The lord of Haarlem made a farmer pay a fine because the farmer’s pig had not greeted him.
“A matter of upbringing,” he said.
The farmer paid. The pig looked the other way. The lord doubled the fine.
That was how he ruled his land. He levied a toll on the bridge, and another on the way back. Anyone who complained got a visit from his men. Anyone who still complained after that got more men.
His wife Emma could sometimes calm him down. But a village could hardly send for Emma every morning just to get a pig down the road.
One day the bridges were closed.
This time from the outside.
The lord looked through his arrow slit. Around his castle stood farmers, craftsmen and boatmen. The man with the pig stood at the front. He did not greet him.
“Bring my horse,” said the lord.
His servant pointed at the crowd.
“Then two horses.”
It did not help. Even six horses would not have got him past all those people. He withdrew to the dining hall and had a feast laid on. He considered a siege on an empty stomach beneath his station.
After a while the feast was gone.
Then the ordinary meals were gone.
In the end the cook came with a small dish holding one shrivelled onion. The lord asked for another one. The cook turned the onion over.
Emma looked at the empty bread basket.
“I’ll go and talk to them.”
“Tell them to go home.”
“That won’t help.”
“Then tell them I command it.”
She left the hall before he could think up a fine for people who failed to come and collect an order.
Outside, the besiegers listened to her. They wanted the lord gone. Emma and the women of the castle were allowed to leave.
“With whatever we can carry?” she asked.
The farmer with the pig conferred with a blacksmith.
“Your most precious possession,” he said. “That may go with you. Whatever you carry yourself.”
Emma had him repeat the promise. She also asked whether the others agreed. The blacksmith nodded. The boatmen nodded. The promise applied to her and to whatever she took with her.
Then she went back.
Her husband had already laid his jewels out on the table. He was picking out the largest stones; the small ones, she could perhaps keep in her mouth.
“Take off your armour,” said Emma.
He looked up.
“And your boots.”
It took him a moment to understand. After that he would hear none of it. A lord did not let himself be carried. A lord rode, marched, mounted and made his entrance.
Emma picked up the onion.
“Then you stay here.”
He took off his boots.
When the gate opened, the crowd expected chests. Perhaps a silver dish, an altar figure or a bag of coins.
The women of the castle walked out through the gate. Behind them, Emma appeared with her husband in her arms.
His feet dangled against her skirt. One sock had a hole in it. His face expressed none of his usual authority, but a great longing to be somewhere else.
The blacksmith took a step forward. Emma stood still.
“You promised.”
Nobody denied it.
The farmer looked at the man who had fined his pig. He saw the bare toe sticking out of the sock. Then he stepped aside.
Slowly Emma carried her burden through the crowd. Her arms trembled. Halfway, her husband wanted to say something, but she pulled him more firmly against her. It was not a good moment for instructions.
Only once she was past the last besieger did she set him down.
Behind them, smoke rose from the castle. The lord opened his mouth. He looked at Emma’s red arms and closed it again.
They walked away.
After a while he stopped. There was a pebble in his sock.
Emma kept walking.
He took it out himself.