There once lived a man and a woman who had long been married and wished for a child. They hoped in vain, though the woman prayed to The Gods every evening and every morning, as the sun rose and set. She would kneel at the altar her husband had built for her, clasp her hands and bow her head, before saying the prayers that went so long unheeded. Her husband, a practical man and getting on in years, counselled his wife to stop wasting her time.
"Give thanks, woman," he would say. "We are blessed by the Gods in so many things. Can you not be satisfied with what you have?"
Yet, the woman continued to ask for a child. Her faith was undiminished, fed by the aching in her belly, that ache the void of an empty womb that she knew her husband would never know or understand.
Behind the humble house in which the couple lived lay a splendid garden. The garden was full of the most beautiful flowers and herbs, even in the depths of winter, for no storm or snow or frost seemed to touch it. The garden had no wall nor gardeners, yet no one dared set foot in it, not even the starving poor or the passing thief. This was because the garden's owner was an Enchantress, one of those who served the Mage Emperor at his Court. The Enchantress had great Power and was feared by all. None dared trespass onto her property.
One morning, after finishing her prayers, the woman rose and stood at the window. Looking down into the garden, she saw a bed planted with the most beautiful rampion. The herb looked so fresh and green that she was taken with a sudden longing. She began to pine after it, and soon, began to look pale and miserable.
Her husband noticed her state. One morning, he came into the prayer room and found her standing at the window.
"What is it that ails you, dear wife?" he said.
"Ah," the woman replied, "if I cannot eat some of the rampion, there in the garden behind our house, I shall surely die." And with that, she began to weeping.
The man knew the risks and so, for some days, he tried to dissuade her with distractions. Every evening, as he returned from his work, he would enter the house with curious from the bazaar. Jewelry from the land of the Franks. Fabrics from the Indies. Even other herbs, these from the cool hills far north, whose cost brought a pain to his chest. But his wife would regard them briefly, before turning away to return to her station at the window.
The man, who loved her, thought "Sooner let your wife die? What kind of husband are you? I will bring her the rampion myself, cost what it will."
That evening, at twilight, after a prayer to the Gods, the man slipped over the boundary and darted through the lengthening shadows. His heart thumping in his chest, he hastily clutched a handful of rampion and fled back to his own house.
"There," he said to his wife. "Here is your heart's desire. Take it. And be happy."
The woman squealed with delight. She hugged her husband so hard his breath caught then snatched the herb from his hand and made a salad of it. She ate it greedily. It tasted so good that, the very next day, she longed for it three times more.
If he was to have any rest, her husband knew he would have to venture forth again. As the sun set, again he crept into the garden and snatched another handful. But, as he turned, he saw the Enchantress standing before him.
"How do you dare?" she growled at him, like a wolf. "Descend into my garden, and steal my rampion like a thief? For a thief you are. And you shall suffer like one!"
Her eyes blazed as she raised her hands. Her lips moved as she muttered the first words of an incantation. A sharp breeze whipped through the garden, almost knocking the man over, though the Enchantress' dark robes did not even stir.
The man fell to his knees and clasped his hands. He had to shout to be heard over the now raging gusts.
"Ah, my lady! Let mercy take the place of your justice! Please! Hear me!"
The Enchantress held her spell and glared at him. The man rushed on.
"I only did it out of the direst necessity! My wife saw your rampion from the window, and was so stricken by longing for it that she would have died of starvation had she not got some to eat. So I did what I must. Please! Forgive me!"
The witch considered him a moment, then lowered her hands. Almost instantly, the wind died down. She folded her arms and lifted her chin.
"Well," she said, "if the case be as you say, I will allow you to take away as much rampion as you wish. Only I make one condition. Do you agree?"
The man quivered under her glare and dropped his head. "Anything," he said, fearing for his life. "Anything."
"Well." The witch nodded. "This is my condition. You must give me the child your wife will bring into the world. I shall care for it like a mother. It will be well treated. Do you agree?"
In his terror, the man consented to everything. It came to pass that the woman's belly grew big with child. When she was brought to bed and had given birth, the Enchantress appeared at once, as the midwife swaddled the baby in a towel. The witch named the child 'Rapunzel', took her from the arms of the gaping midwife and disappeared.
Rapunzel grew into quite the most beautiful child under the sun. The Enchantress was wealthy beyond measure thanks to the patronage of the Mage Emperor and she saw to it that Rapunzel wanted for nothing. Nothing except human contact. That was limited to an old deaf mute manservant, who oversaw the Enchantress' domestic affairs.
As Rapunzel blossomed into womanhood, the Enchantress took her from the city and shut her in a tower, which lay in a forest, and which had no stair or door. There she lived for ten years, quite alone. At the top was a little window. When the Enchantress visited, she would stand at the foot of the tower and cry:
"Rapunzel! Rapunzel! Let down your hair to me!"
Rapunzel had magnificent long hair, the colour of gold spun with copper. When she heard the voice of the Enchantress, Rapunzel would unfasten her braided tresses, wind them round one of the hooks in the window and let her hair unspool to the ground twenty ells below. The Enchantress would climb up to the window using Rapunzel's hair.
Rapunzel's only companion in her confinement was a black raven, the size of a small hunting hound, that would arrive every morning with all she needed for her sustenance and growth. The raven was blind in one eye but its wings were powerful and its talons sharp, so sharp that an armoured man might fear for his life were the bird to attack him. The raven's arrival would also precede the Enchantress' visit, the bird perching on the window and squawking thrice to indicate that Rapunzel should attend.
The Enchantress' visits always began the same way. She would command Rapunzel to change into a transparent robe fashioned out of the finest muslin, not the stuff woven by human hands but a fabric created by faeries under the full moon. Then, Rapunzel would be placed in the middle of the tower floorspace while the Enchantress circled her, inspecting the girl's body.
Occasionally, the Enchantress would mutter commands to the raven in a tongue Rapunzel did not understand. Rapunzel asked the Enchantress once what she was saying.
"Not your business, child," the Enchantress said, glaring at her. "But if you must know, I am instructing Corvus in what herbs to fetch for you from my garden when next he comes." The Enchantress stepped behind Rapunzel. "Lift up your robe."
Rapunzel did so.
"Good," the Enchantress nodded. She reached out a hand and squeezed Rapunzel's rump. The girl knew to show no response. "Good. Firm and yielding. Like an apple. Excellent. Turn to me. Part your robe."
Rapunzel did as she was told, standing with the robe held open in each hand. The Enchantress' eyes traveled her body. Her hands came up and cupped Rapunzel's breasts. She squeezed again, then let them fall.
"Not large enough," the witch said. "And not yet firm. Corvus, it shall be tamarisk and acacia that you bring. For a month." She looked at Rapunzel. "You will make a tincture of both, with honey, and consume it twice a day."
"Yes, Mistress," Rapunzel said. "Does everything else please you?"
The Enchantress glanced down. She smiled slightly. "I see your hair is growing there between your thighs. That is good. And in between? Do you keep your cunny clean and sweet, as I instructed?"
Rapunzel nodded. "I do, Mistress. As you command. I wash it twice a day and anoint it with jasmine oil and cocoa butter."
The Enchantress nodded. "Good. Show me."
Rapunzel obediently got down on the floor and lay on her back, her legs parted.
"No," said the Enchantress. "On your front. Like a dog. I must examine too your other part. Your tail hole. Do you tend to that too?"
"Yes," Rapunzel said, staring up at her Mistress. "In the same way as my cunny."
The witch frowned. "And do you introduce a finger into either?"
Rapunzel shook her head, her locks flying. "Never. Never, Mistress. You have forbidden it. And I do not."
The Enchantress smiled. "Good. You are obedient. And yet, even the obedient lapse from time to time." She leaned forward, her shadow over Rapunzel. "Do you, Rapunzel?"
"Never! You are my Mistress. All I have I owe to you. Never would I disobey you."
The witch studied her. "Very well. Yet I must check. On to your hands and knees. Then spread your parts with your hands."