The Nagging Queen: A fairytale of feminine domination, masculine independence and human stupidity

Once there was a King, who ruled with a good heart over a troubled kingdom. He was plagued by warlike neighbours, by his people’s indolence, by his avaricious advisors and, most of all, by his wife’s incessant nagging for a bigger palace: “What kind of a king are you anyway, to keep your family cooped up in such a small palace whilst the people line their pockets and laugh at me in the street?” So the King determined to solve his problems one at a time. It was necessary to conclude the various wars that his country was engaged in, and had dragged on for many years, and his oldest son being needed at the palace, he sent his younger son to join his armies, hoping to boost his troops moral and convince the people, who openly mocked their efforts and laughed at anyone who enlisted, that it was an honourable task.

And so it came that the King’s younger son bestrode his horse and rode to the conflicts on the countries border, at first, his efforts turned the tide of the war, he won notable victories over the heathen armies, and in honour of this, was presented with a large medal, which he wore proudly round his neck, as he rode onto the battlefields. The people seemed happier, he even received taxes from his subjects for the first time in many years, and, flushed with his new wealth, he made extravagant plans for his wife’s new palace: it was to be made of silver, with gold-leaf covering the ceiling, so that anyone who entered would think the place a forest of wealth. The Queen’s nagging first quietened, then shortened, then ended, and she even, on certain nights, allowed the King to spend the night with her, which she had refused to do for several years: “Those who wish to pleasure me, must prove their love first”, she would say.

So there was now an uneasy calm in the country, the heathen nations were being pushed back into their own countries, and the King’s son returned to make his report: “The battles are won, father” he said, “a general surrender has been issued, and a tribute offered, all we need do now is secure the borders and collect the money”. However, the Queen turned to the King and said, “the money is not nearly enough punishment for that rabble, we must destroy every inch of their accursed country, besides, the people will think you soft in the head, to abandon the war so easily, the taxes will stop, and my palace with the gold leaf will stand forever half-built.”

The King sighed, but gave into his wife's demands and ordered his son to return to the army, and crush the heathen countries forever. The son reluctantly obeyed his father and led his armies on a deep incursion into the heathen countries to the South. As he rode, a bullet ricocheted of his medal and flew back into the battalion at his side. As misfortune would have it, the bullet struck a man in the head and he collapsed dead at the feet of his comrades. The son’s leadership had been so brilliant, that not one man had died since he took command, the army had regenerated over the years, and the majority of the troops had never seen a man die, and now the youngest fighters thought such a thing impossible. Now, petrified, the army fled disordered through the muddy fields, where the heathen cavalry cut them to pieces. Leaning over his horse to help a wounded man, the Prince was unseated by the weight of his medal and fell onto the man’s bayonet, which severed his throat, and added royal blood to the red river which now ran through the valley.

The King’s first son had grown fat and useless in the county’s capital, he was often to be found, staggering through the city’s brothels in the early hours, drunk. His wife, through boredom, had taken on most of the King’s advisors as lovers, The advisors were too busy comparing stories, joking, drinking and fornicating to advise the King properly, and then the news came of the defeat.

The King was saddened deeply by the death of his son, and cried to his wife for support: “Foolish husband” she replied, “how will my palace be built now, with no army, no money and no respect?”. She left the king immediately, packed a small case with her favourite dresses, and went to live with her mother on the other side of the world. The barbarian hordes attacked the city the next day and found the King sitting cross-legged on the floor, weeping onto the half-finished tiling: “My wife has left me, both my sons are dead, good and bad, my country is in ruins, but I beg you” and he clasped his hands, “spare my life, I never wanted this, I just wanted a life free from the nagging of my wife”. The Barbarian King heard his plea, well understood his concerns and allowed to King to live on in the palace, and even erected a wooden fence around the unfinished marble walls. As he sat, relishing the calm, his people were hanged from lamp-posts, were hunted through the streets, were raped, were hounded, harassed and harried until none remained.

By J.L Cranfield