THE SPELL OF

TWELVE

Once upon a time there was a young prince named Egbert. He came from a long line of Kings who bore the same name, so that he also had a number. He was destined to become King Egbert XII. His mother, the Queen, said he was the last of the dozen, and the name was wearing out.

"I should have named you Hugh," she said one day as he showed her a dappled gray stone he had found on one of his journeys into the forest. It was true enough. Egbert loved colors and variations in hue. That was how this story began, and how Egbert XII saved his Kingdom from ruin.

One Christmas morning, Egbert arose early and rushed to the throne room to see if Father Christmas had made his annual visit. (Even princes can dream of gifts to fill their heart's desire, and hope that there are powers beyond those of mortals that can make them come true!) Anyway, he saw the packages under the tree. The ones that he had wrapped for his parents were the most obvious. He had woven the wrappings from the golden colors of the Fall, the new greens of Spring, and the floral fields of summer. His eyes quickly passed by those. There were other packages, bright reds and greens, and blues deep enough for starry nights, but he was looking for something special, his Christmas stocking. At last his eyes spied it. It was old and bedraggled, but it was his source of delight. Each year it appeared beneath the tree and gave him a color that would fill his mind for a whole year.

He never knew the source of the gift. His mother and father said it was not from them. None of the barons or knights could tell. In fact, as the red-dyed wool ran into the white stripes, the Queen had ordered it discarded against the protests of Egbert.
"You are too old for such childishness," she chided. Egbert feared that his life would never see new color again. But the next year it was back, as if by enchantment, and the King and Queen just looked at each other and shook their heads.

"No good will come of this," they said in their most regal voices.

"Then I will make good come of it," answered Egbert who felt for the first time that he was becoming the last of a dozen.
His hands trembled as he took hold of the stocking. He grabbed it by the toe, and out rolled an orange. What an orange it was! It was a deeper color, a brighter orange that made every orange that he had ever seen pale by comparison. Even his parents were surprised.

"Obviously, an enchanted fruit," remarked the King.

"You must not eat it," warned the Queen who looked for her servant to order her to steal away the fruit when Egbert wasn't looking. But Egbert did not give an opportunity to anyone. All day he carried the orange with him. It was not out of his sight, and his parents tired of his observations of its color and texture in the brightest sunlight or in flickering candlelight.

The servant whom the Queen had commanded was an odd woman named Sordred. She had served the castle for as long as time, and Egbert became aware that she was not very far from him throughout the day. He tested his theory by taking strange forays into the castle halls and gardens, but wherever he went Sordred soon appeared. That night in his room, he laid awake in his bed. He heard the oaken door squeal on its hinges, and saw a shadow enter his chamber.

"Sordred," he said. "Sordred, I know it is you. Why do you follow me? Are you after my orange?"

"No, Young Master," came the reply. "I am here to save your life on this night. The orange is a signal long awaited, and now I must act."

An icy chill ran up Egbert's back and raised the hair on the nape of his neck. "What do you mean by 'save my life'?" he asked.

"Long ago, on the eve of your birth, the enemies of your father cast a spell. They did not actually cast it, but they called upon an old hag named Lagavulan. She has a strong spirit, and they bargained with her that in the twelfth year of the twelfth Egbert the Kingdom would fall to them," she explained.

Egbert was at full attention now, full of curiosity and distrust. "How do you know this, Sordred? And why do you now seek to warn me?"

"My name is not Sordred," she answered in a low tone. "I am Egnaro, and by reflecting on that name you will know that I speak the truth. Here is the truth. I was sent here by the hag that cast the spell in order to be your guardian. She is a wise witch, and knew that those who would overthrow by powers they do not possess could not be trusted. She was right. Soon after the spell was cast, your father's enemies caught her unaware and imprisoned her in a darkness that defies her magic. But she had known their hearts. In her spell, she called me to guard you. On seeing the signal of the gift, I am to take you from the castle so that you may solve the riddle of the orange."

"What riddle?" asked Egbert.

"In time, Young Master," came the answer. "You will have until the twelfth day of Christmas to find an answer. You will be on your own, but I will not be far away. You will be permitted to take your orange, but not your name or title. Here in the castle, the servants will find you asleep on the morrow. They will not be able to awaken you, for in truth you will not be here. If you fail the quest, the kingdom will fall. If you succeed, the plot of your father's enemies will be foiled, and my Mistress, Lagavulan, will walk in the light again, for she does not serve the powers of darkness. Are you ready?"

"But you have not yet told me the riddle?" protested Egbert.

"The challenge of life must always be accepted before the quest is known," answered Egnaro. "If you knew what lay ahead you might reject it out of fear, or accept it easily out of pride. Therefore, you must give consent to what you cannot yet know. Do you now accept the unknown challenge that is the life you were meant to have?"

"Yes," said Egbert. "I both fear and hope, but since other lives will follow, I cannot look back."

Egnaro smiled broadly. "You are already wise, Young Master," she said. "You must trust me now, for we cannot leave the castle by guarded gates. Climb up on my back as you did when you were a small child."

Egbert suddenly remembered days in his nursery riding piggy-back on the servants. Was Egnaro one of them? He did not ask, but did as the woman commanded. Her shoulders were strong. Egbert could sense her power as she moved toward the open window. "Do not be afraid," she said. "This will be your first test of courage, but I will give you a sign. Look back on your bed."

Egbert turned his head in time to see the figure of a boy in his twelfth year sleeping peacefully among the bed clothes. With that Egnaro leapt from the window, and Egbert felt the cold rush of the night air. The woman ran swiftly, leaping over hedges and walls faster than any of his father's finest steeds. Suddenly, he realized that he was not on the back of a woman at all. He nearly lost his grip and fell when he saw that he was riding on the back of some horse-like animal.

"Don't be afraid, Young Master," said the doe. "I took the shape of an hart so that we could fly more fleet of foot." Egbert settled back and watched the trees rush past. When the deer came to a secluded glade in the midst of a deep forest she slowed to a walk. Eventually she stopped, lowered her head, and nibbled at a tussock of tall grasses. The prince slid off Egnaro's back. His clothes felt rough and unfamiliar against his skin.

"What's this?" he said.

"You too have been changed," said the doe. "You wear the clothes of a commoner, no longer the silks and satins of the high-born. Now stand before me and listen carefully, for everything depends upon it." Egbert moved in front of the doe. "You are twelve, and today is the first day of Christmas. By Twelfth-day you must have discovered your life's treasure, have found a friend to help keep it safe, and have forged an alliance that will stand in the presence of your foes." Egnaro went silent.

"What?" said a confused prince. "In twelve days I am to find a fortune, defend its safety, and conquer an army?"

"If that is how you listen, I fear for you, Young Master," she answered. "But the quest is yours, and none else can give answer to it. Only remember this. There are men-at-arms in the forest. They will not give way for a son of your father, and you must not let your name pass your lips." Egnaro bounded away from Egbert.

"But what name shall I use?" he said calling after her.

"Such as you choose," came the answer.

"Wait, are you leaving me?" he cried.

"No, I am the guardian for Lagavulan. I will not leave you. I will be close when you do not expect, and be present when you have the greatest need." With that the deer darted from the glen and was gone. Egbert stood alone in the darkness under stars that seemed distant and unconcerned with mere mortals, even with the children of kings and queens.

He did not sleep much that night. Sounds that the daylight gave names seemed fearsome in the dark. Frogs became bellowing herds of moose, and crickets were swarming throngs of gnawing mandibles. When the dawn finally came, it was lovely, like the first day of the world.

Egbert walked through the woods and the wolds. Food seemed plentiful in that place, for he was in the heart of the kingdom. He found all the things that a soldier would know. There were blackberries and Jerusalem artichokes and even a stream with water clear enough and cold enough to make one's head ache with refreshment. It was as if he were on holiday. If this were the stuff of knights errant, it would have been an easy life. He would have forgotten the quest, but the fourth day dawned with a bleakness unmatched in his life.

The morning drizzle would not quit, and he was wet to the bone. By afternoon, the chill could not be assuaged though all the forest be set ablaze. Egbert found no food. It was as if he had left a garden for a desert until he came upon a tree both rich in color and heavy with fruit.

"Cherries," he heard himself say. It was true. The tree was laden with bright red fruits, as red as blood and perfect. Egbert approached the tree to collect some of the small, tangy fruits.

"Wait just a minute," said a voice from somewhere. "You will not eat from my tree without paying my price."
Egbert looked around trying to focus on the source of the sound.

"What payment do you offer, man-child?" asked the voice.

At last Egbert spied the speaker. It was a crow perched at the top of the tree. He stepped back to get a clearer view through the red-dripping branches. "I'm sorry," he said. "I didn't know that the trees in this forest belonged to anyone except the King."

"Then you know very little," said the bird. "The fruit of this tree is paid for dearly by those who would steal it. You are lucky that I was here to warn you of its price. But perhaps you carry treasure worth the taste of its yield." The black bird cocked its head to spy the prince. "Do you have a name, Boy?" it asked.

"I am Twelve," answered Egbert.

"Is that a name?" laughed the crow.

"It is the name that I give," said Egbert politely. "I was twelfth born, so it is a name that fits me," he added.

"Very well, Twelve," continued the bird. "What do you have to pay for my fruit besides your measly life, One-Of-A-Dozen."

"I have nothing," said the Prince. "I have no treasure to share, only a hunger that has drawn me here."

"Many have been drawn here by hunger," said the crow cryptically. "But none have left hungry after eating from my tree. The price, however, must be paid. Surely you have something?"

Egbert's hand went into the pocket of his raggy clothes. His fingers felt the pebbly smoothness of the orange. The touch made his eyes brighten.

"You do have something," observed the crow. "What is that in your pocket?"

"It is only a small piece of fruit," said the boy.

"A piece of fruit?" questioned the crow through squinty eyes. "If you carry fruit in your pocket, why do you carry hunger in your stomach? Have you come here to thieve my tree?"

"No," protested Egbert. "The fruit that I have is not for eating."

"Then what is it for?" asked the bird. "Is it for planting? Or for rotting in your pocket? Show me this fruit." The prince pulled the orange from his pocket. The fruit looked golden and bright against the drabness of the day."

The crow alighted from his perch and swooped to a lower branch. "Now that may be a treasure worth trading," it offered. "Not that it can compare in value with the bounty of my tree. But perhaps a clever boy like you could persuade me to exchange a basket of my cherries for such a trifle. One does tire of even the finest fruits. For the sake of variety, I could be tempted to trade, but I daresay, you would get the best of the bargain."

Something in the pit of Egbert's stomach made him quiver. He began to back away from the tree which now made him feel like it was hanging with dead things. The crow caught this change and called to him.

"There's no need to hurry off, Young Master. Perhaps you would accept some of my fruit as a gift, a sign of friendship. Maybe we can agree that one day, after you eat your orange, you would give me one of its seeds and I will grow enough fruit from it to feed us both."

By now, Egbert was nearly in a full run with the crow diving at him from the air. The bird shredded his clothes with its powerful beak trying to tear away the seams of his pockets. Egbert clutched the orange through his cloth jerkin and bore the pain of many strikes. At last he came to a thicket and hurled himself into the brambles. High overhead he heard the angry bird cawing. "Don't think your undigested treasure will save you, Twelfth of Twelve. When you get hungry you'll come back to me and pay my price!"

When he could no longer hear the bird's complaints, Egbert began to crawl through the thicket until he came to a run-off that became a stream. He followed the watercourse until it led him to a small pond with a weir at one end and a mill at the other. He circled the pond until he came to the gate where the weir could be opened to let water stream down the millrace to power the great waterwheel of the mill. Like a tightrope walker he made his way over the timbers that spanned the race. He was now on the opposite side of the stream, and beyond the mill he could see the miller's house. As he approached the door, it opened suddenly and a large man stepped over the threshold.

"Who are you?" said the man with a start.

"Please, Sir," said Egbert. "I am a traveller making my way north. Can you spare a handful of grain?"

"Do I look like a Baron that I could afford to share with a beggar?" said the man.

"Who is there?" called a woman's voice from within the house.

"Just a tramp," called the man. "I'll send him packing."

"Why he's only a boy, Ruthven," said the round-faced woman who had come to the door.

"Man or boy, it makes no difference," said the miller. "He will eat more than a measure of grain I'd reckon."

"But he could also be of aid," the woman added hastily. "With so many soldiers in the woods you will need more flour ground for meal. Couldn't the boy load the barley? He'd be fed, and you'd be all the richer for it." The woman had a kindly face and smiled at Egbert. "What is your name, Boy?" she asked.

"My mother called me Hugh," he said.

"Well, Hugh, would you be willing to pour the barley at the top of the mill so my husband can grind flour beneath?"

"Yes, kind Lady," he said. "All I ask is for a bit of food and shelter."

"And you will be needing it," she said. "What with Prince Egbert being caught in a sleep enchantment and the army from the south gathering for a siege of the castle."

The miller's wife's comments stopped Egbert cold. "What do you mean about the prince being in an enchantment?" he asked.

"Nigh on five days ago the servants of the king went to awaken the young prince, and they could not. Them that serve the lad say he's not ill with fever, just sleeping. An enchantment, I'd say."

"Now, Woman," protested the miller. "Let's hear no more about magic and enchantments. No doubt the boy took ill."

"But I'm not the only one," she continued. "The warrant officer who came here but two days ago said the same."

"He said that his masters were privy to counsels that would bring down the King. He mentioned nothing about magic or spells," corrected the miller.

"It's one and the same," she argued. "Ask him when he returns on Old Year's Night."

"They are coming back by the turn of the year?" interjected Egbert.

"Yes, Lad," answered the miller. "We will have some Hogmanay celebration with the enemies of the King under our roof. God save us all!"

"It is not as if you had a choice, husband," said the woman. Turning to Egbert she said, "We are for the King. He's been fair enough a lord, but then these strangers come with arms and warrants for supplies. They do not talk of proper payment either, only of penalties for not delivering. So you see why my good husband plays the miser. The mill will be forfeit if these bullies come to power and the King comes to ruin."

"I will aid you such as I can," offered Egbert. "I too am the King's man, but perhaps we might learn of something to help our lord from those who would quarter here."

"Aye," spoke the miller. "I regret as I cannot pay you proper, but a measure of barley shall be yours until times are safer or powers beyond us change the fortunes of us both." The two shook hands.

That night Egbert slept in the loft of the mill. His fare was a measure of raw barley and a draught of cold spring water. Above him in the rafters a sparrow eyed him with curiosity.

"Are you hungry?" asked Egbert of the little bird. "If you are, I'll share some of my barley with you. You'd not be wise to take a grain from the miller unless you plan to take a turn at the grindstone."

Egbert laughed to himself until the little bird came down to pick at the few seeds that he had scattered about. "When will you offer me a bite of your orange?" asked the bird to the prince's surprise.

"What do you know of my orange?" asked a startled Egbert.

"What do you remember of Egnaro's instructions?" replied the bird. "Tomorrow is New Year's Eve, and six days hence it will be twelfth-night. In such time a world could be made, but it remains to be seen if you could save a kingdom."

"Have you seen Egnaro?" asked the prince. "And you are right, I have not done very well. I have not found a treasure or formed an alliance or even made a friend."

"Then what have you found?" asked the bird as it hopped and flitted nervously.

"I found a crow who wished to take my orange, a miller who will let me work but not pay me much, and a sparrow who begs my grain and asks me questions."

"I have not begged your grain, One of Twelve, Young Master, Hugh, Egbert, or whatever you name yourself," said the bird. "You offered me some supper. Such a friendly act requires friendly counsel on my part, so I proffer you this. The crow who guards poison fruit recognized that you carried a treasure greater than his own (though you do not see that). The miller entered an alliance with you that will give you knowledge of your enemy, and I have acted as a friend to you. Are not these the three signs of your quest?"

Egbert thought. All that the bird said was true. "But I have done nothing heroic, I have just wandered and taken life as it has been given me," he protested.

"Do heroes behave differently?" asked the bird. "Do they wake up one day feeling brave? Or do they do as they must until others call them so?"

"I have discovered that my orange is a great treasure. I have made an alliance with the miller of this house, and I have a fledged friend," repeated Egbert. "This cannot be the measure of my quest? The orange is a Christmas fruit. The miller is scared to lose five grains of barley, and my friend has the ferocity of a sparrow. Tell me how this will save a Kingdom?"

"It is not my job to tell. It is not even my quest," answered the bird. "But as I am your friend, I will push you to your own answers. Do you believe that great things must happen from great beginnings and not small ones? And where will you place your treasure so that none can take it?"

"As you wish, my riddle-making Friend," said the prince. "Here are my answers. It is true that a seed can be a small beginning for a great plant. A single stone might cause a giant rock slide, and an orange, a miller, and a sparrow could thus save a Kingdom. And here is my second answer: No one shall take my treasure, for it will be inside of me!" With that Egbert pulled the orange from his pocket and began to peel the beautiful rind away. The mill smelled luscious. The fruit was rich and tender and juicy, and he ate it all, save one section that went to Sparrow, and four seeds that lay on the table. "Now, good Friend," he said at last. "I cannot go back, and this favor I ask of you. Take these four seeds to Egnaro and give them to her. If the Kingdom is saved she may return them to me and I will plant them aright. If I fail, tell her she has my leave to plant them herself and enrich a barren world with color."

"I will ask no more questions of you, my Young Master," said the bird. It swallowed the seeds and flew off through the dimming world.

The next day the prince loaded sack after sack of barley to feed the mill, and the miller below ground the flour and bagged it. The day went long, and except for the remembrance of the succulent orange, Egbert would have despaired. At eventide soldiers with carts arrived at the mill, and Hugh (as he was known) was obliged to load them with bags of ground flour, a hundred and forty-four in all. The warrant officer wrote a receipt for the miller, but offered no coin.

Later a Baron and his retinue approached the mill. His livery was all black, as black as a raven. His banner was red like over-ripe cherries, blood red. Egbert cringed. It was Hogmanay, and that night a ruckus emerged from the house. Barrels of ale were emptied and songs were sung, but Egbert slept through it all with tired arms and aching muscles.

The next day Egbert was awakened by the miller who said that they must begin again. They opened the millrace, the water coursed from the pond, and the great wheel began to turn the grinding stone. "I hope there is enough water in the pond," said the miller. "They want a hundred and forty-four more bags of flour by twelfth-night. These men are demons. Everything must be done in twelves. Perhaps goodwife was right, there is magic at work here."

Egbert could not think of his quest. He thought only of barley sacks and flour. He heard not a single kind voice, and he longed for the return of the sparrow. Instead, he heard the miller crying out for more grain, and the fear in his voice sounded too much like anger to suit the prince. At last it was done.

"Enough!" cried the miller from below. "It is twelfth-night, and I have just finished filling the one hundred and forty-fourth sack of flour. If they threatened to burn the mill, I could not have done more." He was right. When the carts arrived, he and Egbert loaded the sacks and fell exhausted in front of the house when the last one pulled away.

"Sluggards!" said the baron when he found them asleep where they fell. "It is January 5, twelfth-night, and tomorrow is twelfth-day when I will become your King."

Egbert and the miller rose to their feet.

"This is my destiny to greatness," began the knight. "The spell of twelves has been cast. Tomorrow, on twelfth-day, Egbert the Twelfth who is twelve shall die, and I will be the King of the realm. Already he sleeps by enchantment, and even Lagavulan cannot cheat me of my glory. We will send a commission to King Egbert XI under a flag of truce. And that flag will be carried by you!" He pointed to Egbert. "I will not waste a soldier on a flag of parley when a miller's serf will do," he added. It was a distinction that Egbert had not expected, one in which he had no choice.

That night he laid awake in the mill loft. The Baron had chosen him to carry the white parley flag through a line of hostile troops to the castle where his father and mother were waiting. Would they recognize this waif as their son in spite of the sleeping form that had been lying in his chamber for twelve days? And what could he say to turn the tide of events? Surely he had not answered the riddle. He could hear himself with a thin little voice, "I had an orange (which I ate). I was employed by a miller, and I have a sparrow for a friend." The next day tested his doubts when a white flag on a stanchion was thrust in his hands and he walked past ten thousand eyes to the gates of his father's castle. The draw bridge was lowered, and he entered. His speech had been written for him by a conniving baron. It offered terms of surrender that would guarantee safety for his people, but death for his family. It was a speech that would never be spoken.

When he entered the castle, his Father and Mother looked at each other with disbelief. This peasant-child looked like their son, and they knew him. Not a word was spoken between them as the young prince threw down the parley-flag and mounted the walls of the city he knew so well. The castle guards stepped aside as he passed. Whether it was his identity or his determination that made them step down, no one could tell. At last he walked out on the parapet. In the valley before him were the legions of the black Baron. He stood on the edge of the wall and spoke. His boyish voice carried like the descant of a heavenly choir.

"Hear me, all you who place your confidence in sorcery and on the spell of the twelve. This is Twelfth-day, and I am Egbert the Twelfth, and in this year I will be twelve. But my treasure is within me, and you will not take it from me. The spell of the twelve is broken, for on the first day of this new year the twelfth month became the first, and so I name myself as Hugh the First, for it is the love of color that has called me to life and you enemies of my father to doom."

But the Baron would not be dissuaded. From the ranks of his army he called back. "You are too late, Boy. Who will you call for help? Will the miller save you with his bags of barley flour?" The valley was flooded with the sound of deep, hoarse laughter, and Egbert felt the fool. But suddenly he was aware of another who was present with him. It was a girl of his own age, wearing a dress of pure orange. She walked to him, and with an out-stretched hand offered him four seeds.
"Will you plant these with me?" she asked.

"Egnaro?" he gasped.

"I told you that I would be close when you did not expect, and present when you had the greatest need. Well, I am here. When you declared your name, my Mistress was set free. The darkness was broken, and I, also, was set at liberty."
"You?" questioned the Prince. "Were you under a spell too?"

"Yes," she answered. "As your guardian I had the power to change shape and strength. Now I am like you, an ordinary person. That has given me an even greater power."

"What is that?" asked Egbert.

"The power to be with you without fear, the power to be your friend." The two looked into each other's eyes and smiled. The Prince turned to the multitude, and cleared his voice.

Egbert addressed the throng. "It is true that I stayed with the miller and his wife who showed me kindness in their own time of need. I met friends in strange quarters and I had treasures that I did not know. But now I declare that the treasure within me is love and my friend and my alliance are also one, and she is called Egnaro, my guardian from Lagavulan. Lagavulan walks free in the light, and my father who has great mercy will offer freedom to all who lay down their arms."

The black Baron shrank back from these words, no longer sure of his own cunning. As he paused, Egbert hurled the four seeds high in the air where they burst into the brightest rainbows of color that twisted and wove themselves into the light of a new day. In those beams, the army of enemies was transformed. Where men at arms had stood a moment earlier, now there were none to be seen. In their place were creatures of the forest. Of course the clothes and the armor did not change, but what was made for human warriors fell easily off furry bodies and sleek skins. The larger animals shook them off with a kick of their haunches, the smaller ones hopped or crawled away, more intested in nibbling the green grass than storming a fortress. The sounds of the valley were the sounds of metal on metal as swords and shields fell to the ground. Above the parapet a flag was unfurled. It was a fluttering sparrow on a field of brightest orange.

From the wall of the castle, Egbert and Egnaro could see the animals beginning to wander off toward forest and meadow. Only one figure was left, and he was still clad in the black livery of his treachery.

"It should all have been mine," called the Baron. "It was my destiny to destroy!" he shouted.

"And it was mine to plant," said the Prince. When they looked again, the two no longer saw a man standing in the field, but only a shadow. Even that faded, like smoke in a breeze.

Well, this is the point at which it should be noted that they lived happily ever after, but as you know Hugh and Egnaro were only twelve when the spell of twelve was broken. In truth these two were friends a long time before their marriage, and King Egbert XI bounced many grandchildren on his knee before his laughter ceased. But that story goes far beyond this one. This one ends with a boy and a girl, and why shouldn't children live happily ever after? So they did.