The Apricot Tree in the Enchanted Glade

Stories for Another Day

One day a boy called Rustum was lying on a tree branch, eating a peach and thinking about nothing in particular when a messenger came running up, with a rolled-up carpet under his arm. The messenger looked around, right and left.

Rustum leaned down out of the tree and called, “Are you looking for me?”

The messenger looked up, and said, panting, “Oh, there you are! The king wants you at once.”

Usually when the king sent for Rustum, something interesting was happening. Finishing his snack, he climbed down and started off towards the palace. But the messenger said, “Not that way. The king isn’t in his castle.”

Rustum stopped and said, “Then where is he?”

The messenger gulped, and said, “The king is…in the Enchanted Glade.”

“He’s where?” Rustum knew exactly what this meant. “The apricot tree?” he said to the messenger.

The messenger nodded.

The ruler of the neighbouring kingdom, King Columbine, grew the best apricots in all the seven hidden kingdoms. The very best of all the apricot trees grew in a tiny, sheltered valley that everyone called the Enchanted Glade, because everything that was planted there grew to an extraordinary size and was exceptionally delicious. The apricot tree in the Enchanted Glade grew the most wonderful apricots anyone had ever tasted.

The messenger said, “It’s only at this time of year, you know, when the apricots are ripe and their fragrance fills the air. It’s hard to resist the temptation of slipping over the border and helping yourself to just one or two apricots.”

Rustum answered, “But the king should know better. After all, there are guards all around the tree, and if the king himself were caught stealing from King Columbine’s tree…” Rustum shuddered at the thought. Usually the queen would say sternly to the king, “Show some strength of character, my dear,” and the king would behave himself and no more was said about it, but this year the queen was away visiting her mother who was being besieged by a herd of slide trombones. “We’d better go at once,” Rustum said.

The messenger said, “Wait – the king said you should use this.” He gave Rustum the carpet.

Rustum stared at it. “The Royal Flying Carpet?”

“The king said that in an emergency like this, there’s no time to lose,” said the messenger

Rustum said, “What do you mean? What sort of emergency?”

The messenger went very red. “It’s probably best if you find out for yourself,” he said.

Rustum wasted no more time. He jumped onto the carpet and gave the word of command. In a minute or two he was standing at the king’s side.

“There you are,” the king said, in the grumbling tone he always used when he saw Rustum. “I hope you took good care of my carpet, and took your shoes off.”

“Yes, your Majesty,” Rustum said, bowing.

“Good. Now I need you to sort out this mess. Off you go.” He flapped his hands at Rustum.

Rustum said,”Yes, your Majesty. What exactly do you want me to do?”

The king fiddled with his pen and avoided Rustum’s eye. “I may have, umm, taken steps that, er, might be misconstrued as, well, possibly…”

Rustum waited. The king cleared his throat and said all at once, “I was just walking past, and I wondered if the apricots might be ripe and I thought I might just take a quick look.”

“A quick look,” Rustum said.

“Against all expectation, there were guards -“

“Against all expectation?” Rustum said.

“Yes, against all expectation, there were guards around the tree and they sprang on me suddenly, so naturally I called for my personal bodyguards, and then Columbine’s guards sent for a whole platoon of soldiers, so naturally I had to call out the army, and then Columbine overreacted completely and called out HIS army, and there you have it.”

“You called out the army?” Rustum said in disbelief.

“Yes, the army, as you can see. Stop repeating everything I say,” said the king. He glared at Rustum, daring him to say something. Rustum said nothing, but he wondered what the queen was going to say when she found out. He looked around. The king’s army, one thousand trained soldiers with their armour polished and their spears shining stood in rows behind the king. Across the valley, ranged along the top of the hill, was Columbine’s army, at least two thousand of them.

“So what do you suggest?” the king asked.

“We could run,” Rustum said.

The king frowned. “Running is not an option,” he said very firmly. “It’s not even my fault. My new Chief Advisor, Esop, told me that Columbine would be away on his holidays.” He looked sternly at a thin young man with two pens in his top pocket and his hair in a tidy plait.

Esop went pink to the tips of his ears and said, “My informant told me that King Columbine was going to the seaside.”

“Your informant?” Rustum asked.

Esop said miserably, “My auntie works in King Columbine’s laundry and she told me that one of the footmen was looking for the king’s bucket and spade, so they thought he must be going to the seaside.”

The king growled, “So my soon-to-be-ex-Chief Advisor thought this would be a good time to, er, take a stroll near the Enchanted Glade.”

“You mean, to steal the apricots from King Columbine’s tree,” Rustum said. The king’s face grew thunderous, so he said quickly, “What do you want me to do?”

“I want you to go over and explain things to him,” the king said confidently.

“Explain?” Rustum said, astonished. “To King Columbine? Me?”

“If I were to send one of my soldiers, Columbine’s soldiers would cut him down,” the king explained patiently. “But you’re just a boy, clearly no threat to anyone. Tell him that it was an unfortunate misunderstanding – the army took a wrong turning, or we were chasing my daughter’s cat that happened to run this way. You know the kind of thing. There’ll be the usual reward for you, a nice bag of gold.” If you survive, he thought to himself.

Rustum thought it was probably the most dangerous thing he had ever done, but he couldn’t think of any other way to stop the two armies fighting. Then he noticed something. He approached the apricot tree, and studied it carefully. He picked one of the apricots, and one or two leaves. He put them in his pocket and set off towards King Columbine’s camp.

Dozens of armed soldiers surrounded him before he had walked twenty steps. They marched him to King Columbine’s presence. “Well, what do we have here?” King Columbine sneered. “A very small hostage?”

Rustum bowed low. “Your majesty, I bring the king’s deepest apologies. His soldiers strayed accidentally into your territory while they were out for a walk, and they’re very sorry.”

“A walk?” Columbine snorted. “They came over here to steal my apricots, and I’m not going to stand for it! I’m going to march my army over there and cut them to pieces, and feed them to my chickens. Chickenfeed, that’s what I’m going to turn them into.”

“Your Majesty,” Rustum bowed very low, “the king is very sorry that he crossed your borders without permission, but he had a very good reason.”

“Stealing apricots, that was his reason!” Columbine said. “Every year it’s the same. I catch him filling up his bucket with my apricots and he has an excuse: his daughter’s cat ran away and he was chasing it, or the map was wrong and the army took a wrong turning. I won’t stand for it! Chickenfeed, the lot of them!”

“Of course, your Majesty,” Rustum said, “that would be one course of action you could take. You could attack them, and you would almost certainly win, although you may lose some of your own soldiers, and possibly some of your very fine horses too, which would be a great shame, and then there would be the wounded to see to, just when everyone was hoping to go on their holidays.”

King Columbine started to look thoughtful. He stroked his moustache and said, “He’s very sorry, you say?”

“Very,” said Rustum.

“I’m already late going on my holidays because some fool footman can’t find my bucket and spade,” the king said. “But this kind of thing can’t just go unpunished!”

Rustum said, “I mentioned that the king had a good reason for crossing into your territory.”

“It had better be VERY good,” growled King Columbine.

Rustum took a small, freckled apricot out of his pocket. “This is the reason,” he said.

“Hah! A few freckles! That’s nothing – perfectly ordinary freckles on a perfectly beautiful apricot!” the king said.

“A few small freckles would be nothing to worry about, but look closer, your Majesty,” Rustum said, giving the apricot to the king. “The freckles are spreading all over the fruit, and they’re thick and scabby.”

“Scabby?” said the king, going pale. He looked closely at the apricot. “Fruit scab! On my best apricot tree! This is a completely, totally, utterly catastrophic disaster! Call the tree doctors! Call the horticulturalists, immediately!”

Rustum said, “May I return to the king and tell him that you are calling off your army?”

“Yes, yes,” said Columbine, distractedly. “I can’t be bothered with fighting and so on, when I have my apricot tree to worry about, as well as being late going on my holidays.”

“May I tell him that he is forgiven?” Rustum asked.

The king growled. “Forgiven, hah! This kind of thing shouldn’t be allowed to go on, trespassing, thievery, fruit larceny, attempted invasion…”

Rustum said, “I’m sure the king would be delighted to show you how very sorry he is by inviting you to visit his personal, private beach.”

“His private beach?” King Columbine looked up, very interested.

“And he would be happy to lend you his own bucket and spade,” Rustum said.

When Rustum went back and explained to the king that King Columbine would be visiting very soon, and he was looking forward to paddling at the king’s private beach, the king was not pleased. “A private beach is meant to be private!” he said, angrily.

“Of course,” Rustum said, “just for you and your friends, friends like King Columbine, who might even bring some of his finest apricots with him.”

The king’s frown turned into a smile.

Rustum said, “About that bag of gold.” The king’s frown came back. Rustum went on, “I was thinking I’d rather have permission to borrow your flying carpet now and then. Say once a week?”

“Once a month, for no more than one hour, not a minute more,” snapped the king. And that’s how Rustum came to be allowed to use the Royal Flying Carpet for exactly an hour every month, and how he came to be flying over a strange city when he saw a dragon digging holes in his back garden, which is a story you may have already heard, and how he came to rescue three princesses from a mysterious and malevolent stranger, but that’s a story for another day.