Magnus is Attacked by Ancient Romans, Part 5

Eeek! The terrible force of nature, Twrch Trwyth, has been sighted, headed this way. Oddly, the terrible pig has a rider.

A rider?

Yes. Hearsay has it that a rider bestrides the mighty noggin of that pig. The rider sits upon a saddle and that saddle has tassels and is bespeckled with rhinestones. Yes. The rhinestones are of many colors. They are attached to the saddle by glue. And also, from each rhinestone there proceeds a tassel.

Hmmm. Then this rider, unlike that pig, may be civilized. Perhaps we can negotiate with the rider. Perhaps the rider is sent by the kinglet or even a divinity to modify the behavior of Twrch Trwyth. But who shall negotiate with such a rider? Not I. That pig might eat me up. Where is our representative?

Hearsay has it that our representative has not returned from the White Palace. Perhaps the pig got our representative.

That figures. OK. Here’s what we shall do. Call a town meeting. At the town meeting we shall call for a volunteer to go forth and negotiate with the pig rider.

Anon, all the citizens of Hamletville, which is what everyone else on the planet calls that little city, save for Twrch and Magnus, who called it Child Molseter Village, for reasons of their own, assembled. Well, actually, not all of them assembled. The village idiot was lost in the woods and could not be found. Also, the two members and both factions of the Fourth International Student/Worker Anti-Racist Party and Progressive Labor Union refused to attend. But they set up a picket line out front. Uh. Maybe some more of the other citizens did not attend. For example, some of the crippled and bedridden did not attend. Also, most of the anarchists did not attend. But one of them did.

Rosalind, you shall not go to that meeting. We are an anarchist household, and I forbid you to go to that meeting. You shall stay home and do chores instead.

But Mom, heawsay has that the gweat pig, Twwch Twwyth, is fixing to descend upon us. I must go. It is my wesponsibility to my fellow wowkews. I must go.

No Rosalind you shall not go. Now go to your room. Or go milk the cows. If you go to that meeting, I shall tell your father. You know what that means.

Sadly the despondent Rosalind heads out to milk the cows. But then, anon, when Rosalind is fixing to milk the cows, a goat sucker (Chordeiles minor) appears by chance in the cow barn. The goat sucker addresses the beautiful Rosalind thusly:

Fair Rosalind, it is your destiny to go to the town meeting. Only you can save the workers. Only you can resolve the class struggle in favor of the miserable workers. Yes. You Rosalind shall bring worker’s control to Hamletville. But first, you must go to the meeting. I shall milk these cows in your absence.

Goodness gwacious! You are the vewy goat suckew that has vewily dwunk my goats dwy. Why should I believe you?

No, no, no, fair Rosalind. That was an accident. That was not exactly my fault. No. I shall make sure that all the cow milk goes into proper buckets. I shall not touch a drop. Well, maybe just a drop. But most of it shall go straight into the buckets. Please believe me, fair Rosalind. I am sent by the WG to make sure you attend that meeting. Your attendance at that meeting is important. If you don’t go, your absence could unhinge everything.

Evewything!

Yes, evewything. I mean everything.

Anon, the twain of them decide, both Rosalind and the goat sucker, that it is OK for Rosalind to go to the meeting. Off she goes.

OK It looks like everyone is generally assembled. As the City Manager, it is my sad duty to inform all you patriotic citizens, that Twrch Trwyth is about to descend upon us. Many shall be eaten. Some of our cows shall be eaten. Some of our crops shall be eaten. Yet there is hope. Upon the mighty noggin of Twrch Trwyth there rides a rider. That rider sits upon a saddle, a saddle all bespangled with rhinestones and even zircons that are glued to that saddle. Plus, on that saddle there are tassels. It is a sign, a sign I say, that at last, someone, or somebody, has taken control of that pig. That person is civilized, as indicated by the ornate saddle. So we may be able to negotiate with that awesome person.

Yet, sadly, our representative has not returned from the White Palace. Many surmise that Twrch Trwyth ate him up. So with no representative available, I am calling for a volunteer. I am calling for one person of either sex, or both, who is brave enough, and forward enough, to venture forth, to go out, to negotiate with the potentially civilized pig rider. That volunteer, whoever that shall be, shall save us all, and save my property.

I shall go. I shall go fowth. I shall save the wowkews of Hamletville. But scwew youw pwopewty.

Who is that? Who speaks up so wudely, I mean rudely?

It is I, Wosalind. I volunteew.

OK. Does anyone else volunteer?

Nobody else volunteered. That is how it came to be that a pretty and efficient young peasant/worker girl, Rosalind, came to be selected as the Hamletville representative to Twrch Trwyth’s mysterious rider.