Konrad, the cobbler’s son, was a tall and gangly youth of seventeen. Given to reading more than to action, he had taken up three different apprenticeships only to get dismissed—twice for trying to invent new processes before mastering the basics, and once for talking too much. He was liked well enough by the children who listened to his stories, but many in the older generation felt sorry for the cobbler, whose only offspring seemed a lazy dreamer.
“I may be untested, and I admittedly lack training as a soldier, but I have a willing hand and strength to bear a sword,” Konrad said. “I have wrestled with my impulse to step forward since the proclamation was issued, but I can resist no longer. I will slay the gorgon, though I have neither weaponry nor supplies.”
After a stunned silence, and some muffled laughs from bystanders, the recruiters realized this might be the only offer they would receive. So, after the sun went down, Konrad was ushered to stand before the king. The candidate was met with graciousness on the surface and despair behind closed doors, for nobody expected the untried youth to succeed where seasoned mercenaries had failed. Nevertheless, Konrad received a horse, leather armor, new boots, a dagger, and a short sword. More imposing armaments were offered, but they seemed cumbersome to Konrad, who also rejected the weight of a helm and a shield.
The following day at first light, Konrad rode away, leaving behind the cheers of the village and the tears of his mother. Not one person expected to see him again, and, besides the cobbler’s household, nobody bothered to mourn him. Weeks went by and the days grew hotter, leaving his departure mostly forgotten until, late one blistering afternoon, Konrad returned, gaunt, bedraggled, clothes soiled and torn. Once his identity had been established, the beggarly figure was escorted into the castle to recount his tale before a small, impromptu audience, including the king.
“I left my horse at the brink of the swamp and proceeded on foot, squelching through mud that gripped to the knee, eventually swimming more than walking. Whoever endeavors to drain that swamp has a mighty labor ahead. I will not tell all the tales I could of leeches and snakes, of quicksand and spiders, of pagan totems and scattered bones. Let it suffice to say that after languishing in fetid water for days, my body an exhibition of rashes, bites, and sores, I discovered an expanse of deep water in the midst of the bog.
“Out toward the middle of this pond, I spied a primitive hut adrift on a wooden raft. Human skeletons dangled from crude rafters. I approached with caution, though an unseen splash hinted that my presence was no mystery. My friends will tell you that I am a standout swimmer, but as I stroked toward the hut, strong hands seized me and pulled me deep, to my supposed doom.
“I awoke caged at the rear of a warm room that reeked of unsavory spices. My hair still wet, I’d been stripped to the waist, boots and weapons gone. From the slow rotation of the room, I understood that I was now inside the hut I had identified.
“A foul cauldron frothed in the center of the room, and beside it coiled a grotesque woman. From the waist down she was a huge snake, with a row of sharp quills bristling along the top ridge of her serpent tail. Tightly knit scales sheathed her humanoid torso, and her hideous face was wretched beyond description, with needle teeth and black, soulless eyes. Slime entangled her long, weedy hair.
“Some say the gaze of a gorgon can turn a man to stone. I can only report that, although my body remained fleshy, I lost the ability to move at the sight of her, so great was my loss of courage.
“As I watched the gorgon add bizarre ingredients to her roiling cauldron—crushed herbs and carved stones and pickled organs—her glances at me soon suggested that I would be the final inclusion to her devilish stew. While stirring the hellbroth, she howled out the window, provoking savage replies from the denizens of the swamp. When at last she approached my cage, fiendishly grinning, I withdrew to the rear of the rusty enclosure.
“Why not try to overpower her when she opened the cage door? Allow me to clarify that from her waist to her crown she was taller than I, and I’d sampled her brutal strength in the water. Terror overtook me as her long tail entered the cage, curled about my waist, and withdrew me as if I weighed no more than a bag of straw.
“I have no doubt I would have exited to my death had I not reacted quickly. Driven by instinct more than design, I plucked a quill from the snake tail and plunged it into the back of her human torso, whereupon she let out a shriek to send nightmares scurrying. Immediately the gorgon dropped me and scrambled from the hut, her lashing tail overturning furnishings and sending crockery crashing. From the doorway, I watched her traverse the pond to a muddy patch of shore, where she turned entirely to stone.
“I will not elaborate on my careful verification that she had indeed become a statue, my treacherous journey out of the swamp, or the successful recovery of my horse. Let me assure you that if you send an expedition deep into the swamp, you will find the pond, the hut, and the corpse of the gorgon exactly as described. In my hand is the very quill I used to stab the villain. I invite the king to handle it if he wishes. The swamp is now safe to be drained, though I warn all who venture therein to beware of
