The goat happiness man

I first met the goat happiness man at the market stall where I worked. “Take this,” I said offering him a small piece of herb, “it will make you fertile. Your wife will be very happy.”

He shook his head, though I was pleased to see I raised a smile on his face, if nothing more. “I’m not buying for myself,“ he said, “it’s for the king’s goat. I’m looking for something that’s good for the gut, something that will cure wind.”

I gave him some suitable herbs and explained how to use them. He also bought some cooking spices for himself. “They go very well with goat,” I said as he was leaving. The look he gave me made me laugh every time I thought of it. He did not find my joke amusing.

I asked Matild on the silk stall about the goat man during the next quiet hour. Matild knows everything about the royal household, everyone who goes there, works there and what the politics are amongst the high families.

“There was a man at my stall today,” I said. “He said he kept the king’s goat. Have you heard of him at all?”

She laughed loudly, as is her way, head swaying backwards to maximise the vocal force of her howling. “The goat happiness man? He was here?” She laughed again. “Yes, I know of him. It is rare for him to be seen without the goat.”

“The goat happiness man? Why is he called that?”

“Because that’s his job.” Matild realised she was going to have to tell me the full story. She paused to look round just to check there were no customers, but of course there weren’t any during the quiet time, so she took a deep breath and launched into the tale.

“The king was a sickly child as you know, few thought he would ever live to become king. There were many foods he couldn’t eat, even milk he used to vomit up. He never gained weight, was a bony, weak figure, he never looked like a prince.

“Then one day his mother tried him on goats milk and he drank it down, the whole glass, and kept it down, not so much as a trickle of vomit. Everyone at the palace was happy and thought they had solved the problem, a source for all the goodness and energy he needed to grow.

“The next day the boy was given another glass of goats milk, but to the disappointment of everyone in the palace he was sick immediately and barely retained a drop of the sustenance. The success of previous day was dismissed as nothing more than a trick of the gods.

“They kept trying, so important is milk to the diet, and were rewarded a few days later with another glass of milk digested whole, no vomit. This went on for weeks, some days he would be fine then a whole week would pass without a single mouthful of milk retained. It was over a month before they realised that the milk the child could drink always came from the same goat.

“The prince grew up big and strong, against everyone’s prediction, sustained by the daily sustenance of over four pints of goats milk. When he became king no-one challenged him, because by now the sickly, weak creature of childhood was long forgotten, he had become a formidable man. But only because of the goat. To this day the same goat is producing several pints of milk, which he drinks for breakfast, lunch, supper and latefast.

“The same goat? Goats only produce milk for seven, or eight years, ten at the most. It can’t be the same goat, it would be ancient.”

“I can only tell you what is true, not what you think should be true.”

“Okay, I’m sorry. It just sounded strange, that’s all.”

“You understand now that the goat is more important than anyone else in the palace, even the queen. If the king didn’t have his milk our whole kingdom would be at risk, we would have a weak and ailing leader. That is why they have assigned a man to take care of the goat’s every need, that man is your goat happiness man. But do not waste your eyes on him, for he is bound to the king’s goat, not any other, woman, man or beast.”

“I wasn’t using my eyes, I was just intrigued, that is all. My eyes are for a man of my own class, my own age, I thank you to know.”

The goat happiness man came back to the stall the next week.

“I would like more of those herbs,” he said.

“Did they work?,” I asked, “is the goat better now?” I realised how important a sick goat was now, the whole kingdom might depend upon it.

“They helped, though Terrence is still poorly.”

“Then try these,” I said, “I picked them especially over the weekend, they are a rare herb, hard to find, I don’t stock them usually, as they must be eaten freshly picked, but I made a journey to the woods, as they are by far the best thing for a poor stomach.”

“Thank you,” he said, Terrence will be most grateful.”

“Terrence? But I thought the goat was a doe, not a buck?”

“Ha, it is,” he said, breaking into a smile for the first time. She is such an important goat she was given a boy’s name, so as to amuse the gods. Terrence Oblong she is called. If the gods are laughing it means she will keep producing milk.”

“Terrence Oblong is a very amusing name,” I agreed, “if I were a god I would make that goat particularly rich in milk.”

I could tell by his expression that the man didn’t know whether or not I was joking. I quickly changed the subject.

“The new herbs are quite complex to administer properly. I’ve written down the instructions. I handed him the sheet of paper on which I’d carefully transcribed the recipe my mother had taught me. He looked at it for what seemed a very long time.

“I have no expertise in these matters,” he said eventually, “I would hate to make a mistake. It would be best if you were to come with me to the palace and teach me how to make the medicine.”

I shivered with excitement at the mere thought of visiting the palace. “I cannot go,” I was forced to say, “I’d have to close the stall and it is my only income.”

“I will make it worth your while.” he said and handed me two gold coins, each worth more than I earn in a week.

I quickly made the necessary arrangements to close down the stall for a few days, storing most of my stock with Matild and taking enough with me to deal with any other complaint Terrence may have.

I had seen the palace before, of course, I had passed by outside on three separate occasions. Even so, as we approached the palace I felt overwhelmed at the sight of the great building and a further thrill as the guard simply nodded at us in greeting and swung open the great gates, strong enough to repel an army, yet here was I simply strolling through them.

If I had thought the palace magnicent from a distance, then there simply weren’t words to describe its wonder close to. The detail and craftsmanship that went into every part of the building, the silken finery of all the uniforms, flags and tapestries, the magnificent statues that adorned every corner. The whole palace was a living, functioning, work of art. I was almost breathless with awe and but for the urgency of my errand would have stopped for an hour at every step to admire my surroundings.

I had been in very few great houses in my time, though I was occasionally called upon to visit some of the great houses. In such cases I was always called to a side door, sometimes even just the stables, so I was well aware of my standing. It came as great surprise therefore when the goat happiness man simply marched up to the front door and walked in, beckoning me to follow.

“We are going straight to Terrence’s room,” the man said by way of explanation.

“The goat has a room in the palace? I was expecting her to be in the stables.”

“Of course, she is one of the king’s family. She has one of the great rooms of state. It is important that she is never far from the king, in case he is in need of her milk.”

“Do you have a room in the palace as well?”

“Of course. I share a room with Terrence. I must be with her at all times. Even during sleep part of me remains alert. One night I awoke to find her choking and was thus able to save her. In winter we sleep together.”

“That’s dedication to your work,” I said, wondering what it must be like to share a bed with a goat. The reek, the hair, the warmth. But then, it must be similarly strange to share a bed with a man, yet it is something that all women are happy to do.

The man shrugged. “I am the goat happiness man. It is what I do.”

It was strange to see Terrence’s room. It was indeed a grand state room, complete with the finest tapestries and curtains, all of which had been chewed to pieces. Never has a room looked so beautiful and smelled so strongly of goat. Terrence herself was asleep on a bed of straw.

I set to work immediately, grinding up the herbs in a bowl with the other ingredients. When the medicine was ready the man woke Terrence gently and made her drink it all. He then took a bucket and showed me how to milk her. “Here, you try he said.”

Terrence’s teat felt strange, it was hard and rubbery, warm and stiff. I pulled it as he instructed me, wondering secretly to myself if this was in anyway like pulling a penis. My thoughts were interrupted by a sudden whoosh, as a gush of warm, wet milk spurted into the bucket. Once started the gush didn’t stop, I continued pulling and the goat continued gushing until the bucket was half full, with steam rushing out the top. ‘I wonder if this is like pulling a penis’, I thought again, hoping it wasn’t.

The goat happiness man rang a bell and a servant in the finest livery came to collect the fresh milk. “It is going straight to the king,” he told me, “he drinks it while it is still warm.”

I stayed that night in the same room as Terrence and the goat happiness man. After changing her straw and combing her coat, the man sat down next to her and told her a story.

“Why do you tell stories to a goat?” I laughed, she is not a child.”

“Terrence likes stories,” he replied. “It is part of my job, I am the goat happiness man.”

“I don’t understand. What does that mean.”

“It means that I dedicate my life to keeping the goat happy. Not just well fed and exercised and free from disease, but spiritually contented as well. I read her stories, teach her the learnings of the great philosophers.”

“But why?”

“Because when she was younger there came a time when the king could no longer digest Terrence’s milk. She was seen by healers and herders, but she was fit and carried no disease. At the time I was a teacher, I taught one of the king’s children. The king’s child was just three at the time, and I mixed my learning with stories and entertainments. “That is what my goat needs,” the king said, “a full education.”

“I was consigned to the goat and within a week the king was drinking it’s milk again. I have been here ever since.”

“Here, your turn now, you tell a tale.”

“I don’t know any stories,” I said, “I am a simple woman.”

“Nonsense,” he said, “we all have a tale to tell.”

And so I made up a story, as instructed. It featured a Terrence Oblong in a different world, a man in a strange society, who made up stories of his own. The story was nonsense, but it soon helped Terrence achieve a deep sleep.

After the stories I slept the night in the same room as the goat and the man. The room was filled with strange smells and strange noises, grunts, snores and farts, I couldn’t tell which came from the goat and which from the man. Eventually is slept, though my head was full of dreams.

It was agreed that I should stay in the palace for a few days, to check that the medicine worked. While I was there I would also help to care for the other goats.

“Do any other of the goats produce milk that the king can drink?,” I asked one day.

“No. We have tried them all, every single kid she has littered, but so far none has produced milk he can digest. It is a worry, Terrence will soon be dry, it is already over a year since her last kid. If she doesn’t breed soon she soon stop producing milk.”

“And what happen then?”

“The king goes without milk,” he said.

“What will happen if there is no milk for the king? Will he die?”

“Maybe he will, maybe he won’t. When he was younger he would certainly have died without Terrence’s milk. Now, he is much stronger, he has more chance. But we hope that one of Terrence’s kids will produce milk the king can drink. Her latest kid is fertile now. We are hopeful that she will become pregnant soon and take Terrence’s place. Here, I will take you to her.”

The other goats were kept outside, in the stable. These too were well looked after, there was a team of goat keepers to care for these. “This is Dave Clark,” the goat happiness man said to me, we are hopeful that she will produce milk. “We have given her a suitably silly name to amuse the gods.”

“Dave Clark is a very silly name,” I agreed. I studied her carefully and felt her stomach. “I believe she is pregnant already,” I said, “Here, feel.”

Her belly was swelling, in a way I recognised. The goat happiness man was unsure though, so I took out a special selection of herbs to perform a test, using the goats urine. The herbs took a few hours to take effect, during which time we waited anxiously.

“It‘s good news,” I was pleased to announce. “Dave is pregnant.”

The pregnancy of Terrence’s latest offspring caused great excitement. “Alas, I have seen it all too many times,” the goat happiness man said, it is always hoped

“Is Terrence the original goat, the one whose milk the king drank as a child?”, I asked.

“No,” he laughed, “Terrence is nowhere near that old. She is the third generation, so far each goat has born just one goat that produces milk the king can drink.”

I felt ashamed by my ignorance, though it seems my work was valued.

“I have news for you,” the man said to me. “Dave is to be moved into the palace, to have her own room. You are to move in, to be her full time keeper, until the kids are born at least.”

Arrangements were made to save my stall at the market and more coins were handed to me. Other staff in the palace started to defer their heads when I passed, though all I was doing was minding a goat. I knew all of this would end as soon as the kids were born, if the king could not digest Dave’s milk.

The day came suddenly, I was away in the king’s grounds picking herbs when I was instructed to return, by which time there were already two kids sucking greedily at Dave’s teat.

I gently pulled them aside. They were both does, a good sign, as they in turn would become pregnant and produce milk. Taking Dave’s teats in my hand I milk her, as I had milked the other goats many times. The milk was rushed to the king and a nervous silence seemed to fill the kingdom.

It was the goat happiness man who returned with the message. He was smiling, a feature I had rarely seen on his face. “It is good,” he said, “the king can drink her milk.”

A great celebration took place. The king’s milk supply was assured for many more years. I was plied with many drinks, wines I had never tasted before.

I woke with a sore head. The goat happiness man was standing over me. “You must get dressed,” he said, “the king has asked to see you.”

My head was bleary with the previous night’s wine, but I dressed into the clothes I had been given, some fine silks, made into the same style as the goat happiness man’s suit. I was led to the king’s throne where I prostrated myself.

“You may rise,” the king said, and I was permitted to stand and look him in the face.

“Young woman, you have done a great thing. Your skills with medicines and herbs have helped ensure a healthy goat. Here,” he passed me a golden ring, “you are to wear this as a symbol of office. I pronounce you goat happiness woman.”

As I left the throne room the king’s personal adviser handed me a bag of coins so heavy I could hardly carry it.

I returned to Dave’s room, my room, to my palatial residence. I was overwhelmed, to think that I was now one of the highest staff in the whole kingdom, me, a parentless child who ran a market stand.

And yet I cried. For I knew that from that day forth I would be married to the goat. I would not be permitted to marry a man, to do so would be disrespectful to the king, would be to put another before the king’s health. I lay down next to Dave and wrapped my arms around her, knowing that I would never get to be intimate with any other man or beast.