A fairy tale for lawyers, knights, and grown-ups by Roy Harold Andes Once upon a time, long-ago--in the days of King Arthur, life was more magical than today. People believed that certain acts and rituals would produce results which in these modern days we would never accept. And truthfully, for it was such a magical time, their belief made it so, or so it seemed. But you, dear reader, can be the judge of that. In Authur's time, as it happened, there were two beautiful maidens of the realm, Janice and Melinda. Janice was a relative of the King himself. Oh, not a modern relative like siblings, parents, uncles, and aunts. But in the ancient patrician way, where nobles connected by such complex alignments of marriage and birthings that only a mathematician could compute how many-times-removed one was from the King himself.

To be related to the King was all-important, for with that status went privileges of many kinds, esteem, a place at the best tables, and the exclusive prerogative of cloning. To "clone" is an ancient word meaning "to make a likeness of oneself." Modern biologists attempt it with bacteria and bull semen. But in Arthur's time, it meant the reproduction of one's image in paints on canvas, in bronzes set in the garden, and sometimes even on coins of the realm. Being exquisitely beautiful, but always unsure of it, Janice loved cloning more than all the other noble privileges. To be cloned confirmed Janice's beauty to her as nothing else could.

By contrast Melinda was not at all vain, though she was so beautiful her face would easily justify cloning. But rather than to be admired, she took her greatest pleasure in admiring beautiful things--the color of sunset at sea, the pluck of a well-tuned lute, the glint of firelight on the facets of a precious stone. Melinda had come to love beautiful things from living in a family where she was well-loved and well-cared for and where both parents joyed in making music, casting pots, and collecting treasures. In her 19 years on this earth, she spent nearly every one adding to her assembly of things-made, things-found, things- bought, and things-collected. Now, an oddity of Melinda and Janice, who since birth had never met, is that both were exactly the same age--born in fact on the same night. And both were even birthed by the same midwife. Aunt Jane, as she was known--deft with her hands and charitable of heart--was the most respected noble's midwife in the realm. So when one noble lady nineteen years ago, in poor health and recently widowed by the wars with the Scots, feared for her safety on the birth of her only child, she sought Aunt Jane to do the birthing. And another, on the same night, wanting only the most creative birth experience called upon Aunt Jane to sing, cajole and massage her baby girl into the world.

Well, with two summons to two birthings, Aunt Jane had been pressed to hurry. She had rushed to the first birth, which alas, as was common in those ancient days, fared ill. The daughter emerged hale and hearty, but her weakened mother could not bear the strain, and breathed her last breath before her infant shrieked her first wail of life. Distraught, hurried, and alone in the house with the baby girl, Aunt Jane lifted from the dead mother's hand her spectacular bejeweled ring bearing the crest of the king's family and placed it in her birthing bag. The tragedy notwithstanding, Aunt Jane took the orphaned infant and the family heirloom with her, later to discern the nearest relative to whom both would go. But Aunt Jane hadn't worried much; for the baby girl was a relative of the King and someone would care well for her. So at the second birth, as if without distress, Aunt Jane did her best singing and massaging and generally making-lovely the birth of the second baby girl.

So two beautiful baby daughters had rested side by side in cribs in a lovely noble mansion, that first night of their lives. While everyone else slept, and Aunt Jane watched over both newborns, she came by and by to pulling the lovely bejeweled ring from her bag. She held it up to admire it in the firelight. So lovely, it was; brilliant in the flashes of gold and flames through its finely cut precious stones. Then Aunt Jane looked down at the cribs to set the ring beside its new owner. She realized with sudden horror--after her haste that night--she could not tell the little girls apart. Never having handled multiple births in the same place, it was not the practice of midwives in those days to mark children in any way! Aunt Jane carefully examined the infants, inspected their tiny hands and feet, looked for some sign that would distinguish them. But there was none. Each was as beautiful as the other.

Aunt Jane grew panicked. What would she do? How would she salvage her reputation? Finally, it came to her. She said out loud, "No one will ever know," For only she had ever seen either baby. Aunt Jane would simply pick one. ..And that is precisely what she did. She spun the ring like a top on its crown. Around it spun. When it came to rest, the king's crest pointed to the crib on the right. Then she picked up the beautiful ring, and with a moment's pause, slipped it back into her birthing bag.

In the morning after Janice and Melinda had been born, the time came to send the orphaned one to the home of her relatives, a childless couple who were cousins of the king. The other would remain in the lovely nursery where both had spent the night. Aunt Jane gave them the baby girl from the crib on the right, and they left.

So Janice lived out her nineteen years with her childless relatives; and she was well provided for. But they did not love Janice like a daughter. She grew up always hungry for the kind word and the loving touch. Never getting much of either she came to crave that which little girls have so often accepted as a substitute--praise of their beauty. Still, somehow, it never was enough. No matter how many times she was flattered, Janice always wanted more...

And Melinda grew up in her beautiful home, well-loved, and well-entertained to be sure. She was so constantly stimulated by the beautiful and interesting things around her, she would often grow bored when new things were not frequently forthcoming. And always, she remembered deep in the back of her mind, the beautiful gleaming ring with its shining gemstones that had for an instant, gleamed in the firelight on the first night of her life.

Nineteen years later... We find Janice and Melinda as we met them. Except that with time, as time is wont to do, changes happened. Janice's relatives died and left her orphaned once again. And Aunt Jane, the midwife, retired and was herself in ill-health. Still, she nursed her secret about Janice and Melinda secretly in her heart. Until, that is, the day when she-too lay breathing her last. In that moment of weakness, she could bear the strain no longer, and with the witness of the village priest, Aunt Jane confessed to her baby-confusion of nineteen years before, and tendered to the priest the lovely jeweled ring that was one lady's birthright.

The story went round the town in a flash. In the time it takes a be-headed chicken to cease its flutter, everyone was clucking about it. Who is the kings relative? Which one is entitled to the beautiful jeweled ring on display in the cathedral? What is to be done? To be sure the maids Melinda and Janice were thinking of it too. Janice worried, "It's mine.. I have been in the kings family all my life, it cannot be taken from me now!" But, feared Melinda, "Its mine, I have been deprived of these privileges all my life, it's only fair that it be made mine, now!" And with that, the contest was made; these two beautiful maidens who had not known each other, became by ill fate, enemies, and each cultivated angst and trouble in her heart. Now Arthur was not an unwise king. Such a conflict he reasoned was not to be trifled with. It must be handled in the settled ways of the realm. And in the realm in that magical era there were two ways to resolve such a controversy--by Tournament, or by Wizard.

Tournament was the tried and true. Each lady should select a knight, noble and worthy. Before the public battle, each would turn over to her knight her scented scarf bearing her embroidered initials. Then, on the tournament field, before thousands of spectators, with his lady looking on and scarf tucked in his armor, each knight would lay into the other, swinging mace and lance, determined to vanquish the other in the name of nobility and justice. And, as it was well known, the just side would ordinarily triumph in the end. That was the way of Tournaments. Victory to the righteous; or so it was in those days of magic. And so each lady nervously picked a great and noble knight, selected her loveliest handkerchief, and otherwise set about the proper ceremonies of blessing her soon-to-be champion in battle. All these preparations and pageantry of course pleased the people of the realm, for they made great spectacle, and were the source of much speculation and gossip.

Still there was another procedure that might be employed, thought also to be magic. That, dear reader... was the Wizard. As the day approached for the Tournament and the excitement of preparations occupied everyone's thoughts, Arthur's court wizard came one at a time to quietly call upon the maids Melinda and Janice.

He visited first the lovely, lonely Janice. Before he came, he waived his wand over his head, and so donned the appearance of the artist of the court. Said the wizard to Janice, "My lovely maiden, why are you so unhappy." And Janice said, "Oh great artist, all my life I have been the relative of the king and now I fear I shall no longer be, and if I cannot prove with that ring that it is so, woeful things will happen to me. It must be mine, for I feel in my heart I have seen it before." Now the wizard was truly wise, and hearing Janice's words, he said to her, "Dear lady, I am merely an artist and not a sorcerer, so I have no power to grant wishes. But I can tell you this; your grief lays upon you like a terrible dark veil that hides your great beauty. If I could grant wishes, and one wish would take away this awful veil, what might that wish be?" And with that Janice wept. "Oh, noble artist, I have no wish greater that being cloned by you. It is all in the world that I ask." With five words, the wizard left, "You shall make it so." Janice queried after him, "How shall I?" But he was gone. . . .

At the home of maid Melinda, the wizard this time took upon himself the form of the court jeweler. And to Melinda he inquired, "My lovely maiden, why are you so unhappy." And the fretful Melinda said,

"Oh great jeweler, all my life I have been deprived of my inheritance as the relative of the king and now I fear I will always be, if I cannot have my birthright. I know that ring you made must be mine, for I feel in my heart I have seen it before." On hearing Melinda's words, the wizard said to her, "Dear lady, I am merely a jeweler who is honored by your admiration of my work. I am not a sorcerer, so I have no power to grant wishes. But I can tell you this; your grief lays upon you like a terrible dark veil that masks your infinite creativity. If I could grant wishes, and one wish would remove this awful veil, what might that wish be?" Melinda began to softly cry, "Dear sir, I wish only to be able to wear and gaze upon your lovely jeweled ring, to admire it in on my hand, and in every sort of light. That alone, for me, would complete the beauty in the world." Again, with five words the wizard left. "You shall make it so." Melinda queried after him, "How shall I?" But he was gone. . . .

On the morning set for the Tournament, while the town bustled, the king summoned the maidens to the palace. When Janice and Melinda arrived, the servants showed both to a room where the wizard was waiting. Before they arrived the wizard has done his greatest guise of all: To Melinda he appeared in the form of the court jeweler, while at the same time to Janice, he appeared as the artist. In truth, you know who he was.. only the wizard; he was not really in another form at all.

The wizard said to them, "Because I am no sorcerer, I cannot grant the wishes you have expressed. I have brought you together so that you may each grant the wish of the other."

The maidens were dumbstruck. "How can we?"

The wizard picked up his wand. But to Janice the wand appeared to be a paintbrush, and to Melinda it looked like a carving maul for working gold. To them both he said, "I want you to imagine that this ordinary tool is a magic wand, and I am a great magician. Close your eyes, and I will touch each of you on the forehead with my wand and you will both be free of your worries and woes, and together each of you will have your greatest wish granted." With that he touched them both, lightly, lovingly, on the forehead. Then he disappeared.

Both maidens, alone together, looked at one another. They did feel refreshed, but more than a little perplexed. They smiled at each other, tentatively. Both started to speak at once, stopped, and giggled. "You first," suggested Melinda.

"Dear lady," spoke Janice, "I don't know how to grant your wish, but the great artist seems to think I do. I know only that you could grant mine in an instant."

"What artist?" said Melinda. "It was the goldsmith who thought it so."

"Oh no, my dear lady, I speak of the artist who touched us both with his brush."

"No," said Melinda, "he touched us with a maul."

For a moment both maidens just looked at each other and frowned. They were as perplexed as two teenage girls can be.

Then, suddenly, both burst out laughing, and spoke at once together. "How silly we must be....!"

Janice continued laughing, "No wonder we quarrel! We cannot even agree on who it was that enchanted us!"

Melinda added, "Do you suppose we are equally fuzzy-headed about who the ring belongs to?"

"I care naught for the ring," chimed Janice, "but I wonder why we are so befuddled about our proper relatives, without which of course, we shall never be cloned."

"Cloned!" exclaimed Melinda. "Is that what you want?"

"It's all in the world," replied Janice. "And you want only the ring?"

"Nothing would make me happier," said Melinda.

"Then let it be so," they both shrieked together. With that, the girls hugged one-another, and the kings servants came running. King Arthur called off the Tournament, and by his decree, made Melinda and Janice's solution the law of the land. Maid Janice would thereafter be deemed his relative [with all the rights and privileges appertaining thereunto--including, of course, cloning.]; and the maid Melinda should always own the great and beautiful ring.

. . .

The maidens became friends; sometimes close, sometimes casual. Both were made richer than before, each by the hand of the other. The funny thing is, as the years waxed and waned, each found herself gradually forgetting about things like rings and cloning. But while you, dear reader, knows the reason; neither Janice or Melinda was quite sure why. Text copyright Roy H. Andes, 1998 Illustrations are all from classic Arthurian literature now in the public domain. Credits follow below.       Home || Top

Daniel Beard illustrated an 1889 edition of Mark Twain's "A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur's Court;" Other illustrators: Arthur Rackham, (1917); Arthur Dixon (1921); Eleanor Fortescue Brickdale, "Idyls of the King" (1911); H.J. Ford (1902); Maria Louise Kirk (1912); M Bowley, "Tales from Tennyson," (undated, circa. 1900).  These illustrations and many more are available at this link to the Camelot Project of the University of Rochester:
http://www.lib.rochester.edu/camelot/artmenu.htm