Bold Sir Samuel and the Bull's Bowl

Bold Sir Samuel launched himself through the air, soaring over the fence as he narrowly avoided the roaring minotaur’s charge. It rammed the fence beneath him. The flat part of its head between the sharp horns brushed the bottom of Sir Samuel’s pants. For one weightless moment, Sir Samuel knew what it was to be a bird, and then he crashed to the grassy ground outside the minotaur’s territory.

He sprawled on his back in the grass, laughing breathlessly while he stared at the cloudy sky. With his fit finally over, he rose to his feet on unsteady legs. He brushed off the loose grass and dirt from his pants and stared through the fence at the panting beast. He considered how he had come to be in this predicament.

It had all started so simply. Sir Samuel ate one of Old Lady Elsie’s tarts beneath the tree in the center of the market square. He noticed Farmer Gerald wasn’t at his stall yet despite the mid-morning sun shining from the east. He decided to check on the farmer just in case he needed help. Sir Samuel was glad he did because Mr. Farmer Gerald was very upset.

Sir Samuel arrived just in time to hear him telling Miss Mindy about an angry bull chasing him out of the pen as he tried to go milk Betsy. Betsy was Farmer Gerald’s prize cow. Her milk made the best cheese, or at least Sir Samuel thought so. Farmer Gerald said that in his rush to flee, he dropped his milking bowl. Sir Samuel knew the milking bowl was a gift from Farmer Gerald’s father when Farmer Gerald took over the farm.

Sir Samuel decided it was time for bold action.

He had to get that milking bowl back if he ever wanted more of that delicious cheese. So, he suited up in his best minotaur-wrangling gear: a magic lasso (length of normal hemp rope) and his lightest armor for maximum mobility (his regular clothes). He’d thought about bringing a weapon, but he was certain Farmer Gerald would be upset if Sir Samuel slew his only bull. Besides, what could be more bold than rescuing an heirloom milking bowl from an angry minotaur with no weapon?

And now, Sir Samuel stood outside the wooden fence, while the bowl taunted him from inside the pen. It rested against the lone tree looming on the other side of the fence. The branches spread up and out in a giant canopy, casting their shadows over a large portion of the enclosure. Another tree stood just outside the fence, its own branches spreading up and over the wooden barrier in a spray of dark green.

The minotaur stamped its front foot and lowered its black fur-covered head to bang the fence in front of Sir Samuel. Spotting his opportunity, he grabbed the magic lasso from his belt. Sir Samuel whipped it in a round over his head and hurled the loop at the minotaur’s mighty head.

The magic lasso lassoed its target. Sir Samuel seized his success by cinching the knot. He gripped the magic lasso tight and let out a bold whoop of triumph.

The bull snorted and reared backward. The lasso jerked Sir Samuel forward, and he crashed into the rough wooden barrier with a yelp. The lasso ripped from his hands, and Sir Samuel backpedaled, arms flailing.

The minotaur’s eyes followed him as he scrambled to his feet. Sir Samuel sidled along the fence’s perimeter, looking for any opening to gain the upper hand. It wouldn’t be to the left, where a steep embankment would dump him into the stream.

The massive minotaur stalked Sir Samuel, each heavy hoof falling with frightening strength. Bold Sir Samuel wasn’t sure how he would get past, but he knew he had to do his best.

He reached the corner of the pen. The bull stopped and stared at Sir Samuel, letting loose a mighty huff. Its black eyes bore into Sir Samuel’s as it kicked the fence, rattling the wood. Sir Samuel stumbled backward and tripped. He landed on his backside once more. No laughter bubbled up this time. He crawled backward as the minotaur roared and rammed its horns against the fence. The sharp points pushed their way through the gap between two of the wooden rails.

Sir Samuel’s eyes quivered, large as saucers. He considered running away and forgetting all about the bull’s bowl, but he pushed those thoughts aside. Bold Sir Samuel wasn’t about to back down from retrieving the bull’s bowl.

Further to his right, just beyond the corner of the enclosure, the land rose into a hill overlooking the pen and the cow pasture on the opposite side. Sir Samuel slowly climbed the hill to get a better view of his options. Atop the grassy rise, he surveyed the area. He noticed the bull no longer looked at him. It paced the generous parcel of open landscape inside the fence.

Sir Samuel stroked his chin. Farmer Gerald must have developed a habit of passing through the minotaur’s territory to get to the cow pasture on the other side. Sir Samuel wondered what changed that made the minotaur decide Farmer Gerald was a threat.

He tutted and shook his head. That didn’t matter. What mattered was how he could get that bowl. From this vantage point, he noticed the tree towering over the bowl stood roughly in the middle of the pen. No matter how he approached, he’d have to face the minotaur.

The image of razor-sharp horns coming at him through the fence flashed in Sir Samuel’s mind, and his boldness left in a shudder of fear. Just as he was seriously considering giving up, something dropped from the tree outside the fence. Sir Samuel squinted, but it was impossible to tell exactly what fell.

The chatter of a squirrel high in the tree drew his eyes to the branches. It ran along a thick branch and scampered onto the tree within the enclosure. Sir Samuel lost sight of it amidst the leaves, but he noticed the squirrel didn’t even have to jump to get to the inside tree.

A plan formed, and a sly smirk spread across Sir Samuel’s face.

Climb the tree outside. Walk the sturdy branch. Cross to the inside tree. Drop down, grab the milking bowl, and either climb up the tree to get back or run as fast as his legs could take him to get out of the pen.

He thought it was a good plan (it wasn’t, really).

Sir Samuel trekked to the tree outside the fence. He jumped and hooked his hands around the lowest branch. He heaved himself up to perch on the limb close to the trunk. The rough bark dug into his soft forearms as he hugged it.

Bold. Be bold, bold, bold, Sir Samuel repeated over and over in his mind.

He glanced around to look for his next move. A solid-looking branch within reach grabbed his attention. He hoisted himself up, and once he’d begun moving, he got into a rhythm of climbing. Before he knew it, he stood on the large branch where the squirrel had crossed to the other tree.

While on the ground, he’d pictured simply strolling across the branch. He’d imagined balancing easily and then moving swiftly along it. The reality was he wouldn’t be able to do that at all. Instead, he wiggled himself along the branch, working his way across one tiny movement after another.

(Much later, when he recounted this tale, he would make it sound like his travel along the branch took mere moments. In reality, it stretched on a good, long time.)

The branch sagged from his weight the further along he went. Creaks and pops resounded from the tree behind him, but he gritted his teeth.

He was bold Sir Samuel, and this bull’s bowl would not beat him.

At last, he stopped as far out from the trunk as he dared. He glanced up, and his tight grip around the smoother bark of the branch turned his knuckles white. The branch he had to get to was just ahead. The transfer would be difficult but not impossible. He just needed to stand on the branch he was on and leap to the other one. If he missed landing with his feet, he could still catch the branch with his arms or hands as he fell.

Simple, right?

Bold Sir Samuel straightened up, stepped forward, and jumped.

The branch snapped from the force of his jump, and he fell. He hit the ground, and the wind was knocked from him, though there was surprisingly little pain. He struggled to breathe, panicked when the air wouldn’t enter his lungs, and then relaxed enough to take his first big breath.

Breathless Sir Samuel remembered the bull.

He heard it before he saw it. The steady stomp-stomp-stomp of its hoof as it prepared to charge. Sir Samuel’s eyes became saucers for the second time that day.

Then a high-pitched yell drew his eyes to the fence. “Hey-ya! Hey, hey, hey!”

A boy, a year or two younger than Sir Samuel, propped the toes of his boots into the topmost gap of the fence. He leaned his knees against the top rail, and Sir Samuel’s jaw dropped as he recalled the sharp horns once more.

The boy yelled and jumped, the wood of the fence bouncing him up and down. “Bully-bull-bull, hey!”

His frame was much thinner than even Sir Samuel’s, and he had dark hair and eyes in a soft, slim face.

The minotaur turned toward its newest interloper. Its large, horned head swung from Sir Samuel to the frail-looking kid and back to Sir Samuel.

Sir Samuel blew out a breath and checked himself for injury. No pain or bones poking through his skin. He must’ve fallen just right to not have broken anything.

“Bully!” The boy on the fence yelled once more.

The bull’s attention left Sir Samuel and fixated on the other boy. It charged at half speed, and the boy dropped off the fence. Sir Samuel didn’t wait to see what happened next. He picked himself up, raced to the tree in the center of the minotaur’s territory, and grabbed the bull’s bowl.

Use had polished the wood, and it held a supple smoothness in Sir Samuel’s hands. He glanced back to check on the bull and saw it turning to face him, the slender boy who had aided him no longer anywhere to be seen.

His stomach dropped, and he sought a route back to the fence.

The bull stomped once and charged.

Sir Samuel looped around the tree. The bull’s thunderous hooves stopped, and it let loose a mighty cry of frustration.

Sir Samuel paused, and his frantic gaze locked onto the stream side of the pen. He sprinted. The minotaur’s pounding charge rumbled close behind him. Adrenaline surged through his body, and he floated on air as he sprinted.

He reached the fence and leapt over it in one smooth motion. The bull slammed the sturdy wood, and splinters struck the back of Sir Samuel’s neck as he tumbled down the embankment into the stream.

Cold water washed over him and shocked his eyes open. He spun to look at the bull, and it glared at him between the fence slats.

Sir Samuel thrust the bowl triumphantly above his head as he jumped to his feet in the stream. The rushing current swept around his legs, and he trudged through it back toward Farmer Gerald’s house, away from the minotaur’s lair.

He climbed the bank, water dribbling from his clothes and shoes. He looked for the frail-looking boy but couldn’t find him anywhere. He knew he’d have to thank the boy for saving his life, but that quest would wait for another day.

If you enjoyed Sir Samuel in this story, read the next in the series:

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