Midnight Train to Prague - Carol Windley Page 0,85
table, the king scowled. “Eggs without salt! Fish without salt! Knaves! Miscreants! I will have you flayed alive! I will have your heads on pikestaffs!” he roared.
The head cook lamented: “What are we do to? His majesty will have our heads chopped off. We must have salt, and there is no salt anywhere in the kingdom or beyond.”
Marica thought, The truth is, the king deserves to suffer a little. He needs to learn humility and kindness. A king should not misuse his authority. But she loved him, in spite of his rages and his vanity. Moreover, it was obvious that he was growing weaker. Even Marica’s sisters began to droop. People needed salt to stay healthy. A small amount of salt every day was crucial, Apolonia had taught her.
Marica gave Apolonia’s pouch of salt to the cook, warning him to use it sparingly, so that it would last. Then she wrapped herself in the cloak Apolonia had woven for her and, taking with her the feather and the willow wand, walked away from the castle for the second time in her life. Many days later she reached the mountains and began the ascent, climbing up a narrow path. On her right were sheer cliffs and on her left jagged, cloud-covered peaks. She came to a place where the path divided. Which route was she to follow? She threw Apolonia’s feather into the air. The wind caught it and sent it whirling higher and higher toward the heavens, and it was transformed into a magnificent hawk with a speckled breast and golden talons. The hawk flew ahead of her, showing her the way. When it settled on the branch of a tall tree, she stopped and touched the willow wand to the ground. At once the earth opened, revealing steps that led down to a salt mine. The air in the mine smelled of the salt sea and burned her lips with its astringency. Statues carved of salt stood in niches in the walls: kings and queens, saints and angels. She came to a lake rippling with light from a thousand blazing torches. All around, miners wearing hats with candles were chipping away at walls of salt. The vaulted roof of the salt mine rang with the sound of their industry. Salt was shoveled into carts and the carts were drawn up to the surface by teams of sturdy little horses with shaggy manes. Marica promised the miners they would be richly rewarded if they delivered a cartload of salt to her father’s castle, which they agreed to do.
The cooks ran out to greet the miners. The bags of salt were carried into the kitchen, and the miners were paid with gold coins.
The king’s physicians helped him up from his sickbed and wrapped him in a cloak of ermine and velvet, and, supporting him on either side, they assisted him to the kitchens, where the bags of salt were opened for his inspection. The cook told him that, to be perfectly honest, one of the servant girls, the most junior girl, in fact, was responsible for this miracle. The king demanded to see this servant. He wished to thank her, he said. When the servant was brought before him, he stared at her. In an unsteady voice he said, “Is it you? Is this you, Marica?”
The king got down on his knees and begged her forgiveness, which she at once joyfully gave. She helped him to his feet. She said his majesty should never again kneel to her or to anyone. Her sisters embraced her. With the king’s blessing, Marica ordered the table set for a banquet. She invited the miners who had delivered the bags of salt to join the festivities, which lasted long into the night. The king proclaimed Marica his heir. She, wisest and most practical of daughters, would inherit his kingdom and his throne, he said. He understood now: she loved him more than salt, and salt was indeed more precious than gold.
And when the king had grown old and had passed into eternal rest, Marica ascended the throne. She governed with compassion and wisdom, and her loyal subjects knew her as the most generous and practical monarch in all the world. It was said she often worked in the kitchens with the cooks and every spring she planted rows of beans and, in winter, she wove garments at her loom for her husband and children. Her husband ruled at her side as her consort, and they