The Master Maid

a folk tale from Norway, retold by Simon Brooks

Before I share this retelling of the story, here’s a bit about hte stories, what I do, how I find things, and what goes into my craft of storytelling. If you want to skip down to the story, that’s fine, too!

Often, I am looking for new stories to tell. I don’t tell my own, I tell folk and fairy tales, myths, and legends. For me that means reading a lot of books. Some new, some old, some are out of print, some you can find digitized on the internet. Recently I have been looking for giants, in part because of this year’s summer reading program here in the USA. Some libraries and State libraries follow themes which are provided by corporations who create a theme and a bunch of material librarians can use, making their SRP a little easier to manage. There are two of these companies that I am aware of, and therefore, more often than not, two themes each summer (discounting the libraries that retain their individual flare and go it alone)! That’s a very long way of saying there are two themes most libraries use for the summer reading program and they are:
A/. iRead’s program of Plant a Seed
and B/. the Collaborative Summer Library Program theme of Unearth a Story.

For the uninitiated, for me this means A/. farming, seeds, plants, ideas - so puzzles too. And B/. well rocks, soil, digging, trolls and giants.

You might be wondering, if you don’t know or remember your folk tales, that if trolls are exposed to daylight they turn to stone. It is also said that giants make up the mountains and hills. So, if we did a little in hilly or mountainous regions, we might find trolls and or giants buried there. Although trolls can be found in other cultures, they are primarily Nordic stories. If a troll is in a tale, it has some sort of connection, in the deep past, to Scandinavia and Iceland. Giants belong to everyone! I think almost every culture has giant stories! Africa has Abiyoyo, the people of the North East of America have Glooscap (and there are many spellings of his name), in England we have the giant in Jack and the Beanstalk, in India there are the Daityas and so on. So, I have been reading quite a few stories about giants.

I would love to tell the story of the Epic of Gilgamesh for Unearth a Story, because that story was lost, buried, and dug up in the late 1800’s and had to be deciphered, as the language it was written in, cuneiform, had also been lost, and was more dead than Latin! It’s interesting to find books on myths older than the last 1800’s and find Beowulf, the Greek myths, the Ramayana, but no Gilgamesh, because people did not know it existed. And it totally fits the bill for digging, but for kids and families, my main audience, it is a bit of a long, and in places adult themed story. Gilgamesh starts off in the story as a complete tyrant of the worst kind. The worst kind.

As it happens, I am also reading an incredibly powerful book right now called There Are Rivers in the Sky by Elif Shafak. I picked it up because it is in part about the Epic of Gilgamesh. Elif Shafak has done a lot of research into her story about Gilgamesh and the place from where it comes - Iraq/Iran - Mesopotamia - the land between two rivers, the furious Tigres, and the calm Euphrates. And the people who have lived and do live there now.

In Shafak’s book, one of the characters tells the story of a couple of ‘lost’ goddesses called Nisaba, and Tiamat. Water plays a large part of the book. Shafak has it that Nisaba is the Goddess of grain, fertility, writing, holds sway over rain, and is patron to poets and storytelling. Tiamat is the goddess of the sea and has a lot of power, and is part of the Mesopotamian creation story. Shafak writes that when Tiamat was killed, the earth was created by her body and the tears she cried upon being killed created the Tigris and Euphrates. I have to do more digging into these two.

It is a hard book to read in places because Shafak writes about the Yazidis people being massacred in 1832, their continued persecution, and their genocide in 2014. I am learning a lot in this novel. As you can probably imagine, telling folk and fairy tales, myths and legends can often lead you down a rabbit warren of holes to explore. This book, alone, has enlightened me to Yazidi people, goddesses I had not heard of before, a life based loosely around the man who translated the epic, George Smith, and some interesting foods I have not heard of before and taught me some cuneiform. And it is a novel, not a book on storytelling!

But back to giants.

This one story which I have been meaning to learn for a long time is as long in the telling as a short retelling of Gilgamesh - forty-five to fifty minutes*. The story, The Master Maid, could be broken into two halves. Part one - when the Master Maid rescues herself and a prince (why she waited so long to rescue herself I don’t know), and gets away from the giant would make up the first part and could be told on it’s own. Part two is where it becomes something more, something older and more primeval, if you will. And there is a lot of comedy in it too, which I like. I paint the prince as a bit of a fool. He is one of those people (even in the ‘original’ version) who does not listen - at all. Also, in the second half of the story, there is no giant. Yes, the giant ends up requesting the Master Maid cook the prince up to eat, but really the prince has done everything the giant told him to NOT do. So, he’s going to eat him. Baba Yaga does similar things. Neither the giant in this story, nor Baba Yaga are evil, they are neutral until you piss them off. Then you find their dark side. I think really, all you need to know is - be nice! It’s not that hard. It’s a little like Polyphemus. He would have been fine if Odysseus had waited to be invited in, and not stolen the cyclops’ food.

As I was crafting this retelling, I had been reading Joseph Jacob’s Europa's Fairy Book (1916). It starts off with Jacobs ‘chatting’ with his grandchildren. I sort of liked the idea but do not have grandchildren of my own, but I do have nephews and neices. I used my sister’s kids in my mind as I wrote, so they pop up on and off throughout the telling.

Also, in my tellings of these stories, I am trying to make the giants not so mean. They are just, well, giants after all. And the heroes are not the princes in these stories but the women who rescue them, and themselves. And so, without any more ado.

The audio is an experiment. I asked my nephew and niece if they wanted to voice ‘there parts’ of the story. They agreed. My nephew’s voice seems deeper than mine! They both live in the UK and so the recording set up for each of us – them vs me – was Very Different. I have tried to make it work as best as I can. This was done for fun, as much as anything, so please be nice.

The Master Maid

A retelling by Simon Brooks © 2026

Part One

“Tell us a fairy tale, Uncle.”

“Well, will you be good and quiet if I do?”

“Of course we will; we are always good when you tell us stories.”

“Well, here goes. Once upon a time, though it wasn’t in my time, and it wasn’t in your time, and it really wasn’t in anybody else’s time, there was a…”

“But that would be no time at all.”

“Right, but actually, that’s what we call fairy time.”

“Oh!”

“Are you ready?”

“Yes!”

Once upon a time there was a giant’s daughter. But she herself was not a giant. Tall, yes. Strong, absolutely. Beautiful, somewhat. So maybe she wasn’t really a giant’s daughter, but everyone thought she was.

“Wait. Then what was she doing living with a giant?”

“Well, she was cleaning, brewing things, and waiting, not for a prince, they are way too much trouble. I suppose it might be nice to be rich, but to be a princess and dress nicely All The Time and to use Proper Manners All The Time and not be allowed to burp when you’ve taken a great swing of root beer? No thank you! At least, that’s what she thought, this giant’s daughter who wasn’t a giant’s daughter.

“He did arrive. And yes, he was a prince. Was he troublesome? Absolutely. The giant told him not to look in any of the rooms other than the one in which he was sleeping in. Of course, as soon as the giant took his goats off to the meadow, the prince investigated the first three rooms instead of doing the chore the giant told him to do. Which was to muck out the cow shed.

“Ew. He has to clean up all the cow poop in the cow shed?”

“I thought you weren’t going to interrupt.”

“Sorry.”

“That’s okay. The giant threatened the prince that if he didn’t do the chore, he would be a goner, but if he did, he would find the giant a good master. So, yes. He was told to clean up all the cow poop. Not that he was going to be able to do it. I mean, he was a prince. Do princes ever shovel manure? Of course not. They have people to do that for them. But that was the chore the giant set for him, and the giant’s daughter, Penelope, could hear him poking around in those rooms, where he shouldn’t be poking around.”

He knocked on the kitchen door and it opened before Penelope could say, “Come in!” The prince entered. When he saw Penelope, he puffed up like a balloon, ran his hands through his hair, pushing it behind his neck, without taking his hat off, and he seemed so full of confidence she couldn’t stand it. He put on a big smile for her and began to speak at the speed of a galloping horse fleeing a flaming forest.

“Did you know there are three rooms back there,” he pointed out through the door he had come in through and down the corridor, wagging his fingers. His words rushed on before she could answer. “And in each of those rooms there’s a pot hanging up on a hook, with no fire beneath it, yet it’s boiling?” He almost shook with excitement.

Penelope looked him up and down and felt a strange revulsion of him. “Of course.” She stirred a pot in front of her, filled with what she thought was some good smelling beef and barley stew.

“But there’s no fire beneath them to make them boil! How can that be? I mean there are three pots…” he went on talking.

She stood stirring, looking at him wondering if he would stop talking about the pots and say hello. She took the wooden spoon from the pot and laid it down on a marble top next to the wood burning stove. Penelope leaned against the end of the large wooden table which took up most of the room before folding her arms.

“But each pot makes something different.” He was almost shouting now.

“Yes.”

“One turns whatever you dip in it into copper, the next one turns things into silver, and you know what the last one does?”

“Hm.” Penelope put a finger on her chin and looked up at the white painted, wooden planks that made the ceiling. “It turns whatever you put into the pot into gold?” asked Penelope as she stood up off the table end. She opened an iron door in a brick wall next to the stove. Picking up a wooden paddle she pushed it into the oven and pulled out a large loaf of bread the smell of which began to fill the room. She slid it off the paddle and onto a plate which lay quietly waiting on the table.

“YES! How did you know? Do you live here? Look, I turned a bit of my hair into gold.” He pulled his hair from behind his neck and Penelope saw small pieces of his hair were copper, silver and gold.

“I live here.” Her head tipped to one side and she raised her eyebrows. Can he even smell the bread? Or the stew, she thought?

“Wow, that’s so cool. You live with a giant. Are you related to it? I mean, you are quite tall.” It seemed he was now seeing her for the first time and not actually talking to himself. “And quite... You look like you are quite strong.” His voice seemed to be slowing down.

“The giant is a he, not an it. He’s not a monster. He’s a giant. He had a wife but she’s not around anymore.”

“He ate her?” The prince’s eyes grew wide in horror and glanced at the pot which was boiling on the stove. “You won’t eat me, will you?”

“First of all,” said Penelope. “Giants are not cannibals, they do not eat their own kind unless they are starving, and even humans have been known to nibble on one another when times have been desperate. So no, he did not eat his wife. She left a few years ago and hasn’t come back. Secondly, no. I will not eat you. I imagine you would taste rather plain and be somewhat chewy, and get stuck in my teeth.”

The prince backed away.

Penelope laughed. “I won’t eat you. I was fooling around with you. It’s beef and barley stew.” She pointed to the pot.

The prince relaxed and gave a somewhat half-hearted laugh. “Okay. Got me!” He looked around. “So, er.” He bowed, sweeping off his hat. “I am Prince Bartholomew. To whom do I have the honour of addressing?”

“Penelope,” said Penelope, nodding her head instead of bowing or curtsying.

“Penelope…” The prince drew out her name. “Do you have a last name?”

“Possibly, but none that I am aware of.”

“Those pots though.” He pointed back through the door again.

“I know. They make things into copper, silver, and gold. Aren’t you supposed to be cleaning out the cow shed?”

“How do you know? Are you a witch?” He asked, looking frightened again.

“The giant has a voice that carries. I heard him telling you.” Penelope turned back to the pot on the stove and picking up the spoon began stirring the contents again. She took a small taste and sprinkled in some salt. “And didn’t he mention that you might lose your head if you failed to complete the task?”

“Would he really do that? Cut my head off?” The prince’s face moved from one expression to another so fast it was hard to keep up. It had been a long time since anyone else had been at the castle, but she couldn’t think of anyone who had such an expressive face. She could tell what he was thinking and feeling just by looking at it. I bet he is a horrible liar, thought Penelope.

“How hard can it be to clean manure out of a stall or two?” said Prince Bartholomew. “All you have to do is, I saw someone do it once. They used a rake. All you have to do is rake it all out.” He paused to think. His face crunched up a little. Penelope almost smiled. “You rake all the poo,” he said, “and straw into a barrow, and then take the barrow somewhere.” He scrunched up his face again. “To a pile somewhere?”

“Yes, to a pile somewhere. And it’s not a stall or two, they are not horses, they are cows. And the barn is large. You should go and get your work done before Thunderbluster gets back.”

“Thunderbluster?” Prince Bartholomew looked confused, then suddenly smiled. “That’s the giant’s name? Thunderbluster. Does he fart a lot?”

“No more than most people. Seriously, you should go.” Penelope turned back to the stove, stirred some more, tasted the stew and heard the door close. The prince’s footsteps became quieter and quieter. She sighed. “Why does it have to be a prince?” she said to no one in particular.

Penelope turned to the table and began to make pastry for a pie. She had not got much further than getting the ingredients together to mix it all up when Bartholomew returned to the room. He wasn’t talking, but she could smell him and knew what had happened before she turned around. There was manure stuck to his tights and breeches up to his thighs. His hands were covered in cow mess, and his clothes were strewn with straw. His jaunty hat was missing.

It was hard for her to not burst out laughing, but she kept calm. “So. How’s it going out there in the barn?”

The prince stood there stinking, the smile gone from his face. “I don’t understand. Every time I push the rake, or pull the rake, the poop multiplies. It’s gets bigger. I have twice as much cow poo to move than I had when I first walked in there, and the cows are in the pasture.”

“You are using the wrong end of the rake,” said Penelope.

“What do you mean: Using the wrong end of the rake? I use the end with the prongs, the scraper, the wooden tines, the bits that drag and push things around.”

“You’re not whining, are you?” Penelope asked. “That’s not a winey voice you just used?”

“No? It’s just, I have never done this before, and it looked so easy when the stable boy at home did it, I just thought…”

“Turn the rake upside down,” she said. “And use the tip of the handle. The barn will clean itself that way.” Penelope got back to making her pie crust.

“But that makes no sen… Wait. You are a witch!” The prince pointed rudely at Penelope. “I knew it!” She raised her eyebrows at him and he lowered his hand slowly.

“The rake belongs to Thunderbluster, not me. It’s his castle, these are all his tools. Go and finish your job and leave me to mine.” She looked at him until he backed out, taking the cow smell with him, although some of it preferred the warmth of the kitchen and hung around for a while. Penelope went back to the crust.

When the pie crust had baked a little, Penelope took it from the oven and rolled the dried beans out of the base. She swung a small kettle over the fire and began boiling water. She pulled a large metal tub from a store room and placed it next to the fire pouring cold water from the water pump in the kitchen into the tub. It wasn’t much later when Prince Bartholomew returned to the kitchen, again knocking and not waiting. He stood in the doorway, filthy.

Penelope pointed to the kettle and tub and said: “Wash yourself off. I’ll dry your clothes and brush them off for you.”

“What? Get undressed in front of you? A mere. I mean. But.”

Penelope shook her head and turned her back on him and began to work on the pie. She put fruit in the pie crust, sprinkled it with sugar, and rolled out some thin lengths of dough. She could hear the prince quietly washing himself in the tub. Penelope wove the lengths of pastry dough to make a lattice, and draped it over the fruit in the pie and pressed its edges together. She turned it around to make sure it looked even, and then dusted the top with a little more sugar and nodded. She made her way along the side of the table, keeping her back to the prince, and swept the pie along with her, scooping it off the end of the table to open the oven and slide the pie inside.

Penelope closed the oven door and said, “I am going to take your clothes and brush them off outside.” She walked backwards towards the fire and saw that he had at least laid them out so that they had dried a bit, and picked them up. Keeping her back towards Bartholomew, Penelope walked from the kitchen taking the clothes outside, along with a wire brush.

When the giant returned with his goats, the prince was dressed and in his room.

“Did you clean out the cow shed?” the giant demanded.

Prince Bart wondered if the giant did not see the stains on his clothes. “Yes, master! All clean and sweet.”

“We’ll see about that.” The giant scowled and stormed out of the room and checked the cow shed to find it spotless. Returning to the prince he said: “You never thought of that on your own. You must have spoken to my master maid.”

“What is a master maid?” asked the prince, all smiles and charm.

“You will see soon enough.” The giant left the prince alone who slept as soundly as one can imagine. He was woken early enough the next morning by the giant shaking him. The giant’s hand on the young man’s chest felt like a small pony.

“On the mountainside,” said the giant as the prince rubbed his eyes. “Over there.” The giant pointed out of the window. “My horse is grazing. Go and get it and return it to the stables. The rest of the day is yours. If you do this, you’ll find you have a kind master in me. But Do Not Go into any of the other rooms.” The giant stared at the prince and the prince who saw the menace in those eyes, swallowed.

“Get the horse from the mountainside and don’t go into any of the other rooms. Understood.”

The giant left, grumbling, and gathered his goats to take them to pasture.

The prince saw some bread on the table in his room, and a jug and cup filled with water. “I wonder,’ said the prince to himself. “If this master maid of yours will soon like me more than you, old giant.” He got up and dressed and ate some of the bread and drank some of the water, and left his room to visit Penelope, the master maid in the kitchen.

When he came into the room, she looked up and sighed. Rolling her eyes she asked: “What task has the giant set for you today?”

“An easier task than yesterday’s I bet,” replied the prince. “All I have to do is to get the giant’s horse from the mountainside.”

“And how will you do that?”

“You think I don’t know how to find a horse, mount it and ride it back to a stable. I am not at all frightened by that. And I have broken a horse or two. You do know I am a prince?”

“I took you for a fool, and it seems you have proved me correct. It is not so easy to ride that horse, whether you have broken others or not, for if you go as you say you will, the giant’s horse will first break you, and then kill you, as surely as I am frying eggs.”

The prince looked at the frying pan Penelope was cooking with and saw she was indeed cooking eggs.

“When you go near it, the horse will shoot fire from its nose.”

The prince snorted. “A fire-breathing horse?” he scoffed. “Surely it is a dragon you speak of!” He laughed.

“Take the bridle with you that is hanging by the door there, and toss the bit straight into its mouth and then and only then will it become tame. And take care not to singe your clothes.”

He sat himself at the table and began to talk at the master maid. Penelope eventually joined in the conversation and they slowly got to know each other a bit better. She cooked them both up some lunch when that came around, and halfway through the afternoon, she looked out of the window, and nodded. “You should probably get the horse before the giant returns. The prince smiled, and tossing his hair grabbed the bridle which hung on the wall and left, without so much as a thank you.

He saw the horse off in the distance and it seemed that the horse saw him, for it came galloping towards him at great speed. “Wonderful,” said Prince Bartholomew. “That will save me the trouble of walking. I bet it has taken a fancy to me!” The horse got closer and closer and did not seem to be slowing down. As it neared, he could see the horse gnashing its teeth and breathing fire from its nose. He almost ran him down, but reared up at the last moment and as it’s hooves thundered to the ground and it seemed to snarl at the prince, he threw the bridle about the horse’s face and the bit went into the horse’s mouth. The creature became as calm as calm can be. “Well, that was exciting!” thought Bart.

The prince climbed upon the now lamb-like horse and rode it to the stables. He put straw out for it, and oats, closed the stable doors and returned the bridle to the kitchen. He then went to his room before the giant got back.

“Did you take my horse to the stables?” asked the giant when he saw the prince.

“I did, master. I also fed it oats and laid out straw for it.”

“I will see about that.” The giant stormed off and coming back said to the prince: “You must have been talking to the master maid. There is no way you would have thought how to fetch my horse so easily on your own.”

“You also mentioned this master maid yesterday, kind and gentle giant,” said the prince. “What or who is this creature you talk about? Will you introduce me to them? I spend all day here alone and it would be nice to meet and chat with someone else.”

“Oh, ho, you clever tongued lad. You will meet her soon enough.” The giant left. The prince heard the giant’s voice rumbling in the kitchen, talking, he guessed, with Penelope.

The next morning the giant gave a third task to the prince. “You will go underground and fetch the tithe they owe me there.” The giant smiled a sly smile. “And once you are done with that, you will have the rest of the day to yourself. And you are Not To Go into any of the other rooms here. Am I understood?”

“Yes, sir! Go underground, to the underworld?” The giant nodded and the prince continued. “Get the tithe you are owed, and the rest of the day is mine, and I am not to go into any other rooms. Can I wander the halls?”

“You may wander the halls.” And with that, the giant collected his goats and left.

The prince rose, dressed and found, once more, the master maid in the kitchen. “Good morning, Penelope.”

“Good morning.”

“I don’t suppose you would mind getting me some eggs, would you?”

“I wonder if you can get your own eggs? As you can see, I am eating mine. What task have you been given today?”

“Ah!” cried out Prince Bart. “Something that is more interesting than the last two days. I am to travel to the underworld and get the taxes owed to the giant.” He moved the frying pan around on the stove.

Penelope pointed to some butter on a dish and said: “Put a small amount of that into the pan and when it melts, break the egg shell open and drop the contents into the fat.”

“Ah! I thought it was something like that. Now. I have not been to the underworld before and have no idea how to get there. I don’t suppose you know the way do you?”

“I might think you were insulting me, but I am not sure you are clever enough to do that.” She took another bite of her eggs and stood up to point out of the window. “Do you see the mountain there and that large rock?”

“I do!”

“Then take that club there with you, and strike that rock.” Penelope pointed to a club next to the bridle on the wall. “Someone will come out of the rocks and speak with you. They will sparkle with fire. Tell them your errand and when they ask how much, you will say only - As much as I can carry. Got it?”

“As much as I can carry. Yes. Seems simple enough.”

After he burned his eggs and Penelope made him wash the frying pan, she showed him how to cook eggs and they stayed together and talked until the afternoon came along. “It’s time you left.”

“It is.” He nodded and lifted the club which leaned against the wall next to the bridle he had used the previous day and left. He struck the boulder with the club, and sure enough a small man came from between some rocks. It appeared that he was almost on fire. Sparks and embers flew off him. “What can I do for you, mortal?”

“Ah! Hello! I am here for the giant’s tithe,” said the prince trying to remember what he had to say.

“And how much do you want?” asked the fiery creature.

“As much as I can carry.”

The creature smiled. “Come with me.” It pushed the rock apart and led the prince into the darkness of the caves. The prince followed and saw great quantities of gold and silver, gems and jewels. Even though he was a prince, he had never seen such wealth. He was given a bag which he shouldered, and then left the cave. He following the creature of embers out of the cave, then made his way back to the castle.

When the giant returned with the goats, he first went to the kitchens and looked at the wall. There was the bridle and next to it was the club. He looked over at Penelope, who was putting the giant’s meal onto a plate on the table. She smiled at him, as she worked.

The giant went to see the prince in his room. “Did you get my tithe, my taxes?”

“That I did. They are there on the bench.”

The giant turned and saw the sack, and opened it. Gold coins and a few gems fell from it. “I believe you have been talking to the master maid again.”

“Again? I have yet to meet this creature you talk about. Tell me, what is a master maid?”

“You will meet her tomorrow.” And with that, the giant left.

The next day, the prince was awake before the giant entered his room. He was fed up with the rude awakenings and the giant’s massive hand which nearly crushed him. “Come with me.”

The prince followed the giant into the kitchen and locked them inside. “Kill this prince, put him in a stew, and wake me when it’s ready.” The giant lay down on a bench and closed his eyes.

“What? No! I did the things you asked me to do!”

The giant opened his eyes, sat up, and looked at the prince. The prince felt his insides shrink a few sizes. “I told you not to go into any of the rooms other than yours. On the first day I noticed the copper, silver, and gold in your hair. When you cleaned out the barn, and brought the horse back so easily, I knew you had talked to the girl here. But I gave you another chance, to do things on your own, but you blew that too.” The giant closed his eyes. The prince pushed the giant who opened his eyes once more, and said: “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

The prince stepped back and the giant snorted, closed his eyes and went to sleep. The prince looked at the master maid. “You are a witch,” he whispered. “You are going to kill me and cook me! And you said the giant wasn’t a cannibal.”

“He’s not. He doesn’t eat his own kind. But he’s been known to eat those who don’t listen.”

The prince’s eyes widened as Penelope strode toward the prince with a large, sharp-looking knife. “No, please! Don’t kill me. I’ll do anything.”

“Stop whining and hold out your fingers,” she whispered. “I am not going to kill you.” She took his hand and pulled him over to a small wooden stool. She pricked his pointer finger and let three drops of blood fall onto the stool. She took a clean rag and wrapped his finger with it. Penelope then made her way through a number of cupboards, and gathered old shoes, rags, and rubbish, and threw them into the great pot she had begun to cook the giant’s stew in. She took her own keys and left the kitchen, to return dragging a trunk back with her. Reaching up onto a shelf, Penelope pulled down a sack and emptied it into the trunk. Gold coins rattled about. She took a lump of salt and added that to the trunk. She filled a leather flask with water from a pump, and took a golden apple from another shelf and put that in her apron pocket.

“Come on then!” she said. “We need to go.” Grabbing the trunk, she led him out of the castle. She stopped to grab two chickens which she handed to Bartholomew. They headed to the ocean, not far off. A skiff was tied to a pier and she walked the prince down to it, and jumped in. The prince handed her the chickens which Penelope put in the bottom of the boat. She opened the trunk and pulled out a gold coin and left it on the dock. “Untie the line and get in,” she said. As Bartholomew untied the lines, Penelope closed the trunk, raised the sail, and by the time the prince was in the boat, the wind had caught the sails and off they went.

Back in the castle the giant had been asleep for a good long while, and yawning, he asked, “Is the stew ready yet?”

One of the drops of blood spoke. “Not yet, but soon.” The voice was like that of his master maid. The giant began to snore again. A while later he stirred and asked the same question. The second drop of blood spoke. “Half done. Soon,” it said. The giant grumbled a third time and the third drop of blood spoke in the voice of Penelope. “It is quite ready!” The giant smiled and rolled over, and sat up on the bench. He looked around, but no one was there. He called for Penelope, but she did not come. He shrugged and stood and stirred the pot. He got a bowl, scooped out some of the stew and saw a rag and the sole of a shoe, and a nail as he emptied the spoon over the bowl. “What is this?” He looked into the pot and stirred it and pulled out more rags and bits of string out. “What is this?” he roared. The giant felt a huge pressure rise up in him and he dashed the pot to the floor and ran from the kitchen, and out of the castle towards the ocean’s edge to see the skiff sailing away.

“I have a cure for that.” The giant said. “Water sucker!” he screamed. The water sucker came from the castle and lay by the shore and opened its mouth and drank. The water fell so low that the skiff began to drag on the bottom of the sea as if the tide had rushed out and was catching them. The giant grinned and ran towards the boat.

“Throw the lump of salt behind us,” Penelope cried out. “It’s in the trunk.”

Prince Bartholomew popped the lid open, found the salt and tossed it overboard. A great mountain rose up between them and the giant. The boat was freed; the sails caught the wind and off they went once more.

“I have a cure for that too,” said the giant, turning and facing his castle. He bellowed out for his hole borer. “Come here this instance!”

The hole borer arrived at the mountain and kneeling beside the giant began to eat through the rocks and earth. Once he was through, the giant caught hold of the water sucker, and dragged it through the hole so it could drink more of the sea.

“Open the flask of water,” said Penelope. “Let just a couple of drops fall into the sea.” She steered the ship to the distant shore. As soon as the drops hit the ocean, the sea began to swell and rise, and the wind blew so steadily that they made the opposite shore in no time. Jumping from the boat with one of the lines, Penelope tied the ship up to a rock. The prince leapt from it bringing with him the trunk. Penelope retrieved the sea-sick looking chickens and made her way up onto a bank, and looked out over the waves. The giant could not be seen, and the water lapped the shore. The prince sat down beside her, and they watched the clouds.

“You have done much to help me,” said Prince Batholomew.

“You wouldn’t have lasted very long if I hadn’t.”

“Instead of making you walk to my father’s kingdom,” the prince said. “Let me go by myself and I will bring a coach and horses to fetch you. My father’s castle is not so far away.”

“Don’t do that. Let’s rest a while, and we can travel together,” replied Penelope.

“But the trunk is heavy. Just wait here.”

“You will forget me.”

“How could I forget you after all you have done for me?” said the prince. Although Penelope tried to change his mind, he insisted. Penelope warned him not to speak to anyone, to avoid people if he could. She told him to not stay for any more time other than to get the horses and carriage, and he was Not To Touch Anything that was offered to him nor eat until he returned to her side. Prince Bartholomew left, and Penelope sat on the trunk and watched the chickens peck at the ground for seed and grubs.

“He’s not going to leave her there is he?

“I haven’t finished the story yet. But yes, it seems so.

“Why would he do that? Why would she let him? He’s not very smart and she’s the one that stopped him getting into trouble, and killed by the giant!”

“I know. Poor old Bart. Do you think she’ll wait for him?”

“I don’t know. Will she?”

“Hmm. I don’t know. These princes, right?”

“Right!”

Part Two

“Are you going to finish the story off now, Uncle?”

“If you are ready I will.”

“We’re ready!”

“Okay then.”

Penelope sat and waited a long time, and after a while she knew he would not come back. She tied the chickens together with some string, lifted the trunk over her shoulder and took off along the coast. She came, eventually, to a small hut between the coast and a forest, and knocked on the door. Penelope placed the trunk on its end and sat and waited for the door to open. When it did, she stood and smiled. “I am so sorry to trouble you, but I have nowhere else to go, and need somewhere to stay, some place to sleep, somewhere safe. Is this a place that could offer those things?”

The woman who opened the door looked at the girl, and smiled. Nodding her head, she stood to one side and ushered the master maid within. Penelope saw immediately this hut was more hovel than home, and there was more dust and dirt than anywhere she had been before. “Before you say ‘yes’ to me staying here, let me clean your house.” Penelope set to work, opening the door and windows, and began to dust, clean, sort and clear. She cleaned and polished every pan and dish, plate, cup and saucer. Penelope stoked the fire, cleaned the linens and sheets and hung them outside to dry. Then she opened the trunk and took out some of the gold coins and gave them to the old woman who threw them into the fireplace. The two women put more wood on the fire until the gold coins began to bubble, and in a flash, the gold seemed to explode, and when the old woman and Penelope opened their eyes again, they saw the hut was clean and covered with gold.

“That should do the trick,” said the old woman. “Are you here to marry the prince who left you?”

Penelope looked at the old woman through narrowed eyes. “How did you know the prince had left me?”

“The same way you know a troll woman gave him an apple, bewitching him into forgerting all about you. My name is Gretel,” said the woman.

“Penelope!” said Penelope.

The two women embraced each other.

“Wait, Uncle! Are they witches?”

“‘Witches’ is a loaded word. It was used against women just because they were women. I prefer to call them spaewomen, or cunning folk. People who helped others, and who might have known a little about magick.”

“Okay.”

A couple of days later, a lawyer was passing by the forest and saw the golden house glistening in the sunlight. Riding his horse through the trees, the lawyer came to the cottage and knocked on the door. Gretel answered. “Hello,” she said. “Is there anything I can help you with?”

“Not really, it’s just that I have ridden through these woods often and never noticed this hut before. The gold caught my eye.” He peered inside and saw Penelope writing at a table and was taken with her looks. “May I come in and meet your daughter?” he asked. The lawyer walked in without waiting for a reply. He removed his hat, with flare and finesse, bowed low, and then sat at the table opposite Penelope. “Hello,” said he.

“Hello,” said Penelope looking up.

“I am very much taken with your beauty. I am wealthy beyond measure, and wondered if you might marry me.” The lawyer smiled.

Gretel stared at him. “You are closer to my age, than to hers. What would she want with an old man like you? I’m not married!” She smiled and pulled the bonnet off her head and her gray hair fell about her face. She was indeed beautiful, but he turned his nose up at her, and ignored the woman. He put his elbows on the table and leaned towards Penelope. “Did I mention how rich I am?”

“Yes, but words are not worth much,” said Penelope, who did not like this man at all. “Maybe you forgot this house is made of gold.”

The lawyer leapt up and ran to his horse, and rode off calling over his shoulder, “I shall be back to prove my love!”

“To prove how much money and little sense he has, more like,” said Gretel. Penelope laughed.

Sure enough, the lawyer returned with four large saddlebags filled with gold coins. Penelope looked at them and thought that her trunk, still filled with gold coins, could fit twice as many saddlebags as the man had brought with him. The lawyer rudely dropped the bags on the table, and opened them to show her the coins within. Penelope jumped up and moved away.

“Where are you going?” asked the lawyer. “I just arrived and presented you with these bags of gold coins.”

“I need to put more wood on the fire.”

“Let me do that!” The lawyer stepped towards the fireplace. “You are too beautiful to do such chores yourself.” He glanced up at Gretel whose house this was.

“Go ahead! Put more logs on the fire,” said Gretel.

“And let me know when your hands are on the tongs, so you don’t burn yourself,” said Penelope.

“My strong hands are already wrapped around the tongs, my love,” he said.

“In which case, may you hold the tongs and the tongs hold you until you are more than warm,” said Penelope. Immediately, the tongs began to grab burning pieces of wood and dump them on top of the lawyer who tried to kick the logs back into the fire. Then the tongs began to beat the lawyer.

“Make it stop!” he cried out. “You foul women! Bringing innocent people into your home and treating them so poorly. Make it stop!”

“We did not invite you into this house, you entered without being asked,” said Gretel.

“And you were rude to my friend here,” said Penelope.

“Trollops! Wanton women!” He said some much worse things than that and Penelope and her friend looked at each other in amazement.

“Did we ask him to throw himself at our feet? Did we demand he come back and give us money? I think not! We said we did not believe that you had such wealth. You need not have gone and given it to us. And to call us such names. You don’t even know us. And you wanted to marry Penelope here just because you like the look of her. She’s not a horse!” said Gretel.

The poker continued to drop hot wood onto the man, and beat him, until he was sweating and pleading, begging for forgiveness, and only then did the tongs cease their attack. He crawled out on hands and knees, leaving the money with the women vowing never to return to the hut again. The two women took the money into the town and gave alms to the poor, feeding those less well off, providing clothes who couldn’t afford them.

The next day the sheriff was making his way through the forest and saw the golden hut gleaming, and went to investigate. The same thing happened. He barged in, saw Penelope, ‘fell in love,’ promised riches beyond belief, and wanted to marry her. When he returned, as the lawyer had, with a few saddlebags of gold coins, Penelope jumped up to close the door, but the sheriff said he would do it. Penelope asked him to tell her when he had the handle, and when he said he had it, she said: “Then may you hold the door and the door hold you, and may you go between the wall and door until dawn.”

The door took hold of the sheriff and swung him in a dance no one would want to be in. His arm ached. He would find himself swung one way then the other. Sometimes the door would flatten him against the wall, other times, pull him into the door frame. At first, he said some very inappropriate things, then he begged for forgiveness, so the door stopped its dance well before dawn and the sheriff left on his hands and knees, leaving the bags of money, which Penelope and Gretel used to help those less fortunate.

“Is there going to be another man who comes along, Uncle? These things always happen in threes!”

“Yes! Can you guess who the third man was?”

“No! Who is it?”

The bailiff came by.

“What’s a bailiff?”

“A bailiff is the person who makes sure the prisons are in order, and he collects money that is owed to people or to the local authorities. They can kick people out of their homes, that sort of thing.”

“That’s not very nice.”

“Well sometimes people owe money, and it needs to be paid. It’s not a great job, I imagine and would take a special type of person to do it. Laws and rules need to be followed and sometimes there are repercussions for doing the wrong thing.”

“Is he going to be mean to Penelope? Is he going to try to buy her love, too and be rude to Gretel?”

“Yes! And there are repercussions for that, too.”

The same things happened, he forced his way, promised riches, went to prove it, came back, and this time Penelope jumped up to put the calf, the baby cow, out to pasture. So of course the bailiff jumped up to do it, so she wouldn’t spoil her clothes.

“Like she’s never put the calf out before!”

“Exactly!”

Penelope followed him outside and watched as he chased the calf. “Grab it by the tail,” she told him. When the bailiff took hold of the tail of the calf, Penelope cried out…

“Oh-oh!”

“Indeed!”

“May you hold on to the tail of that calf and the tail take hold of you and may you run around until dawn!”

The calf was a lot stronger and had way more stamina than the bailiff, who was rather old and round. The bailiff was pulled about the field, over rocks, through muck and briers. He called out the most horrible things to the women, but like the others before him, changed his tune, and said he was sorry, begged for forgiveness, and it was well before dawn that he crawled his way to his horse, covered in mud, saying they could keep the money. He rode off, promising never to come back to the golden hut again. And once more the two women helped those less well off with his money.

Meanwhile, Prince Bartholomew on returning to the castle had not listened to Penelope’s advice. A pre-wedding party was going on. Prince Bartholomew’s brother was to be wed and a great many people were gathered there. They called out to Prince Bart to join them, asking where he had been.

Bart’s brother slapped him on the back! “You’re just in time! I will be getting married in a few days. I am so glad you are here.” At first Bartholomew ignored everyone, but then the bride’s sister had handed him an apple and said: “You must be hungry and thirsty, take a bite of this.” He took a bite. As soon as he swallowed just one piece of apple, he immediately forgot about Penelope, wondered what he was doing with the coach and horses, and joined the party.

The day of the wedding arrived. Coaches were assembled, and people were gathered to go to the church. As the horses were being backed into the traces, the poles which attached the horses to the carriage, the trace pins holding them together snapped. A blacksmith was called and a new set of trace pins were made. As soon as the horses were in the trace, the pins broke again. The blacksmith made another set of pins, but they also broke. The lawyer, who was one of the guests, suggested someone should go to the golden hut between the shore and the forest, and ask for the tongs. He knew that they would be strong enough to hold anything. So one of the servants was sent to the golden hut, and Penelope was asked if they could have the tongs, which she happily gave the servant lad.

The blacksmith cut the tongs down to size and they worked. As Prince Bartholomew’s brother and father climbed into the carriage, the floor fell out. They called a carpenter to fix the carriage floor, but this also broke. A third floor was made and again that broke. The sheriff suggested that the same woman in the golden hut had a door which might be strong enough. A servant was sent with the carpenter, and the door was used to fix the carriage, and of course it did the trick. Bart’s brother and father climbed up into the carriage and the horses were geed. The horses tried to pull, but the carriage did not move. They snapped the whip above the horse’s heads and they tried to pull again, but the carriage did not move. They added two more horses but still the carriage wouldn’t budge.

“Uncle! The calf!”

“That’s right!”

A servant was sent to the women in the golden hut after the bailiff mentioned the calf could most likely pull anything. Penelope gave the calf to the lad to take to Prince Bartholomew. The horses were removed from the traces and the calf, once hooked up, easily pulled the carriage, but the father stopped it, and called out: “Invite the women in the golden hut to the wedding feast, for if it wasn’t for them, we would not be going to the church.” So one of the servants went by carriage to get Penelope and her friend, Gretel. The lawyer, sheriff and bailiff decided not to attend the wedding after all.

When the carriage pulled by the calf got to the church, it kept going around in circles making it almost impossible for the groom and his father to get out of the carriage. Prince Bartholomew was able to get in front of the calf to slow it down enough and his brother and father were able to get out of the carriage. And it was the same after the wedding when they tried to get back in. The calf did not stop, only slowed down when the prince stepped in front of it.

They all eventually arrived at the castle for the feast, and there was a message for the king.

“Your majesty,” said the messenger. “The two ladies who live in the golden hut said that if the King was too good to invite them in person, then they were too good to attend, your Majesty” The messenger bowed very low indeed.

The king had a good sense of humour, and thought that there must be something more to these ladies than meets the eye, so he went to invite them himself. When they agreed and all arrived at the castle, he sat them next to Prince Bartholomew and on the other side of him was the bride’s sister, the one who had given Prince Bart the apple. After they had all been sitting there talking for a while, congratulating the bride and groom, eating the hor d’oeuvres, it was obvious that the bride’s sister was hitting on Prince Bartholomew and he was lapping it up.

Penelope reached into her bag and pulled out the two chickens and set them on the table. People turned around to see this. Then she removed the golden apple she had taken from the giant’s castle, and put that on the table between the two birds. Instantly, the two chickens began to fight over the golden apple.

Prince Bartholomew looked at them and said: “Look at them fighting over something they cannot eat.” He laughed.

“Yes,” said Penelope. “They fight like we fought at the castle where the giant lived on the mountainside.”

A silence fell upon the hall. Prince Bart looked at the two chickens, and looked at Penelope and began to smile. It seemed whatever enchantment the bride’s sister had put upon the prince; it was now broken.

The End.

“What? Didn’t they get married?”

“Who?”

“Penelope and Prince Bartholomew?”

“I’m not sure. The story doesn’t say.”

“They must have got married!”

“Why?”

“Because that’s what happens, they fall in love and get married.”

“Not always. Sometimes they don’t. Do you think they should? I mean she didn’t want a prince. And he wasn’t the brightest lad ever. Maybe she liked living in the golden hut with her friend, Gretel.”

“Maybe. Can they get married?”

“They could, I suppose. What do you want to have happen?”

“But did they…”

“Wait! They did, but let’s say it together!”

They all lived happily ever after.

And a possible alternative ending: Penelope decided to not marry the prince, but Gretel married the king!

A retelling of Peter Christen Asbjornsen and Jorgen Moe’s Master Maid retold by Simon Brooks, copyright © 2026.

A photo of this morning’s moon, because why not - Photo by Simon Brooks 2026