrieked.
“I guess that hair plan wasn’t such a good idea after all,” commented Wicket thoughtfully.
“Not a good idea!?! You thickheaded buffoon! I’ve never seen such a pathetic excuse for a knight in all my life!”
And with that she stomped off into the forest, her ridiculously long hair dragging behind her.
Wicket hung his head in shame. He really was a bad knight, he thought. A heavy darkness fell upon his heart and he began to plod off into the woods in the opposite direction of the princess. He was feeling quite badly about himself when he came to a clearing that had a small cabin in the middle of it. He could see a person out in front of the cabin hard at work. Curious, he walked up to say hello.
As he drew near he saw that it was an old man hoeing his garden. Old in this case is a drastic understatement. The man was so wizened that his face resembled a grape that had been left out in the sun far too long. When he moved he shook like a man caught in the Arctic with no jacket.
It looked to Wicket like hoeing this garden was going to kill the old man.
“Hello there,” said Wicket.
“Oh…he-l-l-l-o… young man. What c-c-can I do for you?”
“Well, I was just wondering whether you could use a hand with your gardening.”
“Oh that would be w-w-wonderful. I’ll just have a little sit-down here and catch my breath.”
Wicket began hoeing the garden while the old man fell asleep, head back and snoring loudly. Several squirrels laughed at the sight of a knight gardening, but Wicket ignored them. When the garden was tilled he planted and watered some seeds in it. It was late in the day by the time he finished.
Carefully he woke up the old man. When he saw his garden the old geezer clapped his hands and smiled a big toothless smile.
“Oh-h-h thank you very much young man.”
Wicket stayed for supper and then the old man invited him to spend the night at the cozy little cabin. He showed Wicket the guestroom and left him a candle on the side-table. Then the old man smiled at Wicket for some time.
“What a good knight,” he said.
Wicket snuggled into his sheets and smiled.
“Goodnight to you too,” he called out after the old man.
THE END
