Sir Rhodomonte of Braggadocio

Once upon a time, there lived a strong and handsome knight; Sir Rhodomonte of Braggadocio. He roamed the land slaying dragons, rescuing damsels in distress, reaping of their ravishing beauty, and collecting their fathers’ grateful rewards. Over the years, he only grew finer, richer, and more daring. He had no intention of retiring any time soon. The idea of settling down to a quiet, ‘one-woman’ life, and spending his days doing peasant jobs mortified his twenty-nine-year-old heart. He decided in his mind to continue in his chosen line of work until the day he died. Surely, there never was and never will be another man in the likes of Sir Rhodomonte of Braggadocio.

One fine day, Sir Rhodomonte happened upon the Kingdom of Chestwood. He heard word that the King was offering a humongous award, so he traveled to the castle himself. The moment King Landon laid his eyes upon the knight, he knew that he would be the one for the job. “I am providing an exceptional offer to any strong and handsome man who can accomplish the daunting task of taking my eighteen-year-old daughter’s hand in marriage,” the King smiled proudly, “You, my son, are the perfect fit. You’re everything I’d ever wished for in a blood child of my own, and your genes are surely strong enough to produce a grandson with at least half as much charm and stature as you.” I’m sorry, Your Highness, but, I mustn’t settle down at this moment,” Sir Rhodomonte protested, “While your offer is enticing, I feel that I would be-- rather-- tied down. My life is the thrill of adventure, facing terrible dangers and meeting different women of different lands. And, while your daughter is quite pretty, I must admit, I get-- bored-- very quickly.” “Living here at the castle with all the riches in the world wouldn’t be enough for you?” The King scoffed. “I’m afraid not, My Lord,” Sir Rhodomonte said firmly. “Well then, we’ll have it arranged that you may roam as you please,” King Landon sighed, “All I really need is a grandson. After you two marry and consummate, you may leave. But, if the child she bears is not a male, we will send out for you and you shall return for another try, alright?” The knight nodded. “Once a healthy baby boy is born, I’d like for him to survive unto a good stable age, and then we can pretend that you fell off the face of the earth,” The King laughed. The knight was shocked that he was still being provided most of the reward under these new conditions. His charm worked on women and men alike, he thought. Surely, there never was and never will be another man in the likes of Sir Rhodomonte of Braggadocio.

Meanwhile, up in her quarters, Princess Polonolia was forlorn. Infuriated by what her father had advertised to the world, she prayed for a way out. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to marry. Oh, she DID ever so want to marry. The problem was WHO. She was appalled at her father’s audacity to offer riches and gifts alongside her hand. These men definitely didn’t love her. They wanted money, fame, and fortune. As she sulked upon her silken sheets, she dreamed of Marcos. He was a young boy around her age whom she met in the village one day. It was love at first sight for them both, but forbidden love at that. Never was a Princess to court a peasant. Still, they found ways to sneak around; to talk, hold hands, and gaze up at the sky together. Though just a common folk, Marcos had enchanted ways. His mother had taught him all about the Book of Miracles long ago, and he kept her words hidden deep within his heart. They sent notes and magic flowers back and forth with the help of his enchanted birds, and he even took her for a ride through the clouds once upon his enchanted dragon. One night, he used the magic to concoct a costume for himself so that he could dance with her in disguise at a masquerade ball. There, she remembered seeing another fellow who danced with all the women. He was haughty and rude, yet everyone somehow found him charming. She was disgusted, only dancing with him for a moment out of obligation. As soon as it was over, she immediately retreated into Marcos’ loving arms. “I could never imagine marrying someone like him,” she murmured. Marcos sighed, “Surely, there never was and never will be another man in the likes of Sir Rhodomonte of Braggadocio.”

The next day, word spread that Sir Rhodomonte and the Princess were soon to be betrothed. Polonolia was the last to know. As she sat by her window, she pondered and prayed that her father would find no worthy man. Just then, an enchanted bird landed upon the sill. Within its talons was a magic red rose, and a note that called her to the distant pond where she and Marcos often met. She rushed to the meeting spot as fast as her feet could carry her. “Marcos?” she called by the pond’s edge. “Polonolia!” he gasped, emerging from the blue. The Princess helped the peasant boy up onto the land. Her smile beamed uncontrollably, but, searching the eyes of her love, she could tell something was wrong. “Marcos?” she whispered, “What is the matter?” “I’m going to miss you,” he exhaled. “Miss me?” she panted, still catching her breath from the run, “Whatever do you mean?” “You don’t know yet?” he asked, wiping water from his brow. The Princess shook her head. “You are to be married to Sir Rhodomonte of Braggadocio,” he stated. Polonolia nearly fainted. “Tell me it isn’t true!” she cried. Marcos placed his drenched arm around his friend’s shoulder as she wept. “I WOULD be happy for you,” he muttered, “He’s stronger and handsomer than me. He’s richer, and he’s rescued many a maiden-- but, I know that you detest him.” “I don’t care about riches. You’re handsome enough and strong enough for me, Marcos,” Polonolia wailed, “I love you so much.” “I love you too, Polonolia,” Marco exclaimed, “I wish that WE could marry.” Staring into each other’s eyes, they leaned into a passionate kiss. Suddenly, the couple heard more footsteps through the forest. They stopped abruptly, both managing to slip beneath the ripples just before a messenger appeared from the brush. “Hear ye! Hear Ye! Princess Polonolia ’s royal wedding to the land’s greatest knight is on the morrow!” he yelled in passing, “Surely, there never was and never will be another man in the likes of Sir Rhodomonte of Braggadocio!”

Forced to part, Marcos woefully returned to the village, and Polonolia frightfully returned to her castle. “There you are, my daughter!” King Landon exclaimed, “It is time for your dress fitting.” “Dress fitting?” she spat. “Haven’t you heard? You’re getting married, my dear!” the King smiled. “Shant I meet my bridegroom first?” she huffed. “Not until the wedding, darling,” he smirked, “But, I will tell you, he is a fine man of high esteem. He owns riches beyond measure, and all the lands are fond of him. He is strong and mighty, and he will bring me a handsome grandson who can take the throne after my demise.” “But, I don’t want him!” she snorted, “I would rather marry a peasant!” “You shall marry this man, and that is final,” the King scolded, “I’ve already told everyone, paid Rhodomonte, and made all the arrangements. Marrying a peasant is ridiculous! It would be more acceptable for me to lock you away in a dungeon for all eternity.” Shocked and dismayed, Polonolia stormed away to her quarters. Meanwhile, all the finest tailors used all the finest linens to dress Sir Rhodomonte up for the occasion. After their work, they all stood in awe and admiration. Surely, there never was and never will be another man in the likes of Sir Rhodomonte of Braggadocio.

The next morning, the entire kingdom was abuzz in anticipation and excitement about the royal celebration of the Princess’ betrothal, except Polonolia herself. She stood on her high tower’s windowsill with a final wish. “I will never marry Sir Rhodomonte! I love you, Marcos!” she screamed as she let herself fall. All of a sudden, an enchanted dragon swept down from the clouds, catching the princess and heading off into the distance. In the castle, Sir Rhodomonte gleefully pranced through the halls, where he was met with unexpected news. “The Princess has been abducted! Witnesses saw her leap into the arms of an enchanted dragon and fly away!” a messenger informed him, “King Landon desires to see you immediately!” Rushing to the throne room, he found the Ruler distraught. “We must find her posthaste!” the King stammered, “I am sending out all of my finest horses and men. I’ve issued great rewards--” “Allow me to find her, Your Majesty,” Sir Rhodomonte smiled. (He was never one to turn down an opportunity to make more riches.) “I fear for your safety, my lad.” the King winced, “If the dragon were to harm you, I would never forgive myself.” “Worry not, O King. I have never failed a mission yet.” Sir Rhodomonte bragged. “Alright,” the King sighed, “When you find her, bring her back to me, and she is to be locked away in a dungeon to keep such foolery from happening again. I must keep her safe until my successor is born and past nursing age.” “Sounds like just what she deserves,” The knight nodded and turned away. “I pray he returns,” the king cried solemnly, “Surely, there never was and never will be another man in the likes of Sir Rhodomonte of Braggadocio.”

The knight, in fine linen, mounted his horse and headed out into the forest, bringing only his sword and shield with him. As he traveled deeper into the wood, he could see the shadow of an enchanted dragon looming overhead. “Come down here, you dastardly beast, and unhand my princess!” he yelled. The dragon hovered in midair, flapping its wings in a slow descent. “Let’s go, now! Get down here!” he taunted, standing on the saddle of his steady horse. As the beast came lower, he drew his sword. “I’ve killed dragons before. Don’t waste my time,” he slurred. The dragon heaved back and breathed a terrible flame that engulfed the unsuspecting knight. Without his armor, his attire was instantly singed. With a loud cry, he fell to the ground, stripping himself of the burning clothes. Spooked by the fire, his horse ran away in a tizzy. Sir Rhodomonte struggled to crawl away in his underwear, but the dragon’s infernos persisted. Finally coming upon a small stream, Sir Rhodomonte went under until the dragon’s breathing could be heard no more. Meanwhile, on the dragon’s back, Polonolia held tightly onto Marcos. “I’m so glad you saved me!” she sighed, “We must fly far away from here and elope!” “I’m sorry, Polonolia, but, after using so much power, the enchanted dragon won’t last much longer,” Marco cried, just as the dragon began to shrink. Nearing the ground, the lovers leapt into a soft bed of grass. “He will surely recover and find us,” Polonolia feared, “What shall we do?” “Don’t worry. I have a plan,” Marcos smiled. Back near the stream, Sir Rhodomonte was crossed. “How dare that dragon think he got the best of me!” he scoffed, limping towards his sword and shield, ”I’ll fix him yet.” The knight was badly bruised, but he was determined to rescue the princess and claim his reward. “Hello, my peasant child,” he heard a gravelly voice call. “I am no peasant!” Sir Rhodomonte screamed, “I am THE Sir Rhodomonte of Braggadocio! And, who darest you be?” “THE Ophelswin; Wizard of the West,” a tall, dark figure bellowed, stepping out of the shadows. The Wizard was clothed from head to toe in sparkling apparel. His beard reached the forest floor and was white as the snow. “Young boy, you must be absurd. A knight with no armor-- let alone clothing-- is a sight to behold.” he laughed. “Twas my wedding day, and a vile beast made off with my bride,” Sir Rhodomonte retorted, “If it weren’t for my bridegroom dress, I would have been wearing my trusty, impenetrable armor.” “I see,” the Wizard sung, stroking his hairy chin, “I have just the potion for you, lad.” “A healing potion?” Sir Rhodomonte grunted in pain, “I’ve been severely burned, and my leg aches from the fall.” “Much better than only healing,” the Wizard grinned, “You’ll have a completely new body.” Sir Rhodomonte’s eyebrows lifted in interest. “You’ll have the body of someone who is faster, nimbler, quicker, and much smarter,” the Wizard boasted. “Yes,” Sir Rhodomonte smiled in deep thought. “Best of all, the body will be much MUCH younger.” “YES!” the knight exclaimed, “WHERE IS THE POTION?!” “Patience, peasant,” The Wizard smirked, retrieving a vial from his inner right coat pocket, “Drink it all, sleep tonight, become new in the morning light.” Sir Rhodomonte nodded and repeated the Wizard’s words over and over as his shaky hands brought the elixir to his mouth. “That’s it, my son,” the Wizard cheered as the knight fell to his knees in deep slumber, “Surely, there never was and never will be another man in the likes of Sir Rhodomonte of Braggadocio!”

When Sir Rhodomonte awakened, his body felt lighter. He was slimmer. He felt more limber and flexible. He jumped to his feet and spun around. He loved his new body…. at least he thought he did until he went near the pond where he had left his sword and shield. Standing by the water, he caught sight of a beautiful young girl. “Hello, milady,” He charmed, turning on his heels expecting to see the woman behind him. Instead, he found that he was all alone, and his charming voice came out more like a sweet song. “Who’s there?” he squeaked in a voice more feminine than he remembered. He peered into the water once more and realized that he himself had become his own bride. Marcos and Polonolia laughed quietly from behind the trees as many of the King’s knights rushed to his side. “There she is! The princess! Take her!” they shouted. Despite his feeble protests, he was dragged back to the castle to face the King. On the way, they happened upon Sir Rhodomontade’s spooked horse and singed clothing. They assumed the worst, leaving Marcos and Polonolia to live freely ever after. When the men had returned to King Landon, he went into a shock of mourning, then a fit of rage at his ‘daughter’. “If it weren’t for you, Polonolia, Sir Rhodomontade would still be alive, and he would bare my grandson!” he shouted in anger. “But, King!--” “You are unfit to be my successor! You will enter the dungeon never again to see the light of day.” “That is a bit harsh, My Lord, please hear me out--” “If another fair man comes along, he will be brought in to you so that you may bare my grandson. My future king. After that, I frankly don’t care what happens to you.” “But, sire! I AM SIR-” His pleas went unheard as the King’s men ushered him away to the dungeon without another word. “My, my, my stars,” the King wept, “Surely, there never was and never will be another man in the likes of Sir Rhodomonte of Braggadocio.”