Room and Borders

Room and Borders

a Greenmeadows story by Stephen Brooke ©2021

“What? A toll?”

The soldier looked thoroughly embarrassed. “Prince's orders, sir,” he told Sir Grissol.

“And you’ll have to pay me when you come back through,” said the man on the other side of the turn-pike. “The king couldn’t let Pitanga do this without retaliating.”

“If your fat-headed king would just recognize the border had changed we wouldn’t have this problem,” claimed the Pitangan man-at-arms.

“Our borders are our borders,” came the Carambolan’s retort, “whatever ridiculous claims your petty prince may make.” He shook his halberd in what he probably intended to be a menacing manner. His heart was obviously not in it.

“Now, now, let’s not start a border war, my dear fellows. Tuppence to cross?”

“Plus a penny for the horse.”

“Hmmph. I think I’ll walk next time.” Grissol Greenmeadows was never eager to part with his pennies. He handed over the required coins and led Battercap the rest of the way across the short span. The narrow River Acerola flowed dark and peaceful below.

“I’ll have to have a word with our king when I get back home, Batty,” he told his steed as he climbed into the saddle. “Hidalgus should know better.”

Batty kept her opinion to herself, but had she spoken she would undoubtedly have told Sir Grissol he needed to lose some weight.

Fortunately, it was not far to the cave of his friend Ransax. Nowhere was very far in the realms of Pitanga and Carambola for they were quite small realms. Moreover, it was pleasant, open, rolling land. One could walk across the both of them in the course of a day and there were taverns along the way that made such outings worth the while.

To be sure, if one stopped at too many of those taverns the journey could consume more than one day. Especially if one consumed too much of their fine ale.

Ransax knew all about the dispute. That should surprise no one. Dragons like to keep up with all the gossip and more so when it might affect their pocketbook. Or their hoard, more properly.

“It’s all about the Acerola changing course,” the great red creature explained as they settled down among the disheveled shelves of his library. “It cut through a little oxbow upriver and Barbacuso claims that land is now part of Pitanga.”

“And Hidalgus would dispute the claim. I know the man well enough to recognize that.”

“The land, of course, is without value. Swamp.”

“Well, maybe they’ll see the foolishness of it in a while.” Both knew, at heart, that was unlikely. But it didn’t cost anything to hope.

It did cost to return home that evening. More than it had before. “Three pence?” Grissol asked the Carambolan border guard.

“The prince upped his toll, so we had to act, didn’t we, sir?”

“Nay, it was the king who raised it first,” objected the Pitangan soldier on Grissol’s side of the border.

“Well, we knew you in Pitanga planned to do it, anyway. Oh, and another penny for your horse, Sir Grissol.”

The knight wondered how soon that might go up as well. Not for long; the meat pie and flagon of strong southern wine awaiting him at home made him forget it altogether.

Mid-afternoon of the following day, Grissol was lounging on the lawn before his modest keep. Grissol named it a keep. You might call it a manor house. He put down the newly arrived copy of ‘Shield and Steed’ when he noted Ransax ambling in his direction.

It’s hard not to note a ton-and-a-half red dragon, to be sure. Even when its a red that has mellowed to a slightly brownish tone, like old claret.

“It’s gone up again,” stated the dragon, with no preamble, as he settled his bulk on the grass.

“Gone up? Oh, the toll.” Grissol shook his head, causing his wide-brimmed straw hat to slide slightly askew. “Most inconvenient.” He found it hard to feel very concerned at that moment. He didn’t have to pay to go home like Ransax.

He removed the hat, wiped his shiny pate with a handkerchief, and replaced it before Ransax made any further comment.

“Half a shilling now. However—” A deep rumbling chuckle erupted from the dragon. “I explained that I was an animal so I should get the same rate as a horse. Tuppence, it cost me.”

So that had gone up too. “It should be easy to go around, shouldn’t it? Especially for a dragon?”

“When I was younger, I would have simply flown across the border. Not quite up to it these days.” He spread his wide wings. “I could still manage to hop over the river somewhere, but I am rather easily noticed.”

That would not set well with either ruler. They would send someone to demand the toll. The last thing either Grissol or Ransax would want is tax collectors at the door.

“And don’t advise me to switch to human form. Either one of us would have to swim unless we went far out of our way.”

“Hmm. A boat maybe? But that would be only a temporary solution.”

“Dragons do not like to be fenced in,” grumbled Ransax. “Give me room!”

“Yes,” agreed Grissol, “lots of room. Without tolls.”

“And all because the river changed its course. I’m sure it’s not the first time.”

“Been doing that every few years since I was a boy,” said the knight. “Never bothered anyone before.”

“Hmm. It would be interesting to see where it flowed in earlier days,” mused Ransax. “There must be maps. We could show our lieges—”

“My dear Randy! That might just stir up more strife. I do believe you are mistaking Hidalgus and Barbacuso for reasonable men.”

“Oh, yes, of course. I was thinking like a thoroughly sensible dragon, wasn’t I?” The dragon pondered for a moment. “I suppose it isn’t really about the river at all, is it?”

“The two have been rivals since they were riding stick horses on opposite banks of the Acerola and shouting insults at each other. I suspect the king still rankles over being called ‘poopy britches.’ It didn’t help any when Hidalgus wooed and won Barbacuso’s sister.”

“Oh, the prince resents that?”

“No, Hidalgus does. And then, Barbacuso has never liked the fact that he is a prince and his neighbor styles himself a king.”

“His realm is every bit as large. Maybe larger.” There was a slightly steamy snicker. “Especially since he just added to it.”

“Well, let’s just hope it doesn’t come to war. Terribly inconvenient. King Hidalgus would surely want me to round up some of the farmers and march off to fight.”

The dragon gave him a long look. “I suspect, my friend, that with a few farmers, you could defeat either or both of our monarchs and rule yourself.”

“What a dreadful idea. I consider myself thoroughly retired and intend to remain so.” Grissol, it may be noted, was a fighting man. Or had been one, more accurately. Thoroughly retired or not, he knew of war as none of his neighbors did.

To be certain, so did Ransax. No whimsy was involved in his being dubbed ‘the Rapacious’ by men far and wide. Indeed, even other dragons sometimes used the epithet and they are notoriously hard to impress.

“I completely understand,” said Ransax. “Hmm, the river. I say, Greenmeadows, I think I have an idea. Do you mind if I go nap on the cool stone floors of your dungeon a while? I think I’ll need to be out and about tonight.”

“It’s a wine cellar, not a dungeon. I only imprison casks of port there and that’s, um, for their own safety.” He gave the dragon a suspicious look, wondering perhaps if his port would continue to remain safe. “But feel free.”

Ransax didn’t show himself again that day and in the morning he was gone. Grissol thought one of the casks sounded with an unduly hollow resonance when he rapped it. He was at tiffin when the news came.

“The river’s changed course again,” his steward informed him. “Overnight! Cut right into Pitanga’s side this time.”

“You’re positive, Manuel?” There had certainly been no flooding. It hadn’t even rained since Tuesday.

The man scratched his head as if digging for the answer. “I got it from my wife who got it from Farmer Muddles’s wife. Muddles is dependable, sir, though I can’t speak as to the wife.” He looked to see if that went down well before going on. “His neighbor Digges had his cows down to drink early and saw it with his own eyes. There was already soldiers there, says he, looking it over and arguing. Soldiers from, um, both sides o’ the river.”

“Most odd,” was the only comment the old knight was willing to make.

The next day, it seemed the Acerola had again changed its course, and in favor of Pitanga this time. “A whole swath of farmland,” reported Manuel. “But there’s still the parcel what was added to Carambola yesterday. No one’s sure what belongs where now.”

Grissol was willing to up his comment to, “Most extraordinary.”

At dawn, the knight found a dirt-caked Ransax stretched on the Greenmeadows lawn. “So,” he asked, when the dragon opened an eye, “where did you move the river to this time?”

“Barbacuso’s favorite tavern now belongs to Hidalgus.” Ransax yawned. “I hope that’s enough to make them see sense. I’m quite tired of digging.”

Grissol had his doubts. His king called him to his side shortly after. The knight barely had time to finish his breakfast. But he did—Hidalgus was not going to prevent that, no matter how urgent the king’s imagined need.

He also took the time to warn his steward not to allow any sheep to graze near Ransax. The dragon might be retired but he was not reformed.

A handful of baronets and ill-equipped knights had gathered, some bringing a retainer or two along. King Hidalgus was addressing them and pointing westward now and again. The monarch was tall and thin, with cavernous eyes, and a gray-streaked beard that reached nearly to the ground. He and the Prince of Pitanga had been competing as to whose was the longest every since both could shave.

Barbacuso’s beard, what with him being a head shorter than Hidalgus, would drag on the ground unless he remembered to throw it over his shoulder. More than once had it slipped his mind and caused him to trip. Hidalgus secretly hoped he would be forgetful more often, though he wouldn’t say such a thing publicly. His queen might hear of it.

“We’ll show Barbacuso that we intend to keep the river as our border,” he proclaimed.

Someone asked, “But, um, sire, weren’t you arguing the opposite before?”

There were some gasps—it does not do well to remind kings of such things—but Hidalgus took no offense. “We must be flexible, my boy,” came his affable reply.

Grissol could see now it was one of the king’s younger sons who had raised the question. Prince Pedro. A good lad but probably not one with much of a future if he remained around these parts.

“We’ll lose some good bottom land if we do that,” came another voice. There were murmurs of agreement.

“Aye, nearly three acres. And my land!” spoke Squire Tallow.

Grissol decided to put in his two farthings’ worth. “You won’t be losing it, Tom. You’ll just need to pay the taxes on it to Pitanga.”

There followed an immediate—though short—hush. It seemed this had not occurred to any of them.

“Ha! True indeed, Greenmeadows! So why I am I here wanting to fight anyone?”

“Yes,” one of the knights said. “The border moving doesn’t hurt any of us.”

Hidalgus was having none of this. “It hurts me,” he stated. “And I can hurt you.”

There was no arguing with that logic. “I command you all to show up here at the castle first thing tomorrow with your men. We’ll march to the river and have it out with the Pitangans!”

The group dispersed with little enthusiasm. No one wanted to fight on a summer morning. But might not the men of Pitanga be preparing to march too? They couldn’t allow that.

Grissol slowly rode the half-league back to his manor, giving himself time to think. Battercap was grateful for the pace but the knight could come up with no ideas. He explained the situation to Ransax over flagons of ale.

“So. I must do a bit more digging. I’m too old for this, especially in the chill of night!”

“Now, now, Randy, these are the mildest of summer nights. You didn’t complain about sleeping on my lawn.”

“Well, the water’s chilly anyway. And it is hard work.”

“To be sure, my friend, to be sure. Are you willing to give me a clue as to your plans?”

“Just be at the river with Hidalgus.” The great worm rumbled a laugh. “If you can find it.”

He could not. When the Carambolan contingent arrived at the banks of the Acerola the next morning, the Acerola was not between them. Just mud. Hidalgus glared across it at Barbacuso and his men.

“It seems,” observed Sir Grissol, “that there no longer is a border. That is, if we insist the river marks it.”

Ransax sauntered up to the Pitangans on the far side. “This is a dilemma, isn’t it? I say, do you suppose the river got tired of your bickering and moved away?”

The two rulers looked at each other across the empty river bed. “You don’t believe that, do you?” called Barbacuso.

“No, of course not,” came Hidalgus’s reply. “Still—”

“Maybe Acerola would come back if—”

“We just agreed to let her be the border, wherever she flows.”

They both thought on that no more than a few seconds. “Done,” cried Hidalgus.

“I agree,” called out Barbacuso. “Return, river, we implore you!”

Ransax had ambled across the stream bed to stand beside Grissol. “It will break through the earthen dam I threw up in a bit and come roaring back,” confided the dragon.

Sure enough, in a few minutes they heard the rumble of its flood. The men on both sides cheered as the water churned past them.

And from that time on, River Acerola was accepted as the border, regardless of where her whims might lead her to flow. Peace returned, save in the hearts of the two monarchs.

However, both Hidalgus and Barbacuso found the money they had been making off their tolls too welcome to give up. “We’ll keep it to a penny,” proclaimed the King of Carambola. “We’re not greedy, after all.”

“And a farthing for each animal—which does not include dragons,” added Prince Barbacuso, rather pointedly looking at Ransax. That was quite unnecessary, as he was the only dragon there.

“I suppose it’s an acceptable price for getting things back to normal,” he mused. “But I hope you’re the one doing most of the visiting, Greenmeadows.”

Sir Grissol Greenmeadows didn’t mind that. His port would be safer.

appears in Lands Far Away 2021