Storytelling Week 12: Jezebel's Story

(Brown Hare, Source: Norfolk and Norwich Naturalists' Society)

Her velvety soft nose twitched against his hand and he could feel her heart fluttering like a frightened bird in a cage. She leapt from his arms and landed as a handsome woman.

“Owen, you should have seen it!” she gushed, breathless with excitement. “I led them on a merry chase this time.” Nearby a hunting horn cut through the cold morning air.

“Jezebel, you must stop this foolishness. I am afraid one day they will catch your old bones!” he chided.

Jezebel drew herself up, displaying every inch of her modest height, and glared at Owen fiercely. “Did you just call me old?” she asked incredulously.

Without the distraction of her brilliant smile, Owen could see the delicate lines around her eyes and silver strands that peppered her dark hair. “No my love. You are as beautiful as the day I met you,” he whispered earnestly.

Her anger was extinguished as quickly as it sparked and she moved into his arms.  “Now quickly,” he said, pushing the sack of flour into her arms.

Jezebel straightened her dress and pulled up her hood. “Thank you, sir,” she warbled as she affected a shuffling gate to the door.

"Thank you, Ms. O'Hara," replied Owen. Just as Jezebel opened the door, a large man barged inside.

"I've lost her again," he roared, pushing the old woman out of the way and rattling the door on its hinges. "Every time I get close, the hare slips through my fingers." Jezebel winced at the man's harsh words and left with a parting glance at Owen.

“What's the problem sir?” asked Owen.

“If you'll spare some hospitality, I'll share my story, Miller.”

"But of course, neighbor," replied Owen. "Saorise please go fetch the men some ale and bread." Owen's beautiful niece, who had been sitting in the corner, went to the kitchen.

After taking a long draught from his mug, the Huntsman spoke. “For the last three years I've been plagued by this hare. The creature plunders the fields and is too quick for my arrow.”

“How do you know it's the same hare?" asked Owen.

“Oh, I know,” he said the Huntsman. “She is a wily creature, zigzagging through thickets where the hounds can't follow and doubling back. Often leading us in circles. This is no natural beast. I've even used Lord John’s best hounds with no luck.”

Owen thought that Jezebel had finally gone too far.

Wiping breadcrumbs from his jerkin the huntsman pushed away from the table and turned to go. “The bread is dry. Surely a miller could provide better fare.” With that the large man stalked out the door with the other hunters.

Moments later there came at tap on the back window and Owen quickly moved to throw up the sash. “Jezebel what are you still doing here?” said Owen in a hushed whisper. “You should be far away by now. They're already suspicious enough.”

Jezebel ignored his concerns. “How can you let him talk to you like that? Just because he's the King’s man does not make it right for him to disrespect you. I have half a mind to teach him a lesson.”

“Please don't do anything rash, Jezebel. He's not worth it.”

“But you are,” she replied and she leaned forward and kissed him sweetly. She replaced her lips with a finger to hush his protests. “You are the only one who as ever loved me for who I am.”

(Shylock and Jessica (1876) by Maurycy Gottlieb, Source: Wikipedia)

~ 

Jezebel O'Hara returned to her croft that evening prepared for powerful magic. First she lit a fire with the green limbs of an oak treeand grabbed twine from a basket by the hearth. Then she withdrew the small hunting knife she pilfered from the Huntsman as he rudely pushed passed her. She spoke some magic words and then began her curse.

“With this smoke I choke thee,

And may no vile words pass you lips.

With this twine I bind thee,

So that your limbs may cause no harm.

With this knife I wound thee,

So that you may know the pain you bring others.”

Exhausted Jezebel threw the knife and twine into the fire and stoked it so that it would burn all night. Satisfied that justice was done, she crawled into her cold bed and slept.

~

The next morning the huntsman woke in terrible pain. A racking cough, pounding head, and heavy limbs kept him in his bed but his moans filled the cottage.

Just when he thought he could bear no more, a beautiful bluebird alighted on his windowsill. Miraculously it spoke. “What ails you, huntsman?” the bird asked in a musical voice.

“I have been cursed,” wheezed the Huntsman before dissolving in a fit of coughing.

Alarmed the small bird flew away to tell her mother, the Queen of the Dell.

The queen quickly divined that the Huntsman was cursed by a local witch. The next day she and her fairies traveled to the Huntsman's cottage and cured him.

“What can I do to repay you?” asked the Huntsman.

"I have no use for gold," replied the Faerie Queen. “But there is one thing you can do. Meet me on the hill above the mill three days hence, and you and I will both have revenge.”

~

A few days later, Jezebel awoke with a tinge of regret. She knew she shouldn't use powerful magic for something so petty but she had always been impulsive.  She decided that a dash through the meadow would ease her mind. She shifted into the small brown hare and set off at a rapid clip. No sooner than she crested the first hill, she heard horns and the baying of hounds.

Jezebel was surprised that the huntsman was up and about so soon. Maybe her magic didn't work after all. So she set off through the woods carving an erratic trail through the trees. When she thought she had toyed with them enough she headed to the old mill.

Just before she reached safety, a stone struck her temple. The world went black and she struggled to stay conscious. Losing control, she shifted back into her human form and heard the triumphant laughter of her nemesis the Huntsman.

“I knew you were no normal hare. I have caught a witch this day!” he exclaimed.

Jezebel tried to pull away but pain tore through her body. She heard him call to the men of the hunt who bound her, hand and foot. They attached the ropes to a horse and drug her down the rocky hillside. Before long, she succumbed to darkness.

That night they burned the witch's body and the handsome Jezebel O'Hara was no more. For her petty deeds she paid the ultimate price. For the Faerie Queen did not take kindly to anyone other than herself performing powerful magic.

The next morning Saorise brought the news to the miller, Owen. He was so overcome with grief that his heart gave out. He fell to the floor and spent his last moments remembering her brilliant smile and mischievous laugh.

The End

Author’s Note: The Fairies of Caragonan was the inspiration for my story, but I strayed from the original plot quite a lot. I wanted to tell the story from the witch’s point of view. In the original, the miser drops dead from grief when he hears of her death. I wanted to explore this tragic love story. 

I combined a few of the characters to simplify the storyline. The gentleman and the farmer’s son became the huntsman and the miller and the miser became Owen.   At one point in the story, the fairy Queen of the Dell calls the witch, Jezebel, so I adopted that as her name.  I chose O’Hara as a play on her shape shifting form. 

In the original story, the farmer fails to salute the miser when he passes him in town. In return, the witch curses his cows.  In my story, the huntsman is a rude, brutish man who insults Owen’s hospitality. 

I elaborated on the witch’s curse and skipped over the fairy rituals of healing. I ended the story with Jezebel and Owen’s deaths instead of continuing to the niece’s marriage.  I hope you enjoyed a new perspective on this story!

Story source: Welsh Fairy-Tales and Other Stories by Peter H. Emerson (1894).