KING SIGURD AND THE THIEF OF TOYLAND

rouching on a ledge high above the main thoroughfare of Toyland, Albrecht the mason, hammer and chisel in hand, put the finishing touches on the last gargoyle to be put into place.   The crew of masons, under Albrecht’s direction, had done a first rate job, creating a building that would last forever, they thought. Below him, Sigurd walked alone onto the marble steps.  Soon he was to be enthroned as Sigurd, First King of Toyland.  As he climbed the steps of the newly built King’s Palace, all the men of Albrecht’s crew waved or cheered.  Some tossed their caps into the air. Others simply watched in awe.

Sigurd stood proudly on the top step and the sight of him was an impressive one: the wind blew his shoulder length, dark-brown hair, his huge frame (he towered over most Toylanders, and had a broad, thick chest); his dark red cloth tunic contrasted sharply with the white stone of the palace.  Sigurd stood thinking to himself that no man, particularly he, deserved to live in such splendor.  But the people of Toyland were insistent and paid an extra tax for two years to enable the construction of a palace worthy of their first King, a man whose life had been so bravely dedicated to Toyland’s safety and prosperity.  It was said that without Sigurd’s leadership on the battlefield, Toyland would no longer exist.  Sigurd himself thought that an absurdly untrue, giving all the credit to the victory at Brockenfeld to the courage, skill, and fortitude of his men.  To what extent either viewpoint is true it is difficult if impossible to say.  Nevertheless, Sigurd earned his victory and led Toyland’s growth over one hundred and fifty years—years of peace and contentment.  The people of Toyland now spoke with their own hard earned money building a palace for Sigurd and all future King’s of Toyland to live, as honored and worthy monarchs.  

Sigurd was to be crowned King the following Saturn’s Day, timed with the opening of the palace, in exactly seven days.   

Later that night, Sigurd visited the small church of Toyland to give thanks and to meditate all that had happened.  He sat quietly when a powerful storm began to buffet the exterior of the church.   Sigurd tried to ignore it, but the noise of the storm was too strong and distracted his prayerful state.  He decided to just sit and wait for the storm to pass when suddenly a bolt of lightning and mighty wind caused a tree just outside the church to split, sending one half of it crashing through the large window and into the church and came to rest on the high alter smashing several reliquaries the contents of which went flying around the church in all directions.  Soon, dozens of concerned citizens were cleaning up the mess and attempting to repair the damage to the church and the reliquaries.  This took several weeks, but the coronation went on as scheduled. 

“Your majesty, the repairs are going well and most of the relics have been completely restored.”  Alcuin, First Assistant to the King seemed pleased with himself and the work his staff had accomplished. 

“What do you mean, most?” Sigurd’s face was taut. Alcuin, with Gerbold, the King’s Second Assistant, was beginning to sweat.

“Well, sir, that is to say, all but one.”

“One?  And why not?”

“Well, your majesty we cannot seem to locate the relic.”

“What do you mean cannot locate it?  Do you think things just disappear?”

“I’m sorry, your Majesty, but you see, it was not among debris and broken glass that we cleaned up.” Alcuin was getting nervous.

“What?” Sigurd was disbelieving.

“I’m sorry sir, but…”

“Well, which relic was it?”  Sigurd was getting impatient.

There was some silence.  Gerbold spoke up when it seemed Alcuin was at a loss for words.

“Well, sir we’re not sure…the case was empty, broken, but we’re not sure what was in it.”

“Not sure what…” Sigurd stopped himself from grabbing his sword.

“Gentlemen,” he said, “it appears that we have a thief in our midst.”  Sigurd took a deep breath and rubbed his chest with three fingers of his right hand.  “Summon all who were here that night.  And someone please determine what piece…”

Sigurd’s chamber door was suddenly flown open.  Egbert, Gerbold’s secretary came running in.

“Sorry to interrupt sir, but we think we know which relic was housed in the empty reliquary.”  

To Sigurd’s great fear the most precious relic of Toyland was now missing – the one relic that he looked to for strength and confidence in time of need.  It was not a holy relic but one that had immeasurable personal meaning to him.  That it was missing or possibly lost was unthinkable to him.

“If you do not find this most precious relic, it will be dire for Toyland’s future,” he said. “It may, in fact, mark the beginning of the end of Toyland.”

The King’s men turned and left the chamber giving each other rather quizzical looks. 

“He has gone mad,” one whispered.

“Is this a test of some kind?” offered another.

“Surely, he cannot be serious.  It’s just a myth, isn’t it?”

“No, I think it true but, but even so, does anyone even care?”

“Did you see him rubbing his heart?  I think he’s having a stroke!”

“Does anyone even care about it?”

That was the question Sigurd really wanted answered.  Did anyone in Toyland hold sacred the meaning and value of the Tooth of Drollo?

The Tooth of Drollo was, of course, the tooth that Lothair the Great had removed from Drollo’s very mouth.  It had been given a place of honor in the church upon Lothair’s death and there it remained.   But over the passing years other relics, icons, and statues were added to the high alter, relegating the small tooth to almost entire obscurity.   In fact few people remembered that it was there at all.  Many grew up without real knowledge of Lothair and his great deed.  Others believed it a myth.

****

“Drollo’s tooth?” asked little Siglinde, the Potter’s daughter.

“Yes,” said Odwin, the teacher. “Tell us of Drollo’s tooth.”

“I…I…” Poor Siglinde had no idea what Odwin was talking about.

“Anyone else…?” asked Odwin looking over the class of Toyland children, which ranged in age from four years of age to twelve. “Anyone…Drollo’s tooth…anyone…?”

There were no answers forthcoming.

In the rear of the classroom, Sigurd himself, stood red-faced, glaring at the scene.  With three fingers of his right hand he massaged the center of his chest, as if he were in terrible pain.

“This is impossible!”

“I’m sorry, your Majesty.  But it’s been many, many years since Lothair has been part of the curriculum.”

“Curriculum?” Sigurd approached Odwin menacingly.  “I’ll give you curriculum!”  With that, Sigurd grabbed Odwin by the back of the neck and rump and tossed him out the school window.  The class burst with laughter and applause.  Sigurd bowed gracefully to them and left.

Soon, the entire town was talking about the incident.  And of Lothair. 

“What is this about Lothair?  Who is Lothair?”

“Lothair!  You remember!  He discovered fire.”

“No!  Lothair the Great!  He freed the slaves of Toyland!”

“No!  He crossed the river to defeat the Brockenfelders!”

“No!  Hagen the Terrible crossed the great river.  Lothair was that famous cross-dresser!”

“Lothair’s coming?”

As much silliness was being said about Lothair the truth was beginning to take hold.  Those who were old enough to remember, and there were a few, began to inform the townspeople.

A typical conversation went like this:

“I cannot believe you don’t know about Lothair and Drollo’s tooth!” said Oggy the Fair, surrounded by his twelve great-great grandchildren.  “In my day, he was the greatest hero ever!”

“Tell us, grandpa!”

“Yes!  Tell us!”

Or,

 “To think, Drollo’s actual tooth was there in the church all along!”

“How foolish we were!  I would have loved to have seen it!”

“I saw it once!”

“No you didn’t!”

“Yes, I did!”

Arguments and even fisticuffs were fought simply over who had in fact actually seen the tooth.  Many who claimed to see it, however, could not accurately describe it.

“We want Drollo’s tooth returned!” was the cry in front of the palace.

“Justice!”

“Catch the thief!”

“Where is the King?  Why doesn’t the King do something?”

“Sigurd!  Sigurd!  Sigurd!” the crowd grew and chanted the King’s name.

Sigurd finally emerged.  The crowd grew silent.

Before he spoke, Sigurd took a deep breath, and rubbed the center of his chest for a moment.

“Citizen’s of Toyland.  What is it you wish of me?”

“We want Lothair’s relic!”

“Find the thief of Drollo’s tooth!”

“We want our relic restored to us!”

“Lothair the Great would be ashamed!”

“Lothair, Lothair, Lothair!” they all chanted.

The King raised his hand asking for silence, which was given.

“My fellow citizens of Toyland.  I propose this: since the thief must be one among us, he or she will never expose themselves and return the tooth in public.  Therefore I propose that tonight, everyone return to their homes, and remain there till morning.  No one will venture out after dark.  Then, the thief whom I am sure is now here among us, will be free to return the tooth in anonymity.  In the morning a trumpet shall sound signaling that the curfew is over.”  Again, Sigurd took a deep breath and fingered his chest.

“Thus, it is so ordered.”  The King turned and went into the palace. Members of the crowd turned and walked away, each member casting a suspicious eye at everyone else.

*****

“Your Majesty, I have summoned the Empto, the Physician.  I believe he should examine you,” said Alcuin, who stood outside the bedchamber of Sigurd who had retired for the night.

“Go away!” shouted Sigurd through the closed door.

“But sir, the pain in your chest…”

“I have no pain in my chest!”

“Sir, please, we have all noticed…”

“Gaaaaa!” the door swung open and Sigurd waved a large broadsword over Alcuin’s head.  “Get out!”

“Ohhhhhhhhhhh!” exclaimed the Physician as he fled in terror.

Alcuin simply walked backward, bowing humbly as he went.

The evening past.  The morning came.  A trumpet sounded to announce that citizens were allowed to come out.  Like a stampede of deer they flew, straight to the church where Sigurd stood, key to the door in hand.

“Open the door!”

“Please!  Let us see Lothair’s prize!”

“The tooth!  We want to see the tooth!”

“I will enter the church alone.  If the tooth is there, I will bring it out for all to see.  If it is not, you will come in and remove my dead body.”

The crowd gasped.

Sigurd turned and opened the door.  He entered then closed the door behind him.  Moments passed with extraordinary tension.  Then, when one of the King’s men was about to enter the church to investigate Sigurd emerged, Drollo’s tooth in hand, returned to its original reliquary.

Hysteria reigned.  A festival was declared for one week’s time at which visitors for all the known countryside would be invited.  Games were held; feats of strength displayed and recreations of Lothair’s heroics were enacted on small stages everywhere.

Seated at the main table at which sat dignitaries from many surrounding townships and provinces, Sigurd smiled broadly.  At one point Alcuin turned to him and said, “Sir I apologize for summoning the doctor that evening.  I see that you suffer no longer from any chest discomforts and are quite fit.”

“Yes, yes, I understand, think nothing of it, nothing of it,” Sigurd said, filling his plate with fresh baked apples and slices of roast mutton.

Yes, Sigurd the Great hero and warrior, statesman and first King of Toyland, no longer rubbed the small area in the center of his chest, as the Tooth of Drollo, strung on a small chain around his neck, no longer irritated his skin.