THE LEGEND OF THE BELTLESS HORSEMAN

By P.K. Silverson

© Copyright 2009
By The Author
All Rights Reserved

In the town where I was born, in the white plains near the dale of the heart, there once lived a man. There was nothing out of the ordinary about him, for he was just a man. He did manly things in manly ways because he was a manly man. But for that, there was nothing exceptional to speak of.

The man’s name was Jacob, although that is of little importance because he was, after all, just a man with nothing out of the ordinary about him. He lived in an ordinary house down an ordinary road near the edge of the sprawling woods which grew wild and free around the white plains in a time before the land disappeared beneath the streets of the great cities.

Jacob was, by trade, a barrister. People trusted him about as far as could be expected. His counsel was sought after far more frequently than his companionship, because he was, after all, just a man with nothing out of the ordinary about him.

Still, Jacob lived in a society where companionship was highly prized. Because of that, he was lonely, for he was just an ordinary man, and even ordinary men feel loneliness when companionship is slow in coming.

In the same town where I was born and where Jacob lived long before me, there lived a beautiful young woman. Her name was Juliana. There was nothing ordinary about her. A luxurious stream of golden hair cascaded past the delicate surface of her face, creating a soft frame around her clear blue eyes and rosy lips before settling over the magnificent curve of her proud breasts. Long, slender legs gracefully carried her firm, slim form.

It was expected she would attract the handsomest man in all the town. But this was, by far, an understatement. Fair Juliana held the interest of every man, both in the town and beyond. Over time, the tale of her charms spread far and wide, across the white plains and past the sprawling woods, past the Zeider Zee and the Tappan Zee and even across the great Chimpan Zee.

Nowhere were the merits of her beauty and who should ultimately possess it more avidly debated than in the little tavern where good men tarried in the middle of the town where I was born.

“It seems to me,” old Peter, the cobbler, would start the conversation as he lit the bowl of his long pipe with a warm ember from the great fireplace, “that girl fancies herself above everybody else. It’s a wonder her nose doesn’t bleed from the height at which she carries it.”

“You only wish she’d give you a smile,” young Hans the fishmonger said, his voice filled with mischief, “let alone the time of day.”

All their comrades would laugh along with them except for Jacob, who sat alone in the corner quietly eating his dinner and drinking his ale. After all, he was just an ordinary man. But, because Jacob was a barrister by trade, people sought his counsel on most any matter. So, it was only a matter of time until the good fellows who tarried in the tavern of the town asked him what he thought about the beautiful Juliana.

“I don’t think much about her,” Jacob answered them. This was far from the truth because he lived in a society where companionship was highly prized and he was lonely. Jacob actually thought about the town’s proudest beauty fairly often. He had even dared to imagine what her golden hair would feel like in his hands as it cascaded past clear blue eyes which gazed at him lovingly. In his most private dreams, her rosy lips had softly kissed him many times and his hands were most welcome to settle over the magnificent curve of her proud breasts. Before long, her slender legs gracefully wrapped around him as he married his body to her firm, slim form.

From the flush spreading across his cheeks, the good men who tarried in the tavern of the town could see Jacob was holding back more than he was saying. They made a point of making a point on that point.

“Good Jacob,” old Peter, the cobbler, laughed merrily at the poor fellow’s obvious discomfort, “I can hardly believe you pay so little attention to such a beautiful woman.”

“You’re a better man than I if what you say is true,” Van Cortlandt, the manor lord added, “because I can hardly keep my mind off of her, and I’m a married man.”

One by one, all the good fellows who tarried in the tavern in the middle of the town joined their voices to the merriment, much to poor Jacob’s distress. The next night was always the same, and the next the same after that.

Time went by as time always does. Jacob’s misery grew, because night after night, the good fellows who tarried in the tavern in the middle of the town made a point of making a point on the point, the point being the barrister didn’t think much about the fair Juliana even though he was lonely.

Jacob accepted the ridicule of the good fellows who tarried in the tavern in the middle of the town with all the good humor he could muster. Instead of refuting their insults, he turned his attention to the hearty fare served by the generous inn-keeper, calling for ever more food to fill the emptiness inside him. So, as Jacob’s misery grew, so, too, did his girth.

And time went by as time always does. The good fellows who tarried in the tavern in the middle of the town made a point of making a new point to add to the point, the point being that even if the barrister didn’t think much about the fair Juliana, she would certainly have none for him now for he was such a stout figure. Of course, this did little for poor Jacob’s self-esteem, which was never really that high in the first place, because there was nothing out of the ordinary about him.

Once a year, in the town where I was born and where Jacob and Juliana lived long before me, the good people of the white plains gathered once a year in the dale of the heart to give thanks for a year of wealth and bounty. The men would enjoy a well-deserved day of rest while their women lovingly prepared a vast feast for all to savor.

Frequently, good Jacob would skip this event. He had no one to accompany him to the table. As a result, his loneliness would double. But one day of a certain particular year, just before the week of the feast, while Jacob sat quietly in his corner of the tavern in the middle of the town, he heard the good fellows who tarried there making pointed light of the point that he didn’t think much about the fair Juliana. He tried to ignore their laughter by calling for another platter of fine roast game. A small bone got stuck in his throat. He coughed noisily as he struggled to dislodge it.

“Aha,” cried old Peter, the cobbler. “So, it’s finally stuck in your craw. Admit it. You think of Juliana day and night, just like the rest of us.”

Jacob managed to get the bone loose with a mighty gasp. That he protested the circumstances of his convulsions most vehemently, his argument held no water with the good fellows who tarried in the tavern in the middle of the town. “I never,” he sputtered. Their laughter drowned out the rest.

“Admit it, good man,” young Hans called to him.

“I admit nothing,” poor lonely Jacob denied ardently, his face red with rage. “I will prove it to you by going to the feast alone so you will see there is nothing between myself and the fair Juliana once and for all.”

With the prospect of such good sport ahead for the holidays, the good fellows who tarried in the tavern in the middle of the town applauded Jacob’s defiance. They cheered him three times, then bought him tankard after tankard of the inn-keeper’s finest ale. They drank with him until he could drink no more.

Filled with the spirit of fellowship and good cheer, Jacob lurched out of the inn happier than he had ever been before. He slept soundly and long the next day, but did not miss an appointment he had arranged for the late afternoon, so his business suffered no ill-effects.

By the time Jacob returned to the inn the following evening, news of his declaration had been spread far and wide. Over the following days, every man in the town and across the white plains, past the sprawling woods, past the Zeider Zee and the Tappan Zee and even across the great Chimpan Zee had been told of all that he had said.

When Jacob realized how quickly things had gotten out of hand, he became more nervous than he had ever before realized he could be. A vast, empty space opened inside him. He tried it as best he knew to fill it… by eating extra portions of the inn-keepers hearty fare. He even took some home with him for later. All the next day and the day after that, he ate when he had nothing else to do, and sometimes even when he did.

By the day of the feast, he could barely fit into his best pants. He had outgrown his largest belt by a good two notches.

Finally, the hour came when Jacob had to leave for the feast. He mounted his horse carefully because the beast had begun to shy away from him whenever he approached to ride.

Jacob rode slowly out to the white plains down the old post road. Beyond the sprawling curve of the wild woods he could see smoke already rising from the stone hearth the town had built in the dale of the heart. Bright, warm sunshine filled the sky. The music of happy fiddlers danced in the air.

As Jacob approached the dale of the heart, he could hear the laughter of many voices. He wondered briefly if he should turn around and go back. But he knew he could never again show his face in the little tavern in the middle of the town if he did. So Jacob rode on.

At last, he came to the clearing in the dale of the heart where the good men of the town had left their horses. Jacob dismounted slowly, not wanting to startle his poor animal. He made his way to the long tables where the good people of the town were all gathered in anticipation of their fine Thanksgiving feast.

“I see you’ve decided to join us after all,” Van Cortlandt, the manor lord smiled at him as he took a place at the end of one table.

Jacob nodded and said nothing.

By and by, the good women of the town set out the feast they had lovingly prepared with their own hands to celebrate the wealth and the bounty of the year. Their efforts were greeted with enthusiastic applause. Filled with the spirit of fellowship and good cheer, Jacob joined in the applause.

“I’m pleased you approve,” a melodic voice behind him said softly. Jacob turned to face the source of the voice. He found the fair Juliana standing there holding a large soup pot in one hand and a heavy wooden ladle in the other.

“May I serve you now, good sir?” she showed him her sweetest smile revealing all the angels of heaven. He nodded dumbly in response. It was all he could do.

Juliana carefully spooned a hearty helping of steaming broth into Jacob’s waiting bowl, then turned and went on to the next man without another word.

“Good show,” old Peter called from the next table. “That’s showing her, Jacob.”

The barrister slowly ate the warm soup. He found it more delicious than any he’d ever had before. When he was finished, the fair Juliana returned and spoke softly, asking politely if he were finished. When he nodded he was, she cleared his bowl.

“Well done, old man,” young Hans called from the other end of Jacob’s table.

The fair Juliana soon was back at Jacob’s side, bearing a wonderful roast fowl on her tray. She offered him the first helping. He accepted it gratefully. He felt every eye in the dale on him with every bite of his meal. Platter after platter of the delicious feast followed the roast fowl. Then came a wide assortment of wonderful deserts. Jacob had ample helpings of every dish, until every empty space inside him was filled.

When the meal was over, the fiddlers again took up their bows. The people of the town began to dance. Jacob remained in his seat, clapping to the rhythm of the music as the good fellows of the town whirled and twirled with the girls they loved. By and by, a melodic voice behind him softly filled his ears. Jacob turned to face the fair Juliana.

“May I dance with you now, good sir?” she showed him her sweetest smile revealing all the angels of heaven. He nodded dumbly in response. It was all he could do. Juliana offered her hand to him. Jacob stood to accept it.

“Good show,” old Peter called from the clearing in the dale where he danced nimbly with his wife. “That’s showing her, Jacob.”

As they began to dance, Jacob felt awkward. His awful bulk threatened to buckle his short, stocky legs. But he was fascinated by the way his partner’s long, slender legs gracefully carried her firm, slim form.

The music ended as evening fell after a wild and furious jig which left poor Jacob short of breath. “Thank you for the dance, good sir,” the fair Juliana smiled at him again. He felt as though his knees would surely melt.

“Can I see you home?” he asked, his legs and hands trembling in anticipation.

“No, thank you, kind sir,” the fair Juliana said graciously. “And please, don’t give it another thought.”

“Oh, well, then,” Jacob said, his voice filled with dejection, “never mind.”

He went back to his horse and carefully mounted it for the long ride home. He led it back toward the post road leading across the white plains past the sprawling wild woods. Darkness fell quickly as he rode, alone with his thoughts. The moon had yet to rise.

He came to the edge of the town where he saw the lights of the tavern in the middle. He knew he could never go back there again.

Suddenly, he caught the sound of hoofbeats racing toward him. He turned to see a horse and rider bearing down on him. Faster and faster the galloping rider rode, closing the distance faster than Jacob thought possible. Uncertain as to whether to bolt and run or to hold his ground, Jacob did neither. Instead, he urged his steed along gently.

“Jacob!” an eerie, high-pitched voice called to him on the wind. “Wait for me.”

Faster and faster his pursuer charged. Knowing better than to chance a meeting with a highwayman at such a late hour, Jacob grabbed his three-cornered hat and held onto it firmly as he urged his horse to move along home.

Over and over in the same eerie voice, the ghostly rider called “Jacob, wait for me!” Ever faster, the spectral rider spurred the charging mount on.

As for Jacob’s own horse, the poor beast sagged under the extra weight of his master’s latest meal. There was simply no more power under the hood to accommodate a sudden, frantic demand for acceleration.

Faster and faster the approaching rider galloped, drawing closer and closer still.

The panic-stricken barrister kicked his poor steed in the sides. Fervently he wished he had been able to wear his belt. At least then he would have something at hand to use as a whip to urge his sluggish mount along.

“Jacob, wait for me!” the rider called again in an eerie voice. The poor barrister’s hair could not help but stand up on end. Seeing no other alternative, Jacob reigned in his horse in front of the tavern in the middle of town. He dashed inside and found all the good fellows who tarried there waiting for him.

“Ah, back at last, that’s a good fellow,” they called to him just as the galloping hoofbeats of the barrister’s mysterious pursuer passed by the tavern in the middle of the town.

“I was almost robbed by a highwayman,” Jacob gasped as he took his seat in the corner.

“Did he call to you in a high, eerie voice?” young Hans came over and put his hand on Jacob’s shoulder, an expression of concern etched across his face.

“Why, yes,” Jacob answered. “He called me by name and bade me wait for him.”

“I’d have waited,” old Peter decided.

“Me, too,” young Hans agreed. So did everybody else who tarried in the tavern in the middle of the town.

“Why would you have waited to be robbed?” Jacob demanded, suddenly unsure of whether he had made such a good choice.

“Oh, I doubt you would have been robbed, unless you prize your virginity so highly,” Van Cortlandt came over to Jacob’s table with a fresh tankard of ale for the startled barrister. “That highwayman was the fair Juliana having some fun with you. She was never one who liked to be ignored by anybody. You presented her with quite a challenge when you paid her no mind. I think she was willing to do just about anything to gain your attention.”

With that, all the good fellows who tarried in the tavern shared in a hearty round of laughter.

Except for Jacob, who was still a lonely man.

Moral: Life is a between-meal snack. It doesn’t have to make good sense, it’s just there to be enjoyed.