When I was resting from the hardships of battle and allowed my hand to lay empty from my sword, two girls approached me and the older asked from a distance: "Aye, grim warrior, are you as joyful and expansive in love as you are determined and sober in war ?", and they laughed and started to dance around me.
"Tell us, warrior ( she started again ) who is your Hero ? Which iron
blade inspires your's ?". And to that I could only utter the name of
Arkat, Master of Masters, Lord of Lords, Hero of Heroes.
"Ah ( she said ), and did your Arkat bleed in his earth, not from the spell
of Death, but from the gentle touch of love ?". Once again they started to
dance around me. " Bring me the gift your Hero gave the one he loved. Give
it to me and I'll be yours forever." And they danced away, smiling and
chanting while I was there speechless and motionless, because all I knew
about Arkat my Hero was his thousand strokes, and how he traded death with
his enemies.
So I started my quest to discover the secret of Arkat's love. I quested far and near, in body and in spirit. Eventualy I found a path that ended in a small grove. There the trees told me how Arkat met his love, the most beautiful and fair lady of his time. The fields where they rested whispered how Arkat promised he would never try to see her naked body. The rocks echoed the thoughts of Arkat in search of the perfect gift to his love.
Finally the waters of the stream they crossed sang how Arkat lowered his eyes not to look at her when she raised her dress to keep it dry; how he saw reflected in the waters in front of him her perfect, beautiful, white goat's feet; how he discovered at last the perfect gift he searched for; and how love drove his hand when he took his sword and with a single blow kissed her with death.
( Inspired by a Portuguese folk tale called 'The Princess with goat's feet' )
Sergio
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