To a knight, his steed was his most valued possession. A stalwart companion that could take him from the highlands to the lowlands and everywhere in between. To ride on horseback was to be free of all encumbrances. White maned stallions, powerful black horses, beautiful dappled ponies; these were the steeds that knights rode into battle. Not me.
"Is that your donkey outside?" asked a voice behind me as I came out of my room at noon one day. It was the innkeeper's wife. She was a plump woman with a round face and a large, bright smile.
"Yes..." I said. "He is my friend." I attempted to keep the conversation curt.
She laughed heartily. "He's quite cute." The world seemed to revolve around Isfolo, my flea-ridden companion, the misplaced boon of my former patron; it seemed that the donkey had claimed yet another admirer. One that seemed quite keen on singing his praises. "I spotted him while I was tending to the chickens; what a handsome steed." Clarence was as dumb and ugly as any donkey, but he was well fed and kept clean, so there was no reason for me to be embarrassed by his presence. He was mine.
"Ma'am, a knight—"
"What are you going to do with him? He looks so strong...virile." she asked, a warm glow filling the full-faced woman's cheeks. Damned enchantment, how it turned even the most faithful maidens into the unruliest harlots of devil, willing to lie down with a beast; it infuriated me to the core. "A creature with such power and...girth..should not be—"
"You will have to excuse me, ma'am," I interrupted, hoping to end this discussion before it went too far. "I must go now." I gave her a bow and walked away. How could a married woman so forwardly inquire upon laying with an animal? With a beast of burden of all creatures? I was disgusted.
"My name is Catherine!" she called after me.
I ignored her. I did not want to speak to her. I had seen enough of women, especially those who sought the favor of an animal, no matter how enchanted. The speed in which Isfolo and I would need to resume our journey was hastened when I saw that a flock of laywomen had already gathered around the stables, each of them vying for the attention of the my dumb, slack-jawed steed. Some of them were quite attractive, I had to admit. They had long flowing hair and bright eyes, and their skin was smooth and supple. Their dresses were colorful and made of soft fabrics. Yet under the enchantment — or curse — placed upon Isfolo, they were eager to commit the basest of acts with an all too eager animal. "Back, get back wenches!" I yelled at them, pushing the way through the crowd.